#i tried making him look like he fitted in with the background ^v^

[twst-beam]

"ta-da~ impressed?"

My entry for @twisted-tech's mermay event is Anton Makshaw, a mako shark merman, and the most "reliable" first-year in all of Octavinelle!

no-blue-filter version under the cut :3

[coffee-and-geto]

“BE MY VOICE AND I CHOOSE YOU TO FILL THE VOID”

“Why a second chance when the first one didn’t work?” “Because we’re too stubborn, love.”

pairing: fashion designer! suguru geto x supermodel! reader

summary: after you broke up with suguru a few years ago, you swore you’d never have anything to do with him ever again… until new york fashion week arrived and you found yourself forced to take part in the event with suguru geto — aka your ex and one of the most famous personalities in the fashion world, as your fashion designer. but perhaps the latter will take advantage of the event to do his utmost to regain your heart.

warnings: +18 only, smut, modern au! (no curses), exes to lovers, geto is your ex-boyfriend, fluff, (light) angst, hurt/comfort, anxiety attack, bossy! reader, nobara is the reader’s assistant but also plays cupid, only one bed/second chance trope, jealous! geto, gojo makes an appearance because he’s a fashion designer too, switch! geto, oral (f + m), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, handjob (m! receiving), body praises, fanart by @ / hiikeu.

wc: 15,257

“He wants you among his troupe.”

You nearly spit out the sip of your drink through the straw. “Excuse me?” you laugh out loud.

But even in front of the serious expression of one of the employees of the agency you work for, it’s hard to keep your own. A fit of giggles takes over your stomach, releasing uncontrollable laughter that echoes throughout your dressing room.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Nobara — your assistant — squeezes her planner against her chest — a nervous tic that has never been trivial to you. Silence finally returns to the room, and neither of the other two women utter a single word. The corners of your lips fall. “This is a joke, right?” you whisper breathlessly.

Nobara pulls her phone out of her pocket and scrolls for a few seconds before showing you an announcement from the official website of New York Fashion Week. She is followed by the employee who hands you a tablet screen displaying an email signed by someone you had erased from your life years ago:

Suguru Geto.

°°°°

“Next.” Suguru’s sharp tone cracks like a whip as another model steps onto the casting studio podium. His fist clenches nervously around the handle of the megaphone, resting its bell on the foldable wooden table.

In front of the silhouette of yet another candidate, Suguru’s gaze scrutinizes the model’s fine features that adorn her refined face with prominent cheekbones. A defined jawline. Hazel eyes and a slender body.

“Next,” Suguru repeats mechanically — perhaps because his eyes are desperately searching for your form? With each new woman, he hopes to meet your captivating gaze. And he almost systematically dismisses everyone when it’s not you?

“Mr. Geto, maybe we should—”

“Silence,” he cuts off without a glance at Manami, his assistant.

She sighs and offers an apologetic smile to the model who leaves the podium with a look of icy disappointment. Suguru’s right leg starts to twitch slightly in his chair—a sign of anxiety gradually eroding the calm he tries to maintain in his troubled mind.

“Night Skies: The Illuminated Darkness.” 

A relatively inspiring theme and quite easy to design. So why has no inspiration come to him since the announcement? Why do his thoughts constantly drift to outfits that only you deserve to wear, making him prefer to withdraw his participation rather than let someone else wear them?

Fuck.

After the next four hours, Suguru and Manami leave the casting studio for a break in the lounge. He leans against the counter, letting his obsidian eyes fix on a void, swept away by his overwhelming reflections. In the background, the coffee machine rumbles.

You had to join his troupe. Even though he already envisions a firm refusal from your agency. But he is ready to try anything for you — even risks that could endanger his career.

Manami clears her throat slightly and takes a hesitant step towards him. “Mr. Geto? Out of the three hundred top models proposed by partner agencies, we’ve only shortlisted four…” She fiddles with her nails painted in vermillion red, bites her lower lip, and adds, “And that’s under my insistence. At this point, I seriously doubt—”

“Write a letter to this agency,” Suguru cuts in once again without listening to a word of what she tried to explain. He hands her a business card from your agency and mentions your name. “You must know her. I want her among the models for my collection. Otherwise, I’ll cancel my participation,” he declares in an uncompromising tone.

Manami carefully takes the small card and studies it. She lets out a perplexed sigh and nods. “Alright.”

°°°°

“No, absolutely not! I refuse! Reply to him that it won’t be possible!”

“Miss, please—” Nobara tries to calm you and prevent you from committing murder against the top model manager of the agency.

“We’re talking about Suguru Geto! THE internationally renowned designer!” the manager yells with such vehemence that it surely carries well beyond your dressing room.

“I don’t give a fucking damn! There are thousands of models in the world! No one knows, so reply to this email with a fucking refusal!” you yell back just as fiercely. Your usually well-groomed hair is slightly disheveled by a few rebellious strands as agitated as your anger.

There is no way you’re participating in New York Fashion Week or any other event involving Suguru Geto. Not after everything that happened. 

Not after he abandoned you. 

No.

“But are you aware of what you’re saying—”

“Shut up! If you’re not happy, I’ll quit this damn agency right now! Do you think you’re the only one who wants me? I have hundreds who will be at my feet as soon as I’ll leave!” you spit after a bitter laugh.

Nobara’s soothing hands rest on your shoulders and force you to sit in a chair. Assured that you won’t attempt another assault on the manager, who has turned pale at your declaration, your ginger-haired assistant easily pushes the manager out, whispering to her not to set foot back in here until the refusal is sent to Geto.

She tries to argue one last time, her voice a bit more pleading and less aggressive, but Nobara slams the door in her face. She leans against it, sighs deeply, and closes her eyes for a moment. “Phew…”

As for your own state, ‘fury’ is the perfect adjective. Hair in disarray, cheeks flushed with anger, chest heaving with irregular, harsh breaths, and a vein throbbing along your neck; it’s as if you could turn your dressing room upside down at any moment.

Nobara heads to your automatic water dispenser and pours you a fresh glass. After ensuring you drink every drop, she notices you seem calmer.

Your bloodshot eyes meet her gaze, and she offers you a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll personally make sure everything is sent properly.”

You nod and run a hand over your face to wipe away your overflowing emotions.

It’s crazy how just the mention of that cursed name can set you off. But the final straw was when your manager was informed of Suguru Geto’s request for you to join his models for New York Fashion Week. She insisted relentlessly despite your patience for a no.

She said she didn’t understand. 

Of course, no one could understand when no one knew that one of the world’s greatest designers had been your boyfriend before your careers took radically different paths. But how could you explain when he was the one who pushed you to break up with him, leaving you alone, lost, and broken with only an unknown fate to face without anyone’s help?

It was without anyone’s help that you built yourself into who you are today. 

Even less your international career.

All the agencies are at your feet, but the only person you wanted to see there wasn’t. 

So there was no reason to pay attention. 

You will not participate in New York Fashion Week. As long as it involves Suguru Geto, anyway.

°°°°

Mouth agape in shock, Suguru thinks what he sees before him is a prank. 

But it’s indeed a clear refusal from the agency you work for. 

No, no, no, no, no. 

NO.

Suguru storms out of his design office and rushes upstairs to his luxurious bedroom to rummage through his personal belongings. An old photo album is hidden under the piles of clothes in his dresser. He scatters his things carelessly, paying no attention to the mess, and with trembling hands, he drops to his knees, flipping through the album.

On each page, a plastic film covers photos of you and him. One — the most painful — is the first one he took at the beginning of your relationship with him. Both of you standing next to an ice cream vendor, radiant smiles on your faces with sun rays illuminating both your faces, you had your arms around Suguru’s neck. Another one, as he turns the pages. You, lying in his bed one morning. He had taken it the night you had your first time with him. Your figure, which he worships, is covered with his sheets, and your mouth is slightly open as you sleep. A cute little drool escapes from your mouth.

All these photos hold real memories. Proving that nothing was imagined by him when, in his moments of madness, he wondered how he could have ended up here if it all was real. His heart twists in his chest when his eyes catch a photo of him with a bouquet of flowers in his hands and your lips pressed against his cheek. Those flowers were the first Suguru had ever received. He had never received flowers — not even from his own family. You were the very first to give him any.

Suguru pinches his lips, lost in reflections that lead him to check your Instagram page. On your profile, your posts are often collaborations with luxury brands, your body wrapped in fabrics showing your silhouette in its best light, some old videos of you as a child that you wished to share with the world, or random photos of you in pajamas in front of your mirror or with your daily makeup.

He couldn’t help but watch your stories, your posts, your interviews, and your shows in the shadows, never intervening as much in public as in private. 

Suguru is obsessed with you. 

And he has never stopped being, even after you broke up with him years ago. He never wanted to end things with you. 

He pushed you to do it so as not to hurt you more than you would be.

It was when you announced the breakup that he felt all the accumulated resentment he had caused in your heart, and he was nostalgically happy for you. 

You no longer had to endure the pain of canceled dates, missed calls, his constant absence.

He knew, at the time, that he was hurting you. He knew you hid your wounds behind forced smiles and excuses you found for his lack of involvement and neglect without him even having to make them when his career started to take off in the fashion world. He understood that he didn’t deserve you.

Yet today, Suguru burns for you. 

He is ready to risk his career to find you and seek your forgiveness. 

He is ready to lose all his dignity, let you use him like a mere pawn, humiliate him, and break him. 

All that, just for you.

Even if he doesn’t deserve you, Suguru wants your forgiveness at all costs. 

Even if he doesn’t deserve you, Suguru wants to redeem himself to you. 

Leaving your Instagram page, he opens Twitter and tries to find a way to force your hand to participate with him in New York Fashion Week, to meet him, to allow him to do everything to deserve you again and no longer have any regrets. 

He taps the ‘New Tweet’ icon and writes words that may place his reputation on an unsteady platter that could fall at any moment.

°°°°

The grip around your phone threatens to make it explode between your fingers. Your knuckles whiten, your hand trembles, and your eyes burn as you read the few words on a Twitter post where you’ve been tagged. It’s as if this time, you’ll actually turn your dressing room and even your agency’s headquarters upside down.

“@reader’sagency. @reader, would you do me the honor of participating with me as a model at the next New York Fashion Week? :)”

Your eye twitches, and you robotically lift your head toward your assistant. “Nobara, I beg you. Pinch me, hit me, slap me, but tell me this is just a nightmare.”

She looks up from your phone and sighs with a forced smile. “It’s... a nightmare?”

You grab a cushion from your red velvet sofa and bury your face in it to muffle a long scream from the depths of your soul. Nobara chuckles and places a hand on your shoulder. “You can just refuse. I’m sure everything will be fine. A public refusal should calm him down,” she whispers.

“Have you seen the comments, retweets, and reposts?” you murmur in a small voice, your brain numb.

Nobara frowns and shakes her head before taking out her own phone. But you stop her by handing her yours without lifting your face from the cushion. “No... Already? But... He posted it less than twenty-four hours ago!” Nobara breathes out in astonishment, covering her mouth with her hand.

Indeed, even though Geto’s tweet is less than a day old, it hasn’t stopped an overwhelming number of internet users and fans worldwide from reacting strongly to the news. You could very well refuse publicly yourself or through your agency — even humiliate him by posting a screenshot of the initial private request that was rejected, making him look desperate and creepy. But that’s not the issue.

By daring to renew his request publicly as if the previous one never existed, he’s putting your reputation and your fans’ hopes — whom you cherish so much — at risk.

If you refuse, you risk disappointing many and tarnishing your image as an arrogant and condescending supermodel for refusing to participate in such a globally anticipated event with one of the best-known designers in the world — despite the fact that no one knows about your past connection with Geto.

The reactions are so hyped, so excited and amazed at the possibility of you and Geto forming a partnership that would result in something beyond imagination.

Suguru Geto has just forced your hand, hovering a threat over both your career and reputation, as well as his own. But you need to make a decision.

You lift your head from the cushion and take a deep breath to brace yourself for what you’re about to do.

“Nobara?”

°°°°

With one foot in a pair of shiny white stiletto sandals and an outfit of the same color, one of your bodyguards helps you step out of the black sedan with your first step onto the ground. You stand up elegantly, wearing dark sunglasses. You are escorted in front of a huge building — one familiar to you from the pages of fashion magazines you usually read — and the immaculate sliding doors open for you.

You stand in the middle of the enormous hall, head held high and one eyebrow raised. “Weren’t the other models supposed to be here at the specified time?” you ask Nobara, who hurries to join you at your side.

“That’s what the email indicated…” she sighs, busy arranging the white fur draped over your arms, framing your long strapless dress in the same color as your heels — a tribute to Marilyn Monroe. Nobara lifts her head with a worried frown. “He couldn’t have stood us up or changed the address at the last minute—”

A confident and cheerful female voice calls your name. In a synchronized movement, you and your assistant turn toward an elevator entrance where a fairly tall woman with a slender and elegant figure, dressed in a long sleeveless Byzantine purple dress, stands. Your two bodyguards follow you and Nobara to join the woman, but she raises a firm hand.

“Your assistant will suffice.” She smiles professionally, and you nod, entering the elevator with the other two women. Like Nobara, she holds a clipboard against her chest and almost looks at you with admiration. “It’s an honor to meet you in person.”

You offer her a polite half-smile, and the elevator begins to climb its endless floors.

“My name is Manami Suda, Suguru Geto’s personal assistant and one of his executives,” she continues, glancing at Nobara. “And you are?”

“Nobara Kugisaki, her personal assistant,” Nobara replies with equal seriousness, and a hint of pride fills your chest. “But since you are Mr. Geto’s assistant, that answers our question. Why are we the only ones to arrive at the agency on time? Where are the other models?” she asks, tilting her head to the side, skeptically.

A small chime announces the arrival at the very top floor, and the doors open to let the three of you out.

Manami doesn’t lose her smile and leads the way down a corridor with an immaculate gray carpet. Her black heels make muffled sounds with each step until reaching a door where she knocks three times. “Everything will be explained by Mr. Geto himself,” she assures, opening the door after a ‘come in’ is heard from the other side.

The voice, though muffled by the door, is easily recognizable. A bitter pang grips your heart, but you shake it off within seconds with a blink.

Manami steps aside and introduces you as you enter.

At the back of the office stands a black swivel chair facing away from you — masking the already known identity of the owner and adding palpable tension.

Manami discreetly leaves, closing the door silently, leaving you to face one of your worst nightmares. The chair turns to face you and Nobara, and the face of Japan’s most popular designer and couturier lays his dark eyes on you.

You remain secretly frozen a few meters away, back to the door, your eyes coldly staring at your ex.

Suguru Geto has always had a reputation for being a man of style, in his behavior, his language, and his way of dressing. While the basic suit he wears contrasts with the extravagant outfits that the wealthiest designers can afford — in this field, they are certainly experts, and some can wear clothes as expensive as the series of Picasso’s “Les Femmes d’Alger” paintings — his perfectly sculpted body and charm embellish the slightest thing he wears, even if it was straight from an old supermarket. But if there’s one prominent feature of his face that can match his advantageous physique (his body), it’s his hair. Being a chic, elegant, and refined man, Suguru is also known for his iconic long raven hair. With strands cascading down his back and bangs framing his temple, the half-bun at the back of his head has always earned him numerous compliments and collaborations with the most well-known brands for their haircare products.

Suguru’s piercing eyes narrow as his lips stretch into a smile. Your name rolling off his tongue gives you goosebumps. “Welcome. Please, have a seat.” With a broad gesture of his hand, he indicates two cocoa-colored leather chairs at the end of a ridiculously long glass table.

You take a seat without looking at Suguru at first, and Nobara seems to read your thoughts as she immediately asks, “Where are the other models?”

Suguru places his forearms on the table in a measured gesture, but as he responds, his gaze never leaves yours. “None are at this agency, it seems.” And it all feels as if asking such a question is stupid.

“That’s what was written in the email,” you reply in a dry voice.

“That’s what was written in the email,” Suguru confirms with a strange softness. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? If I hadn’t said that, you would have refused the meeting.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

Suguru’s smile widens even more as he continues, “Aren’t you happy to see me again?” And for a nanosecond, you thought you saw his irises darken.

Nobara alternates her gaze between you and Suguru, completely lost.

“Mr. Geto,” your tongue clicks against your palate, “I came here to discuss the initial progress of the collection you will present at New York Fashion Week. Nothing else.” You pause. “If it’s for any other subject, please address my manager, and I can leave right now.” Your frozen facial mask doesn’t falter at all.

“Awwww… You’re breaking my little heart, love—”

“Enough.”

Nobara looks dubious. “You… you already know each other?”

“We…” You pause, torn between the idea of confessing everything to Nobara or pretending nothing happened. “In the past. Before we became known,” you reluctantly admit. “But it doesn’t matter. I have nothing to do with anyone now.”

Suguru’s gaze darkens and never leaves yours. Yet, he doesn’t say a word, and an uncomfortable silence sets in.

Nobara decides to break it by clearing her throat and speaking again. “I— I see. I won’t say a word,” she murmurs.

You sigh and straighten slightly in your seat. “Fine. Let’s discuss the proposed theme.”

Suguru’s Adam’s apple moves as he swallows, and during the next half-hour, neither of you brings up your past relationship with Suguru again. The choice of the leading model was quickly settled on being you — because among all the proposals from partner agencies, no other model in Japan reaches your level of fame.

Suguru also doesn’t waste time revealing that he has selected very few models since the theme announcement. The delay will potentially impact the preparation and organization for New York Fashion Week, but he hasn’t bothered to explain why. He simply asked for your help with the rest of the selection.

You hesitated before accepting, finding it strange that someone like him is so behind. But how could you know that you are Suguru’s muse — his source of inspiration, the purpose of his existence? He is much more confident than a few weeks ago since he finally saw you again and ensured you decided to work by his side. It’s only a matter of time before you settle the score with the low blow he dealt you — something impossible to do with witnesses like Nobara around.

The agreements also included a trip from Tokyo to New York. The group will be accommodated in a secure, comfortable, and luxurious hotel until Fashion Week ends and preparations allow access to dressing rooms for each model.

This means being much closer to Suguru than expected...

°°°°

“What do you think?” 

“I’m not a stylist.” 

“That’s true; you’re more than that.” 

“Shut up.” 

“Come on… Don’t be so rude! I need your help!” Suguru grins, and you roll your eyes, noting the name of a model who just walked past. 

On the runway where hundreds and hundreds of models from all over the world are parading, you, along with Suguru — much to your dismay — are perched on a high platform giving a panoramic view of each model. Of course, he had to move his two-seater table just to spend time with you — a detail he didn’t hesitate to hide from you. What’s the point? he muses with amusement, glancing at you; from the side, he gets a view of your hair falling like a curtain along your cheeks, your nose bent over your clipboard as you jot down names of models that would be interesting to keep for Fashion Week. This poses no problem in itself, especially for an event like this.

If only your partner wasn’t Suguru Geto. 

Ugh.

“Help you? While I’m the only one noting names while you harass me with your pathetic attempts at conversation? Don’t pretend to ask my opinion when you’ve barely looked at more than ten models,” you retort irritably. The ballpoint pen rolls over the paper with obvious frenzy.

“‘Harass’ is a bit harsh,” Suguru comments, his lips pursed in a mockingly offended pout — just to hide his predatory smile. “I’d say I’m trying to have a conversation — something you, let’s be honest, avoid like the plague.” A smile curves his thin lips. “And then, why bother looking at what doesn’t interest me when I already have what I want. I’ve never bitten, you know,” he whispers, his eyes softened by a tenderness he hasn’t felt in a very long time.

“You don’t have me,” you respond immediately. You raise your eyebrows and, without looking at him, you continue, “Oh really? You do have quite a resemblance to dogs,” You wrinkle your nose to sneer mockingly as he takes offense. It’s strange because you haven’t laughed in front of Suguru for years. But as expected, the laugh is not joyful; on the contrary, it’s meant to hurt him because you still can’t stand his presence — even less when it’s forced.

“Hey! You’re insulting me!” he frowns and wipes away a laugh. Suguru shakes his head and sighs. “How cruel.”

Your lips turn downwards, and you roll your eyes yet again (you could have won an award for the record number of eye rolls in such a short time). Ignoring the feeling of vice and hatred gnawing at your heart, you refocus on the runway several meters below. The blinding spotlights brilliantly illuminate all these models eager to participate in the highly anticipated Fashion Week alongside Suguru Geto, the internationally renowned stylist, and you, a supermodel equally famous — while you both are plunged into the shadows of the upper floor that looks more like a hallway where stage technicians usually come to secure and manipulate high-up equipment, rather than anything else. Especially when the provided table is just foldable wood and almost fragile to abrupt movements.

Your eye catches a rather tall model with long ebony hair and golden, radiant skin. Her silhouette seems almost ethereal, and it’s at this moment that you don’t regret for a single second having taken your life into your own hands when you were alone just to admire the beauty of all these women of various beauties, shapes, and ages. The female body is beautiful.

No, magnificent.

“That one…” you murmur, noting the candidate’s name announced by Manami below. You bite your lower lip in a concentration tic. “She’s perfect. We’ll keep her for later.”

Suguru nods, but his gaze hasn’t once rested on the model whose name you just mentioned. His irises don’t leave your features, which he has missed so much, especially at this distance. “Hmm…” he hums simply. He gets lost in his contemplation.

You haven’t changed a bit.

Even if your hair is styled differently, your makeup meticulously done, and your chic and luxurious fashion sense, to Suguru, you left him in the same state you are now. He knows your body by heart — not thanks to the photos he kept of you — but because your existence has marked his so much that your simple face is forever etched in his retina.

When Suguru says he is obsessed with you, he goes to the end of his words.

Of course, he regrets his past actions and seeks the right moment to ask for your forgiveness, but he couldn’t hold back.

It was stronger than him.

°°°°

In the spacious studio typically reserved for smaller fashion shows (the irony noted), today it is being used to give Suguru a first taste of what his final troupe was proposing. With your help, Suguru has finally moved on to the next stage just before the outfit creations begin.

Manami, who is backstage, is managing the music and the secondary effects. She sends a message to Suguru to indicate that the line of models can begin their walk before returning from the runway.

The music starts with a rhythmic tempo suited to the steps the models are to take. You are the last to go, which annoys you immensely. Your supermodel status is far more valuable than that of a mere model. Every aspect of your profession is a relentless effort; so seeing these poor models advance with such banal and mediocre strides makes you want to vomit.

Did you accept this for that?

Already, you’ve had to endure disdainful looks from the other models in the group regarding your popularity. It’s quite audacious for them to act so confident when their steps resemble those of a penguin, you can’t help but ponder.

When it’s finally your turn, you waste no time.

The music resumes, and you begin your first steps with a feline grace, almost silently gliding down the runway. Your high heels strike the ground with a hypnotic regularity, syncing with the pulsing beat of the music and its rhythmic cadence: a perfect synchronization. Each step is a demonstration of confidence and control, shoulders straight, chin slightly lifted, eyes fixed straight ahead.

Each step brings a breeze that lightly lifts your hair from your face, like a halo enhancing your display worthy of a true model. At the end of the runway, you pause gracefully before turning on your heels with impeccable precision.

As you return, it’s even more captivating as you continue to walk with palpable assurance, your hips swaying slightly, capturing everyone’s attention.

Your turn finally ends, and the desired effect has certainly been achieved: everyone’s eyes have been glued to you from start to finish. You also didn’t miss Suguru’s gaze fixated on you, his lips parted in captivation. This, of course, earns you the disdainful looks of the other models in the troupe, but a triumphant smile adorns the curve of your lips.

This is what it means to be a model.

“Very well, very well! Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for your very pleasant and… captivating performances,” Suguru announces energetically, standing in front of his chair with his arms open towards his official troupe.

Unsurprisingly, his gaze does not leave you and remains fixed on your silhouette as you move towards the backstage, back to him.

°°°°

You knock on the door, and Suguru’s muffled voice invites you in.

For a stylist and designer as popular as he is, Suguru’s sewing workshop is… more unconventional than you would have thought.

Indeed, several spacious tables are littered with sketch sheets—some colorful—fabrics of all colors, lengths, and textures. Crafting materials are scattered here and there, cluttering the passage along with open boxes on the floor, making it nearly impossible to take a step without brushing against piles of stuff that threaten to collapse. But at least the workshop isn’t filthy and retains the same aesthetic touch you’d find in TV shows or fashion serials.

At the far end of the room, a single chair is occupied by Suguru, who is sitting with his back to you. Hearing your approach, he turns towards you, his eyes fixed on a bright yellow measuring tape and a metallic needle wedged between his teeth, with a fuchsia pink thread running through the tip.

“Come closer,” he murmurs, moving towards you with the help of the wheels on his chair.

Feeling self-conscious, you take another step closer, and when he lifts his eyes to you, it feels as if you are naked before him: less than a step away, you are wearing a delicate sport bra that barely covers your chest, dreading any shiver that might reveal hardened nipples, along with a pair of equally revealing bicycle shorts in the same color. You had insisted to Manami on a firm refusal to wear any underwear in front of Suguru, without providing a reason.

Even though he has seen far more intimate parts of your body before, the current situation with him challenges everything.

A faint blush colors your cheeks, and without a word, Suguru extends his arms, his long, slender, pale fingers wrapping the measuring tape around your waist first. You can’t gauge the meaning of his gaze. How is he reacting internally right now?

But his mischievous remark answers you the moment after, “You okay? Are you still breathing?” The sarcastic tone immediately irritates you.

“And you’re taking the opportunity to enjoy the view, aren’t you?” you retort venomously. You’re about to continue spewing your hatred towards him when his hands gently — but with some firmness — grasp your hips and make you turn around. You stifle a moan at his touch, which sends a shiver through your body and, as you feared, your nipples harden. You step away from him abruptly when his breath grazes your side. “What are you doing?” you ask sharply, your arms futilely trying to cover your chest.

Suguru sighs. “Are you done acting like a kid?” He grabs you by the elbows and forces you to turn your back to him. He wraps the measuring tape around you again. “So no, I’m not enjoying the view, I’m doing my job.” He kneels to measure your hips, and with a glance downward, you see his amused smile. “You should have refused to work with me if it bothers you so much to be measured.”

“Ah, as if I had a choice?” you retort abruptly.

“You did,” he whispers as he stands up, brushing your hair away from your back, and for a moment, his warm breath caresses your shoulders. All you want right now is for him to place a tender kiss on the side of your neck, but the resentment towards him always takes over.

“No, you know that’s not true.” Your tone is harsh as a whip. “By the way, have all the other models been through here? I saw assistants with all this gear. Why am I the only one alone with you?”

Suguru grins. “The others went through with my assistants,” he replies with a chuckle before taking your bust measurements. “You’re the first I’m measuring, and the only one.”

“What game are you playing?” you murmur after a pause.

“None.”

He continues with the rest of your measurements — bust, thighs, legs, and finally arms. During this part, he takes an unusually long time to scrutinize you, and his head tilted close to your skin makes your heart race uncontrollably.

The final straw is when his lips accidentally brush against your arm.

“Stop that,” you warn him all of a sudden, stepping back. Your furious gaze seems to want to kill Suguru on the spot, and he loses his smile.

“I—”

“Stop pretending to be clueless, Geto.”

He already knows it will be hard to win you back, especially with this reaction he had long feared. But it had to explode sooner or later.

“If you think I’ve forgotten the past, you’re deluding yourself. The jerk you were is still the same in my eyes,” you seethe.

Suguru takes a step towards you in an attempt to beg you not to avoid him as you continue to back away. He murmurs your name in a plea. “I know you’re mad at me, and you have every right to be, but I did all this for you. I knew you wouldn’t be able to refuse a second time with—”

“I don’t want you to try to make up for it, not after all these years. Is that really why you asked me to come back? Because I’ve reached your level of popularity? My money? My body?” Your throat tightens further, and you squint your eyes to hold back your tears. “I will never forgive you, Suguru. I’m no longer the naive girlfriend who waits like a fool for someone who didn’t give a damn about her!”

“I— It wasn’t— Please, let me explain… I still love you as much as I did before, and I know I’ve been unworthy of everything you’ve put up with for me, but—”

You bitterly laugh in his face. “Liar! You’re lying, and you always have, even when you said you loved me! Your babble about what you were and what you are now is just the typical crap an toxic ex says when they want to win someone back. Did I really have a choice to come back to you? Do you think it’s a good method?”

With those words, you turn around and walk away towards the workshop door.

Suguru’s heart screams at him to follow you and beg on his knees for you to listen, but he knows your stubborn temperament. The only words that come from his mouth after his first failure are enough for him to know you’ve heard them, even as you fling the door open and rush out.

He knows you heard him.

“You will always have a choice with me.”

°°°°

“What do you mean, ‘the camera isn’t working’?” Suguru thundered with severity.

The entire group waiting for the final shoot (including you) turns towards the back of the studio to face a visibly agitated Suguru. He is handling the camera in every direction and then turns towards you.

You’re ready, dressed in the latest collection from the luxury brand you’re working with for Suguru’s troupe’s Fashion Week. There’s no problem on your end.

So why is he talking about a camera that isn’t working?

Especially when it’s your turn?

You take a hesitant step towards him, and Manami quickly avoids your questioning gaze, stepping away from her superior.

A few other models follow you, whispering incomprehensible things not far away to your ears, but all you care about is hoping you’ve misunderstood something.

“Find me another camera,” Suguru orders, violently throwing the one he had against a wall. The sound of metal shattering on the floor startles everyone.

Manami follows him out of the studio at a brisk pace. “Wait! Mr. Geto! Did you forget that this isn’t our studio? It’s the only camera we were able to borrow!”

“SO?” Suguru retorts acridly. “She’ll be the only one not photographed while she’s the star of MY troupe?” His tone rises significantly towards Manami. But he doesn’t spare a glance at you, even as everyone listens to their conversation intently. “Don’t forget that tonight the magazines will be prepared, and we won’t be here but at Gojo’s reception!”

All the other models turn to you in unison, watching you with astonishment.

“Too bad, I’m sorry but she won’t be in it!” Manami resigns with an even tone. “We need to leave in an hour, and the reception starts then!”

“Absolutely not! Find me a fucking camera so she’s in the magazine for tomorrow!” With those final words, Suguru opens the studio door and storms out, slamming it shut behind him with a loud bang.

Silence envelops the room, and you find yourself at a loss for words, your lips sealed and your voice stuck in your throat.

Manami sighs and finally turns to you, her face showing sincere regret. “I’m sorry… I know it’s really unfair, but I think you won’t be in the promotional magazine for the brand partnering with us…”

“I—” Your face falls completely, and you look in dismay at the broken camera on the floor from a few minutes ago.

“I’m truly sorry…” Manami murmurs, lowering her head in genuine remorse.

A few hours later, you’ve resigned yourself as well. The luxury brand partnering with Suguru’s agency had lent outfits from their latest collection for advertisement in fashion magazines. The models and the brand were to be highlighted, but this preview was unfortunately ruined by the delay caused by Suguru, who couldn’t complete the photo shoot in his own studio. On the same day — at a time too close to the reception hosted by his friend-rival Satoru Gojo, a stylist of equal renown—the weather and equipment decided to turn against you.

According to Manami, the camera borrowed from a nearby photo studio was sabotaged right after photographing all the other models. So, despite your star model status, you won’t appear in the magazine coming out. The lack of time also prevented photographers, as well as Manami and Suguru, from finding another camera in time, as everything was prepared at the last minute.

Your troupe isn’t the only one participating. Those of other stylists — like Gojo, for example — will also be featured in a fashion magazine with their partner brand and all their models. The shame will fall upon you as the one not included.

And it will be a scandal — you couldn't make it up.

But Nobara has been far more helpful than you would have thought. She learned the news that evening while helping you prepare in your dressing room for Gojo’s reception and was outraged by the situation. Most of all, she was scandalized to learn that someone had attempted to sabotage your photo shoot.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Your name rolls off Satoru Gojo’s tongue as he bows respectfully and takes your hand, brushing his pink, thin lips against it.

“Likewise.”

Your raise eyebrow and small, sly smile don’t escape him, and he responds with a laugh that makes your heart flutter. Through his signature round sunglasses — Gojo’s trademark — his cerulean eyes sparkle with mischief. He gives you a wink, then releases your hand and offers you his arm. You take it without hesitation, appreciating the touch of a man like him.

The reception hall is packed with models and stylists; some are Japanese, while others come from different corners of the world, ‘passing through’ before heading back to New York. Indeed, the trip is fast approaching, and this evening is one of the last things you’ll need to face before traveling to the other side of the world.

Chandeliers light up the marble floor with tiny reflections that resemble stars. Tables lined against the walls overflow with dishes and canapés — along with chocolate fountains and desserts. Small groups are gathered in every corner of the room, and the dance floor is filled with couples or partners dancing amidst the exceptionally chic ambiance.

“I’m meeting you in the flesh,” Gojo murmurs, casting a flirtatious glance at you. This man has always had the reputation of being exceedingly handsome and tall. Today, you confirm it.

In his immaculate tuxedo, Satoru Gojo walks with you through the room, maintaining a perfect conversation without awkward pauses or questionable vibes. He is exquisite, charming: everything a woman could dream of.

“Few people get to meet you up close,” you add with a light giggle. You adjust your hold on his arm and look up at him. “I heard you’re also participating in the New York Fashion Week.”

“Indeed.” He takes a glass of champagne and hands it to you. “It would have been a pleasure to work with you, though,” he murmurs with a wry smile.

“I would have loved that.” Your gaze sweeps across the room as you take a sip of champagne. “It’s a shame I went with Mr. Geto.”

“Oh yes, Suguru. My eternal rival. I was surprised by that Twitter post. A model like you… should be among the best, and unfortunately, Suguru is one of them.”

“Do you think so, Mr. Gojo?”

He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you a bit closer as he stops near a table with canapés, not far from a window. “Call me Satoru,” he says, looking at you over his sunglasses and taking a mini macaron.

You pick up one as well, and Suguru’s figure passes by you, too quickly for you to understand what’s happening but close enough to notice his gaze on you and Satoru.

“Would you be interested in working on a future collection with me after Fashion Week?” Satoru asks, his attention completely focused on you.

Your blood rushes in your ears as you feel his breath on your lips and you hold back the urge to lean in and kiss him.

“With pleasure, Satoru,” you respond with a smile as playful as his.

“Perfect.” His face lights up, and he is about to say something when he is interrupted by a trio of models approaching you.

“Excuse us, Mr. Gojo,” one of them coos with a sugary voice, batting her eyelashes.

“Can this wait?” He rolls his eyes without any shame. “I’m busy.” He pulls you closer to him with a firmer, more possessive embrace.

Without wasting any time, he takes you out of the reception hall, where a few people are lingering and chatting in a slightly more intimate setting. Thick crimson velvet curtains adorn the various entrances, and Satoru leads you further in.

Your cheeks flush in reaction to the pleasant situation you’re in. Your mind even begins to compare him to Suguru...

“Have I told you how beautiful you are, especially in that dress?” Satoru whispers near your ear, his voice low and warm.

“No,” you murmur, dazed by his hand resting on your lower back, his thumb making gentle circles.

Satoru leans in and his lips brush against yours. “May I?”

You nod, aware of what’s to come as his lips slowly capture yours in a soft, needy kiss. Your lips respond immediately, and Satoru’s two hands join behind your back to guide you into a room that looks like a luxurious bedroom.

Without breaking the kiss with its wet sounds, your back meets the soft surface of a mattress, and you’re already panting. You know that with him, you won’t regret doing anything.

Satoru’s heavy breathing moves away from your pink, swollen lips to approach your bare collarbone and kiss it with those same lips. With his hand gently caressing the back of your thigh, which you lift and drape around his waist, Satoru uses his nimble fingers to slide down the thin strap of your dress. Your chest rises and falls with the sensual tension descending upon you. Your fingers help him lower your dress, first revealing your bare breasts, and a flush colors your face.

“Beautiful, sweetheart,” he purrs in your ear, taking pleasure in depositing a line of soft, affectionate kisses along your neck and down to your chest. Satoru stretches his lips into a smile against your skin and lightly touches the swell of your breasts. He takes one nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue.

A moan escapes you, and you arch your hips to rub against him desperately. His bulge becomes more prominent and presses against your own underwear, adding friction that makes your core sensitive. “Satoru…” you pant softly, stroking his snow-white hair as he lavishes your breasts with wet kisses. “More…”

He grins and returns to your lips, whispering “Adorable…” while sliding your dress down further.

But the door to the room suddenly opens, revealing a frozen Suguru standing before the scene. You and Satoru immediately turn your heads toward the intruder and pull away from each other abruptly.

But it’s already too late, as neither of you have time to say a word before Suguru turns and leaves as quickly as he arrived, his face as pale as a sheet.

An unusual pang tightens in your chest, and you sit up from the bed, overwhelmed by a sense of guilt. But why? Why feel this way?

You sigh, and Satoru shakes his head. “He won’t say anything,” he reassures you, reaching out a hand to stroke your cheek.

You don’t push him away, but he understands that you wouldn’t want to go any further with him tonight.

°°°°

“Here… Lift your chin…” Suguru takes a photo with a sharp click. “Perfect…” he murmurs to himself, his tone filled with admiration.

Sitting on the floor of Suguru’s photography studio in yet another outfit from the luxury brand partner, you give him a profile shot, your chin lifted in a dreamlike expression of devotion. For another photo, you lie on your side, your eyes fixed directly on the lens.

Suguru, for his part, doesn’t hesitate to give his best effort to capture the most beautiful photos he’s ever taken in his career. He insisted on handling it personally — despite what happened less than two days ago at Satoru’s reception. He even came up with an idea to make up for the consequences of his delay with the magazine published for all the participating Fashion Week troupes in New York. The scandal over your absence, despite being one of the featured models, had shaken most social media, and indeed, enough for Suguru to come up with a plan that would do justice to you.

What better way than to discuss with the luxury brand partner to release an entire magazine featuring you as the sole model? You would showcase the clothes that weren’t worn due to the lack of time. The success and attention would be all focused on you — spotlights fixed on you.

Because you deserve it.

No matter how long it takes Suguru.

He vowed to do everything to make amends.

So that’s why you find yourself alone in the studio with him, posing in outfits that shake him so much that he’s suggested taking a break twice to calm his trembling hands.

Two days later, the magazine is finally out, with you as the star, once again shaking up social media and causing a wave of appreciation from fans. At your finest, every page shows only you.

You, the heart’s desire of Suguru Geto.

“Have you seen the reactions?” Suguru asks as he approaches you while you’re busy admiring the sky and the skyscrapers from one of the agency’s balconies. Suguru slides the glass door closed and joins you. “Am I bothering you?”

You sigh.

“Come on, at least thank me for doing such a good job. You look stunning in all the photos.” He has a smirk and nudges you in the ribs as he leans his forearms on the glass railing. “And you always have been.”

You give a subtle smile but don’t immediately respond. You leave a small silence between the two of you. For the first time in years, Suguru’s presence doesn’t bother you as much.

“Thanks, I suppose,” you murmur. Without looking at him, you continue, “It’s nice of you to do this.”

“I did it for you,” Suguru breathes, his heart tight.

You nod. Lately, it feels like you don’t quite know how to react. All these compliments, the fact that he hasn’t changed his behavior after catching you with Satoru (he’s even become even more gentle)... It’s a lot to take in.

You eventually clear your throat. “Well, I think—”

“Wait.” He turns his head toward you. “Please.”

The note of pleading is the only detail that brings your feet back to the railing.

He lets a light silence linger, not saying a word. A breeze brushes both your faces, like cool water on a tired face.

Perhaps it’s this that makes Suguru speak up, saying your name.

“You’ve become someone since then,” he whispers with a faint smile. “I’m proud of you.” And oh, how you wish you could erase the blush spreading across your cheeks! “I don’t want to pretend like nothing happened anymore.” He turns fully toward you, the wind whipping his long raven hair and his obsidian eyes scrutinizing you. “I haven’t forgotten you. I’ve never forgotten you, actually.”

His sudden declaration catches you off guard. Why is he saying this? You already knew it. And your behavior towards him gives an unspoken response. You simply turn your head towards him without moving your body, with a forced nonchalance. He mustn’t see what he still evokes in you after all these years.

“Not a single day has gone by that I haven’t thought about you. I know I hurt you, and coming back now is probably not the best way — especially after I pushed you away.” He takes a step towards you. “And I want to win you back.” You prepare to retort, eyes narrowing, but he cuts you off immediately. “I know. And it’s not because you’ve become a famous model. Far from it.”

He repeats your name once again.

But this time, his tone is different.

His voice returns to what it was so long ago. The voice he used to whisper in your ear in bed, when you were standing in a supermarket line, and on the phone.

The thorny brambles of your heart wrap painfully around you, reminding you of what he became later.

“I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

Your lips press together, and you start to pull away from the glass railing.

“Give me a second chance, I—”

“No. There’s no point.”

Your steps move closer to the glass door, but Suguru grabs your hand.

“Please, let me at least explain—”

And your hand tears away from his grasp with an insensitivity hidden beneath its opposite in your heart. “We were perfect, Geto. Incredibly perfect. But now, I really wonder if you ever truly loved me,” you admit without any warmth.

“I did, and I still—”

“No. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been increasingly distant, avoiding our dates as your career took up more and more of your life.” You take a trembling breath meant to chase away the tears from your eyes, but it’s in vain. Your voice quivers. “At least you didn’t give up on your dreams for someone. Even less for love. And for a love that only brought you pain after it left you…”

“Love,” Suguru pleads in a heart-wrenching whisper. He takes another step towards you, arms outstretched, but you shake your head.

“But at least, I can thank you for what I’ve become today. I’ve become the person that little me always dreamed of being. Thanks to your departure from my life.”

The words slap and scratch him violently.

You turn on your heels and open the glass door, casting one last glance back at him, tears streaming down your face, smearing your mascara.

“So don’t ruin it all.”

°°°°

As scheduled, the private jet successfully dropped Suguru’s entire troupe at a New York airport less than a week before Fashion Week, where a luxurious van awaited your arrival. As soon as you stepped inside, fuchsia purple LEDs assaulted your eyes, and a multitude of leather seats were lined against the vehicle’s walls. At the very back, there was a mini-bar stocked with alcoholic beverages and spaces near the seats featuring multifunctional drawers: a retractable coffee machine, a selection of accessories and makeup products, as well as blankets, sleep masks, and other handy items. Near the driver, who greeted the troupe with a nod, a tablet fixed to the wall allowed you to change the background music at will.

Without delay, everyone rushed to the seats and chatted merrily over drinks and snacks as the journey finally began. All the models’ assistants were allowed to join the trip, which meant you found yourself laughing with Nobara about the different shades of blush provided in one of the drawers.

She took out her phone and suggested doing an Instagram story, which you accepted without hesitation. You were soon joined by the others, and a group photo was taken by Suguru. To your great surprise, you participated with a small pose. It was also posted on Suguru’s agency’s Instagram, and Nobara quickly showed you the reactions. For the past three weeks, she has almost been gushing on your behalf over the wave of positive responses you received following your appearance in the latest leading fashion magazine in the United States — even despite the success that Satoru Gojo’s own troupe has also enjoyed.

But it has also been three weeks since you last spoke to Suguru following your conversation with him. Throughout the journey to the hotel — where you will stay with your troupe for the rest of Fashion Week until its end — you couldn’t help but have unintentional eye contact. Fortunately for you, he didn’t make any attempts, and somehow, you would have liked to have Suguru in your life once more — just one last time.

But your bitter past with him still haunts your dreams, so that’s out of the question.

A few hours later, the van drops the troupe off in front of the famous hotel, but to everyone’s great surprise, a crowd is packed around the entrance. Security is pushing back some people protesting that they’ve been queuing for hours, and Suguru steps outside to observe what’s happening.

“They were right. The hotel is packed.” Of course, all due to Fashion Week taking place just a few kilometers away. Celebrities, high society, and tourists alike, the gigantic hotel promises not to be easy for the model troupe and Suguru himself. He signals the driver, who contacts security agents and bodyguards via his walkie-talkie to approach the van so that the troupe can either queue or simply navigate through the crowd.

So, with further delays and heightened security, a decision was made regarding the group: it was divided into several smaller groups so everyone could pass without issues. Some models have already gone to the reception and are enjoying their rooms, while you find yourself paired with…

…Suguru.

And last in line.

Neither of you speaks a word, and you are engrossed in your phone, trying your best to ignore him. On the other side, your assistant with ginger hair, Nobara, has asked if it bothers you that she takes a trip to do some shopping in New York— a rare opportunity for the young woman. How could you refuse her? How could you say that you don’t want to be alone with Suguru, even if it’s for the sake of organization? Being stuck in a line with him is uncomfortable?

You finally sigh in relief when your turn comes after forty minutes of waiting while other customers check in.

Bodyguards step aside, both of your luggage in their arms, waiting for a word from you.

The receptionist clears her throat and squints at the screen of his computer. “I apologize, but... I think there’s a reservation issue with your rooms.”

“What do you mean?” Suguru and you ask in unison.

“Um... There’s only one room reserved for both of you.”

The response hits your ears like thunder. You blink, the embarrassment of the situation rising to your cheeks. You don’t even dare to glance at Suguru. “Then book me another room,” you request in a measured tone.

The receptionist discreetly elbows her colleague, who looks up at you. “I— Miss, you are the last guest with Mr. Geto for the coming weeks, and there are no more rooms available…”

For the next five minutes, you try every possible way to avoid being alone in a single room with Suguru. But it’s in vain, as you end up in the infamous room with the receptionists offering a myriad of apologies, blaming their oversight regarding the reservation.

In the room, you stand, boiling with anger as the bodyguards set down your luggage and leave. One of the women tries to divert your attention from your ready-to-explode gaze by pointing out an undisturbed sofa — of course — where one of you might sleep.

But a single glance is enough to see that even your own feet wouldn’t rest on it. The receptionists leave the room in their little heels, and you sit on the firm sofa. You grimace and massage your temples while Suguru has not said a word since entering the room.

He takes a few steps towards the bed and places a hand on the mattress, so soft and comfortable that his fingers almost sink into it. “You can take the bed if you want,” Suguru offers with a calm and kindness that makes you grit your teeth. “I can take the sofa.”

Your body is in such turmoil that if you stay one more second in the room with him, you might explode — literally. So, you don’t respond and rush to your luggage, driven by the need for space. You pull out some comfortable clothes and retreat to the bathroom.

A small sigh of exasperation from the main room still reaches your ears.

You lock yourself in and collapse on the floor, groaning with frustration.

Damn it.

Why does this only happen to you?

If a shower seems to have calmed your nerves a bit, you would have preferred not to have decided to shower right away because, barely dressed in a loose t-shirt and pajama shorts, hotel staff members are gathered around the sofa and start carrying it out of the room.

In shock at the realization of the situation, you call out to them. “Hey! We need that sofa!”

One of them turns his head towards you nonchalantly. “There’s been another reservation issue. We need this sofa for others in a much more urgent situation than yours, miss.” He adjusts his hat as a gesture of apology and leaves the room as if nothing happened, taking with him the only thing that provided a slim chance of escape — however slim — to avoid Suguru.

Suguru stands there, arms hanging, too stunned by what’s happening to react. He blinks several times without saying a word.

This is all just a nightmare.

°°°°

“I’m not going to break my back sleeping on the floor, and neither will you. Or is that what you want?” Suguru nearly barks as he slips under the covers.

“There’s no way I’m sharing a bed with you!” you retort in the same tone, arms crossed over your chest.

“Stop being so prissy for two minutes, will you? It’s not like we haven’t done this thousands of times before.” He rolls his eyes and finally lies down.

The comment hits your chest like a sharp arrow. The already horrifically awkward situation combined with Suguru’s reasonable demeanor, which only seems to make things worse, makes you look simply ridiculous for not cooperating out of pride.

So, you find yourself under the covers, forcing as much space as possible between you and Suguru, trying to stay as far away as you can. Both of you have turned your backs to each other, nerves too frayed to say anything without igniting yet another argument.

But Suguru closes his eyes with a smile on his lips that night, noting in the back of his mind to thank Nobara as soon as he has the chance for agreeing to his ridiculous plan of deliberately booking a single room for both of you.

°°°°

That night, your sleep is much more restless than usual. You have sleep troubles, but this night they seem to intensify despite your peaceful breathing, which Suguru uses as a lullaby to fall asleep. You toss and turn from time to time, with your leg carelessly hanging out of the bed or an arm too close to him. A dangerous position where you might easily slip off and fall.

When Suguru feels the sheets pulling away from him as he’s about to fall asleep, he turns around and catches you just before you fall. With a pounding heart, he pulls you a little closer to him and finally lets you go.

Unaware in your sleep, you roll towards him and your fingers cling almost desperately to his t-shirt. He freezes and doesn’t dare move, hoping you won’t wake up so he can extricate himself from the embrace you’ve claimed. Your arms drape around his shoulders and your legs seek to wrap around him like a koala.

“Sugu…” you murmur in your sleep. Your face contorts into a small frown.

His nickname is a purr to him. He’s tempted to push you away, but your slight frown, seeking comfort, makes him relent, and he holds you completely in his arms. Your nose nestles into the crook of his neck and you hum before letting out a small snore.

Maybe Suguru is dreaming — amidst the dim light of the room and your two blurred bodies. Nevertheless, he rocks you gently in his arms, holding the most precious thing to him close.

°°°°

Your dream continues where you’re alone, nestled in your bed — yes, it must be that. Finding yourself in the same bed as your ex is just a nightmare.

Or maybe a dream.

Warm, sweet whispers envelop you in a comforting embrace.

“Forgive me, love. I’m sorry… I love you so much.”

These distant words soothe you enough when your sleep is half-awake, with Suguru’s body and voice surrounding you. You should push him away, but everything around you feels so dreamlike. So why not give in for once when you can’t in real life? After all, it’s just a dream for one night.

Nothing can happen to you.

Especially at a moment when your heart wants to accept these pleading whispers of forgiveness that will probably never happen in real life.

°°°°

A warm ray of sunlight tickles your cheek, and you hum as you bury your head against something firm and comfortable that envelops you. Arms rub your back, and you smile, deciding to give in to the warm embrace. Something places a gentle kiss on your temple, encouraging you to stay in bed a little longer.

Before a knock at the door jolts you from your comfort.

Nobara’s voice is heard from the other side. “Are you awake?” she asks out loud. “Almost everyone is already ready!”

You open your eyes at the same time as Suguru, and your noses almost touch. It’s a close call not to scream and almost jump out of your spot. Dazed and still groggy from sleep, neither of you says a word, only muttering a few curses about the alarm not going off.

You rush to do your makeup and put on your outfit, as by 11 a.m., at the very place where the last preparations for the show will be made, hundreds of fans, journalists, and paparazzi will be lined up behind barriers or security ropes, shouting for autographs or even a smile. So there’s no time to waste; you need to cover your tomato-red complexion with foundation.

Downstairs in the hotel, the rest of the crew is waiting for both of you, and others arrive at the last minute — some even with their poodles. To your great relief, no one seems to suspect anything about Suguru, whom you carefully avoid even after arriving at the Fashion Week preparation area.

As you step out of the black sedan, piercing fan screams ring out, eagerly waiting for you to approach them: banners with names written in capital letters, notebooks, and hands outstretched almost desperately.

On the red carpet and under the bright morning sun, female fans call out your name, and you turn with a smile to approach them behind the security barrier. You spend about ten minutes taking selfies and signing autographs with the rest of the crew until one girl, after you’ve signed her autograph, speaks to you again. “It’s incredible that you’re working with Suguru Geto! I never thought I’d see this day, so I’ll be here to watch you walk the runway!” she exclaims with stars in her eyes.

Your smile freezes at the mention of Suguru, as you’re constantly reminded that no one but you and Suguru know what happened between you two. You swallow and regain your composure. “Oh, honey, you’re adorable. I’m glad you’re coming. I hope we’ll run into each other again.” You then give her a final wink and rejoin your group.

Nobara catches up with you a few minutes later in your dressing room with a smile and quietly closes the door. You collapse onto a couch and sigh, hiding your face in your hands.

°°°°

“You’ve measured me before.”

“I lost them.”

“Liar.”

Suguru lets out a small laugh and grabs his measuring tape before approaching you. “It’s just my job, love.”

“You’re playing around,” you accuse with a pout, and he kneels in front of you to measure your legs and waist.

His movements are precise, slow, meticulous, and attentive. Even his gaze doesn’t fall inappropriately on you, a look of respect filling his entire being, guiding him gently with that eternal mischievous smile that reminds you of Satoru’s.

“Don’t give me that pout, now,” Suguru whispers as he stands up with a sigh.

Today, he’s wearing a simple white shirt under a pair of black pants and a matching blazer — perfectly tailored, of course. An unfair perfection. Among all the exes you could have had in your life, it had to be Suguru Geto—the man with a beauty almost impossible to rival, and who clearly shows a refusal to let you go. And the worst is the still-fresh memory from the night before with the image of a half-asleep Suguru against you — you in his arms. If you loathe yourself for what happened, why does his embrace comfort you so much? If you truly hate Suguru, why do you show such weak resistance to both his gentlemanly behavior and his irresistible charm?

“And there we go,” Suguru announces softly with his notepad in hand. “Lovely as always,” he adds with his eternal smile. “Hey!” You punch him in the bicep, and he steps back, laughing.

“Don’t mess with me,” you grumble, still pouting.

When was the last time this kind of situation happened?

When you two were still together.

And is forgiving him a good idea after all?

“I wasn’t messing with you, love,” Suguru replies quietly. He locks his eyes with yours to capture all your attention. “You’ve always been beautiful. And that will never change, even if you turn into a slug.” He grins at your comical look of disgust.

"A slug? You’d still choose me even if I were a slug?" you repeat, not convinced at all by his promises.

Suguru scoffs and moves closer, facing you directly. “No matter what you are in any lifetime, it will always be you that I choose, again and again.” He slowly lifts his hand and places it on your cheek. His thumb caresses your cheekbone, and your guard weakens. His words, spoken with sincere tone, float like clouds in the dressing room-turned-sewing workshop.

You remain as vulnerable with Suguru Geto — despite years of building a fortress to avoid falling back into the state you were in years ago. Yet, you are in a massive denial, giving a semblance of change in your life. You haven’t erased all feelings for Suguru. You’ve simply buried them in a corner of your heart and forgotten where—neglecting the risk they might resurface someday.

You look up at him, your lower lip trembling. “Then why didn’t you in this one?”

The question seems to catch him off guard, as his lips part and an equally vulnerable look appears on his face. He’s about to respond when someone knocks on the door.

“Mr. Geto? Are you finished?” Manami’s voice calls from the other side, sounding slightly concerned.

You both immediately step away from each other, and the tension between you dissipates, replaced by the usual coldness.

Suguru clears his throat, runs a tired hand over his face, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Uh, yeah, yeah. You can come in, Manami.”

°°°°

Less than two hours before the main moment, you are practicing breathing exercises to calm the stress of a runway show. You’re wearing one of the luxurious outfits designed by Suguru himself, and if that alone isn’t overwhelming enough, an invisible vise is tightening around your chest, making your breathing heavy and your lungs congested.

You grimace at the sensation and groan as your heart beats more erratically than expected, and tremors run through your limbs. You can’t have a panic attack now.

No.

Not when Nobara isn’t by your side to help you relax.

Staying locked in a stuffy dressing room won’t help, but the very idea of stepping outside paralyzes you. You need to wait patiently for the makeup artists to finalize your look, and it only makes you more impatient and on edge.

Someone knocks at your door and asks to enter.

Suguru.

You open your mouth to utter even a sound, but anxiety wraps around your throat and chokes you. You gasp for air, your hands sweaty and cold, slipping from the back of the chair you’re clinging to, and you collapse to the floor.

The noise is enough for the door to burst open, and Suguru rushes in, dropping to one knee and taking you into his arms.

“Love, what’s happening?” Suguru murmurs as you cling to him as if your life depends on it.

The panic attack gradually overwhelms you, and you start crying in front of him. Thank God your face is only covered with skincare, but tears are streaming down your cheeks, mingling with your grimace and your difficulty breathing.

“I…” Then a hiccup takes over. You try to inhale, but as soon as your lungs fill, the air cuts off and doesn’t pass through. You keep trying, but all you manage is to cry without stopping.

Suguru frowns. “You… Wait.” He slides one arm under your knees and back to lift you easily and place you on a sofa. “It’s going to be okay, my love… Everything will be fine… Do the same thing I do.”

You sniffle and wipe your eyes to prevent the blurred vision from making it even harder to see Suguru helping you. He places his hand on his chest and does the same for you. “I’ll count to three and you breathe in very slowly, okay? Same for exhaling,” he murmurs with all tenderness and patience. His chest rises slowly in sync after he counts to three. The air flows more smoothly now. Encouraged by this, he smiles and holds his breath. He nods for you to do the same, intertwining your fingers with his and exhaling at the same slow pace. The icy air leaves your lungs at the same time as your racing heartbeats.

For the next five minutes, a silence punctuated by controlled, rhythmic breathing fills the dressing room. You eventually manage to regain a normal breath and quell your panic attack, leaving only a few residual hiccups.

Suguru leans toward you and kisses your sweaty forehead. With your still-trembling arms, you grip his to keep him close and draw him against you, the tip of his nose brushing against your neck. The unexpected action makes him freeze, and up close, you can see goosebumps spreading over his skin. With hesitant movements towards each other, you both hold each other gently in a comforting embrace.

“Suguru…” you whisper, your voice hoarse from the recent panic attack. You take the opportunity to bury your head in the crook of his neck.

He immediately welcomes your touch and affectionately kisses your cheek. “I love you, love. Do you feel better?”

His affirmation reaches your heart so strongly that, once again, tears well up and you force yourself to blink them away. Suguru notices and a worried crease forms between his eyebrows. For a moment, his chest against yours allows you to feel his racing heart. “You—”

“I’m better,” you interrupt weakly. “Thank you…”

He sighs in relief and gently caresses your hair absentmindedly. His fingers weave skillfully through your strands, bringing back a memory that hits you hard: him comforting you for various reasons when you were together, that same hand resting and caressing the same spot on your head. So for once in years, you let yourself indulge in this nostalgic feeling without pushing it away.

However, you can’t prevent a burning question from crossing your lips. “You love me?”

Suguru reacts immediately. He carefully pulls away from you and helps you sit up on the sofa, wiping the dried tears from your beautiful cheeks. He smiles at your flushed face and bloodshot eyes. “Of course I love you. I’ve told you. I’m sorry, and even if you don’t accept it, I’ll do everything to make you forgive me.” He kneels in front of you. “I didn’t want to break up with you because it would have broken my heart, so when I saw that my career was starting to affect our relationship and I couldn’t take care of you as you deserved, I thought it would hurt less if I let you detach from me.” His shoulders shake with a sigh. “Forgive me, my love. I want to make amends and—”

“But why a second chance when the first one didn’t work?”

“Because we’re too stubborn, love.”

His words, spoken with such sincerity, reach your heart directly.

You take his face in your hands and press your lips against his. Suguru gasps slightly in surprise but quickly follows your lead, his hesitant hands sliding to your waist to deepen the contact.

Fuck.

How he missed you…

With every kiss, you reclaim Suguru’s lips as if one moment without them would take away your life. They are so soft and warm, as alluring as they are addictive, making it almost impossible for your body to pull away from him. It’s only when you feel that time seems to be passing a bit too quickly that you finally pull away from him.

“I…” A semi-horrified expression pulls at your face as you’ve just initiated a kiss with your ex—the one you’ve been avoiding for months. You shake your head and back away, stammering, “Sorry… That was a mistake, I—”

Suguru utters your name in a pleading tone. “Please… I’m begging you. Give me another chance. I only need one word. One word, and I’ll stay. One word, and I’ll leave and never come back to your life.”

“You…” If you’ve never been short of sharp retorts for Suguru, today is a new experience.

One word from you, and Suguru will accept your choice. For any other ex you might have had, you wouldn’t have even attempted to participate or do anything that involved them. But with Suguru…

“S-Stay…” you murmur in a broken voice, almost throwing yourself into his arms. He wraps you in his embrace and rocks you, his breath quick. “Stay, Suguru…” You break down, tears returning with a vengeance, flooding your face.

“I love you, sweetheart. Forgive me…” And he continues to repeat these words until someone else knocks on the door.

He prepares to pull away, but you hold him back, not wanting him to leave you once more. With a swift move, he crouches and rests his forehead against yours. “I have to go. You’re going to do great. I have no doubt, and you have no reason not to, understood?” His breath, as warm as his hands around your head, brushes your nose, and you sniffle one last time, nodding. “You’ll be perfect. I’ll watch and wait for you at the show. You’re going to shine.”

°°°°

The lights in the hall dim, plunging the audience into darkness. A bright spotlight illuminates the runway as the music begins to resonate throughout the fashion studio, amplified by the speakers.

“Here we go… In three… two… one…” Manami makes a frantic arm gesture to signal the lineup of models to step onto the runway.

The first model makes her entrance, wearing a spectacular outfit that instantly captivates the audience, with audible “oooohs!” reaching even backstage where you await your turn with a suffocating pressure. You are among the last to walk, but the distinct sound of heels clicking in rhythm with your heartbeat still reaches your ears.

But there is no room for panic now that you no longer carry the weight of your past relationship with Suguru.

He will be there to admire and reassure you from afar.

Manami gives a final signal and your lineup thins, giving you the space needed to step onto the stage.

The outfits parade down the runway, each one more impressive than the last. The theme of the collection is clear: dark silhouettes adorned with sequins and stars, reminiscent of a starry night sky. Your own outfit, the centerpiece of the collection, is bound to captivate the awed spectators. The black, sparkling dress catches the light with every step, creating an illusion of a moving firmament. Murmurs of admiration fill the room first, followed by camera clicks and cheers as you appear at the first quarter of the runway.

Taking a deep breath, your heels glide as elegantly as ever down the runway. One foot in front of the other, the sole firmly planted but almost silently advancing on the runway, chin up, and a neutral expression on your face; if anyone had never heard of your modeling career, your impression answers immediately.

Your hips sway slightly from side to side in the same entrancing rhythm as the powerful beat of the music, giving an unmatched grace to your walk. Reaching the end of the runway, your gaze falls on the front row where recognizable men have their eyes fixed on you, feeling the palpable energy of the room.

The scene lasts only a second, but it feels like an eternity.

Satoru Gojo, with a smirk, hands in the pockets of his dark stylist suit, stands with his legs spread in a posture highly unflattering for a personality like his. But then again, he exudes a carefree attitude, so who would be shocked? You manage to keep your mouth from stretching into a smile thanks to Suguru Geto, whose eyes are glued to you. His obsidian irises shine with admiration, professionalism, and also pride. He gives you a knowing wink that sends a warm, pleasant wave through every corner of your abdomen.

You snap out of your trance and pause, striking an elegant pose under the camera flashes before gracefully turning around. The shimmering fabric of your dress captures the lights with every movement, creating a shower of stars around you.

As you return backstage, the music shifts, signaling the grand finale. The crowd is buzzing, applauding enthusiastically as the spotlights sweep across the stage to accentuate the dramatic effect of the starry collection. The show comes to an end several minutes later, and you notice the applause intensifying. Suguru seems to have taken the stage and begun speaking — his voice reaching every ear — and you listen intently near your pairs.

“Thank you all for coming tonight. This collection has been a true labor of love, and I am honored to share it with you. Thank you also to all the wonderful people who made this possible, especially our incredible models,” Suguru declares, a wave of shared pride resonating through his speech.

The applause erupts once more, louder than ever.

°°°°

“Really?” you murmur softly, the tone as warm as Suguru’s hand on your hip. “If I did so well in the show, don’t I deserve a reward?”

He kneels in front of you, sliding his large hands along your thighs. “So beautiful, so magnificent…” Suguru continues to whisper as if in a prayer. “I love you… Ruin me… Use me and hurt me, love…” he pleads before placing a long, sweet kiss on your inner thigh.

The effect sends waves of goosebumps across your body, and desire burns in your eyes as you lower them to your desperate lover.

What better place to want to fuck your ex than during a festive reception hosted by Satoru Gojo, in one of the luxurious corridors of his many mansions? The same heavy, thick, velvet burgundy curtains brush against your back as he nuzzles between your legs like a little boy.

The gesture might seem funny and cute, but not when he slides his head under your evening dress and presses his nose against your panties. You gasp in surprise and place your hands on his head. “Sugu… Not here…” you whisper, alarmed.

He grumbles like a displeased child, the vibration of his voice against your core increasing your sensitivity. “You— Ah…” you moan as he plants a kiss on your already swollen clit.

“I love you, sweetheart… I love you so much…” Suguru keeps repeating these words that make you melt. He shifts your underwear with his index finger, finally gaining access to your core. He starts with a chaste kiss on your damp folds and hums in contentment, as he catches the first drop of your juices. “Tastes s’good, baby…”

Your moans intensify under his agile tongue as it licks and laps at your swollen, wet folds. Your teeth sink into your lower lip, forcing you to gasp. “Suguru…” You groan as he focuses on your throbbing bundle of nerves this time. He gently sucks on it, coaxing more juices from you, and this has the effect of drawing whimpers from your lips. If you were already struggling like mad to keep quiet, Suguru always loves to tease you and he gently inserts a finger into you. Your walls clench around it as if afraid he might pull it out. Unfortunately, pleasure comes far too quickly. With only a few long, slow thrusts inside you, your fingers find their way into his dark strands. “I’m going to—”

“Cum for me, my love,” he murmurs between flicks of his tongue.

You pray that no one can see or hear you, letting the knot in your stomach that was holding back your orgasm finally release. It bursts onto Suguru’s mouth, who doesn’t waste a single second in collecting your juices until the last drop, all while you moan in pleasure.

He finally pulls his hands and head from under your dress, panting in the same ragged rhythm as you, a satisfied smile on his lips. “I love you,” he murmurs for the umpteenth time.

A slightly exhausted smile from the intense sensation lights up your face, and before you can even respond, Suguru scoops you into his arms and nearly runs to one of the luxurious bedrooms in the Gojo mansion.

He locks the door and gently lays you on the mattress. Within seconds, you take charge, removing Suguru’s pants and teasing his bulge with the tips of your fingers. You smile mischievously and giggle.

Suguru shivers at your touch and props himself up on his elbows, weak as he is for you. “Sweetheart—” But you catch him off guard by pulling down his boxer, exposing his twitching erection. “Oh God…” He almost rolls his eyes as your hand administers a few gentle strokes. “I love you… I love you… I love you… I love you…” he repeats in a plea in the dim light of the room.

Your fingers wrap around his base as you lower your head just to kiss his sensitive, reddened tip. “What, baby? Is it too much for you? You’re already so hard f’me…” And he doesn’t have time to protest as you go slowly, for he might not last. He smiles slyly as you lick the bead of pre-cum that escapes his length.

“Damn, princess… I’m not gonna last…” he hisses, his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace. He lets out a sigh, his muscles tensing under your hands. You run a thick band with the flat of your tongue along his dick, and he grits his teeth. “Tease…”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh really? Let’s see about that…” Your lips part around him, taking him fully into your mouth. As soon as his tip hits the back of your throat, he lets out a groan. “Sorry…”

Your hands slip to graze his balls and caress his thighs. With a motion of your head, you suck him, your tongue swirling around his tip and veins. “Love, I—” And with a twitch of his cock, he signals that he’s about to cum. He shudders and groans, moaning your name. His cheeks flush, and you take the opportunity to tease him. He gives in and lets his release paint your mouth white. Without wasting any time, you swallow the warm substance and pull his cock from your mouth, a string of saliva mixed with his cum linking your lips to him.. The sight of your lover in a messy, submissive state sends a shiver down your own spine.

He regains his breath, rising onto his knees, unuttons his white shirt, and tosses it into a corner at the foot of the bed. Suguru’s hands settle on your hips, pulling at the fabric to undress you completely. Your panties are just as damp as when he ate you out. Your bra quickly joins his discarded clothing, and he seals his lips with yours as if it’s the last thing he needs to do in his life. He gently flips you onto your back on the bed.

Your hands move sensually across his chest to settle on his shoulders, maintaining a grip, while Suguru’s hands grasp the back of your thighs and slowly detach his lips to press them against the side of your neck where your pulse races. He marks a hickey in that exact spot and revels in the moan you produce.

“Suguru, please… I need you…” you plead into his ear, you aching clit grazing his hard cock, and he clenches his jaw to avoid holding you too tightly in his arms. Hasn’t he dreamed for years of having you like this, in his arms, begging him to please you?

“Anthing for my princess,” he coos, his lips curling. Gently, he wraps your legs around his waist and maintains eye contact with you. One of his hands grabs his dick and teases your needy cunt with the tip to collect droplets of your wetness. “Still so wet?” Then your blush is enough to make him burst into laughter. You pout, and he purrs. “Awww… I’m going to give you what you want…”

With utmost care, his tip parts your folds and slowly pushes into you, finding its way deep inside your hot, dripping pussy. Breathing between his teeth, Suguru closes his eyes for a moment and hisses. “Damn, you’re so fucking tight…” He pants for a few seconds before resuming his movements as you moan for him to go further. “Fuck, princess… taking me so well… Like you were made for me since start…”

“Suguru…” You moan, your nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders. The pressure his cock exerts makes it hard for your pussy not to react and tighten with each of his slow thrusts as you adjust. “That’s it, my love… You’re doing so well…” He whispers in your ear. His hands grip your hips, helping you find the right space for both of you as he sinks into you, your pretty walls clenching around him deliciously. He lets out a whimper of your name and hits that sweet spot deep inside, making you twitch beneath him.

"Again… Please… Sugu—” But another sound of pleasure escapes you as he slowly increases his pace inside you. His length twitches between your gummy, tight walls. “So deep… So good…” you murmur with a pleasure-filled wince. “I love you… I love you…”

Words hit Suguru like a punch to the stomach, and he almost has tears in his eyes. He doesn’t stop bucking his hips into you and nuzzles his head in the crook of your neck. “Baby…” you whisper, your fingers tangled in his hair, pleasure all for you now. He nods, and his hand snakes to your clit, rubbing it in circles. “Suguru… I’m close…” you squeal as he continues to pound into you until you see stars and your cunt contracts around his length, your toes curling.

His seed paints your walls white, a warm, gentle sensation spreading through your lower abdomen, Suguru groaning into your neck, his teeth biting into the flesh of your trapezius. He slightly lifts his head, panting heavily, and presses his lips to your ear. “I don’t want to see you on anyone else’s arm, okay? Not even Satoru.”

You nod and giggle, trying to catch your breath, your eyelids closed and exhausted from the aftermath of intense pleasure. “Jealous, hmm?”

“Yes. And very possessive, love,” he affirms in a strained voice. “Will you forgive me?” he adds with a glimmer of doubt in his eyes. He withdraws from you and lies down beside you, attentive to any signs of discomfort.

“For a long time, Suguru,” you affirm, yawning.

“Oh.” He raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Can I ask since when?”

“Since the hotel.”

Suguru buries his head between your bare breasts and closes his eyes with a sigh. “I see. I owe that to Nobara. What do you think would make her happy?” he asks in a casual tone.

Suddenly, it’s like gears are turning in your brain, and your fingers, which were caressing his hair moments ago, freeze.

“WHAT?”

And Suguru’s laughter echoes throughout the room.

a/n: finally! i'm relieved that i've finished this fic (promised from far months now...) well, i hope you'll enjoy it! <3

tags: @ssetsuka @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @alwaysfreakingout @mutsu422 @lymsfm

[nyashykyunnie]

˗ˏˋ Valentines Day Special Fic ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

‼️[ My friend silly giving me this idea i had no other V-day special then they reminded me I'm actually a writer so O7 to u bestie ]‼️

・┆✦ Entry : 021 ✦ ┆・

╰┈➤ ❝ [ And In Those Eyes I see Heaven; My Heaven] ¡! ❞

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?" Jinwoo muses as he watches your face light up with a soft giggle.

Here he was, in front of you. Sporting a tuxedo that oh-so fits him perfectly that he looks straight of a dream with a bouquet of delicately arranged pink roses he plans to give to you.

Jinwoo had even went so far as to brush his hair neatly and maybe even wax it, making you laugh all the more uncontrollably as he tries to process what is going on exactly.

Silly.

It's so silly, really.

Back then, he was a shy boy who would stutter when he gives you your annual valentines day gift.

Jinwoo really couldn't spend too much money since he needed to save some for later expenses and academic stuff.

So instead he would resort into horribly handmade gifts

He started with the sloppiest and most crudely made paper boquets.

Jinwoo is ashamed of himself, but he couldn't take the gifts back since you would horde them to yourself for safekeeping.

His gifts would range to horribly made papercrafts, to seashells he found by the shore, to necklaces he put together by trinkets.

He would take you out to innocent dates, walking you on quiet parks of seoul. If the parks are too noisy, Jinwoo would go out of his way to search for possible date places.

Maybe it would be you two passing by supposed haunted buildings, maybe you two would be in the bookstore skimming around on the book covers and debating which book would look more fanciful to read than the other, other times he would take you to isolated cafes where only the two of you and the barista would be making noise in the soundless place.

No matter how funny and cute your valentines were, you knew, for sure— That whatever Jinwoo does is from the bottom of his heart.

He would think his efforts are stupid, but secretly that was why you loved him.

It's not because it was expected of a boyfriend, it was because he did something even if he knows he wouldn't do the best.

Jinwoo would always be trying for you, he would always be thoughtful of you, so much so that it makes your heart just cry from his sincerity.

How could someone just be so full of love? How could someone just give their hearts out like that? How is he so sincere?

Even if he were struggling with his odd jobs, even if he was silently crying behind closed doors from the stress living is causing him— Jinwoo always thought of you, he thought of how he could make you happy the next time you meet.

He thought of how he would hide his wounds and gashes from hunts just for you.

He always, always, thought of you.

But little did you knew, he had done some stuff for your attention.

He made those crude gifts because he wanted to see you make fun of him, he wanted to see you burst out laughing and gush about the little thing he made.

He took you to different places because he wanted you to see the more beautiful things of this world, he wanted to show you just how worth it living here is even if the world seems so dark and horrible.

He took you to those quiet little corners so he could hear your voice better without the background noise of anything else.

He often hides his injuries, yes, but sometimes he would purposely let those bandages get lose because he knew you would wrap it up for him. Whether you do it silently or you do it while scolding him, all he cared about, was how beautiful you are right at that moment.

Jinwoo loves you, more than you will ever know, more than any words could ever describe.

The swelling of his heart that never ends, the butterflies in his stomach that keeps fluttering around, and the galaxy he sees in your eyes— Oh how he loved you.

Even if he didn't say 'I love you' 3000' times a day, even if he couldn't give you everything back then— He loved you with all of him just as he does right if not more.

He loves subtly touching your fingers, he loves grazing his fingers on your lovely face, he loves staring at you in a complete daze, he loves running his hands through your soft hair.

Overall, he ust loved touching you and admiring you up close or from afar.

Because so long as you are in front of him, he doesn't really need to think about anything but just....

'Ah,... I love you so much'

Just how can he not spoil you no matter how much he embarasses himself?

And that same flimsy, wimpy and shy little boy, is now a man.

Dressed so handsomely in his suit, upright posture, a proud smile on his face.

This Man...

No

Your Man.

Your Sung Jinwoo

Your Jinwoo.

Not the Shadow Monarch, not the Tenth S-ranker of South Korea, not the World's Strongest hunter.

Just Jinwoo.

Your lovely, lovely, Jinwoo.

Even if he had grown so much, even if he had become so drastically different.

He is still Jinwoo.

The Jinwoo who made you crude paper flowers

The Jinwoo who dragged you into silly places

The Jinwoo who never stops at loving you.

...

"You know..." Jinwoo sighs, chuckling as he ruffles his hair to mess it up a little. "I think this version of me is better than a super formal gentleman, right?"

Yeah.

That's right.

A gentleman Jinwoo is always welcome.

But the Jinwoo who is just him is much... Much more lovable.

"Happy Valentines Day, Love."

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧･ﾟ: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[heartfullofleeches]

everytime i see the name v you can be assured that i am going to butt in.

honestly, v is definitely the type to hire a hitman just because he got in an argument with someone. sure, he could deal with it by himself — but he is a lazy bum and has his... "priorities".

v meeting up with the hitman and immediately his jaw falls off. the most he was expecting is a bald man in shades and a suit, not an incarnate of a divine being!

v watching hitman aim their sniper on the victim — he can't help but observe the focus in your eyes and the steadiness and precision of your hand near the trigger. he praises the beauty of your hands, and unfortunately, his mind got to wandering. thinking about how your hands would feel on his cock — would you focus on his cock like you focus the aim on your targets? would you stroke his cock with absolute precision?

he's put out of his state when he hears a 'bang!' and flinches.

"the job is done, mr. vince."

"could you... do me next?"

"..."

This is bullshit.

If he knew he had to go outside to have that bastard killed, he would've just done it himself.

V drums his fingers against the dinner table - eyes scanning the venue for anyone that might fit his imagined description of the person he's looking for. Rugged, shaven head, nice suit and tie - maybe a few visible scars from their line of work. While there a number of suits in a fine establishment, they were just the run of the mill rich assholes he'd grown accusation to through his life.

Sweat beading down his neck, V pulls at his collar. He hadn't even dressed up for his grandmother's funeral a year ago and now here he was in a nice button up and slacks for a complete stranger - and it isn't even for a date. If the waitress came by again to check if he was ready to order his tie would be an easy ticket out of here without the embarrassment of walking out looking like a dateless loser. He can already hear them laughing whichever way this goes. Frustrated, V folds his arms, shutting his eyes as tries to blend with the background of the uncomfortable booth he sat in. Maybe if he keeps them closed long enough when they open he'll be back at home - or dead. Either is an acceptable option at this point.

"Excuse me-"

V shoots up from his seat as warm breath fans his ear. The voice, no louder than a whisper, sends a chill down his spine as it flows from the lips of its speaker like smooth honey. A far cry from the unpleasantly sweet tone that waitress threw on to hide her thinly veiled annoyance at seeing V still hogging an empty table. He looks up at the looming figure at his table side - jaw slack as his eyes adjust to the light that envelopes them.

"I don't mean to interrupt whatever it is you are doing, but would you happen to be a Mr. Vincent Carbone?"

V's mouth opens like the jaws of a dying animal fighting for its final breath. The person before him was dressed in date casual clothing. He stares at their exposed collar from the lower cut of their shirt and toned muscles from their sleeves. He rubs at his eyes. This... couldn't be them. He had to be looking at a model. V's standards were pretty low his own admission, but from the way they carried themselves down to their physical attributes proved they were way out of his league.

"Yes... um, that's me... Just Vince is fine."

They tighten their lips with a small nod. V makes a note of how soft they look compared to his own chapped skin. He follows their every move as they sit down in their seat across from him - wasting no time as they pull a black folder from the brief case brought with them. He watches as their calloused fingertips turn each page - pondering what they might feel like around his-

"So - are you this guys secretary or....."

V flinches as their eyes snap up at him - emotionless face plagued by a hint of annoyance at his query. "I can assure you I do all of my work by myself, Mr. Carbone.... From the information you've given me, it appears you have had a fued with this person for quite some time despite numerous attempts to block and/or have them removed from the group of individuals you play games with, and wish to escalate matters further."

Breathing through their teeth, they shut the folder - placing it flat on the table. "Had I not done my research into your person, I'd consider this whole thing."

V feels tightness in the crotch of his slacks at the use of that word. Mr. Carbone. He's been referred to as such before, but the way it rolls off their tongue- V picks up his glass of water and fits it to his lips, trembling hands spilling the cool liquid all over his white shirt.

"R....research... You... know about me?"

"Yes. It's common for me to look into the backgrounds of all my clients. Make sure they have the funds to pay for my services and take note of what I can take as collateral if anything comes up. I know for certain you've got the cash, but the rest is still up in the air."

V swallows hard. "I already had the records of our conversation scrubbed and it's not like we talked much anyway... I don't trust cops much either."

Amused, the hitman's expression shifts from its blank slate for the first time as they offer him a small smile. "Good boy...."

V slaps a hand over his mouth to stiffle the whimper that almost slips out. The hitman retrieves a small flip phone from their briefcase and slides it across the table.

"From now on you will contact me from this device only. We will discuss how what methods you prefer in due time. Do you remember what else we talked about when we spoke over the phone?"

"Yea.... Half up front, half went it's done." V pulls a crumbled envelope from his pocket and hands it to them - savoring the brief moment of contact between his sweaty hands and the heat of their skin through their gloves. They count the bills briefly before sliding it into their back pocket. What V wouldn't do to be that piece of paper.

"I look forward to working with you, Sir. Something tells me we'll be hearing a lot from each other in the future."

".....you promise?"

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hi! I love your theories, and I spent too long reading everything I could find on your blog on Harry and V specifically, and bc I fell into a ship hole and can't seem to get out, here's a random question for you! Do you ship Tomarry or Harrymort in any way? Is it believable for you that it could happen? I mean, most of the time people tend to ship hermione with Tom Riddle, with the excuse that she's super smart, but I think Tom Riddle would despise her actually. Harry's not book smart, but he's very intuitive, he's clever and he's cunning, they could fit I think 🤔. Also they have shit lives, and they've been through similar things (not everything), and that'd enable them to understand each other and all. And Harry is annoyingly stubborn, so Tom/V would have a hard time manipulating him or forcing him by other means (like spells or potions), and he's observant and suspicious enough to notice random little clues and trusts his instincts so he wouldn't be blindly in love either? Sorry I'm rambling, I'd like to hear your thoughts about this if you have some? (If you don't ship it, no problem, I don't want to come across as if I'm trying to rant or complain or anything)

Have a good day!!

Thank you so much 🥰

As with all ship asks, ship whatever you ship and have fun, these are just my subjective opinions. Also, no, you don't come across as complaining.

So, real talk, I do enjoy tomarry/harrymort. This ship has some of the most well-written fics I came across in all my various fandoms and it has a special place in my heart. But my thoughts on this pairing are complicated.

To summarise I think this pair can be narrativly delicious. We got distorted parallel mirrors, both of them outright say how much they understand each other, how they know each other better than anyone else. They are narrative foils in many ways, having similar enough backgrounds but making different choices leading down different paths. It also helps these two are in my top 5 favorite characters in the series, so pairing them up is somewhat natural since it gets interesting results.

But, I don't think canon Harry and Tom/Voldemort would actually work as a couple realistically (or at least in a healthy way). Like, even without their history and specific circumstances in the story, ignoring everything and just thinking about how I see their personalities, I think they'd get on each other's nerves if they tried to date. They'd try to kill each other, completely independent of any prophecy.

Now to make a short story long:

(I'll be using the name "Tom" but it refers to Tom at any stage in his life)

First, yes, they do understand each other and have the potential for really seeing each other in a way that others rarely see them. I mean, Harry has Ron and Hermione, but they don't get it the way Tom would. They don't understand loneliness and abuse the way someone who lived through it would. I mean, these two clearly don't know what to do when Harry jokes about ducking his uncle's fists besides looking at him with concern. With Tom, Harry wouldn't have to worry about this. Tom would also not be concerned about Harry's darker more ruthless tendencies, allowing Harry to actually be Harry.

Tom, for his part, is a very lonely character who is looking for companionship and compassion, two things Harry can give. But Tom is unyielding in basically everything, he is incredibly prideful and independent. While he wants a connection, he doesn't really know how to trust and open up, to give a bit of himself that is necessary for relationships which is going to be a struggle for them.

Harry is one of the only characters (if not the only one) Tom sees as an equal or a potential equal. Tom really doesn't respect many people (regardless of blood or magical skill) but he does grow to respect and even fear Harry by book 7. This respect is important for any relationship, but especially when it comes to Tom Riddle, who just wouldn't really take anyone lesser than him seriously. And he thinks 99% of beings are lesser than him, so, that's a point in their favor.

Additionally when we think of the narrative, like, god, this can be juicy. We have two powerful and capable individuals who are basically bound together on every possible level. They are bound by magic, having brother wands that actively don't want to fight each other. They are bound by fate with a prophecy interwinding their lives together. After Tom's resurrection, they are bound by blood and they are bound by soul due to Harry being Tom's Horcrux. They literally share a soul, like, that's insane. They share dreams and memories and get each other in a way few could.

And they are very fixated on each other and can't really escape the other's influence. Tom is obsessed with killing Harry and no one but him is allowed to do it. He even goes as far as stipulating he wants to kill Harry while dueling him properly when Harry has his wand. This is something that shows, again, his respect for Harry. And Harry sees dealing with Voldemort as his responsibility. Tom Riddle is his to deal with and no one else's.

Like, it lends itself to a very dramatic very entertaining story naturally. A messy one for sure, but fun.

All that being said, when I actually think about how I see their respective personalities and what they would want/need from a relationship, I don't think they are very compatible below the surface.

Yes, Tom needs someone who he'll respect, but that partner needs to have some (a lot of) give. They need to be able to work around Tom's 10 million personality complexes without him feeling like he is being fixed. Tom needs to feel like he is getting his way, so his potential partner needs to either be very subtle or put a lot of effort into making Tom dateable (which I talked about more here). The thing is, Harry is just as stubborn and unrelenting as Tom more often than not. These two both have the same complex from a lack of control over their lives in childhood that results in very stubborn people who will fight tooth and nail to get their way and a general distrust of people. This is a recipe for them butting heads often, especially with their different worldviews and how they see people.

Like, both of them would never bow down to anyone. They don't know how to take a backseat. Sure, Harry says he doesn't want all the danger and attention, and he doesn't, but he would be able to sit and do nothing against what he feels is wrong, he is used to carrying an impossible burden on his shoulders. And he takes a leadership rule easily and naturally. Tom is used to getting his way, he is used to being able to either intimidate or charm what he wants out of everyone, something his partner should be immune to, but I think Harry would rile him up worse, instead of putting a stop to the behavior. Like, Tom would just try harder to break Harry before trying something else would cross his mind because Harry would make a sassy comment that would get Tom emotionally invested. He's going to get his pride and self-worth hinging on breaking Harry's resolve, and he is going to fail. Neither of them would ever be happy in the shadow of the other and it's going to be a constant push and pull with these too. Now, this sort of dynamic can be very compelling in fic, it's a fun story about a relationship that is truly insufferable to be around.

Neither of them is particularly emotionally intelligent or capable of emotional vulnerability. Like, Harry, who didn't know why Cho was crying after Cedric died, would need to be the person carrying the emotional tool in this relationship, and, like, I love Harry, but navigating emotionally volatile situations (specifically romantic ones) is not one of his many skills. Tom is even more useless in this department, he sure can recognize emotions in others, but he repeatedly underestimates emotional attachment, both in himself and others because his conceptions about friendship and love are all skewered. And with romance, he would be so much worse.

Add to all of that the fact both of them have one hell of a temper and it's more likely that they'd blow up at each other rather than talk shit out.

And then there is how I think they'll behave when they actually are in a relationship. As I talked about here, Tom is a sentimental and possessive person. When it comes to romance, I think Tom would want a person to be his, he'd be obsessed and controlling while simultaneously wanting to remain independent and do his own thing. He'd be a nightmare. And Harry, well, Harry would handle the independent, doing his own thing quite well, since I think Harry is the same. Even in a relationship, he'd need to keep his own independence and freedom, and that's where Tom's controlling nature is going to butt heads with Harry's distaste for any controlling figure.

I think Tom would struggle with Harry's lack of ambition too. Because Harry is clever, powerful, has the makings of greatness, and is an equal to Tom, but he isn't planning on doing anything with it. This would infuriate Tom, honestly. I think Tom would find many of Harry's passions (like Quidditch) frivolous and useless and would probably tell him that, which Harry would fight him on.

Harry's sassy nature, would also, get under Tom's skin if it's directed at him, Tom takes himself too seriously to make fun of himself and take a joke. However, he would appreciate these same comments when directed at others. Tom has a sense of humor, but he wouldn't make fun of himself, especially not a younger Tom Riddle when he's still in school.

There are aspects that would work, though, I think Harry would be willing to listen to Tom going on about whatever quite intently, and Tom would love that. Harry can pay a lot of attention to people he cares about, but he can also get distracted and just not hear anything being said to him (he tunes out some of Ron and Hermione's conversations regardless of his love for them. It can happen when you get used to being around someone) which Tom would hate. Although Harry would find Tom's monologing kinda annoying at a certain point, I think.

I think Tom would do good for Harry's self-esteem issues since Tom wouldn't accept Harry thinking of himself as average when he is equal to Tom. Harry would be pretty good for Tom's weird prideful self-hatred and could probably help push for an arc there. Both by showing Tom actual affection and by keeping his ridiculous ego in check.

I also think Harry would appreciate someone being protective over him and wanting him so much as someone who grew up feeling unwanted and like he never had anyone in his corner. And Tom, I believe, would be protective and possessive in a relationship (a little too much, but still).

Basically, both of them (but mostly Tom) need work before they can make a relationship between them work, and that's before looking at their history in the books which will always require some canon-divergence or AU to make this pairing work. Very possible, but it takes effort. Most of said effort goes into forcing them to talk properly, honestly, because Tom really wants Harry, his one failure, dead. Like, Harry would shockingly be the easier one to convince of this, I think. Like, he was willing to forgive Tom, he already sees him as a person and not a bogeyman. Plus, he thinks Tom is hot (the younger one at least). Tom (as Voldemort, during the series), as I said, sees Harry not as Harry but as a representation of his own failings, and until he gets that out of his head, I can't really see this relationship working.

When it comes to the "Harry time travels to the 1940s and goes to Hogwarts with Tom" fics it's easier to get them together because Tom has fewer complexes, but it's still not easy (Sure, he doesn't have 10 million complexes, just 7 million instead). So even then Harry has his work cut out for him and this relationship would be a trainwreck that might take collateral damage in the form of everyone around them being miserable with their bullshit.

The key point in all scenarios I mentioned is that Harry needs to actively pursue Tom because otherwise, it won't happen. Because Tom isn't going to pursue it on his own unless some AU reason pushes him to do so. I can see him getting obsessed with Harry easily in various circumstances, but while he'd pursue his obsession, I don't think it would cross his mind to date Harry. Not on his own, I just don't see Tom coming up with it without something to help him get there. Maybe (again in a time travel scenario) a younger Tom could pursue a fake relationship in pursuit of his obsession, but Harry would fight against it because he'd see through him. I also find it hard to imagine Harry pursuing this relationship with Tom through all of Tom's bullshit. I don't think Harry has the patience for that (unless he has a specific reason to do so).

I don't think Harry would pursue this relationship to begin with either. As I mentioned, emotional intelligence and romance in particular are not Harry's strong suits. He could be in love and not notice it because he shrugged it up to something else and he has more pressing things to worry about. If he does notice, he might try to pursue it, but it again depends on the AU or specific situation. I think he could flirt if he set his mind to it, but whether that's effective with Tom depends on which point in Tom's life we're talking about...

I wrote here about the trope of Tom finding out Harry is his Horcrux and, honestly, what I wrote there applies to any potential romantic relationship between them too. Especially if this trope is relevant in the getting-together stage.

All of this is without talking about the elephant in the room of their specific age difference that I'm kinda ignoring. In the books it's a difference of 54 years, which is a lot, but hey wizards and in fic scenarios, Harry can be an adult or they can be the same age, or, well, in fic you can do whatever even when said whatever situation would be messed up irl. I mean, irl I would never advocate for anyone to sleep with their parents' murderer, but this is fanfiction we're talking about so it doesn't really matter. It does mean that this isn't the kind of pairing that I think could be canon or even canon-adjacent. And though I like it better than Drarry in many ways, it's way less likely to happen than Drarry in the canon books as they are.

So, yeah, I like Tomarrry/Harrymort. It's fun, it's juicy, it's dramatic, it has great fics for it out there, but can it realistically happen without some AU? Not really.

(Also, you mentioned Tom and Hermione so I'll add in a little aside that I think that pair will get along worse than Tom and Harry. I think they would misunderstand each other a lot. And Tom, contrary to popular belief isn't going to appreciate someone who's trying to prove he isn't the smartest person in the room. I also think Tom wouldn't like Hermione's attitude over basically anything. I think Hermione would disapprove of Tom's general disregard for others' lives and well-being as well, and she would take more offense at it than Harry. I think Hermione is more likely to get intimidated by Tom than Harry too. Like Hermione would startle at something Tom says whereas Harry would call out his bluff)

[strwyofthesun]

forgive me, goodbye [pt. 2]

pairing: re2r!leon kennedy x intern!reader

synopsis: after settling into the uk, you learn of the raccoon city incident and suffer a great loss. after graduating from med school and starting up your internship, you meet someone who you thought you've left in the past.

word count: 3.7k

cont: smut, unprotected sex, p in v, mentions of death, mentions of blood, hurt/comfort, there's so much stuff goin on idk anymore

a/n: i did not expect to write a part 2 of this but my best friend bitched about not liking the ending so i did this out of spite <3 also! this takes place after the re2 events and before operation javier. i did alot of research on the re timeline and other medical related things mentioned T_T last, leon looks so cute in the pic i choose that bc his outfit there is similar to his operation javier fit

part one here !

A week has gone by since you’ve moved in the UK and you had been feeling homesick. Even though you had settled into your dorm, made new friends, and gotten acquainted, nothing beats the company of family. Not only have you been missing family, but also Leon. Feeling distressed, you decided to call your family to see how they’re doing.

You go through your contacts and scroll down to find your Mom’s contact. You spotted her name and pressed dial. The phone lets out a ring that lasted for only a couple seconds as your mom had picked up the call.

“Hey mom… Is dad with you?”

“Hey honey! Yes, he’s over here!” Your mom called for your dad and you hear his voice in the background shouting back to wait for him. You let out a laugh hearing your parents shuffle around. “What’s up hun? How’s everything going there?” Your dad asked.

“Everything’s fine dad, I’m just a little homesick…”

“Aww, hun… We miss you dearly too… You’ve grown up into such a fine, successful, smart, and independent young lady. We couldn’t be any more proud of you. Call us anytime, we promise we’ll always answer the call at the first ring.” Your mom said.

“Hey mom…?”

“Yes?”

You gulped down the lump you felt in your throat, “How’s Leon doing?”

“Oh… I heard he’s out of town.”

“…Is that so?”

“You know who I miss?” Your dad suddenly chimed in.

“Who dad?” You asked curiously while smiling.

“You and Leon. You remind me of you and your mom back in the day.” Your smile dropped hearing those words from your dad. It made you miss him even more and your parents could tell by the silence on your end of the line.

Your mom nudged your dad and scolded him, “Hun! Come on! She’s trying to move on, don’t make it any harder for our baby.”

“I’m fine mom, really. I just wanted to know…”

“Well, alright… If you say so.”

“I’ll be going now, I have a class in a bit.”

“Okay, call us if you need anything!” Your dad reminded again.

“I will, I will. Love you guys…”

“We love you too hun.” They said in union and dropped the call. It was nice hearing their voices again. You opened a box filled with pictures, looking for ones of you guys together when you were suddenly greeted with tons of pictures of you and Leon together on top of the pile. A certain picture caught your eye and you grabbed it to take a closer look. It was a picture of the night you, Leon, and your parents celebrated your graduation from pre-med. Tears fill your eyes and drops of it landed on the picture, slightly damaging the ink. You try desperately to remove your tears stains from the picture but ended up smudging the photo and getting the ink over your parents’ faces. You threw the picture back in the box and curled up at the foot of your bed and sobbed silently.

You didn’t regret your choice of pursuing your dream of becoming a virologist but God, did you really have to go through this just to reach it? You tried controlling your heaving and sniffled as an attempt to quit crying because you had a class in a few minutes. You stood up and walked yourself to the bathroom to wash yourself up. Looking into the mirror, you realized that you’re already here and it’s too late to quit now. You’ve sacrificed so much of your time, effort, and relations for this. Quitting isn’t an option.

Days passed by and you drowned yourself in your studies. You were currently one of the best in your class and according to your professors, you had the most promising potential. Meanwhile, Leon was out of town just as your mom said and was wasting away in God knows where. All he wanted to do was get away from that town and escape the memories it held. He drank his sorrows away but no bottle of alcohol could ever fill the void in his heart. It’s as if you took a piece of his heart and left with it and there was no chance of ever getting it back.

During one late night, he received a call from his co- officer telling him not to go back to Raccoon City even though there was a current crisis, but Leon didn’t listen. He sobered up and immediately headed back to Raccoon City. The following events that unfolded are to be summed up and named “Raccoon City Destruction Incident” from then on.

While studying in a café with your earphones on, you realized that it’s been awhile since you’ve called your parents. You ring them up but they don't picked up.

“Weird, they usually answer at the first ring…” You mumbled to yourself. You try again and to no avail. “Again.” you said but call after call they didn’t pick up. Now you were really worried. Out of frustration, you take your earphones off and take a sip of your coffee when you start picking up on the sounds of the café. But what caught your attention made you drop the coffee cup in your hands.

“The US government declared Raccoon City 'beyond saving' from its residents that have turned aggressive and zombie-like. They ordered a missile strike to wipe out the city and later at dawn, it is reported that two non-nuclear missiles hit the city, clearing all of its 100,000 citizens, and completely wiping it off the map.“

Ringing filled your ears and your hands trembled at the news you had just heard. “This can’t be happening…” you thought. A waiter walked up to you demanding you pay for the broken coffee cup but you couldn’t hear him well. His words sounded like it was being drowned out by water. Your body went on auto-pilot and you grab whatever amount of money you had on you and shoved it into the chest of the waiter. You grabbed your stuff and exit the café while calling for a taxi cab.

You rushed back to your dorm and packed your stuff immediately. Things weren’t properly processed in your mind and before you knew it you were on a flight back to the US. You took a cab to the outskirts of what’s left of Raccoon City before you were blocked by multiple hazard signs, barricades, and police tape. You tried to get passed it but police stopped you before you could even step past the barricade. You stare at the massive crater left by the missiles and what remained of your old home. Streams of tears run down your face and you couldn’t stop it. The police tried calming you down but it was useless. They couldn’t do anything except escort you back to the hotel you checked in.

Once you were at your hotel room, you drop to your knees and wailed. You couldn't fathom the intensity of all the feelings that you were experiencing all at once. Everyone you knew and loved were turned into those… monsters you saw on the news. They were killed, wiped out, with no trace left. Your friends, family, mom, dad, and Leon, all gone. You cried even harder now that things have finally started sinking in. You recall your last call with your parents, them saying how proud they were, and them saying they love you, it was agonizing. And Leon... Oh Leon… you left him alone and heartbroken in Raccoon City. You blamed yourself for their deaths. You imagined your parents worried sick for you because you haven’t called them in awhile as well as Leon who was probably grieving still over the breakup. The image of them worried and scared for their life, was all you could think about. Tears didn’t stop flowing and you’ve lost your voice from screaming. You asked yourself, was this punishment for leaving? Did you deserve to suffer this much?

It's 2002 and four years have passed since. Not a single day went by where you didn’t think of your parents and Leon. You’ve let yourself grieve, gotten therapy, and took a break from med school for awhile. But in the end, you pushed through with it because you knew they would’ve wanted you to push through. You were a step closer to becoming a virologist and its something you’ve worked extra hard on this time. You promised yourself that once you finished everything, you’d dedicate the rest of your life studying the viruses that caused the Raccoon City Destruction Incident and find a vaccine for any virus that could turn people to what the Raccoon citizens became. But for now, you are currently taking up your one year internship.

It was a regular day at the hospital, nothing out of the ordinary. You examined patients, spent your time in the laboratories, and conduct medical procedures along with other doctors. Soon, the mundane day of yours came to an end, or so you thought. As you were about to clock out, a fellow intern called for you.

“Hey [Y/N]! Wait up!” They said as they grabbed onto your shoulder, puffing out heavy breaths.

“Hmm? What’s wrong?” You asked in concern seeing that it was most probably urgent based on the face your colleague made.

“There’s someone out there asking for a CBC.”

“Okay and? You do it. Can’t you see I’m about to leave? I’m about to be overtime.” You replied feeling annoyed from being interrupted as you were about to leave.

“C’mon, do me a favour will ya? I’ll do your stool examinations for a week. Pleaseeeee…” your colleague said while giving you puppy eyes. You cringed at the sight of them and finally gave in to their request.

You rolled your eyes and gave an empty threat. “Fine, I’ll do it. You better stick to your word or else.”

They nodded their head ecstatically and hugged you before they left. “Ugh…” you thought to yourself. If you had just declined, you would’ve been home by now doing anything as long as you weren’t here in the hospital. You grabbed a folder and headed to the counter whilst keeping your head down.

“Hello, good evening, I heard you came in for a CBC?” You greeted.

“Yes, how long do I have to wait for you [Y/N]?” A familiar voice asked. You stopped fiddling with the folder and furrowed your brows. Where have you heard this voice before? Then, it clicked. It couldn’t be…

You looked up at the person opposite to you and met a pair of piercing blue eyes you know you’ve seen before. The tall frame, muscular build, dirty blonde hair. You couldn’t believe it. It was like staring at a ghost. The blood drained from your face as you step back in horror, refusing to believe that the Leon Scott Kennedy was standing right infront of you, alive.

“Woah, hey, are you okay?” Leon asked as he held his hands out.

“Am I okay…? Okay?! I thought you died?!” You screamed which caught the attention of other hospital staff and patients. You look around and apologized and looked back at Leon. “Look, I’ll do your CBC. But you have explaining to do.”

“I know I do, I’m sorry [Y/N]…” Leon apologized and looked down, feeling ashamed from being away from you all these years and suddenly popping out of nowhere.

You scoff and led Leon to a room to extract a sample of his blood. He took off his jacket revealing his more muscular figure. He looked different now. His eyes were as captivating as ever, but it lost its shine. You didn’t want to pry now, but if he escaped the incident back at Raccoon City, he must’ve seen some fucked up shit. You grab the tourniquet and start to tie it around his arm.

“Tell me if it feels too tight.” You instructed Leon and he nodded in response. “Is this alright?” you ask to which he nodded again in response. You start feeling around his arm trying to locate a vein. Your touch sent shivers down Leon’s spine, painting him a shade of pink. You'd almost miss it if his long hair blocked his face. You chuckled at the sight of Leon, “I’m barely doing anything. Did you miss me that much?” you teased.

“You have no idea.” He replied smiling.

Once you’ve located the vein, you did the standard procedure and in a blink of an eye you had a sample of his blood. You took of the tourniquet off his arm and patched him up. He stood up from the seat and put his jacket back on. The silence was deafening, as an attempt to break the ice, you asked, “So… Why do you need the CBC?”

“Just an excuse to see you to be honest.”

You quickly turned to face him, “Are you crazy?” you spat.

“Borderline. It’d be nice to know if I’m healthy or not though.”

“You wasted my time and equipment Leon.” You said while crossing your arms.

“Okay, okay, I’m kidding. I need it to update my health information for the government.”

“Hmm, okay. Do you want the results now or tomorrow?”

“It can wait. Come on, let’s head out now. My treat.”

“Don’t rush me!”

You finish up whatever’s left to do and finally clock out. You and Leon left the hospital and walked up to the parking lot.

“Here, put this on.” He tossed you a helmet and wore his as he started his motorbike. You put on the helmet and sat behind him.

“Hold on tight ‘kay?” You barely held onto Leon, still feeling off. He sped up on the road which made you nervous. Leon felt that you weren’t holding on properly and suddenly stopped, making you jerk forward and wrap your arms around his torso. “I told you to hold on tight didn’t I?” He smirked at you and you rolled your eyes at him. “Won’t say I told you so.” He said his final warning and revved the bike.

The streets were almost empty which gave Leon the opportunity to drive faster. This made you hold onto him tighter and Leon smiled at this under his helmet. “Not a fan of thrill rides huh?” You could barely hear Leon over the sound of the wind going past you. “I swear to God Leon, if you speed u—“ Before you could even finish, he drove even faster. You had a strong grip on Leon at this point and you could hear his muffled laughing.

Sooner or later, you arrived at a hotel where Leon was staying for the meantime. He parked his motorbike and the two of you got off. You punched Leon hard on the arm you took the blood sample from.

“Ow! What the fuck?” he said laughing.

“I hate you.” You said to him with a straight face.

“Aw, cute. You know you could never hate me. Even from the grave.”

“Haha, very funny Leon.” You said sarcastically.

The both of you walked into the hotel and entered the restaurant inside it. You both sat down and ordered food. And while waiting, Leon finally tells you about what happened four years ago.

“I want the truth Leon.” You demanded.

“Okay, please, keep an open mind alright?” You nodded in response and Leon recounts the events of the Raccoon City incident. You listened to him intently. It was hard to imagine him go through all of that. You were feeling thankful though that he is still safe and sound now.

“My parents, Leon? Do you know what happened to them?” you asked desperately wanting an answer. He shook his head and said “I’m sorry, but I don’t know. I really am sorry I didn’t save them…” You muttered a small “Oh…” and reassured Leon that it was okay. “I just wish I called them a bit more often… I think they were worried about me even up until their death…” You say quietly.

“[Y/N]… You are their only daughter, of course they cared. I’m sure they’re glad to know that your strong, healthy, and most importantly, you're safe now.” Leon said while holding your hand. You felt a tear run down your face and Leon used his other hand to wipe it off. He kept his hand on your cheek and gently caressed it. “I’m so sorry for the way things ended Leon… I didn’t want to… But—“ you were cut off by Leon.

“It’s okay… I forgive you [Y/N].”

“But I don’t forgive myself! There wasn’t a single day where I didn’t long for your presence by my side. I wanted you near me again.”

“I felt the same way too....”

No other words were said. You looked into each other’s eyes and reignited a spark that you thought died a long time ago. The moment was short but it felt longer than that. Too bad it was actually cut short by the waiter that brought you your food. You grinned from ear to ear and Leon let out a laugh. The both of you enjoyed the fine dining and soon you escorted him to his room.

“I’ll… be off now…” you said awkwardly to Leon while he stood leaning on the door frame.

“Do you really have to leave? It’s late at night. Stay with me for the night. It’s not safe out there.”

“Leon…”

“For old times sake…” Leon pleaded. He moved closer to you, grabbing your waist and leaning into your ear. “…Please?” he whispered.

You look at Leon, heat running through your body. He was a burning candle, and you were a moth that just couldn’t resist. Your lips crashed onto his and he slammed the door shut behind you. The both of you make it to the bed and swiftly take off each other clothes and threw it to the bedroom floor. Leon sat upright, back on the bedframe, while you were on top of him. You grinded on him slowly making him groan.

“Fuck, you don’t know how much I’ve missed this.” Leon breathed.

“Tell me Leon… How much did you miss me?” You said as you run your hands through his hair, tugging at it. You teased him, running your wet cunt along his hard dick. Leon breathed even heavier, you could feel his dick twitch as it longed to be in you.

"I'd think of you, when I touch myself... I missed you touching me, making you screaming my name, being inside you. I missed it all. Please, let me fuck you..." Leon begged. You held yourself up and positioned his dick under you.

You and Leon both moaned when he entered you. It took some time for you to adjust to Leon again. "So tight... You haven't been fucking anyone else have you?" He asked. You shook your head and he started thrusting into you, catching you off guard. You moaned and whimpered from Leon suddenly fucking you.

"Come on baby, use your words." he demanded.

You tried to speak but your words were slurred. "O-only... you... Leon. I've only f-fucked you..."

"Mhm, that's right. You're mine, got that? And I'll make sure people know that." Leon sucked onto your neck leaving hickeys on it, marking what's his.

He quickened his pace leaving you a moaning mess. Sounds of skin slapping against each other echoing in the room. You moaned his name over and over again like a prayer. As you feel your climax coming, your walls tightening around Leon's dick. He moaned your name into your ear. "You feel so fucking good baby."

"Leon, I'm close..." You managed to get the words out of your mouth. "Cum for me baby." Leon said as his thrusts get sloppier and rougher. A scream escaped your lips as you came. Leon finished inside you making sure every bit of cum filled you to the brim.

Leon looked at you and cupped your cheek. "Why don't we make up for lost time?"

The sunlight peaked through the gaps of the curtains and you find yourself in bed beside Leon as he sleeps peacefully. You admire Leon's beauty for a little while and brushed his hair to the side. His eyes flutter open and he greeted you in a raspy voice.

"Good morning love, did you sleep well?"

"Like a baby." You replied.

"Mhm, that's good. Come closer."

You move closer to Leon and lay on his chest. "There's something I didn't tell you last night." he said and you could hear his heart beat faster.

"Tell me..."

"I was recruited by the USSTRATCOM shortly after the incident at Raccoon City, and I'm a government agent now. These past 4 years, I've been training intensely. And in a few days, I'll be leaving for North America to my next mission."

You lay in silence, taking in the words Leon had just said.

"Say something please, [Y/N]..." Leon pleaded.

"Do you... want us to get back together, Leon? I want you to be realistic. If you're an agent, who goes on missions that you could possibly never return from, would you really want to be tied down to me?" You asked.

"I do want us back. God knows how much I want us back together. And I don't care about all that mission shit. I will return from every mission just for you."

"Are you sure Leon? Because this time, I'm willing to stay. I've lost you once, and I'm not making the same mistake again."

"I'm always sure when it comes to you. We'll make it work this time, I promise. I love you [Y/N]..."

"I love you too Leon." Those words coming out your mouth after years of longing for him gave you a feeling of euphoria and nostalgia all at once. Who knew that this time around, we'd fall right back into each other's arms.

[ravel-puzzlewell]

Hi! Do you mind elaborating on what you meant by "tiefling politics" on that wotr vs bg3 post? Just curious, ignore if you want

its about the fact that bg3 has a lot of tiefling characters, somehow more than wotr, and huge theme of like hells and connections to demons\devils and somehow manages to say absolutely nothing interesting about it.

in wotr we have examination of tieflings fitting into human society, ostracization and (literal) demonization of them, where even if some of them would want to help in war against hell, they are scared (frex, group of tieflings thieves you save which you can ask to help u and they are like are u kidding me, crusaders will torch us). woljif in particular is a deconstruction of selfish chaotic neutral tielfling rogue archetype, his story both exploring how both he was pushed into being a criminal bc he had no other options, but also interplay with how he then himself tends to dismiss his own agency in being able to decide for himself and choose better, forever excusing himself with "well this is a crappy hand dealt to me", his survivalist attitude of everyone for themselves vs desire for community, how when given a smidge of stability and access to decision making in council, he tries to awkwardly, but eagerly advocate for societal improvement for all tieflings, and this is one of his most sincere moments - and gets laughed at immediately, etc etc. and speaking of community, v interesting intersection between "good" and "bad" marginalized groups of mongrels vs tieflings, with Lann being self-righteous about both his moral superiority and how mongrels "have it worse", while ignoring that mongrels - and he himself specifically - are mistreated literally bc they are mistaken for tieflings.

btw if anyone wants me to talk more about mongrels vs tieflings thing, hit me up, i think there was a interesting stuff, even if not properly dramatized

meanwhile in bg3 being tiefling largely means nothing? like the refugees would sometimes like drop a line out loud about how tieflings should stick together bc humans won't help them, but like that's it. the refugees could literally be humans running from war or blue cat ppl from avatar running from capitalism and nothing in the plot or characters would need to be changed. tieflings is just cosmetics for them, like idk its cool to have colorful NPCs with fire eyes and sexy horns. And even companions wise, you know I love Karlach and tried to romance her, but being tiefling is just looks for her, its not meaningful. It doesn't matter for her backstory, she could have been a strong human from poor background who was sold out to idk, underdark. like it sucked bc she was forced to do violence and everyne was an asshole and she couldn't see sun, but otherwise it being Blood War specifically doesn't come into play. and like. Blood War has famously huge effects on ppl with hell heritage! I'm not saying she should have been Valen Shadowbreath with entire plotline about struggling with blood war calling, but like. idk, something?

my point is that tieflings and hell has a lot of lore and like, FLAVOUR in this setting, which were not explored at all. these are just ppl with horns and generic Bad Place.

and then like. devil essentialism. bg3 has central motive of how evil races are not ontologically evil, but like, devils are. sdfghjk. apparentely mind flayers can fight actual mind control if they are V Special, but all devils/demons are evil with no exceptions. karlach was in hell for 10 years and never met a single sympathetic devil. the closest one he had mocks IS Evil when we meet her in game. and I actually liked Raphael (transition could've saved her), but there is nothing particularily interesting about him, he's also straighforwardly evil. this severely limits how interesting interactions with hell are. in wotr there is a wide range from reformed succubus to most evil sadists, with every shade in between, which allows for complex stories, like that that fucked up love between that betrayer dwarf and demoness who seduced him. she's legit evil, but she also has actual twisted affection for him, and he knows she uses him, but he was pushed too far by humans and chooses her anyway. this background story is honestly has more depth than wyll's and mizora relationship, where shes just evil and he's straighforwardly martyr. when mizora offered to have fun wink wink, i immediately knew she's gonna Evil It. and she did. and she didn't even get anything out of it! it was just staining your soul to be evil:3 like ok, but boring tbh.

and like yeah war with hell is central plot of wotr, obviously it has a lot more to say and explore about it, but like. bg3 didn't HAVE to have to include so many tieflings and have us follow their stories through all acts. it didn't have to include hell in "no race essentialism" game if it didn't want to talk about it. it chose to, and when game has big chuncks of content about smth connected by a theme, i expect it to say smth about it? anything interesting? eh.

btw, this is not to say i think wotr's writing is perfect, far from it, i can talk for ages of my problems with that game's writing, but this initial phrase was from shitposts specifically comparng things in wotr to bg3, so

[itzsana-kiddingmenow]

I know resquests are closed, but you said some time ago that you were looking for suggestions. I have only one but I think you will like it:

- So imagine that skz or some members of skz are gping to the cinema, and they wanna sneak in snacks. One of the mebers shoves a packet of snacks into their coat and just walks into the movie unnoticed. Then, some other member is hungry and asks for the snack that is hidden in the coat of the member. He zips down the coat and like slightly opens up the side that the snack is on and as the other member tries to grab a handful of the food, he like touches or accidentally squeezes his side (because the packet is laying somewhere there). The ler notices how that tickled the lee and decides to take advantage of that, sneaking their arm to “grab the snack” as an exuse to tickle the member. This continues on the whooole movie lol.

This actually happened to me😭 Except the tickling part. I just had to hide popcorn in my coat lol

I saw that you’ve been doing not so well in life, and I just wanted to send lots of love and tell you that there are plenty of people in this community who are willing to listen to you and try to make you feel better in any way, incluiding me. Just don’t give up, keep on pushing and you’ll get there❤️❤️

Theater Shenanigans:

words: 1k a/n: my formatting's having some issues :ccc [also this request is so minmin coded istg] lee: hyunjin ler: minho and seungmin taglist: @someone-who-loves-kpop-saranghae @jeonginsdiary @leeknowstan33 @v--143 @wereallgonnadieonedaybutnottoday @inkytornpagess @lajanaa @a-wild-seungberry this fic is about tickling, if it's not your cup of tea pls scroll!~

“Hi! 8 tickets for the Baby Shark Movie, please!” Chan grinned at the cashier, who stared back with a puzzled expression. 

“But…that movie is for little kids…?” The poor guy sweatdropped, watching the 8 pairs of eyeballs bore at him. 

“It’s…Baby Shark. And Enhypen’s in it. What more reason do we need?” Felix asked innocently, pushing the cash towards the man in the uniform. 

“But-”

“8 TICKETS! WOOHOOO!” Jisung yelled in the background, having had way too much sugar before arriving at the theater. 

The cashier sighed before taking the cash, handing Chan the tickets and the spare change. 

“YAYYY!” Hannie cheered, jumping around before getting pulled down with a hand on his waist by a very amused Minho. 

Changbin sneezed loudly, sniffling and wrapping his jacket tightly around his body. He had caught a cold, resulting in constant sneezing and coughing.

He whimpered as his throat stung, and his jacket did nothing to shield his vulnerable body from the cold. 

Felix and Chan cooed and wrapped their jackets around the sick rapper, handing him a warm water bottle to sip. 

Minho walked nonchalantly, ignoring the stares he received as he held a squirming Jisung bridal-style in his arms. 

Clearly, Hannie had been attracting stares and this was the only way to stop him from running around. 

Hyunjin dodged Seungmin’s sneaky fingers coming towards his pockets again. 

“Yah! Seungmin these are for the movie! Don’t eat the snacks before the movie even starts!” Hyunjin scolded, closing the pockets with the zipper. 

Jeongin walked beside Chan, Felix, and Changbin, yawning and wincing slightly as his lip ring shifted slightly. 

“Ah! Here it is!” Chan found the movie venue, opening the door and ushering all the members inside. 

“Okay everyone! Here’s the order, from left to right!” Minho announced. 

“Okay, so at the end, Chan…Felix…Changbin…Jeongin…Hannie…Me…Hyunjin…and Seungmin!” Lino read out, taking his seat and watching everybody assemble in their arranged places. 

He had made sure that Changbin and Jeongin were in the center, considering Changbin was sick and Jeongin and Felix had a tendency to get lost somehow. 

He had also made sure that Jisung was seated next to him, so that the younger wouldn’t throw a fit and he could keep an eye on him. ‘I really shouldn’t have let him eat a whole cheesecake…’

Hannie, meanwhile, has finally calmed down, sitting quietly and waiting for the movie to start. 

Hyunjin smiled fondly at the boy. ‘Ahhh, I can’t believe he’s an introvert. He acts like a little kid sometimes. It’s cute, though.’

Seungmin was bouncing in the seat, clearly eager for the movie to start so that he could eat snacks. 

He had been craving for them all day, and finally, he could enjoy them…if Hyunjin didn’t eat them first, of course. 

The movie started, thankfully, and everyone was giggling throughout the first bit, even Changbin, whose throat would probably kill him later. 

Seungmin quietly stuck his hand into Hyune’s pocket, grabbing a snack before attempting to pull his arm out. 

He struggled for a second before pressing into the older’s body and pulling his hand out. 

Surprised, Hyunjin let out a small squeal of laughter, twisting and glaring at Seungmin. 

“Yikes, sorry hyung. Didn’t mean for it to tickle.” 

“That tickled?!” Minho whispered incredulously, poking the taller boy’s side again. 

Hyune let out a similar squeal, slapping at the older’s hand and blushing a deep red. 

Seungmin grinned evilly at him, Minho copying the same expression on his other side. 

Hyunjin watched in horror as the two stuck their hands into his pockets, grabbing a snack each, but not retracting their hands until they had each squeezed his sides at least twice. 

“Guhuhuys!” Hyunjin giggled quietly, slumping in his seat to try and escape the hands. 

“What?” Seungmin asked innocently, peeling open his snack. 

Minho grabbed Hyunjin by the waist and sat him down on his lap, allowing Seungmin to scoot one seat over. 

“H-Hey, what are you doing?” Hyunjin asked, watching Seungmin reach for his pocket again, and Lino was holding his arms to his sides. 

“Getting a snack.” The vocalist deadpanned, sneaking his hands into the open pocket and instead pressing and wiggling into the older’s skin through the thin fabric. 

Hyunjin bit his lip to contain his loud squawks of laughter before twisting crazily in Minho’s hold. 

Minnie’s fingers finally left his pocket, and Hyunjin breathed a sigh of relief. 

Maybe they would finally leave him alone. 

However, this torture continued for another half and hour of the movie, but Hyunjin didn’t really hate it. 

At the last scene of the movie, Hyunjin was intently watching the screen, focused and not paying attention to the dancer behind him, who had been keeping his hands to himself for quite a while. 

When a singular finger wormed into his pocket and tickled at the sensitive skin there, Hyunjin almost screamed in surprise again. 

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to hold his giggles again, he turned and buried his head into Minho’s chest, the older nonchalantly continuing the tickle the boy to pieces fondly. 

“hyuhuhung! p-people wihill hehear meheh!” Hyunjin giggled out desperately, trying to pull the older’s hands out of his pockets. 

“Awe, Hyunnie! Scared, huh? Scared that people will know how sensitive you are?~” Min teased, only tickling harder and smiling as Hyunjin squealed into the fabric of the older’s jacket, too sensitive to hold his laughter again. 

The ending credits to the movie rolled, and Hyunjin panted, wiping the residual tears off of his face as Minho finally quit, picking the younger dancer up and gathering all of their things. 

“I think we need to go again later.” Jisung referred to the movie. 

“Why?” Chan asked, curious. Usually Jisung hated rewatching movies and preferred to watch new stuff. 

“I was distracted because Hyunjin kept laughing.”

Hyunjin yelled flusteredly, slapping Hannie across the shoulder and covering his bright red face with his other hand. 

Then Jeongin noticed something. “Oooh Hyunjin hyung has snacks!”

[paintsplash1712]

So I read this really good Jojo Eyes of Heaven Rewrite and I got inspired by a certain scene in chapter 3 and decided to draw my own version of Joanna from the description. The fic is called ‘I ain’t a doll, this ain’t a dollhouse’ by @vaurelias it’s so good I definitely recommend.

Situated in the middle of a smaller, more cluttered room before him was a beautiful woman with a light tan complexion. She sat seemingly lifeless on a rocking chair. A waterfall of midnight hair cascaded down her large frame. A gaudy wedding ring sat on her ring finger. She wore a form fitting deep blue dress with a v-neck that stretched down to her navel. The neckline was not to show off her body, but to make room for the large golden arrow lodged deep in her chest. Large, thorned lavender vines sprouted and writhed from the wound like a nest of bagworms to span the entire floor. They covered every surface in the room like a web.

Details of my process and version without background under the cut:

Though I took some liberties with the description of Joanna’s dress because I thought Dio would go for something more over the top then actually sexy (just look at his stupid outfit in part 3) so I went for something that was revealing but also something I could see coming from the 80s. I found a similar looking dress on Pinterest and immediately chose it as the dress.

I also wanted some flower or vine imagery around her legs so I gave her shoes inspired by Ashlynn Ella from Ever After High but with roses on the front as Dio in part 3 is surrounded by roses throughout the story. I also gave her a choker with a heart on it as a reference to Dio’s headband, and to show he sees her as his thing or his doll (ha) also kept it green so it looked out of place on purpose.

Also I know the text said the arrow is stuck in Joanna’s chest but I tried to follow that description but with the POV I wanted it wouldn’t have been possible for me to draw the arrow that way without it looking awful so she’s holding it in the art. Also very proud of myself for doing the arrow head’s details because before actually doing it I thought it’d be impossible with how detailed it looked. Yay, me!

Also just wanted to say I hate doing backgrounds, that’s why it’s not super detailed but hey, good thing Dio’s mansion is always shadowy and dark so I didn’t need to worry as much. But here’s a version of Joanna on her own, I really like it.

[agendabymooner]

9 to 5 || f1 drivers (5)

(SPIN OFF OF COLOUR ME YOUR COLOUR (WIP) and RUSH)

Summary: Lorelei Hester ‘Lester’ Alessandro is a bassist first and Daniel Ricciardo’s partner second. But it seems like another role is added to her resume as she begins her weekend in Baku as Toto Wolff’s children’s babysitter. 

Chapter summary: Daniel Ricciardo stopped by to say hi to what the team principals had considered as threats to their drivers - it was very hard not to get distracted by Soren and Tia Wolff after all. AND Lester Alessandro envied the Wolff cubs' intelligence as Soren was already on his fourteenth short story on a Thursday noon (he just started reading the book that morning).

Content warning: family-centric content, people trying not to swear in front of children, Uncle Danny content, Australia references, Christian Horner mentioned, Hearth sister!OFC x Max Verstappen relationship, Hearth sister!OFC x Charles Leclerc relationship. 

masterlist

v. the little weapons of destruction distraction

Fourteenth story. 

They were barely halfway through the day and Tilly and Toto’s eldest son had finished thirteen fairy tale stories. The thick book of Grimms Fairy Tales, if she was being truthful, would be something that she’d be able to read in the span of three days. Six hours, if she was motivated enough. 

But as she sat there with her own book opened, she couldn’t help but wonder if Tilly worked extremely hard on getting these children to read a lot. 

Lester knew that the kids she was babysitting were fluent in four languages, but she didn’t know if fluency came with the fast paced reading comprehension skills that Soren obviously had been showing. 

Soren Philip Alphonse Wolff was born to an unmarried couple, Tilly Marie (Hearth) and Toto Wolff. When he was born, it was almost like the wall that Toto used to protect his heart broke down. Despite the obvious features that came from Toto, Ren was more like Tilly, if you were to ask Lester or anyone close to them. Timid, shy, but if you ask him about his books and the characters, his eyes would brighten and he would endlessly ramble about it. At the age of five, you would think that he would be talking about dinosaurs (he likes dinosaurs) and rockets (and he likes rockets too) but not Soren. Soren would share his interest in children’s literature to anyone who would like to listen.

So it somehow didn’t come as a surprise when the boy finished his thirteenth story and moved on to the next. He was so occupied by it that he could hear no one but the characters and the background noise. 

“Zia Lori,” a tiny voice beside her spoke, making the bassist turn and give Tia a smile. The girl looked up at her aunt and raised the colouring book that she was just working on. “Do you like it?” 

There were colours outside the lines but Lester could tell that Tia tried staying inside the shapes while she used different crayons. Paddington had never been this vibrant until now. 

Besides from the initials of her name, Tia Christie Vienna Wolff had more commonalities shared with her namesake. She had Toto’s temperament and the way of how she thrived to colour without going outside the line just proved how she was practically Toto’s carbon copy. 

She had a tendency to get frustrated whenever she sat herself down in front of the shape sorters and she couldn’t fit the right animal on it. The first time she (a year and a half during that time) threw the blocks out of frustration, bewilderment was written all over Toto’s face. But when he turned to look at Tilly for an explanation all she said was, “Haven’t you looked at the mirrors lately?” Still to this day, Toto’s reminding his mini me to take a breather first before her temper goes down to shit. Her perfectionism and the frustration that came with it? Yeah. That was all Toto, and ironically, neither of the parents had ever set some expectations for the children. 

“Like it? What do you mean? I love it!” Lester exclaimed, giving the little girl a high five. 

“But look,” Tia pointed at the colours outside the line, “this is bad.”

“No it’s not,” Lester shook her head, “that’s an accident, and an accident isn’t bad sometimes.”

“What’s acc-ent?” Tia tilted her head, curious about the foreign word that came out of her aunt’s mouth. 

Lester chuckled, both at her curiosity and the fact that she could speak as much German and French (and Italian) as she'd like yet not know the word accident in any language, “It is when you do something that you did not mean to do. Like… Oops!” 

“Ah!” Tia nodded enthusiastically. “Acc-ent!” 

“No, no, Tia,” Lester instructed, “follow Zia Lori… ready?” 

“Mhm!” Tia nodded again. 

“A…” “A…” 

“…k…” “…k…”

“si…” “si…”

“…dent.” “…dent.” 

“Accident!” Lester said the word faster.

“Accident!” Tia repeated with a clap of her hands. 

“There we go,” Lester nodded approvingly. She should teach kids about phonics. It seemed fun to teach. “You do so well at words. Do you read with Mama every night?” 

“Yes,” Tia said meekly, shying away from the woman as she continued, “Mama reads English… and French… and I-t’lian! But she only do French and English more. Papa teaches Italian.” 

“Ahh,” Lester nodded. “It must be exciting reading with Mama, eh? How do you like it?” 

“I love Mama! She reads so well,” Tia paused while she thought of something, “but Papa can do Eeyore more. He sound sad! I love Eeyore! But! So-en reads books to me too!” 

The little lad sitting across the two paused from reading and looked up from the page he was reading, wondering why he was called by Tia. Not sensing any cry for help, Soren returned to his book. 

“I hope Adelmo— when he grows— he can listen to me read,” Tia said with her eyes twinkling. “I can teach him F-ench! Like Mama!” 

According to Tilly, Soren and Toto often hover over Tia. They tended to be more protective when it came to Tia—perhaps it’s the effect of being the only girl in the family. Soren loved his sister a lot and would always read her books, trying to raise her as another version of himself.

Toto loved his kids equally, no doubt. His older kids (not with Tilly) were the subjects of his love alongside his little ones, but even they couldn’t deny that Tia was the most loved one. 

But it seemed like Tia, despite being everyone’s favourite, loved her little brother Adelmo more. It never caused any rift between siblings, but Tia tended to be protective of Adelmo more than anyone. 

At least none of them were bitter or arguing over who liked who. They all loved each other equally. It was just an observation that Lester had done. 

“He’ll grow soon enough, Tia,” Lester told the little girl. “But, right now, he has to feel better so when you get home… you can tell him about your trip with Papa.” 

“Hey, hey! Are those the mini Tillys I’m seeing?” The kids’ eyes widened at the voice as they turned and gasped. 

“Zio Danny!” “Oncle Dan!” 

“I have different names in different languages,” Daniel hoisted the two kids up in his arms as he grunted, “You two are becoming more like your dad. So heavy and tall!” 

“Not tall enough,” Soren crossed his arms with a huff, “Papa is tall like a building!” 

“Godzilla!” Tia exclaimed as Soren nodded in agreement.

“Or… Or King Kong!” It was Tia’s turn to nod enthusiastically. 

“Yeah, he’s incredibly tall, indeed,” Daniel turned and walked towards his girlfriend, leaning forward to kiss her on the temple as he asked, “What have you and the little wombats been up to?” 

“Wombats?” Soren slightly shoved himself away from Daniel’s face as he asked, “what is a wombat?” 

“Ahh, I forgot, you haven’t been to Australia yet,” Daniel let out a ‘tsk’ with a shake of his head. “Your Mum and Dad are depriving you of those little adorable creatures! We need to get that fixed. Tell your Mum or Dad to take you there next time.”

Lester chuckled quietly before finally answering, “We have been doing a lot of colouring and reading so far.”

“‘s that right?” 

“Yes,” Lester insisted with a widened pair of eyes, “too much reading if I am being honest.” 

“Oh! Uncle Dan!” Soren placed his hand on top of Daniel’s head, making the Australian look at him with a slight frown. “Guess what? I’m reading Hansel und Gretel!” He shook himself off from Daniel’s hold and grabbed the opened book from the table, raising it as Daniel looked down at the book.

A frown etched on Daniel’s face as he said, “Ren, lad, I can’t understand this.” 

“What do you mean?” Soren asked. Walking up to Lester, Soren raised the same book for her to read. 

At least Daniel and Lester could agree on not being able to read German. At this rate, they’re both thinking that Toto and Tilly were raising intellectuals. The next Jean-Jacques Rousseau and Hypatia of Alexandria, if you would ask either of them. 

“That explains why Uncle Daniel can’t read it,” Lester found herself chuckling, “we both cannot read German language, Soren.” 

“Oh,” the boy murmured, “okay.” 

“But are you loving it so far?” Daniel asked, now sitting next to Lester with Tia perched on his lap. 

“Yes,” Soren nodded eagerly, “I am about to finish the story!” 

“Such a smart boy,” Lester complimented Soren, the little boy’s cheeks turning red at the compliment. Much like Tilly, her children always shy away from the compliments thrown their way. They were the sweetest children that Lester had met. It was probably because her younger siblings and her nephews and niece are just chihuahuas in the form of human beings.

Lester looked up at her beau, “I am more worried that you’re here and you’re not where you’re supposed to be now.” 

“I got here first before any of the people in the grid does,” Daniel told her smugly. “Some of them are just hearing that the kids are here this weekend and it will be an absolute disaster if all of them found the two at once.”

Tia and Soren Wolff were what Lester could call the tactical team of Mercedes. Well… of any team to be fair. Anyone from other teams could get easily distracted by the kids. Jenson at some point had joked about the two working for their father in Mercedes to distract Red Bull’s drivers hours or days before the race. 

At some point Christian had wanted to ban the kids from visiting their motorhome, but why? The kids were toddlers and entering the school-aged stage. They know nothing about tactics and driving besides from “Papa! Look, cars go fast!” But they still had Tilly’s heart and the drivers, if you were to ask anyone on any team, enjoyed being around Tilly. The Wolff kids often lifted the spirits up in the grid. 

The most fortunate driver to spend his time with the children would be Lewis Hamilton. Not only did he drive for Mercedes-AMG but he was Soren’s godfather. He had been Tilly’s best friend first before Toto was Tilly’s partner. Toto had gotten more softer on him once Stevie changed her surname to Hamilton on Valentine's Day. The other two didn’t stand a chance. 

Max Verstappen was certainly trying to be on Toto's good side. It took him a good while to convince Sylvie, his now-girlfriend, that he hadn’t meant to screw her over once— so you could barely imagine convincing Toto that. Not only was he trying to appease the older man, but he had an opportunity to prove that he’s a good uncle to the kids by babysitting them. Perhaps to prove that he would be a good father as well, but it wasn’t the right words to say in front of Toto Wolff, of all people. 

Charles Leclerc was fairly close to becoming a welcome face at some point, if it hadn’t been for the fact that some gossip page decided to take the context out of a private conversation where he said that he wouldn’t have a child with someone who nearly broke him one way or another. He was speaking of an ex-girlfriend who wouldn’t let go. But once that the story had spread out and his girlfriend had gotten a hold of it, she ran straight to Toto. Yeah, no. Still to this day, Toto wasn’t as convinced that Charles’ intention was to remain true. 

But still. Tia and Soren were what the team principals assumed to be Mercedes’ little weapons of distraction. Especially with Max Verstappen? Yeah. Christian Horner definitely did not want the kids near him during the race weekends. But it wasn’t like he could say it upfront. Max was fairly close to marrying Sylvie. Max’s family was practically connected to Toto’s. 

“Who was the first to hear that?” Lester asked her beau with a brow raised. 

“Charles,” Daniel answered with a shit-eating grin, “but he can’t get out of his media duties.”

“Wow, if Ferrari only made time for their strategies instead of putting their drivers in front of a camera for their spare time,” Lester feigned satisfaction as she sighed dramatically, “just imagine the podiums that they could get.”

“A lot!” Soren piped up before his guilty eyes looked up at the adults, “I am sorry, Zia and Zio. Papa and Mama said it is rude to listen to adults talking.”

“No, it’s alright, mi niño pequeño,” Lester smiled sweetly at the boy. “Thank you for apologizing.”

Daniel only shrugged, “But he isn’t wrong.” He and Soren exchanged grins. 

If there’s anything that Lester had learned at the very beginning of her relationship with Daniel, it would be that he would be one to encourage Soren to say something that a smart-ass would say. Tilly told Lester once that Daniel was the devil on her shoulder back when she started in her racing teams in 2014. Like that shoey during the Silverstone 2014. That was all Daniel.

So it wasn’t much of a surprise when Soren nodded at Daniel’s approving look. Soren was smart, indeed, and clearly Daniel’s trying to “corrupt” his brain with mischief and whatever it was he’s concocting at the paddock. 

Maybe this was what they meant when Soren and Tia were Mercedes’ weapons of destruction. And they were both being influenced by a Red Bull driver. Ironic.

[littleslithewhump]

Day 27 and 28- stress position and fingering (I’m switching the prompts for the 28th and 29th! This pair just fit together a little bit better for one post, I thought. Ty ily).

V can hardly stand to look at himself in the mirror. Humiliated in the suit, his vulnerable privates hanging out in the open, his mouth stretched far enough that it makes his jaw ache. His shoulder soon makes most of that fade, however, the pain making shame fade to a small tamping down of whatever fight V has had inside him. . 

Until his captor comes downstairs and loosens him, forcing him to his knees to take him in his mouth. V feels his mind detach from him, the discomfort of deep-throating buzzing into background noise. It’s odd but, in a way, freeing as he looks at the objectified version of his body being face-fucked. It feels separate from himself. As he looks at it all, he kind of hopes it keeps happening–that he can somehow look at all this from a bird’s-eye-view, that his mind will slowly drift farther and farther from the ruin of his body until, maybe, he disconnects completely. Goes offline. Though perhaps that is simply dying. 

He’s brought back when his captor tosses him to the side, and the pain newly anchors him back to himself. 

“Get out of that gimp suit, pet.” 

His captor marches back upstairs. It’s an uncomfortable, damp struggle to follow his command, even as it’s a kind of relief, particularly as he can give his jaw a break. The sweat on his limbs makes it feel as though he will freeze in the chilly basement air. He has to twist oddly to reach each zipper, each lace tie. 

Naked again, shivering and avoiding his own face in the mirror. 

His captor grimaces when he touches V’s sweaty skin, and pulls V upright to manacle one wrist to the ceiling and–V’s shivering harder as soon as he sees it–points the hose toward him.

The cold feels like a slap, and V feels himself yell before he can stop himself, trying to cringe away from the freezing water. 

“I was good! I was good!”

The water continues, rinsing off sweat and semen and blood. But his captor steps closer. 

“You were good, were you? You take six men’s dicks and you think you were good?”

V feels tears leak at the corner of his eyes, unsure if they’re coming from the cold or from fear. 

His captor holds the hose up to his nostril, grabbing him by the neck with his other hand until V sputters and coughs. 

“Barely even struggled against them. I bet you even forgot you were my pet.” 

“No–I–I’m yours–” 

His captor drops the hose at his feet, walking over to switch it off. V could cry for the unfairness of it, if his teeth would stop chattering. “I–I–didn’t want–” 

“Shut up, you ungrateful shitstain.” 

Rope presses between V’s teeth, the braided surface brushing his tongue. “Hold that for me, pet,” he says. 

V tries his best to, even as his shivering makes him have to focus all of his attention on it. 

His captor frees his arm from the ceiling, and cuffs his wrists behind his back, pulling up until V falls to his knees, his shoulder sparking horribly. He cries out, dropping the rope from his mouth. 

“Can’t even follow simple fucking commands. I told you to do one. Goddamn. Thing.” 

 His captor wrenches his arms up, and V screams. His shoulder. God, his shoulder. It feels like white hot irons are driving through the joint. 

His captor pushes him completely off balance, forcing him to lie facedown on the damp floor. 

His captor ties a loop around his neck. Not a noose. Just a simple loop with the ends of the rope fed through. He pulls it taut, however, and V feels a surge of panic.  

“Please–please stop–please, I’ll do whatever you want–” 

His captor doesn’t seem to listen, just hoists the rope around the hook on the ceiling and back down, tying the rope ends around the cuffs. 

It’s a sinister cornering. If V tries to give his shoulders a break, let his hands fall to his back, his neck is wrenched up brutally, torturing his spine and making breathing seem almost impossible. If he tries to lean his head down, his shoulders scream at him. All while he feels ice cold water under his stomach, on his genitals. 

He’s somehow screaming and sobbing at the same time, his throat shredding under the pressure. 

His captor doesn’t pay that any mind. He just belts his ankles to his thighs, though, a vicious frog tie on both sides to prevent V from trying to get to his knees, to give himself a break.

There’s nothing but now. Just pain, white and red and searing and lonely, somewhere that’s hot and freezing at the same time. V tries to catch his breath. He tries. He tries…

All he seems to be right now, right now, is his shoulder, pulling and pulling at the meat of itself until V hopes that finally, finally, someone will hear him, someone will hear him and save him or at least be with him, will tell him that he’s not alone, that this agony will ease or someone will bear it with him or someone will, at least, witness his own body tear himself apart.   

–

I let him sit for an hour, tapping my fingers on the table, drinking and eating a meal, pretending to enjoy it when I’m just seething at images of my so-called friends, soft little men in the kink community who are too fucking oblivious to notice that I’m not one of them. That my pet is my pet in a way that their little dog boys can never be theirs. That they think they can touch him without consequences. 

There will be. There fucking will be. Once, of course, I’m done getting him back in line. 

I was good. 

Such a stupid, stupid thing for him to say. For him to think he was good when I let him be used. 

I recall feeling the same the last time we partied, his ass and mouth filled, his lithe body strapped to the bench. But at least they beat him that time. Gave him the punishments that they knew they should. And I fucked him so good after that he begged for me.

He should beg for me now.

I knock down the rest of my whiskey. The ungrateful little slut. 

Only his screams, agonized and broken, finally calm me.

I descend again, throbbing immediately as I see him red, sweating and soaked, his own body torturing him into submission. 

I jam a toe under his chin, forcing him to look up at me. His face is a mess of snot and tears, of new rope burn just under his jaw.

“Are you done, pet?”

He just sobs, pathetic, broken. I don’t even know if he understands me. If he’s been driven feral by sheer pain.

“I’ll be kind and take that as a yes.” 

I unhook him, taking him out of his predicament. 

He shudders on the floor, and I feel a rush of warmth to my cock, looking at his supine body on the wet cement. 

I crouch next to him. Jam my fingers in his mouth. “Lick them, pet.”

He does, thoughtlessly lapping at me like I’m his last fucking meal. Crying and licking like a dog. 

I wrench them from his mouth and immediately shove one up his ass. He cries out so pitifully. It’s…delicious. 

“You’re stupid, aren’t you? Stupid little animal. Only good at obeying me.” 

He’s wiggling against his bonds, wiggling against my finger. So I add another, barely slick enough from his spit to not chafe his hole.  

“Answer me, pet.”  I pump my fingers in and out. 

He yelps, but tries–tries to stammer out a yes, god, yes, he’s stupid, he’s stupid–

I finger him with more force, relishing his twitches and pathetic little noises, the ropes tight over old bruises. 

“Beg me for it.” 

His pleas come without any struggle this time. Without even his usual idiotic stammer. 

“Beg me to fuck you.” 

I punch my fingers into him. He obeys, begging between breaths for me to fuck him, to take him, to finish inside or on him or–

I move my fingers even faster. 

“Beg me to hurt you.” 

He’s gasping from my ministrations. Gasping too fast and hard to answer promptly. 

I slap his ass. “Little whore. Beg me to hurt you.”

He’s hard against the dirt floor, I know: strung out and squirming. Whimpering as I continue to finger him. 

“Please…please hurt me. I want you to hurt me. I want you to beat me. I want…you. You to hurt me.” A wet sob escapes his sore throat as I curl my fingers inside him, holding still, asking him the question that matters most. 

“What do you want, pet?”

His inhales are shaky. 

“Please don’t…don’t leave me alone again,”  he whispers.

I smile, even though I know he can't see.

“I won’t, pet.”

Taglist:

@whumped-by-glitter

[tommygrace]

( tried replying under the post as a comment but it kept cutting the length short so here it is )

Hey so  I agree with most of what you say .. even if I look at Lizzie graciously she's a product of her circumstances and comes from a very different background than grace, I see her as bit immature and her feelings towards Tommy more of infatuation because we never see her deeply understand or care for Tommy, they just don't fit there's no real emotional or mental intimacy between them and later if there's some it's not enough, and her behaviour towards May and Jessie Eden and other actions again icky and immature, So I just don't get why people like her so much to me she's a rather simple charector with nothing much write home about.. and yeah season 1 was great when it came to grace and Tommy bcz , So I don't usually like sex scenes in movies or cinema it's very difficult to do them right and make them actually beautiful and meaningful but their intimate scene actually feels it's there for a reason …it conveys so much about their relationship… I would have just liked them to develop grace more, see more of her perceptive as well,  see more interactions and development of their relationship as well. also I guess it's an affectionate gesture she tells him to protect them but the whole thing of her not being concerned about charlies incident not prying not being involved in stuff, like when she tells I v the one who's invited them but my husband seems to know everybody, also we don't get anything of the between how were 2 years before their marriage what did Tommy say to her when he went back etc some flash backs more time with them before killing her if they had would have been better… even in season one we could have more of them there relationship has lot more space to be developed so I am really sick right now so will stop here at typing, one more thing I think tommy respected MAY and they had more understanding between them…the fact he doesn't takes her offer to go back to being a gangster shows that he respects her enough not to use her, at that time he didn't know grace would come to him she was sailing away the way he was effictionate with her and said whatever happens no regrets during race also shows their relationship was decent and had potential it was also intresting,I think MAY is an intresting and intelligent charector, which is also why she leaves home because she can see he is self destructive by the time they meet again, " nothing seems to change you, but from what we are shown on the show he cares the most for grace , there's some sort of mirroring between them , they see themselves in each rather, they share sweetness and affection, he's the most open and vulnerable with her, the fact he asks her to help him says alot , grace is also the only charector on the show we see being affection towards Tommy they are actually both soft towards each other in a that almost gives young love vibes , the way the aren't with others , he finds peace love and acceptance with her , and grace is the right balance of soft and stern with him she's not afraid to stand up for herself, or give it to him but she is also gentle, affectionate and caring towards him. Also that stare she gives him when she says " alone with him" " you think I am a whore" almost matches his in intensity and power of you see that scene.

Also lot of PPL hate on her for betraying him , but that only adds to her, she completes her duty and saves him at the same time, that's almost ideal and respectable in her position, being an officer was difficult at the time, she has her trauma with her dad's death , yet when she sees Tommy isn't that bad and police not that great she helps him in her own way, it wasn't a light deal to be a women and an officer we can see how she's undermined in many ways , we see how moss calls her a whore, she does her work and loves Tommy at the same time, how many people Tommy uses to get what he wants, also retrieving the guns is actually the morally right thing to do , yeah she got freddie arrested and stuff but again it's thing of us not knowing her perceptive in things, but coming back just cuz she's a woman and falls in love with Tommy she's supposed to forget about her mission and be all irrational and immature? The hate towards her for that is unjustified she did the best in her circumstances, and Tommy actually understand and loves her despite it , he overlooks it and forgives even respects her for it,  despite of feeling hurt and it being a big deal,  she did  what she had to Just like him…. She's intelligent and perspective she does her job well. Also previously in earlier comment I meant "* almost pimps her out to Kimber" saw there are so many typos there phew 

Yes, I agree with everything you said about Grace and Tommy. And about Lizzie, I also see her as a very immature woman. Who is only obsessed with a man, and lives in the fantasy that she created in her mind.

The only thing I don't agree with is May, I didn't like her character in S2, the way she went to look for Grace seemed very adolescent just to provoke her and tell her he's going to choose me, Grace didn't understand anything haha. And it seemed toxic to me that when Tommy tells her that he wants to stop having sex with her because he is in love with another woman, that she tells him that she still wants to continue and that she is going to win him, that seemed toxic to me but I liked her in S4 , the way she didn't let herself be humiliated by Lizzie, and realized that Tommy is not going to change for her, and that that is not the life she wants, and decides to leave, I liked that about her. But I think Tommy and May simply felt attraction and they both wanted to forget about other people, their true loves, and they used each other for that, but Tommy realized that no one is going to replace Grace and no one is going to make him feel like her makes it feel. The mere fact that the second he finishes having sex with May, the first thing he does is call Grace, that says a lot about how he feels about Grace and not about May or Lizzie, or any woman.

[ravenadottir]

rahim: headcanons

(listen, i thought i had posted and queued this last year, like around june, and as it turns out it was stored in my google drive, so rahim stans, sorry about that!)

⛳ after having a discussion with @itsrealityboo we can agree the imagery of rahim with a petit dog is e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. while the dog gives him kisses he can’t help but giggle while it happens. STOP.

⛳ i reckon he prefers apartments over houses. like @itsrealityboo said, "I think he wants luxury but doesn't want to deal with the additional upkeep that comes with a stand alone house." and it's very that.

⛳ a second bedroom converted into a closet, because you know he just has LOADS of clothes and barely repeats them.

⛳ his at-home-attire consists mostly of sweatshirts, which i love picturing in a blush pink.

⛳ during the pandemic he was getting anxious for not being able to hit the gym. however, he did go overboard to compensate for it with his online purchases.

⛳ the maintenance for his hair it’s either made by mc or himself. i really reckon he went through a lot of videos and tutorials to learn because he didn’t know how to do them before.

⛳ he was also having lots of fun learning dance tutorials on youtube, but doesn’t want anyone to know about it. REALLY HARD TO MISS THE GIANT BOY STEPPING UP AND DOWN IN THE OFFICE BUT SURE RAHIM.

⛳ zoom calls with noah and henrik. learning some recipes from bobby and talking nonsense with gary.

⛳ playing online FOR SURE, and everyone in the chat was from the villa. he loves playing team games and laugh while gary yells at bobby for the 35th time that he missed a chance to eliminate someone. “AI, CUPCAKE, PAY ATTENTION, FUCK!” all you can hear is noah sighing and rahim chuckling.

⛳ he was so bored at some point he was learning how to do magic, and when failing while showing it to his girl he would shake his head and say “it worked when i practiced in the mirror”.

⛳ his mom would make sure he’s always keeping the fridge full and he would respond with “it’s almost like you don’t know me mom.”

⛳ i reckon he talks to his mom at least once a week. not so much with his dad the more he learns about masculinity and all.

⛳ loves to surprise his girl with his cooking, and now that’s improving he likes showing off a bit.

⛳ expanding his music collection by A LOT.

⛳ expanding his reading as well, especially with manga.

⛳ and while at it he might check a few animes too.

⛳ drawing! drawing! drawing! this is an old headcanon but it’s so fitting for him. i think this is how he copes with anxiety sometimes.

⛳ so many brand deals after the show. the best way to make money during the pandemic since he couldn’t tour.

⛳ i would love to think he did a reaction video about three episodes: the one he brings shannon back, the one he chooses jo over shannon, and when he and mc get back together. i have a feeling he’s very apologetic about the whole ordeal and tries to explain himself a lot.

⛳ wine drinker. sue me, i like the thought of him drinking a glass of wine.

⛳ he might experiment a lot with his hair, and let it breathe from time to time. i honestly think he would look so good with an afro.

⛳ if he's bored you might catch him trying to solve the rubik's cube in a shorter time crunch.

thirsty headcanons under the cut:

🧡 rahim’s disposition to make her moan is unprecedented. he’s reading,, and watching a lot of videos on the matter. he felt really unequipped and i think spending his time learning is worthy of compensation.

🧡 loves being the reason she grabs the bedsheets and will do anything to make it happen.

🧡 slight mommy kink, not gonna lie.

🧡 loves praise.

🧡 has a hard time to talk about his own preferences because he’s afraid of being judged. once he feels comfortable, there’s no turning back.

🧡 background music always, it helps him focus.

🧡 holding her around his waist wherever they are.

🧡against a wall happens more frequently than you think.

🧡 P-A-C-K-I-N-G.

🧡 likes being guided. loves being controlled. cums when commanded.

🧡 his default flow is mostly romantic and easy going.

🧡 if he doesn’t receive a picture while on tour he’s definitely upset.

🧡 if she tells him she wants a video with audio featuring him in the tub, he’s tripping on his way to take his clothes off and fill that bitch up.

🧡 left and right there’s a growl but he’s not sure if he’s allowed to make noises. when she tells him it’s ok, just watch. or rather, listen. he sounds fucking good…

🧡 moans her name continuously while she’s in control. and out of it for that matter.

🧡 buries his face in her neck when on top.

🧡 LOVES being teased and can’t get rid of whatever is his hands fast enough when she lets him know what’s about to happen.

🧡 whimpers when close to cumming.

🧡 his torso and thighs tremble while it happens and he shuts his eyes while grunting and whimpering.

[dsknsk]

Analysis of ‘Traffic Jam’ by Niru Kajitsu

‘Traffic Jam’ is a song written by Niru Kajitsu utilizing v flower. It struck me first as a funky and cool song, but when I made my own MV of it, I realized that this song is actually a scathing commentary on the society as how it is now. Unlike all English songs I know that fall under that same descriptor, it’s brought more subtle but is increasingly obvious for those who see it.

I’ll be using the translation from bluepenguin for this analysis. I’ve both included the original MV and my MV of it, the latter using the cover from Aohi Rame (I feel like she really carries over the emotion in this song). The original MV does have some flashing in it, mine doesn’t have it.

Intro

So before the singing even starts, we get this short bit of a car driving, and then crashing, with the appropriate ‘crash’ sound accompanying it. The background is dotted with eyes, which are initially all looking at the viewer (or at the car, same general direction). When the ‘crash’ happens, they all look towards the direction the car drove in.

They are the eyes of the public. A crash has evidently happened, and everyone’s looking at it.

First verse

We are introduced to our two main characters. The song is sung in their perspective. Meet Flurry and Welter. They fit entirely within the aesthetic of the song with their entirely yellow and black color pallettes.

Then, we switch to the first verse.

Oh no, oh no, it’s a collision! Who’s at fault? Click, click, the flash went off — well, it’s kind of pathetic Would hanging yourself be a good apology? Would your parents forgive you for dying before them? Or not? Are you cornered? Can you run away like the coward you are?

This sets up the rest of the song. Instead of caring about anyone that may be involved in the crash, the first question that rises up immediately searches for someone whom they can put the blame on.

I’ve included the image of these two people, because they’ll be important for later.

The collision is immediately noticed, as we saw at the beginning. However, instead of asking ‘Is the driver alright?’ or ‘How severe is the damage?’ or anything else that shows concern for the people involved, the very first question is ‘Who’s at fault?’

And the blame is immediately put on this man. The collision is treated as something so serious, that hanging himself is the first apology that’s proposed (with him once again being looked at by the public). This does suggest that the collision itself may be a further metaphor for more ‘serious’ things.

He does follow up on the suggestion, and immediately, Flurry and Welter appear, Flurry wielding a net and Welter with a pair of scissors in his hand. They have ‘caught’ him, and now he’s going to pay.

The man tries running away, for which the lyrics call him out for. You can quickly see two monstrous figures that represent our two main characters when he runs away.

Oh no, not again — another collision! The traffic light is blinking red Who’s at fault this time? It doesn’t matter who It’s, uh… that guy’s fault! Fuck compromises! It’s do or die, but don’t get carried away ‘S not our problem, right? The wholesaler won’t sell stuff like this

This verse makes it very clear that this song is from the perspective of Flurry and Welter. As another collision happens, the process starts all over again. They point to someone who’s to blame. It doesn’t even matter if he truly is, it’s just that someone needs to take the blame to satisfy the people. The line ‘It’s, uh…that guy’s fault!’ enforces some sort of randomness into the entire process.

Flurry quite literally points the finger to underline it even more.

Then the lines say ‘Fuck compromises, it’s do or die, but don’t get carried away’. The world of gossip is one with a black and white worldview overall, not satisfied with compromises. There is a word of warning here: don’t get carried away.

The last two lines of this verse mention the uncaringness of our duo. It doesn’t involve them on a personal level, they are just outsiders who happen to butt in. ‘The wholesaler’ is the media/social perception. If it isn’t sensational with a clear-cut answer as to who is at fault, then it simply doesn’t make for a good story.

Deuce Deuce Deuce! Til you die Til I die We won’t call off the fight due to injury Deuce Deuce Deuce! Til our veneers peel off, til morning comes Let’s you and me swap spit

Chorus

It’s been theorized to many as to what ‘deuce’ is. With the way it’s portrayed, I think it’s meant to be referencing ‘juice’, as in ‘the juicy details’. In our country you have what we call ‘juicekanalen’ (literally ‘juice channels’), youtube channels and the like that are dedicated to talking about gossip. These are controversial because it’s said that they don’t always verify their information that well and the way they get their information in the first place involves a complicated network of people. Sometimes they get the news before the official channels do.

These juice channels are coincidentally a very good representation as to what this song is about. Especially this chorus tells us about the mentality of Flurry and Welter, our two representatives of types of gossiping people like those who run the juice channels. It’s a sort of hedonistic mindset. As long as they can keep pretending to be who they show themselves as, they will be together and be ‘partners in gossip’, so to say.

The line ‘we won’t call off the fight due to injury’ also gives us a peek within their psyche. They are also unfettered: even if people genuinely get hurt as a result of their gossiping, whether that’s mentally or physically, they simply won’t stop, because as they stated before: it’s not their problem.

In the instrumental bit we see two object heads, both with fruit as their head. I think this is a pun on the word ‘juice’ since literal juice is most often fruit-based. This person in particular has another apple on their head and is bound (hearkening back on Wilhelm Tell) and they’re framed as the victim.

Picturing them as an object head, and that of an apple to boot, dehumanizes this person - there’s no care about who they are and how they feel, just that they’re appointed as the one to blame. Eventually, an arrow is shot through their apple head, not through the apple on their head.

Third verse

Oh, how sad — tragic things just keep happening, don’t they? It’s good that this truly selfish soul was given life, but… Constantly finding fault and poking holes is just human nature It’ll be healed by the flame ignited by claws

Funfact: the banana object head is also seen shortly after the chorus, here.

The beginning of the second verse marks the second time that Flurry pushes Welter away. They’re certainly not a perfect duo, but they do have the same goal in mind so in that way they are still like-minded.

Then there’s this line: ‘Constantly finding fault and poking holes is just human nature.’ This is their defense as to why it is like it is: they say that it’s down to human nature and there’s no helping it. Their acting is a result of something that just can’t be helped. It’s just so easy to do it. It’s also illustrated in a literal sense, as the ‘searching’ is made literal as in looking closely.

‘It’ll be healed by the flame ignited by claws’ is what I think cryptic for that once a ‘hole’ is found, it is ‘patched’ by everyone pointing it out and making a show of it. People will literally search for the tiniest mistakes in someone else to bring them down, whether it’s in the past or currently going on.

Wait a sec, in this town the night is bittersweet It just ends up with the tiny lights freezing over A weather-beaten distraction, a sacrifice of sophism Anyway, it’s gotten hard to live in this world, huh? Inferior moaning

The characters have lost their ‘heart’, their ‘empathy’ long ago. The world is a hard place to live, something that they even outright say in the last line. It encapsulates this song quite well, honestly. In order to not be the victim of others, they have lost their own empathy to be the one pointing the finger instead. You see Welter casually sipping the ‘juice’ (see the pun from before) and Flurry hanging another body again (refer to first verse).

Also, the ‘Inferior moaning’ is pronounced as ‘retsu shingin’, i.e ‘let’s singing’. An object head also appears with a mic as to hint at this pun.

Second chorus

Deuce Deuce Deuce! Til you die Til I die There’s no way a chain’s being put around my leg Deuce Deuce Deuce! Til we’re soaked and turn into fools Til we sober up Let’s do it in a coffin

Two points of translation. ‘A chain’s being put around my leg’ is a form of the term ‘someone’s leg is being caught’, meaning ‘they are found out/their act is up’. It’s also, less commonly, a term for getting married. There might be a double meaning here, as Flurry is seen disliking Welter.

‘Til we’re soaked and turn into fools’ is translated from ‘gushagusha’, which is normally an onomatopoeia for being soaked, but it’s written with the word for ‘fool’ twice.

My anxiety spikes and I’m unsteady Once you get there, there’s no going back We’re dead people from the cradle to the grave

This is the first sign of our look beneath the surface of the two. Inside, they are actually just normal people who feel normal things like anxiety, and they have realized that once you get into the gossip world, you can’t go back. Their nihilism speaks through the third line.

Meanwhile, the visuals show us something interesting:

Which are the real selves of Flurry and Welter. This fits with the lyrics that give us our first glance as to who they really are.

Bridge

Ah, it’s the usual collision — who’s the victim this time? “Isn’t this pretty cruel?” That’s a good one There was never any end or any moral to begin with Dancing and being made to dance, the traffic jam’s getting worse But my pointless life has already reached a dead end I’ll pray faithfully every day That no one else will appreciate you

It’s a variation on the first verse, but with the information we have now. They never had any morals when they started doing this, never any true goal as what they tried to reach. They just want to gossip, want to feel better than the others and made up their own persona to show to the public. It’s all fake, hence ‘my pointless life’. They genuinely hate other people who are not themselves. Which is. Ironic.

The new bit shows them uploading another video online with gossip. But while they’re busy, they are spotted and as they turn around…

(Look at the patch of human skin on their faces.)

They’ve finally been caught by another couple that is just as disguised with a facade like them. Not even Flurry and Welter, who thought they were impervious, are immune to being victimized (and as it were, ‘replaced’) by others. Others who act exactly the same as they do.

Last chorus

Deuce Deuce Deuce! Til you die Til I die We won’t call off the fight due to injury Deuce Deuce Deuce! Til our veneers peel off, til morning comes Let’s you and me swap spit Deuce Deuce Deuce! Til a cough bursts out of me Til my throat hurts Let’s strip each other of our sighs If we stayed here like this forever I’d be able to get by without ever becoming human

Flurry’s disguise is melting away, see the grey tone of her skin melting away on her arm. She isn’t wearing her pointed hair accessory either. This is also shown during the line 'Til our veneers peel off'.

As the veneer is peeled off, so to say, by the new two that expose them (shown as them getting intimate) we finally see what they really look like. That’s right - the victims from the very first line. Note that their colors don’t fit within the color palette of the video.

Alternatively, this whole scene can also be interpreted as the real Flurry and Welter being confronted by their own fake selves, getting overwhelmed and being exposed.

The two try running away, in the same way as the nameless man from before. It ends in the same, predictable manner.

The line ‘I’ll be get by without ever becoming human’ points out that they don’t even care about being human. They just want to feel better, not feel human. The last line also underlines that, they won’t stop gossiping until there’s literally nothing left to gossip about:

Come on, let’s give up on life In this finished world, until the deuce runs out, Let’s do it, giving our flesh and bone unsparingly

At the end, the same man is stepping in the same car as the one at the start. Everything is starting all over again.

Conclusion

As I have put in the description of my MV, this song is about finger-pointing, gossip, and how our current society is obsessed with it. It’s about not even caring about the nuances in a situation and a pre-occupation with the shock that goes along with it.

[autistic-autumn]

Mari piano music playlist

Okay so I made a short playlist of piano pieces that I think Mari would play or like. There are unsurprisingly a lot of waltzes and a number of other romantic era piano pieces. I also put a few impressionist pieces because they also feel like they fit here very well. I tried to get a decent range of composers but Chopin is obviously the most prominent composers on here, being the king of the piano and waltzes.

Mostly just a nice set of piano background music that I've attributed to things mari would like or play that make a good listening list when reading or want very unobtrusive background music. It's mostly unordered with vaguely trying to split up stuff by the same person.

If you do have any suggestions for additional pieces then I'm happy to add as I threw this together fairly quickly.

Big reasoning behind all the pieces and just general rambling on them below the cut:

Schumann: The two Schumann pieces I have here are both from his work Kinderszenen, translating to "scenes from childhood" into English. This is obviously very thematic for Omori. The first piece Träumerei is known as the reverie or dreaming movement. It's a nice peaceful and slow piece and fits very well into this playlist. I chose to put it right in the second spot on this playlist simply because of the name. The second piece is Kind im Einschlummern, known as "Child falling asleep" in English. This too has a fairly relaxed feel to it but it feels more sombre to me than the first and I decided to put it right as the penultimate piece because of this.

I'm not too familiar with either of these pieces as I've never really listened to them extensively or played them myself so my understanding is fairly superficial. I considered adding the Arabeske in C because it's one of my favourite Schumann but it didn't really feel appropriate here

Chopin: I'm just going to get him out of the way right now because he has so much influence over this playlist. Chopin is easily the most famous romantic era piano composer and one of the most famous piano composers in history. He particularly specialized in waltzes and nocturnes and gave up concerts to play in the back of saloons in Paris. He very much epitomizes the romantic era piano and I assume would be someone Mari played a lot of given his overall influence and style.

The most notable piece he has here is the Prelude in E minor Op 28 no 4. This piece is particularly notable to be because of the fact it was played at Chopin's funeral (Liszt even made a transcription for organ for the occasion). The piece isn't particularly difficult for the most part but still requires great control over dynamics and rubato. The piece ebbs back and forth with the single chords played in a steady rhythmic fashion. I put this piece right at the end simply because of its use at Chopin's funeral and how much more harrowing it feels compared to the others (less melancholy and more just painful sadness to me).

The other pieces are mostly waltzes with one of the nocturnes I particularly like thrown in. I didn't look too deeply into most so there isn't a lot more other than they feel very fitting. Some of the Waltzes are a little more lively than the others pieces which I think is fine and feels kind of fitting.

Ravel: Ravel's only piece in this list is his famous Pavane. I don't know many Ravel pieces honestly but I do know he was very meticulous and precise with how he wanted his pieces. This trait is something I think Mari does share in her perfectionist ideas. The Pavane is a surprisingly difficult and precise piece and both in sound and performance I think is very fitting for Mari.

Liszt: Like Ravel, Liszt only has one item on this playlist. Liszt is typically very dramatic and is the height of 19th century dramaticism (see Lisztomania). For this reason however most of his pieces don't fit so well to Mari I don't think. Stuff like his Liebestraum (His version of Nocturne) is great fun to play and highly emotive, is simply too much for this playlist and I don't feel it matches the more modest theme that I've given this playlist. However, the third consolation does fit into this, although you can still hear some of Liszt's dramatic tones coming through. This consolation is specially known to be written in memory of his contemporary and friend Chopin and ends up as a much more melancholic and modest piece. I did consider some of his other consolations but none of them ever grabbed me as much as this one (I never really bothered to learn them to a performance level either).

John Field: John field is probably the oldest composer on this list and you can hear the much stronger classical era influence on him. He is well known for popularizing the genre of Nocturne which was later taken up by more famous composers like Chopin. The three pieces I have on here are just some of the ones I particularly like by him and I feel are fitting for this playlist. There's nothing particularly special about them other than they sound nice. The 11th nocturne is my personal favourite of the ones here and what actually made me feel like compiling all these into a playlist (I was reading an omori fic while listening to all his nocturnes).

Debussy: This is the other impressionist composer I decided to add to the playlist here. The first piece on the playlist is one of his early pieces, known as Reverie, a piece of dreaming. This style of early impressionist music feels very fitting to Mari for me and this piece makes a great opening to the piece. Its form isn't particularly structured and it just shifts between different sections in a very dream-like fashion. The first Arabesque is a very famous Debussy piece and requires particular care around the 2:3 polyrhythms in it. It is also a fairly early Debussy piece so it fits into the older style of harmony he did. It mostly just feels right to include this piece into the playlist because of how well known it is and how it fits into the overall theme.

The final Debussy piece here is a much later work of his from the series Childrens Corner. This is my favourite piece from the set and it's not too difficult. It's probably the most out of place in the playlist in terms of harmony but I kind of wanted to include it because I just like it and it still feels fitting enough, particularly with the series being pieces representing children's toys.

Tchaikovsky: Tchaikovsky isn't really a piano guy but I still included a waltz he wrote here as he is a famous composer and it's a nice waltz. I don't particularly care for it as much and I think Tchaikovsky's abilities really shine through in his orchestration. I was tempted to include the famous Waltz of the Flowers but it isn't actually a piano piece and it feels a bit sly to just use a transcription when it was never meant to be a piano piece.

Fauré: You might notice neither of these pieces are actually really piano works in their own right and I didn't really want to include things that are mostly transcriptions. However, the Fauré Pavane was first written as a piano piece before the orchestra + optional choir version was written and the Sicilienne was written for both piano and cello + cello at the same time so the piano version is just as valid as an original piece. I mostly just like these pieces and think they fit and are both quite nice romantic era piano works.

Karganov: I'm going to be honest I'd never heard of this guy until today until I was reading through one of my ancient early 20th century piano books I have with a bunch of music and saw this and decided to look it up. He maybe was more famous in the past, hence why his piece appeared in a book of "World famous piano pieces" from the 1930's. Just ended up listening to it after reading the score and it's a nice fairly fitting waltz for this playlist.

Schubert: I've never really listened to this piece much or Schubert honestly but I do quite like this one. I've seen people say this is a precursor to the Liebestraum and I just thought it was generally a very nice piece. I also have a soft spot for Gb/F# major because it's such a beautiful key. The double cut common time signature in this is also quite amusing but not particularly notable unless you read a copy of the score.

Other stuff: I might add more to this list in the future as I remember certain pieces exist. I considered adding the spring song by Mendelssohn but ended up not doing so. I tried to stay away from anything too classically classical and too modern. I'm sure there are a handful of minimalist pieces that would fit and the final duet in omori is very much a modern sounding romantic inspired piece. A lot of these are in here because of Omori as a game or sunny (see the two about dreaming and such). Either way I added them because I want to. Big rant on all the people and songs here because I'm a complete music nerd and play the piano myself.

[lured-into-wonderland]

V is standing next to her, but off to the side and out of view from the mirror she’s looking into. it’s a body mirror, long and tall enough to capture the sight from head to toe. she’s been trying on different kinds of scarves for their outing, gloves and all to match. hooked around the man’s arms are the different fabrics, all varied in length, color and design — it’s important to stay warm. he is just there to lend a hand to Nunnally, providing feedback to each few rotations on her choice in color matching and coordination (he remains quiet for the most part, though, unless she asks for his opinion. fashion is…not his specialty.)

It feels so good to be in a human world. Again. Perhaps Nunnally shouldn’t have forgotten what happened to her not so long ago, but in this very moment, she did. Perhaps the princess should have given more thoughts into the consequences of her being a prisoner of the Underworld, but she wants to forget. Seeing the sky, the sun and the moon, being among humans and their humans' issues make her believe she has escaped her fate, and is back here where she is supposed to be. The only reminder about her recent past (at least for now) is V. Standing next to her. She remembers his powers. She remembers his kindness. She remembers he is the only reason she’s still alive. Perhaps then, she should want him to disappear, too. Perhaps she should want to cut that last link (or the remainder) to who the proud princess has become…

…but she doesn’t…

…Nunnally wants V to stay. To be close to her. But the princess is not sure why. Is it because she feels safe with him? Is it because she knows he’ll protect her from anything and everything? Or perhaps there’s another reason that Nunnally is not ready to reveal even to herself?

She takes another scarf and tries it on. To see how it fits the rest of her outfit. It’s a nice soft wool; it gives her a cosy feeling. But would green go nicely with her fair complexion? So, she quickly chooses a different one; white scarf richly decorated with golden thread…but wouldn’t it make her looking too pale? Nunnally looks at V; he isn’t really helpful. V remains quiet for most of the time, and Nunnally is not sure why. Doesn’t he like anything that is piling up in this room? Doesn’t he like the “new” her? She is suddenly concerned. Does he find her vain?

Nunnally is not truly vain. She might appear so at this very moment, but deep inside she isn’t. V has seen her tainted and humiliated (at least in her own eyes); V has seen the princess in the rags, so now she wants to show him a different self; a different Nunnally. Still not in the royal splendor (does she really want him to see the royal princess?), but definitely a different Nunnally. Though perhaps V prefers her stripped of her royalty. Of her womanhood. Oh, is it that she wants him to see a woman in her?

She is standing there next to V wearing an elegant long dress. The black colour is the background for the seasonal motifs; all the shades of greens, reds, and golds adorn the expensive fabric. She is standing there now confused of why V is not talking to her. She wants him to say something. To calm her emotions down. Again and again. The faint pink creeps on her cheeks as the princess finally speaks: --

“Which one is better? The green? The white? …or perhaps the red one…?” – she adds as she reaches for another scarf. But she knows it is unimportant what she is going to wear. She understands that, although she still wants to look pretty for him. Though if it does make him uncomfortable…: --

“Come on…” – she says as she approaches V and gently takes his arm – “I think I have spent too much time focusing on how I look…” – though I want to look beautiful for you; but that’s not the confession V is going to hear – “We should rather focus on enjoying our…time together…” – suddenly Nunnally realizes she doesn’t know how much time is left for them. What will happen when they back to her kingdom? Where she is to take back her position?

She has dreamt about it when she was locked in that cell. So, why now a hesitation in her heart…?

“Look, V!” – the points outside the window – “The fresh snow!”

“Let’s go out…perhaps we’ll find a mistletoes…” – and end up under it. She doesn't want to think about serious issues. She wants not to be a princess for a bit longer. All she wants is to enjoy these moments...

...with V.

@ofurizen