#I did think the art style was familiar for a while

[onewholivesinloops]

I can’t believe I only just realized the artist for the Otherside Picnic manga is Eita Mizuno. I love her work on the manga adaptation of Umineko episode 7

[markrosewater]

Elegance

Here’s my original article for Elegance.

 This is a topic I’ve wanted to write about for a long time.  Ironically, the words needed to explain the concept kept the column from being elegant. So I did what all artists do.  I found a way to say a lot in a little space.

 Enjoy,

 Mark Rosewater

 [NOTE: EACH OF THE ABOVE FIFTY WORDS IS HYPERLINKED.  BELOW IS THE FIFTY HYPER LINKS.  THE HEADERS SHOULDN’T BE ON THE LINKED PAGE.  I’M JUST INCLUDING THEM SO YOU KNOW WHAT EACH LINK IS.]

 ELEGANCE

 Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary has five definitions for elegance:

 • refined grace or dignified propriety

• tasteful richness of design or ornamentation

• dignified, gracefulness or restrained beauty of style

• scientific precision, neatness and simplicity

• something that is elegant

 The common elements appear to be dignity, simplicity, and taste.

 THIS

 Elegance requires thinking, but it also requires feeling.  Elegant prose is judged by how it makes the reader feel. It needs to generate a sense of calm that puts the reader at ease.  Everything in your writing should feel as if it was carefully positioned to create the proper effect.

 IS

 Pound for pound, the writer’s greatest writing tool is the verb.  Nouns add substance and adjectives add flourish, but it’s the verb that drives the sentence.  Choose a strong, descriptive verb and the sentence has flair and purpose. Choose a weak one and the sentence lacks any sense of drama.

 A

 Here’s a little game to test an elegance relevant skill (based on an old game called Inklings).  Randomly choose a noun.  Try to convey that noun to the other players using the least number of letters possible. You’ll be surprised how much you can communicate in just a few letters.

 TOPIC

 One of the greatest stumbling blocks to elegance is the inability to choose a single focus.  Elegance requires simplicity.  Simplicity requires a single purpose of thought.  This means that elegance starts before you write a single word.  A good sculptor must know his image before he picks up his chisel.

 I’VE

 One of the common misconceptions of elegance is that it requires a writer to be fancy. Elegance though is more about familiarity than formality. You shouldn’t be afraid of friendlier language such as slang or contractions, assuming that such language adds an element of ease rather than one of laziness.

 WANTED

 An important element of elegance is a sense of passion.  Brevity does not mean pulling away emotionally from words, but rather the opposite.  When you find yourself limited to fewer words, you must pack each individual word with extra emotional punch.  You are not reducing your message, simply your messenger.

 TO

 A good tool in understanding elegance is studying poetry.  Poetry is the most concise of all written art forms.  It strives to maximize impact while minimizing expression.  Each word carries the burden of evoking some essence of the poet’s message. If it cannot carry its own weight, it is excised.

WRITE

 To be an elegant writer, you have to become a student of prose.  You have to study the mechanics of language to understand how it can be shaped.  Once you have learned how to transfer the feeling in your head into meaningful words, you are on the path to elegance.

 ABOUT

 Be careful not to fall in love with ambiguity.  While intoxicating in its beauty, it is the enemy of elegance. Remember, the goal is not to make the reader struggle for comprehension.  Rather it is to lead them to the obvious conclusion. Elegance should be used to illuminate, not confuse.

 FOR

 Elegant prose requires connecting with your reader.  To do this, you have to understand who that reader is.  Nothing should come before this task.  It needs to be done before writing can begin. I like to compare this to planning a trip.  Maps are useless until you know your destination.

 A

 Another major key to elegance is the understanding of the importance of the tiniest detail.  Just as a chain is only as strong as its weakest link, a piece of prose is only as tight as its messiest detail. A good writer doesn’t stop at the nouns, verbs and adjectives.

 LONG

 Don’t confuse elegance with brevity.  Elegant things are short not because they have to be but because the difficulty to craft an elegant piece of prose combined with the limitations of time forces writers to be brief.  Elegant novels, for example, do exist, but they are few and far between.

 TIME

 To quote Roman orator (and letter writer) Marcus T. Cicero, “If I had more time, I would have written a shorter letter.”  

 Simplicity takes more time not less.  Anyone can get a point across with ten thousand words.  But a true artist can do it in ten (or possibly fifty).  

 IRONICALLY

 Irony is a potent tool for commentary.  Its genius lies in the fact that it comments not on what is, but rather on what isn’t.  Like all good humor, irony makes you laugh.  But like the best type of humor, it also makes you think.  It’s both funny and funny.

 THE

 Elegance in writing is about more than words. Equally important is how the words are woven together. Tempo, pacing, rhythm – these are the tools that set the mood for the piece.  Try reading aloud your text.  The natural beat of language is more suited for the ear than the eye.

 WORDS

 To realize the power of words, you must first understand how they work. Art is expressive; words are connotative.  That is, words draw their power from their ability to extract different ideas from different people.  A circle is a circle, but the concept of “scary” varies from person to person.

 NEEDED

 Elegance is not the result of any one attribute.  It is the combination of numerous factors coming together in harmony. This is why it’s such a hard skill to master.  Most people can pat their head or rub their tummy.  But put them together and it’s not quite so easy.

 TO

 An elegant piece of prose needs to hit the reader at a gut level.  Often they won’t know exactly why they like it, but they will recognize that something about the piece moves them.  There are many types of writing where subtlety is lost.  Elegant writing isn’t one of them.

 EXPLAIN

 There are many ways for you to explain an idea.  The most elegant one though is not through definition but by example. By connecting your idea to one already known by the reader, you’re leaving the work of teaching to someone in the past.  Education is hard.  Comparison is easy.

 THE

 If writing is like building a house, the structure is like the foundation. Its design will dictate how the house is built.  If it’s faulty, no amount of fancy brickwork will undo the damage.  So take the time to ensure your structure is building the kind of prose you want.

 CONCEPT

 Never underestimate the power of a concept.  An important part of elegance is condensing big ideas into little words. This is far from an easy task.  It often takes a genius an entire lifetime to create a truly innovative concept.  So take advantage of all their hard work and inspiration.  

 KEPT

 A common barrier to elegance is the belief that only one way will work. Often a writer is unable to abandon a beloved piece of prose even when evidence demonstrates otherwise.  If something doesn’t add to the larger sense of the piece, you have to learn to let it go.

 THE

 Readers notice things at a minute level far beyond their mind’s ability to interpret. This means that although they may not consciously notice many of your tiny details, they will do so unconsciously. Aesthetics teach us that it’s this unconscious structure that will determine whether or not it feels “right”.

 COLUMN

 All communicators, whether through speaking or print, need to find a voice. A voice provides familiarity and it teaches the listener or reader how to more quickly absorb the information. Elegance is all about the conservation of ideas.  Having a pre-learned voice to guide you is a very valuable tool.

 FROM

 I’ve spent some time talking about understanding your reader.  But there is one more person who is even more important to understand – yourself. Writing is about sharing your ideas with others.  If you haven’t spent the time to figure out what you think, how can you possibly communicate it?

 BEING

 “A picture is worth a thousand words.”

 Or so the saying goes.  What the cliché forgets to mention is how many words a single word is worth.  For example, take the word “being”. To capture the essence of what “being” represents is tens of thousands of words if not more.

 ELEGANT

 What is the value of being elegant? Why should you care? Elegance adds aesthetics. It evokes poetry.  It grants beauty.  Elegant prose draws the reader closer because it gives them something to not just learn but to admire.  Good prose stimulates the head, but elegant prose resonates in the heart.

 SO

 Who, what, where, when, how - all important questions.  But for a writer they pale next to why.  If you don’t understand the reasoning beneath the surface, the other details are irrelevant.  The act of elegance is cementing the why.  It’s taking the purpose and engraining it into the piece.

 I

 Elegance is a very personal thing.  If something doesn’t resonate with you, there’s no way for it to resonate with your reader.  Writing is an art, not a science.  There is no rulebook for how things must be done.  If your instincts are telling you that something isn’t working, listen.

 DID

 An important tool in your toolbox is time. Elegance cannot be rushed.  Mental ruts only get deeper the harder you focus on them.  Make sure to work time into your schedule so you are able to walk away from your writing. An hour next week is worth a day today.  

 WHAT

 Don’t let attention to detail pull you away from having a larger sense of what you’re writing.  Take this column as an example.  While I spent a lot of time fine tuning each entry I never lost sight of the effect they created when all the entries were put together.

 ALL

 Elegance requires taking a holistic view of writing.  Every word, every sentence, every paragraph is a piece in a larger puzzle. It’s not enough to understand the impact of a single element. You must understand how any two elements interact if you want to understand the potency of your text.

 ARTISTS

 Elegance and art are very intertwined.  Both seek to achieve a similar goal: to illuminate and inspire with a conservation of expression.  If you’re trying to be elegant, I think it helps to think of yourself as an artist. The instinct for the latter mirrors the needs of the former.

 DO

 An important part of any writing is understanding the feeling you’re trying to evoke.  And then realizing what mechanic tools you have available to evoke that feeling. Diction, verb tense, sentence length, alliteration, word flow, phonetic juxtaposition – each of these will control the mood and tone of your piece.

 I

 A writer’s life is the ultimate fodder.  Don’t be ashamed to plumb your own experiences.  You understand them deeper and more personally than anyone else.  No painter would refuse to use his finest paints. And, as a bonus, by using your own experiences, you will become better educated about yourself.

 FOUND

 Don’t forget that the act of revealing is also an act of exploration.  Don’t be afraid if you learn more than the reader you’re trying to educate.  Writing is not an exact science.  (Or even an exact art.)  Often you will find that the road to salvation has a fork.

 A

 Your future is paved with your past.  If you want to learn how to grow as a writer, you need to look back at what you’ve written. With time and a detached eye, your will find your mistakes become clearer.  Remember that it’s failure, not success, that bests drives education.

 WAY

 The problem with looking for a single solution is that you’ll never find more than one.  And the first one isn’t always the best.  But if you’re open to the possibility that every problem has an infinite number of answers, you’ll have the freedom of choosing the solution you want.  

 TO

 Sentences are filled with freeloaders.  Because writers seem to love overwriting. (I include myself in this camp.)  Make sure to create time for the editor side of you to prune unnecessary words.  If a word can be excised without any harm to the sentence, it has no right being there.

 SAY

 I’m spending my time today talking about elegance in prose, but most of what I’m saying is applicable in speech.  The key difference is that prose has less defining attributes like appearance or tone.  The key to elegant speech is making people focus on the words rather than everything else.

 A

 It’s ironic that something designed to be so simple can be so complex.  But that, my faithful readers, is the joy (and mystery) of elegance. Like an onion, elegance has numerous layers that reveal themselves as you slowly peel them away.  Oh yeah, and it can sometimes make you cry.

 LOT

 An interesting exercise is to look at each word you’re using and think about how much content is loaded in that word.  Then explore what other words exist that fulfill the same role but with added content.  Once you’ve found the word you can’t best, move onto the next word.

 IN

 A good way to get better at understanding elegance is to look for it in every day life. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised where and how often you find it.  Study each example carefully and try to see if you can put your finger on what makes it work.  

 A

 Writing is a shared endeavor.  No one owns the words.  If someone uses a technique that works, there’s no shame in borrowing it.  Like science, writing creates technology that’s brought back to the group to spur further advancements.  Elegance is hard enough to accomplish without refusing to use the toolbox.

 LITTLE

 How big should a piece of text be if you want it to be elegant?  The answer is as big as it needs to be – and not a word more. Just think of it as playing the game Jenga. Keep pulling words out of your prose until it collapses.  

 SPACE

 One of the most important lessons in art is learning the value of negative space, the idea that the eyes are equally drawn to what isn’t there.  Prose has a very similar quality.  When writing pay careful attention to what you aren’t saying. Often it will speak the loudest volume.

 ENJOY

 For some reason people tend to equate dignity with seriousness.  And as such they come to the false conclusion that elegance has no room for humor.  Ironic as humor is one of the most elegant of styles.  A good joke is no longer than is necessary to do its job.

 MARK

 As is always true when I head off the beaten path, I am curious to hear your feedback.  What did you think of this article?  Was it entertaining?  Was it educational? Did you actually read all fifty links?  And if not, why not?

 Tell me.  Inquiring mind wants to know.

 ROSEWATER

 I couldn’t end this week’s column without my trademark closing.  I mean, how inelegant would that be?

 Join me next week when  I go from being a letter man to a Letterman.

 Until then, may you learn to appreciate now just the “what” but the “how” and “why”.

 Mark Rosewater

[justlemmeadoreyou]

Can I request for an blurb?? Never requested to anyone but I have this idea!!

So like H nd reader is in a relationship but H being famous nd all so because of that media nd his fans doesn't know he is in relationship nd to hide that thing he had to do PR relationship with someone else!! Nd he doesn't acknowledge that he had being ignoring reader nd spending more time with that pr girl!! So one day H came home nd reader was crying nd saying to H "do you love me?? Nd saying please don't leave me" nd H assure her she is it nd in few months he proposed the reader by saying how she is the only girl for him nd to never doubt his love for her!!

Ahh so sorry for such a lengthy request!! Nd it's okay if you don't wanna write!!:)

words: 4k (sorry!!!)

warnings: angst, lots of it. a fake pr, crying, some smut too. happy ending.

i changed this a bit, especially the ending. hope you don't hate this!

***

"I miss you," you whispered into the dark emptiness of your bedroom, clutching Harry's pillow tight. Another restless night alone while he was off being pictured with that pretty model for their fake relationship.

When would this torment end? Your heart ached constantly from the secrecy and lies shredding your real romance with Harry. All you wanted was to be open about your love...

It had started off so blissfully a year ago when you literally crashed into Harry outside of a coffee shop. You'd been rushing out the door, distracted and clumsy as always, when you rammed straight into a solid wall of human. Your face went bright red as you scrambled to pick up your scattered belongings.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry! I'm such a disaster, I seriously need to watch where I'm going..." you babbled, finally looking up into the kindest pair of green eyes you'd ever seen.

The man was watching you with an amused tilt to his soft lips. Something about his tousled chestnut hair and casual style felt vaguely familiar, though you couldn't quite place him. 

"No worries at all, it's my fault. Are you alright?" He asked in a deep, sumptuous voice that made you shiver.

As realization dawned, your mortified expression deepened. "Oh wow...you're...I just headbutted Harry Styles in the stomach."

He laughed easily, dimples flashing as he bent to help gather your dropped papers. "Very impressive ab attack there. Been taking self-defense classes?"

You flushed again at his playful teasing, finding yourself surprisingly flustered by this international superstar's carefree charm. Most celebrities seemed to carry an air of inflated ego, but Harry radiated a humble warmth.

"Do you, er, come to this cafe often?" He asked curiously as you both stood. "I don't think I've seen you around before."

Tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear shyly, you shook your head. "No, I don't. I was just stopping in for a coffee on my way to work."

"I see." His gem-green eyes slowly traced over your features, as if admiring a fine work of art. The intensity of his gaze sent a tendril of heated awareness washing through you.

Before you could think better of it, you blurted out the first thing on your mind. "Would you...maybe want to get coffee? With me, I mean? Right now?"

Harry's full lips curved in an amused smile. "I'd love that, actually."

You could scarcely believe this was reality as you led him back inside the cafe, trying not to visibly swoon at the casual brush of his fingertips against the small of your back. For the next hour you talked and laughed more freely than you had in ages, feeling utterly intoxicated by Harry's mere presence. Everything about him radiated authenticity and vulnerability, a creative wildness simmering beneath his polished exterior. You felt like you could be yourself with him instead of carefully cultivating persona upon persona as you did with most people.

By the time you forced yourself to reluctantly leave for work, exchanging numbers with Harry, you were positively giddy. Dancing through your day in a euphoric bubble, you hardly noticed the pitying looks from coworkers.

"You know he's just gonna ghost you, right?" Julie the receptionist said flatly when you told her about your morning coffee date. "Have you seen how many girls fall all over themselves trying to get Harry Styles' attention? You're out of your league, sweetie."

You frowned at her harsh dose of reality. As if you weren't well aware of your lack of impressiveness compared to supermodels and actresses in Harry's orbit. Still, you couldn't shake the magnetic connection you'd felt with him, the bone-deep certainty that he was someone truly special. 

Much to everyone's shock, Harry didn't ghost you. In fact, a simple text from him that evening asking how your day was led to a rapid-fire exchange of messages stretching long into the night. Over the next few weeks, your life revolved around hushed phone calls, secret rendezvous at out-of-the-way cafes and restaurants, and marathon conversations revealing every layer of one another.

Harry was purely intoxicating - a whirlwind of brooding intensity balanced with vivid spontaneity and an excellent sense of humor. He seemed utterly fascinated by every small detail you revealed about your life, respectful in a way that made him feel like a wonderful dream. And you fell harder and harder for Harry with each passing day. Something about his quiet attentiveness and insatiable curiosity about you made you feel cherished in a way you'd never experienced before. Gone were the shallow, vapid interactions you were accustomed to in the dating world. With Harry, you could truly be yourself - he somehow coaxed out your authentic self that you typically kept heavily guarded. 

At the same time, you were in absolute awe of the whirlwind of depth and experiences that defined Harry's life. His stories of touring the globe, writing deeply personal lyrics, collaborating with musical icons - they all painted a vivid portrait of an artistic soul soaring to brilliant creative heights. You drank in every glimpse into his inner world like a lifeline to another realm of existence.

Yet whenever you'd express feeling unworthy of his profound love and admiration, Harry was quick to sweetly rebuff you.

"Y/N, you dazzle me more than anything I've experienced in this mad career of mine," he insisted one evening over a cozy home-cooked meal you'd prepared. Catching your hand across the table, his green gaze pinned you in place. "Don't you see? Your warmth, your light, your way of finding detailed beauty in such seemingly ordinary moments - that's what enchants me. You make me want to shed all the superficial trappings of fame and just...be."

You felt yourself falling deeper and deeper, tumbling into an intimacy more profound than you'd ever imagined. If Harry hadn't told you himself that he'd only had a few relatively tame celebrity girlfriends in the past, you'd never have believed his immense experience from the way he worshiped you.

"So responsive, so gorgeous," he rasped against your swollen lips, calloused fingers stroking delirious patterns over your sensitized skin. "God, I could spend eternity between your legs”

Those stolen passionate encounters, tangled up and gasping one another's names with wild abandon, only added to your lovestruck infatuation. You felt deeply seen and cherished on a soul level, like you were both puzzle pieces finally slotting seamlessly together.

In the dreamy, lust-addled haze of new love, you almost didn't notice the growing tension in Harry's manner as typical relationship pressures began encroaching. Paparazzi grew increasingly aggressive in tracking his day-to-day movements whenever out in public. Well-meaning friends expressed concerns about the obvious strain he was under from lack of a romantic life in the public eye. And perhaps most troubling, his management team forcefully "suggested" it was time for him to embark on a high-profile PR romance to capitalize on album promotion and touring.

Harry had looked utterly fed up that evening when he broke the news, pacing in your living room.

You watched him apprehensively. "They want you to do...what? You mean...go along with a staged relationship? Like have a beard or something?"

"No! Absolutely not, I won't do it. I won't treat you like some secret, and I refuse to fake anything in my private life for publicity."

"Harry..." you tried to soothe him, rising to your feet and rubbing his tense shoulders. "I understand the pressures you're under-"

"No, you don't!" He rounded on you with surprising intensity. "You don't get it, Y/N. You are the best, most precious thing in my world - my safe harbor from all the bullshit fake expectations. I won't sully what we have with PR lies. I just...won't."

His words were at once incredibly romantic and terribly naive. As much as you longed to stay cocooned in the warm, intimate bubble of your relationship, you knew the real world would inevitably intrude. Harry was a public figure on a massive scale, his romantic life constantly scrutinized. For the sake of his livelihood, he might not have any choice but to bend to the publicity machine's demands.

***

Those first seeds of conflict only blossomed further over the following weeks as the PR relationship issue remained unresolved. You did your best to stay supportive and understanding, but it was a challenge keeping your own hurt and insecurities at bay.

"I just don't see what the big deal is," Harry groused one evening over a tense dinner. "So what if they want me to go out a few times with some model or actress, let the paps get pictures? It doesn't mean anything to me."

You poked at your food sullenly. "It's not that simple though, is it? Couldn't something like that, even if fake, seriously complicate things for us?"

He reached across to squeeze your hand. "Baby, you know you're the only person who matters to me. A little PR sham doesn't change how utterly mad I am about you."

But it did change things, whether Harry wanted to admit it or not. The striking difference in how he treated you, his real partner behind closed doors, compared to how he'd have to pretend with someone else for public consumption - it stung deep.

One night shortly after, you were cuddled up watching a movie when Harry's phone started incessantly buzzing. Pulling it out with a furrow in his brow, he quickly scanned a series of messages and emailed photos. An unmistakable look of chagrin crossed his face.

"What is it?" You asked, unable to ignore the sinking feeling in your gut.

Harry sighed, shoulders slumping. "Looks like the publicity team is really pushing ahead. They've, uh, they've arranged for me to be caught having dinner with Kendall Jenner tomorrow night."

Your heart plummeted as an uneasy feeling settled over you. This was really happening - right before your eyes, your private intimacy was being infiltrated with PR lies.

"So you're...going to be going out with her? In public, on a fake date, while the whole world watches?" You tried and failed to keep the hurt out of your voice.

"Not a date!" Harry was quick to insist, shifting closer to pull you into his arms. "Y/N, you have to understand this doesn't mean anything. It's all just smoke and mirrors, love. You're my world, I promise."

You wanted so desperately to believe him. But the lingering ache still took root somewhere deep inside as you watched the paparazzi frenzy ignite over Harry's "outing" with Kendall. Photos of the two models laughing intimately over drinks and dinner plastered every gossip rag and website for weeks. 

It soon became a narrative that followed Harry everywhere - probing reporters shouting questions about whether he and Kendall were officially an item now. Rabid fans prying him online, trying to get every new shred of detail on the new, perfect couple.

"Hey, come here," Harry murmured soothingly whenever he saw the sadness and uncertainty cloud your eyes. He'd pull you into his chest, peppering kisses over your face. "I'm yours, baby, only yours. None of that bloody circus matters to me, I hope you know that."

You wanted to have his quiet confidence, truly. The way Harry could compartmentalize the fake PR relationship and his very real feelings for you with such clear separation. But it didn't stop the anxiety slowly gnawing away at your trust and security.

Increasingly, special romantic gestures from Harry felt like overcompensation for all the public affection he was faking with Kendall. When he'd surprise you with extravagant getaways to exotic locales, you couldn't fully relax into the pampering without wondering how much of it was just hiding guilt. And his constant reaffirmations of his love and devotion started ringing hollow amidst the growing circus his life was becoming.

The worst of it came at one of his first concerts after the publicity whirlwind began. You'd been so looking forward to experiencing the screaming crowds in a whole new light as Harry's actual partner, not just a casual fan. But the huge video screens kept flashing candid photos and fake couple shots of Harry holding hands and hugging Kendall, selling their phony romance to the fans.

You couldn't hold back the tears slipping down your cheeks as Harry serenaded the arena full of thousands, having no choice but to play along with the charade on the world stage. He caught your eye for just a second during the encore, and his smile instantly morphed into a look of sheer sorrow and guilt, looking at your tear-ridden face. He knew you, even if he stood so much away from you.  But there was nothing he could do then except push forward with the manufactured story.

That night after the concert, an emotional Harry fell into your arms the moment you were alone in his dressing room. He clung to you desperately, peppering apologies across your tear-stained and defeated face.

"God, Y/N, I'm so sorry," he rasped, emerald eyes awash with remorse and frustration. "Seeing you hurting like that because of this bloody sham...it killed me. You have to know how madly in love I am with only you."

You nodded, finding it hard to speak past the lump in your throat. Of course you knew, deep down, that Harry loved you wholly. His attentiveness, the intense spark of intimacy and passion between you, the emotional connection - it was all achingly real. This PR relationship was merely a toxic byproduct of his celebrity, something massively unfortunate but not defining your actual bond.

And yet...Harry couldn't deny the growing chaos enveloping his personal life. The fake romance was now Priority One to his team, staged and milked for every ounce of publicity. Constant video calls and strategy sessions mapped out each calculated move - where Harry and Kendall would stage a coffee run for the paps, when they should be papped holding hands emerging from a nightclub, how often they should update their couple-y Instagram shots together.

Harry grew increasingly sullen and withdrawn the more deeply engrossed he became in maintaining the facade. And you couldn't ignore the mounting jealousy and hurt rapidly corroding, chipping away your self-esteem and faith in the relationship.

***

"Maybe...maybe we should take a break," you finally broached one afternoon after an especially grueling set of publicity demands. Harry's head whipped up from where he was moodily going over plans for an upcoming awards show appearance.

"What? Why would you say that?" There was an edge of panic in his tone. He looked shocked, but you knew it was a long time coming.

You shrugged. "Harry, can you honestly tell me you don't resent me at all for the toll this whole – charade has taken? That some part of you doesn't wish you could just live your life freely without me holding you back from giving publicity stunts like this your full effort?"

He immediately rushed to gather you into his arms. "No! Never, Y/N. You're my world, my everything. Without you, all this would mean nothing!”

Burying your face into the strength of his shoulder, you wished you could cling to his words and find comfort there once more. But the turmoil swirling around you was rapidly becoming too overpowering.

"I'm just...I'm so tired of feeling like an afterthought, Harry. Of being the dirty little secret you have to hide away while flaunting someone else to the world. I can't keep living like this, sinking into doubt and jealousy constantly."

Harry's arms tightened around you convulsively. "Don't say that, my love. You could never be an afterthought to me. I need you here, by my side, to keep me grounded and remind me of what's truly real."

Though his words warmed your heart, you found yourself pulling back to gaze at him searchingly. "Then prove it. Enough with the grand romantic gestures, the desperate promises. I need you to actually fight for me, for us, instead of just going along with everything. Either that, or–” the lump in your throat deepend, “ –you can let me go”

Harry was taken aback by your words. But still, there was a part of him that didn;t fully understand what you were going through.  "You know it's not that simple, Y/N. One wrong move that tanks this publicity team's plans and my entire career could crater."

"So what?" you challenged, tilting your chin defiantly. Harry wasn't the only one being forced to make impossible choices. "Is the career really more important than your actual life, your happiness in a real relationship? Because I love you with everything, but I can't keep sacrificing my sense of self-worth and spinning out into reckless jealousy every waking moment just so you can have the best of both worlds."

"I...you have to understand, none of this publicity shite actually matters to me. Not really. It's all a smokescreen that will fade away eventually. But you, us - this love is my truth, my be all and end all. Don't give up on me, baby. I'll fix this, I swear it."

You wanted so badly to believe the desperation in Harry's voice. But the ache of sadness and insecurity had burrowed too deeply. What once would have swept you up in romantic adulation now just hollowed you out further.

"I really hope you can, Harry," you rasped, pulling away with immense reluctance. "Because I can't keep holding my breath waiting for the other shoe to drop much longer. This half-life just isn't enough anymore.I can't, Harry.I can't keep living like this."

Harry looked hurt now. He knew it was only a while before it all came shattering down, but the thought of Y/N walking away felt like a shard of glass lodged in his heart. 

"From this moment on, things change," he rasped. "No more bowing to bloody publicists and image managers. My truth, our bond, comes before anything else. You're about to become my permanent bloody shadow, love."

A smile curved your lips at his words. Reaching up to trace the sharp edge of his chiseled jaw, you felt a wave of relief and renewed hope. "Well, I do make a devilishly charming shadow, if I say so myself."

Harry's gaze drank you in like a man rewarded with an infinite oasis after years of directionless wandering. "That you do, baby. No more hiding that radiant light of yours, yeah? "

He sealed the vow with a kiss that seared straight through to your bones. You clung to him, every brush of his hands and velvet tongue rekindling the deepest intimacy between you two. 

When you finally pulled apart, chasing oxygen, Harry made an immediate move to sweep you up into his arms like a blushing bride. "Come on, love. Let's go remind the world of who they're dealing with, shall we?"

You looped your arms around his neck with a giddy laugh as he strode through the penthouse with you cradled protectively to his chest. Despite his determination, his hold was soft, cherishing. Like you were something infinitely precious to be handled with utmost care, or you would break.

Without explanation, Harry marched you both out and down to where a sleek black car was out front, the doorman quickly ushering you inside the backseat. Once the privacy partition rolled up, Harry immediately turned to you.

"I mean it, every word," he stated plainly. "No more deceptions or hiding our connection. From here it's full transparency and only the truth."

you felt overcome by tenderness and awe. "So...does that mean an end to the fake relationship with Kendall then?"

"Among other things," Harry confirmed without hesitation. To your surprise, he reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone and thumbed it open to the camera app, situating you both in the frame. "We're going to document and share every moment of us, the real us. Let my supporters and fans see who truly holds my heart before all others."

You blinked in astonishment as he looped an arm around your waist, pulling your bodies flush as the camera captured. Was this really happening? After all your heartbreak and insecurity brought on by that disastrous PR relationship, was Harry truly throwing it all to the wind?

That was clearly his intention as he leaned in to nuzzle your cheek dotingly, snapping pic after sweet pic of shameless embraces and intimate caresses being exchanged between you. Each time the shutter clicked he murmured loving adorations, his focus immovable.

"Gorgeous girl...my forever woman...heart and soul of my entire world..."

You blinked back tears. When was the last time you'd felt this elevated by Harry's worshiping? Your shaky exhales intermingled hotly as he maneuvered you fully into his lap, slanting his mouth hungrily across yours.

"My everything," he growled against your lips before kissing you breathless.

"Harry..." you finally managed to gasp out as you pulled apart, "what are you doing? If you post those shots, then-"

"Then the whole world will know I'm mad for you, and only you," he said, with nothing but seriousness and devotion in his voice,  "No more closeting my actual partner away like a mistress to be hidden from disapproving eyes. You're the only romantic relationship fully grounded in truth that the world needs to be focused on."

You shivered at the assurance in his tone. This was really it - the definitive line in the sand. And with Harry looking at you the way he was, you couldn't find it in yourself to argue or question further. You simply melted into his heat, losing yourself in the incredible feeling of being staked as his claim.

With a few taps, Harry posted the first of intimate photos and captions that set the internet instantly ablaze. Breathy confessions of forever love intermingled with searing makeout shots - it was a rush of letting go of months of pent-up passion and adoration for the world to finally bear witness.

All the while, Harry refused to tear his stare from worshiping every inch of your body. His broad palms trailing over the exposed curves of your hips, waist, the swell of your breasts - anchoring you fully into the present.

Your social media was immediately swamped by a plethora of comments, tags and speculation over the tsunami wave of intimate reveals. Harry's fanbase seemed to have divided between celebration and outrage over their beloved idol being so thoroughly claimed by an average nobody. 

More jarring, however, was the media/PR teams' explosive reactions. Both your phones blew up with frantic calls and enraged messages demanding explanations and emergency meetings. As expected, the team working to orchestrate Harry's fake relationship with Kendall were melting down over the sheer negligence of you both, and damage control now being initiated.

For a long while, you both simply ignored it, too immersed in devouring the rebirth of your connection to spare any attention elsewhere. You reveled in being subjected to Harry's fervent, undivided worshipping as his fingertips and lips swept across every velvet hollow and slope. His sensual assault was purposefully overwhelming, etching his permanent claim over your quivering form.

"They'll keep the noise up for a while, try spreading all sorts of misinformation and manipulation to regain control of the narrative," Harry finally mumbled without breaking the rhythm of stripping you bare and lavishing undivided attention over each exposed new expanse of satin flesh.

You shivered beneath him, and he tilted your chin up with a knuckle to capture your gaze, "But none of that shite matters now, okay? All that matters is that I’m all yours now. Only yours.:

And you were never letting him go.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

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[aealzx]

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Prologue | AO3

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Fighting humans was something Danielle was admittedly not too familiar with until being brought to Gotham. There had been other criminals that she’d had to chase off, police that she’d had to politely incapacitate so she and the others could escape, and even the unfortunate passerby that she usually overshadowed to lead them away from their hideout. But for all of those she’d always pulled her punches, knowing that she could do way too much damage and even kill the humans if she hit them with her full strength. Ghosts just tended to be more resilient than living people. Which meant she also couldn’t use any of her ectoplasm based abilities against them most of the time either. Both because of the damage it would do to the humans, and because she didn’t have a good way to recharge quickly. She didn’t need to end up as another comatose team member for the others to take care of.

Facing off against Deathstroke ended up breaking all of Danielle’s beliefs about fighting humans.

While Danielle still couldn’t use too much ectoplasm, she quickly realized she didn’t have to pull her punches. Jason was the first to technically engage Deathstroke, pulling out both pistols and firing mercilessly at the hulking man as he charged towards them. Yet for some unfathomable reason Deathstroke seemed impervious to the gunfire, the only bullets that might have hit him being slashed away with a blade like some ridiculous samurai cartoon. Jason ended up emptying both clips in his guns before Deathstroke reached them, and by that point Dick ran forward to block him while Jason reloaded. Instead of opening fire on Deathstroke again though, he holstered the pistols for now in exchange for his combat knife, not wanting to risk hitting Dick or Danielle in the crossfire.

Dick was definitely familiar with Deathstroke’s attacks, but that didn’t mean it was easy for him to fight the professional killer. Hits were heavy, and the combination of swordplay and martial arts was deadly to even trained combatants. He found he was glad Jason had insisted on staying, for while Jason had a much smaller blade he and Dick were so familiar with each other’s fighting style that it was easy for Jason to sneak in and target Deathstroke’s weak points, or take the heat away from Dick for a moment. It was something that Danielle found difficult to join in on, and her first attempt to punch Deathstroke proved unexpectedly useless since she held back as much as she usually did against living people. All it served to do was bring her in range for Deathstroke to immediately target her instead, his blade swishing over her head as she ducked with a slight yelp.

“Go join the others,” Jason ordered after watching Danielle make a useless attempt to help and almost get beheaded instead, getting Deathstroke’s attention by slicing at his blind side.

“I can fight!” Danielle protested, giving another test punch with more force behind it, only to have Deathstroke catch her hand. She felt his muscles strain under the impact of her punch this time, his hand pushing her off to the side just in case she broke his resistance. But as he kept ahold of her fist she just phased through his hand to pull back.

“Then stop holding back. He can take all you’ve got,” Dick directed, having been one of the ones who had initially taken Danielle down during the rescue capture mission. He knew she could hit hard. Stephanie and Damian had to help, and they only caught her because of Damian using sedatives.

With the others chatting between themselves, Deathstroke chimed in with a calm comment. “Make this easy on yourselves boys. This time I’m not here for you, so leave the girl and you won’t get hurt.” It should have already been obvious that his target was Danielle and the others of her team, for he all but ignored Dick and Jason when they weren’t in his face.

“Did you honestly think we’d even consider that option?” Jason demanded, quick to snatch his gun out of its holster and start firing again when Deathstroke caught Dick off guard enough to bodily kick him skidding several meters away.

“No,” Deathstroke admitted, leaving back to dodge the bullets for a moment. “But it was worth a shot.” He sounded almost bored, blocking the bullets with his blade once more before getting accustomed enough with Jason’s firing pattern to charge forward again.

As Jason lurched back, half blocking the slash with his knife but still getting cut in the shoulder, Danielle swooped in with a whirling kick to Deathstroke’s chest, phasing through Jason to get the best angle. There was enough force this time that Deathstroke grunted from the impact, getting launched backwards to tumble twice before righting himself and skidding on his feet.

“Nice!” Jason complimented, caught just a little off guard at the more Superman-like display of strength. 

“Your fault if he dies,” Danielle shot back, already very uncomfortable with how different this fight was compared to others. She didn’t want to kill anyone, but if it happened because of self defense she’d have to learn how to come to terms with it. As long as this guy didn’t just turn into another ghost like Skulker. That seemed like a nightmare in the making.

“Great. I’d thank you if you managed that,” Jason returned, readying himself for another round.

“No killing,” Dick countered, reaching them again and taking his position near Jason.

“Kill him. Don’t kill him. You guys should work on your mutual goals,” Danielle scoffed, following as the two of them rushed Deathstroke this time.

It really was unfair that the old man was able to keep up with all three of them. Danielle hadn’t fought Jason before, but Dick had been the main one she’d fought before, so she knew he wasn’t a wimp. Yet it seemed the only real hits they were able to get in were the ones that she snuck in between the others’ moves. Back and forth in a broken dance of ill intent, stealing blood when steps faltered or reactions were just a tad too slow. Deathstroke’s blade sliced Dick’s forehead and bicep, and Jason’s forearm and thigh in addition to the previous gash on his shoulder. But in return Jason had gotten two good cuts on Deathstroke’s ribs and arm. That combined with brutal hits from Dick’s escrima sticks and Danielle’s fists made her feel like they had done a near equal amount of damage to each other. Perhaps it would be a duel of endurance in the end.

As the fight dragged on it started to wear on those involved. Danielle was pretty sure Jason had a broken finger, and the cut on Dick’s forehead was bleeding profusely. Deathstroke had learned soon enough that if he got Danielle quick enough she didn’t have time to become intangible, small cuts drawing green blood to add to the red staining the silver of his sword. And if she bled, that meant she could be killed. Even if the injuries stopped bleeding soon after they were made. He’d just have to hit her with something harder then, and for that he strategically created an opening for himself.

By now they had gotten used to him targeting Danielle when she was close enough. So this time Deathstroke made a feint towards Danielle before switching his attack towards Dick’s neck. Luckily Dick’s reflexes were fast enough that he lurched backwards to avoid it, but it still would have left a large gash across his collarbone and chest if Danielle hadn't caught it. And that was the opening Deathstroke was aiming for, his other hand snatching a small pistol loaded with a shotshell from his armory and firing it into Danielle’s chest. The startled half scream from Danielle was cut off by both the shot shell beads, and Deathstroke’s foot kicking her from the air to tumble meters away.

“DANI!” Dick’s shout was accompanied by Jason’s renewed effort to beat Deathstroke unconscious, wordlessly increasing his offense to allow Dick to break away and skid to his knees near Danielle. As Dick’s mind whirled through all the first aid he knew that might help the girl, his hands resting on her back as she coughed, he was surprised to see her start shoving herself upright after a short groan. At first he thought maybe she hadn’t been hit by the shot shell, or it had been a non lethal capsule. But as Danielle shoved herself to her knees and snapped her head up to glare at Deathstroke with a snarl Dick saw the green blood dripping from multiple wounds on her chest and knew it had been a dead on hit. It left him a little stunned as Danielle pushed herself to her feet, spitting a small amount of green blood that she’d coughed into her mouth.

“THAT HURT, BITCH!” Danielle shouted once she was on her feet again, phasing a hand into her chest to pull out a pellet and hurl it to the ground. The comment was unexpected enough that Jason ended up distracted, both by Danielle still talking and the words she’d used, and got brutally elbowed in the side of the head.  As Jason collapsed to the ground, movements uncoordinated because of the blow to the head making his vision spin, Dick threw one of his escrima sticks at Deathstroke and charged forward to protect his brother.

“So that wasn’t enough either,” Deathstroke mused, knocking the airborne escrima stick aside and intrigued by Danielle’s ability to still be moving despite having taken a full round of shot shell ammo. 

“That’s it,” Danielle spat as Deathstroke blocked Dick’s next attack, kicking off the ground and snapping forward once again. This time instead of pulling her fist back for a punch, or otherwise outwardly attacking Deathstroke, she kept going, phasing through Dick and Deathstroke’s weapon and arm, wisping into his chest. Yet neither Dick or Jason noticed her appear on the other side, and neither had time to fully react before Deathstroke was abruptly dropping to one knee and plunging his sword into the top of his other knee.

“..... What the…?” Jason huffed, the screeching tires of the batmobile drowning out the rest of his words while he staggered to his feet, openly staring at Deathstroke’s display of sudden onset of madness.

“How much damage do I have to do to stop this guy?”

The question came from Deathstroke’s mouth, but sounded odd. Dick and Jason paused in disorientation, glancing around for Danielle before Dick made a connection in his head. Jazz had mentioned something about ‘overshadowing’ to Danielle, and some of the reports from the past two months had records of people behaving oddly, suddenly defending the people they were chasing or fighting their allies, and then having no memory of doing so.

“...Dani?” Dick asked, not completely sure, but confident enough to hold his hand out to stop Damian and Bruce from joining the fight. It looked like Damian had Talia on his phone as well, holding the device facing them.

“No, it’s grandma,” Danielle retorted with Deathstroke’s voice, understandably irritable. “Now answer the question,” she demanded, jerking the blade in Deathstroke’s knee slightly.

—---

The silence provided by the batmobile’s soundproof encasing was broken by Damian’s phone ringing as they hurtled down the streets, destined to meet up with Dick and Jason to provide backup if necessary. They all knew Bruce was the one who could best deal with Deathstroke, but if what they said was true and someone had hired the man without Talia’s knowing then Damian figured he might be able to put a stop to the matter without a prolonged battle. As much as he would love to stab Deathstroke in the other eye, that usually led to injuries to his family that were best avoided. Luckily his call was quick to be answered.

“Damian.”

Talia’s greeting was simple, but his name was spoken with more love than Talia bequeathed to anyone else. Other than, perhaps, Bruce. Usually if Talia deemed someone worthy enough to have her answer their call she only commanded them to speak.

“Mother.”

The returned greeting was just as simple, for Damian had learned the habit from her.

“It is rare for you to call,” Talia responded, and Damian could hear the smile in her voice despite the tense situation. They both knew Damian reaching out to her directly was risky. Other children would have weekly calls with their parents while abroad, if not daily. But their situation was much too different to allow for such a consistent opening. “What concerns you?” she asked, knowing he would only call if there was important, but not critical matters at hand.

“We have discovered the League’s most recent contract with Deathstroke,” Damian informed her easily. No need to question if she was aware or not, her response would tell him. “I must insist the contract be terminated, or we risk damaging connections with important contacts…. I imagine this was not of your doing,” he couldn’t help asking if she was responsible.

“What?” Talia’s answer dispelled the sliver of doubt Damian had. Her anger still ran deep towards Deathstroke; there was no one who remained from Ra’s time as head that would ever be willing to affiliate with Deathstroke again. She was quick to recover though, pausing for only a moment to align the facts in her mind, and research the source of the contract leading them to her people. When she spoke again it was with mild confusion only because it was her son she spoke to. “You are not the target, nor are any of yours. Why are you involved?”

“The targets are my wards,” Damian responded simply.

The words caused Talia to pause again, thoughtful as she browsed through the pertinent information on the computer next to her. She didn’t recognize any of the targets, but seeing their listed crimes made her understand what had happened. A delivery to a research team, tasked with potentially amplifying the Lazarus pit’s attributes, intercepted by an unknown group of teenagers. Someone on the research team had stepped out of line and ordered the hit, somehow getting it past the League’s administration without even requesting her authorization. There were several people now on the list to be severely punished, if not terminated. 

Despite the welcomed revelation, the target location of this Team Phantom made Talia pause, questioning Damian’s words. “...You claim they are your wards, yet you keep them isolated from you. Far from your home,” she pointed out, and Damian clenched his jaw. She wasn’t trying to say he was lying, was she? Or did she think he was being manipulated? He wouldn’t put it past his mother to worry for him needlessly.

A quick glance at Bruce to judge his mood, knowing he was listening, and Damian answered after Bruce nodded with some reluctance. “They are to be relocated, but only once they are without assailants. Damaging the manor would be an unnecessary annoyance.”

Talia hummed, a smile tugging her lips as she was now curious about the ones who had charmed her family. But Bruce wasn’t within the view of the camera, and as he slammed on the brakes and the cover of the batmobile slid back Damian hopped out of the car. He wasn’t sure exactly what was going on, but it looked a lot more promising than he’d initially imagined. Deathstroke was kneeling with a blade in his leg and Jason pointing a gun at his head. So Damian showed his mother the state of the assassin as Deathstroke spoke with a voice that was his own, yet words that were not.

“I have the ability to overshadow others, and make them do or say what I want while they’re completely unaware,” Danielle explained through Deathstroke’s voice. “It’s not the most comfortable state, but I can inflict more damage if I need to.” She was responding to a question from Dick, but as Damian approached with the phone held so Talia could see she was the one that responded.

“Then kill him,” she directed simply. “Many would welcome his demise.”

“That’s not how we work,” Damian spoke before Dick or Jason could respond, gaining a faint smile of his own. “Terminate the contract… Please.”

This time it didn’t take long for Talia to sigh in compliance, a fondness saturating her breath. “Very well,” she accepted, “Release him, and I will speak.”

No one moved for a breath, but after Damian nodded once Danielle’s sigh was half with Deathstroke’s voice before becoming her own as she floated out from his form. She stayed close as he grunted in the sudden realization of pain and what his current situation was, but Talia spoke up quickly.

“Slade. In light of recent information your contract will be annulled. You will be compensated half of your payment for your efforts spent as of now, and if you persist you will be hunted by the League of Assassins. You can take my offer, or be killed now. Which is it?”

Her terms were delivered quickly, and while Dick’s face scrunched in mild confusion as to who among them Talia thought would be willing to kill Deathstroke in her place, Jason shifted the pistol in his hand slightly to remind them it was there. And he deliberately ignored the way Bruce’s eyes narrowed at him. Deathstroke was enough of a pain to all of them that no one would miss him. Yet it turned out to be Danielle who tipped the scale.

“Answer fast or I might start ripping organs out. You’ll be surprised how many aren’t strictly necessary,” Danielle added, phasing her hand into Deathstroke’s chest to prove her point. She was testy, but she felt she had a good reason to be. She still had to dig the rest of those bullet shards out of her chest after all.

Deathstroke paused a moment longer, having not quite been swayed by Talia’s words just on principle. But after taking a testing breath and faintly feeling Danielle’s hand in his chest he realized dealing with the half dead girl might end up costing him more than he was willing to pay. So he answered soon enough. “Done. I expect to see the transfer before they’re out of sight.”

“You’ll get it when I deem it so,” Talia responded curtly.

Deathstroke watched the screen for a beat, gauging if he could barter any further before giving in. “I should have known you hadn’t changed your mind.”

“You should thank Damian instead of wasting your words on me,” Talia retorted with a scoff. “If I had my way, you’d already be dead.”

“Hmph. I won’t waste anymore of your time,” Deathstroke huffed. There was no way he was going to even consider thanking the demon child. He should have trusted his mind and not taken this contract in the first place.

“Consider yourself lucky we’re still paying you,” Damian scoffed in return, nodding his head for the others to start moving to the batmobile. “Show your face again near any of the Phantoms, and I’ll reconsider letting you live.”

There was a hesitant moment of the others not being sure if the conversation was done or not, but as Damian started to walk back towards the batmobile, turning the phone to face himself again, they followed suit. Danielle released her hold only when Jason and Dick were a few steps away, all three of them eyeing the man as they moved. Bruce made sure he was the last to follow, keeping himself between his family and Deathstroke.

“I will provide you with a full report tonight, Mother. If that is acceptable,” Damian spoke quietly to Talia once he was far enough away for Deathstroke to be deaf to his words.

“I look forward to it, my son. Be well,” Talia responded, her voice softening again with her expression moments before ending the call.

Two thirds of the way to the car Danielle felt the adrenaline wearing off quickly, causing her to drop lower until she was sagging to the ground on her knees. Her chest hurt, but at least it wasn’t bleeding that much anymore. It should be fine to take the rest of the shot shell pellets out now, so she took a moment to phase herself intangible without affecting the shards. “Ouuuhh, that was tiring,” she muttered, flexing her fingers as the beads clinked on the asphalt and rolled away. At least she was still stable. Now she just had to get back to the others and think of a way to calm them down when she got there. Something she didn’t have to worry too much about, for Dick had paused next to her and as soon as she returned to a tangible state he leaned over to quickly scoop her up. Without a word he picked up his pace to the batmobile, hopping into the backseat with her after Damian took the front.

Jason was walking backwards towards the vehicle, keeping his pistol trained on Deathstroke as the old man held his hands up in surrender, and staying aware of his family and their guest. He wasn’t planning on lowering the gun anytime soon either, but once he bumped against the batmobile Bruce snatched the gun out of his hand. It caused Jason to snap his gaze over to Bruce with a glare hidden behind his mask, but he knew Bruce was more than familiar with the look. And this time Bruce returned it for a moment before subtly nodding towards the car. They both knew the injury to his head had affected Jason more than he was letting on if Bruce had been able to take the gun so easily.

With a soft huff Jason hopped into the backseat with the others, folding his arms and deliberately not looking at Bruce. Luckily it wasn’t too difficult to do so, for Bruce was quick to climb into the driver’s seat and trigger the cover to close.

“Oracle, send support from the Justice League to make sure Deathstroke is properly detained. I don’t want to hear from him again,” Bruce called through the comms once they were all safely inside the vehicle.

“Copy that. I’ve also rerouted Spoiler to Signal and the others. Orphan will follow up to make sure Deathstroke doesn’t leave before the police get there,” Barbara confirmed, extremely pleased the situation was handled exponentially better than expected. “I’ve also asked her to make sure Hood’s bike gets brought home as well.”

It was appreciated, and Jason gained a small smile before texting her his gratitude.

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HHHHRRGGGH I hope I made it convincing enough for Slade to back off * wheezes * I could not find a good reason in my research, so I just tried something. I kept modifying this part like 4 times. =7=;

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[koiiiji]

im here for yakuza!Gun x reader smut 🤧🤧 like, you stayed at his family's mansion overnight because he introduced you to his clan for the first time and when the night came, this perv didn't care there was no soundproof system between rooms in the mansion (ofc, that's the traditional Japanese house style!!), he kept doing the deed, and even warned you to lower your voice if you didn't want anyone to hear 😏😏

ty as always bae <33

p/s: that's the idea and you can customize it however you want, just make sure that he is a meanie but soft at the same time (is it possible hm 🤔)

p/s (2): i have to send this idea right away in case you close your ask box too early lol 😂😂

author's note ; i mean Gun IS in fact yakuza, no? anyway sooo here we go! i had kinda same scenario but more rough and generally dark, like yandere, but fuck it, i think i won’t finish it anytime soon, bc i thought to add it to your request, but i don’t want to make you wait anymore. i think i was carried away a little in beginning, so its longer then expected, sorry!! 💞😮‍💨

author's note 2 ; art from pinterest, it says credits to : jongjong822 on x

tw ; f! reader, nsfw, minors, ageless/empty blogs DNI OR I WILL BLOCK YOU!!!

· ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ꕥ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ·

to be honest, you had no plans to meet Yamazaki Gun's family tonight. it's not that you were against the idea — quite the opposite! you'd heard plenty about who his father was and what his family did. there were a lot of rumors swirling around town, and while you were a little wary, you were mostly curious. besides, you hadn’t been together for that long, so you didn’t expect Gun to introduce you to his family anytime soon.

when he told you earlier in the day to dress up for the evening, you weren’t surprised. it was just another night, another overly expensive restaurant, and another excuse to be in his company. as you sat in the passenger seat of Gun's sleek black car, you glanced out the window at the city passing by. the soft glow of the streetlights bathed the streets in a warm, golden hue, making everything feel a little more magical, a little more alive.

the atmosphere inside the car was just as enchanting. Gun had always been a man of few words, but tonight he seemed more at ease, more open. the quiet hum of the engine was accompanied by the faint sound of classical music playing through the car's speakers, creating a peaceful ambiance. you felt a sense of calm wash over you as you glanced at Gun, who was focused on the road ahead. his profile was illuminated by the soft light from the dashboard, casting shadows that only added to his already mysterious aura.

the restaurant was just as extravagant as you'd expected, with its towering marble pillars, crystal chandeliers, and tables draped in fine linen. evening went perfectly. you and Gun shared a bottle of wine, and as the evening wore on, you found yourself getting a little tipsy. it wasn’t enough to lose control, just enough to feel a pleasant buzz that made everything seem a little funnier, a little more relaxed. your laughter came more easily, and you found yourself leaning in closer to Gun, your hand occasionally brushing against his. he seemed to enjoy the relaxed version of you, a soft smile playing on his lips as he listened to your stories and responded with his own dry wit.

when the dinner finally came to an end, you felt a sense of contentment settle over you. the food had been exquisite, the wine even more so, and the company... well, there was no one else you'd rather be with. so you assumed that Gun would take you back to your home now, to end the night on a sweet note with a kiss or maybe something more at your doorstep. so, when he steered the car away from the familiar streets and onto an unknown road, you raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question him. the wine had left you feeling pleasantly hazy, and you were more focused on continuing your easygoing conversation than worrying about where you were headed.

“so, tell me,” you began, your words slightly slurred but still coherent, “why do you always pick these fancy places? are you still trying to impress me, Gun?”

Gun glanced at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “maybe i just like seeing you all dressed up,” he teased, his voice as smooth as the leather seats you were sitting on.

you laughed, leaning back in your seat and looking out at the unfamiliar road ahead. “well, it’s working. but you know, you don’t have to go all out every time. i'm just as happy with oversized t-shirt, most stupidest comedy and you.”

“noted,” he said with a small nod, though there was a hint of something more serious in his tone. “but tonight is special.”

you blinked, trying to process his words through the pleasant fog in your mind. “special? how so?”

“you'll see,” was all he said, and you let it go, too relaxed and warm from the wine to press him further. conversation flowed easily between the two of you as Gun drove. night seemed endless, the road stretching out in front of you like a promise of more to come. when the car finally slowed and turned into a long, tree-lined driveway, you began to wonder just where he had brought you. the driveway was impeccably maintained, with tall, ancient trees on either side casting long shadows under the soft glow of strategically placed lights.

Gun parked the car in front of an imposing mansion, the kind you’d only seen in movies. building was grand, with tall windows that gleamed in the moonlight and a wide set of steps leading up to the front door richly decorated with mahogany. you stared up at it, your slightly inebriated mind struggling to catch up with the reality of the situation.

“Gun… where are we?” you asked, your voice tinged with awe and a hint of nervousness. he turned off the engine and looked at you, his expression unreadable. “this is my family's home,” he said simply, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

your heart skipped a beat. “wait… you mean… we’re meeting your family? tonight?”

he nodded, his gaze softening as he reached out to gently take your hand. “yes, tonight. i wanted you to meet them.”

panic began to bubble up in your chest, but it was quickly tempered by the warmth of his hand in yours. the wine had left you feeling too relaxed to fully grasp the gravity of the situation. Instead, you let out a soft, nervous laugh. “well, you could have given me a bit more of a warning,” you teased, squeezing his hand as you tried to keep the mood light.

“i didn’t want you to worry,” he replied, his voice steady and reassuring. “you’ll be fine. they’ll love you.”

before you could respond, Gun stepped out of the car and walked around to your side, opening the door for you. he offered you his hand, and you took it, letting him help you out of the car. as you stood there, staring up at the mansion, the reality of what was about to happen finally sank in.

you were about to meet Yamazaki Gun’s family. tonight.

you took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, and looked up at Gun. he was watching you with that same calm, unreadable expression, but there was a hint of something else in his eyes — something that made you feel like everything was going to be okay.

with one last squeeze of his hand, you smiled and nodded. “alright then, let's do this.”

and to be honest, everything went better than you had expected. the Yamazaki mansion was truly grand, almost overwhelming in its size and elegance. the towering shoji screens, the polished wooden floors, and the delicate tatami mats all spoke of a family with deep roots and considerable influence. people you encountered within its walls — servants, distant relatives, or perhaps close family friends — were polite, yet cold. they carried themselves with an air of reserved dignity, their words carefully chosen, their expressions unreadable.

Gun guided you through the mansion with a familiarity that showed he had once called this place home. as you walked, you couldn't help but notice how much Gun resembled his father. the elder Yamazaki was a stoic man, tall and imposing, dressed in a traditional black kimono with a hakama. he carried an aura of authority, and though his demeanor was stern, there was something in his gaze — something that hinted at a really small softness beneath his cold exterior.

Gun's mother, on the other hand, was an elegant woman, the very picture of grace and strictness, wearing a beautiful, intricately patterned kimono. her hair was pulled back in a traditional style, and her movements were precise and measured. her eyes were sharp, watching you with an intensity that made you feel as if you were being evaluated at every turn. yet, despite the coldness in her gaze, she followed every formality with exacting precision, treating you with the respect and courtesy befitting a guest in their home. she spoke little, but when she did, her words were measured and polite, though they lacked any warmth.

as the evening drew to a close, and the final course after small greeting tea ceremony was cleared away, you felt a sense of relief. it hadn’t been as daunting as you’d feared, and you were proud of how well you’d handled yourself. you expected that Gun would now take you back home, and the two of you would quietly slip away from all formalities and coldness of this house. but then Gun’s father, in his deep, commanding voice, made a suggestion that took you by surprise. “why don’t the two of you stay the night? it’s late, and it wouldn’t be wise to drive in your current state.”

you glanced at Gun, waiting for him to politely decline, but to your shock, he simply nodded. “we’ll stay.”

you blinked in surprise, a slight panic rising in your chest. you were unprepared for an overnight stay, and the idea of spending the night in Gun’s childhood home — under the same roof as his parents — was suddenly very intimidating. you opened your mouth to protest, but Gun leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “don’t worry. my father asked us to stay because he wants to discuss some business matters with me in the morning. just relax.”

· ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ꕥ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ·

with those words echoing in your head, you found yourself sitting on the edge of the futon, carefully prepared by the staff just a few minutes ago. the evening had been long and emotionally exhausting, but now, in the quiet of Gun’s childhood room, you felt a sense of calm begin to wash over you. after taking a shower, you had washed off the remnants of your makeup, feeling refreshed as the warm water rinsed away the day’s tension. the pleasant residue from the alcohol was still making itself felt, leaving you relaxed as you climbed into bed, where your boyfriend was already waiting for you.

Gun was lying on his back, his dark hair still damp from his own shower, his yukata loosely tied around his waist. as you slid under the covers, you immediately fell into his arms, finding comfort in the warmth of his embrace. you settled comfortably against his chest, inhaling the clean, subtle scent of his shower gel, mingled with the familiar warmth of his skin. it was a scent that was unmistakably his, grounding you in the moment as you let out a contented sigh.

for a few moments, neither of you spoke, simply enjoying the quiet intimacy of being alone together. the soft rustle of the futon as you shifted closer, the gentle rise and fall of Gun’s chest under your cheek — it all felt so peaceful, so right.

but as the silence stretched on, a small thread of anxiety began to tug at the back of your mind, and you couldn’t help but voice the question that had been lingering in your thoughts all evening. “do you think your parents liked me?”

Gun’s chest rumbled with a soft chuckle, and you felt his hand gently stroke your hair. “why do you ask? you were amazing tonight.”

“i just… i don’t know,” you murmured, feeling a little self-conscious. “your father was so serious, and your mother barely smiled. i couldn't tell what they were thinking.”

he let out another soft laugh, tilting your chin up so you could meet his eyes. “that’s just how they are. don’t take it personally. my father rarely smiles, and my mother… well, she’s always been a bit strict. but trust me, you made a good impression.”

you felt a wave of relief at his words, but you couldn’t resist teasing him a little: rolling onto your stomach, you now lay on top of him, folding your arms across his chest and resting your chin on them, you playfully asked "are you sure they're not just being polite to me?"

flicking your nose with his finger, he just laughed in response, the sound deep and genuine, and you couldn’t help but join in, the last remnants of your nerves melting away in the warmth of his laughter. but as your soft giggles subsided, the mood shifted, the lightheartedness giving way to something more intense. Gun’s eyes darkened - more, if it was even possible - as he looked at you, his playful expression fading into one of pure desire. without warning, he moved, his hands gripping your waist as he flipped you onto your back. you let out a surprised gasp, your heart skipping a beat as he loomed over you, his body pressing you into the futon. the sudden shift in his demeanor left you breathless, a thrill of anticipation coursing through you as his face hovered inches from yours.

“Gun…” you whispered, your voice barely audible as he lowered his head, his lips brushing against your neck.

“mmm?” he hummed in response, his breath hot against your skin as he began to trail kisses along the curve of your throat. his hands moved with a deliberate slowness, slipping beneath the folds of your yukata to find the smooth skin of your back. you shivered at his touch, your body responding to the gentle caress of his fingers as they traced a path up and down your spine. his kisses grew more urgent, more passionate, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his lips moving hungrily against your skin as his hands roamed freely over your body. the fabric of your yukata shifted as he explored, his touch sending sparks of pleasure racing through your veins.

“Gun,” you gasped again, your fingers tangling in his raven hair as you arched into him, craving more of the sensation he was drawing from you. his hands were everywhere, gliding over the curve of your back, sliding down to cup your ass cheeks before moving up again, each touch sending shivers of pleasure rippling through you.

he pulled back slightly, his breath coming in shallow pants as he gazed down at you — your hair, disheveled and slightly damp from the shower, was scattered across the pillows, your breathing was a little ragged and the fabric of your yukata, pulled to the side, opened up a beautiful view of your chest, which was slightly heaving from confusion, your cheeks were burning with excitement and still a small amount of embarrassment, while due to the alcohol you barely remembered where you both were.

with a quiet growl, Gun again clung to your collarbones, his hands moved faster, skillfully, undoing the ties of your robe with practiced ease to pull the unnecessary fabric lower. without moving away from you even for a centimeter, he caressed your neck with his lips, moved up a little higher, biting the lobe of your ear and descending in a wet path lower, again to the collarbones, this time not lingering there, but going lower to your chest, clasping it with one hand and kneading it in his large, calloused palm. with each of his movements, you moved towards him more and more, forgetting yourself and melting in his arms, moaning from his each touch.

as he skillfully make the fabric fell away, leaving you exposed beneath him, he groaned softly, his eyes drinking in the sight of you.

“you are so beautiful” he murmured, his voice filled with reverence as he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as you melted into the kiss, losing yourself in the sensation of his mouth on yours, his hands on your body. right now there was only Gun, his touch, his warmth, the overwhelming passion that consumed you both.

“please” you whispered into his lips as he rose above you on his elbows again. one of his hands had already slid below your tummy, stroking your pussy with his entire palm, only fleetingly touching the sensitive bundle of nerves, pulling the first loud moan out of you.

“come on kitten, be quiet, you remember where we are” Gun's hot whisper enveloped your ear as his fingers continued to play with your wet pussy. “you know, this is a traditional old style house, the walls here are extremely thin” your boyfriend continued to whisper in your ear, enjoying your once again confused look as your cheeks flushed with renewed vigor. “you don't want anyone to hear us, do you, baby?” now one of his fingers slid up and down between your lips, smearing the moisture oozing out of you all over the entrance. he was lying on his side next to you, one of his hands reached under your neck as he place one finger in your mouth, making you suck and lick it with your tongue, while his other hand never left your pussy, now more insistently stroking and massaging your clit with one finger, while the other played with your tight entrance, pushing finger in just halfway.

time seemed to stand still as you surrendered to him, your body responding to his every caress and touch, every kiss, every whisper. the intensity of the moment, the way he made you feel cherished, desired, loved—it was all-encompassing, leaving you breathless and yearning for more.

and that's when you reached your first peak from his fingers caressing you deep inside, when your hot and wet walls tightened around him, and you could no longer stifle your moans with his fingers behind your cheek, only then Gun smiled insidiously, and with one light movement turned your softened body back onto your stomach. without wasting a second, his hands dug into the soft skin of your sides, right where he could feel the pelvic bones, and with your clouded brain you already assumed that there would be traces there in the morning. reaching for a pillow, and pushing it between your thighs and the futon, Gun hurriedly, casually stroked your pussy, passing from bottom to top, collecting all the juices of your previous orgasm, simultaneously stroking his cock, smearing mix of your saliva and his own spit along the entire length.

whimpering softly and burying your head in the pillow, in an attempt to stifle your moans, you gasped, clutching at the edges of the futon and the blanket under you, as the fat tip of his dick slowly squeezed into your tensed, gummy folds, painfully stretching you. a deep and heavy moan was heard from behind when Gun collapsed on top of you with all his weight, completely plunging his fat dick into your bosom, in one sharp movement, immediately hitting the g-spot, forcing you to arch your back, pressing your ass harder into his hips. with a satisfied purr, Gun covered your hands with his own, fastening them together into a lock, again leaning closer to you with his all body, pressing you into the thin mattress, he began to slowly move inside your warmth.

with each strong thrust, as he picked up speed, with each of his heavy breaths into your neck, it became harder for you to hold your ass higher, as well as your moans, almost drowned out by the pillow. over and over, as Gun's thick cock filled your gummy, warm walls completely, your eyelids grew heavy and your head fell back, right on his shoulder, as your jaw dropped, allowing sweet moans and whimpers to escape from your throat.

“kitten still wants the whole house to hear her, mm?” your boyfriend purrs breathlessly in your ear, mercilessly hammering into your poor pussy, forcing you to give up, and fall on the bed with your whole body, and only moan piteously when one of his arms wraps around your neck and closes your mouth, and the other one gets tangled in your hair, pulling it back just a little.

you never doubted that in the matter of bed, Gun always was a bit more wild and animalistic, but the way his hips slammed into you now, how heavy balls were beating against your clit, and the dirty sounds of squelching and slapping skin against skin, how his biceps tensed right where your cheek lay, all this made your eyes roll up to the back of your head and just whine pathetically under him and drool on his muscles.

you didn't even have the strength left, to hold still, all that helped him mercilessly hammer you into the mattress was the pillow under your hips while you lay under him and helplessly muttering incoherent words and praises. both intoxicated by the euphoria of sex, emotions and feelings, the two of you have lost your sense of time and space, just chasing your own peak and pleasure. to be honest, you didn't think much when your pussy covered Gun's twitching dick with cream, when he hitted his pink head right to the cervix, forcing you to scream and arch towards him, pressing your ass into his hips, and feel with your shoulder blades as his chest pressing you into bed.

and to be completely honest, you almost didn't remember how you both cum, the most important thing that was in front of your eyes was Gun's chest and his warm hand gently caressing your back, while he murmured something into your hair, when he covered you both with a blanket and you fell into a sweet sleep.

· ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ꕥ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ·

BONUS ;

the morning sunlight filtered softly through the shoji screens, casting a gentle glow over the room. you blinked awake, feeling the warmth of the futon and the lingering scent of Gun beside you. but as you turned over, reaching out to pull him closer, you found his side of the bed empty and cold. confusion washed over you as you sat up, realizing he was gone.

events of the night before came rushing back, and a deep blush crept over your cheeks. you buried your face in your hands, mortified at the thought of facing anyone after what had happened. Gun's parents, the staff — how could you possibly look them in the eye now? the thought of leaving the room made your heart race with anxiety, so you resolved to stay put, hoping to avoid any awkward encounters. minutes ticked by, each one stretching out into what felt like an eternity. you had no idea where Gun had gone or when he'd be back, leaving you in an uncomfortable solitude.

and just as you were about to retreat further under the covers, there was a soft knock at the door. your heart skipped a beat, dread pooling in your stomach. before you could respond, the door slid open, and Gun’s mother stepped inside.

she was impeccably dressed, her expression calm and composed. you immediately lowered your gaze, unable to meet her eyes, but she approached with a certain grace, her footsteps barely making a sound on the tatami mats.

“good morning,” she greeted you, her voice steady.

“m-mrs. Yamazaki,” you stammered, still unable to look up. “i-i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to-”

“stop,” she interrupted, her tone firm but not unkind. “you have nothing to be sorry of. it’s natural.”

you finally dared to glance up at her, confusion flickering in your eyes. she took a seat beside you on the futon, her movements deliberate and serene. “you’re a woman, and you’re desired and loved. there’s nothing shameful about that. that’s just the nature of men — wild and unbridled when a woman is around. i was in your place once, and someday, you’ll be in mine.”

you blinked, taken aback by her words. was that… a blessing?

“wait,” you began hesitantly, “so… you heard everything?”

mrs. Yamazaki let out a soft sigh, a hint of amusement flickering in her eyes. “i’m not an idiot. from beginning i saw the way my son looks at you. and i know Yuzuru well enough, and what’s going on in his head, to prepare your bedroom far away from our own.”

your cheeks burned hotter, the mortification almost unbearable. “so… you didn’t hear?”

she paused, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “let’s say the whole mansion didn’t hear you… but maybe some part of it did.”

you swore you caught a fleeting, light, and kind laugh in her voice, and for a moment, the tension between you eased. there was a warmth in her tone that you hadn’t expected, something almost motherly and understanding.

“i...” you trailed off, still unsure of what to say.

mrs. Yamazaki reached out, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. “you are welcome here, as long as you make my son happy. and believe me, i haven't seen him this happy in a very long time.”

her words soothed some of the anxiety gnawing at you, and you managed a small, grateful smile. “thank you.”

she nodded, standing up gracefully. “now, come along. breakfast is ready.” as she turned to leave, you felt a sense of relief, the earlier embarrassment slowly fading.

· ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ꕥ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ·

author's note 3 ; I FOUGHT INNER DEMONS TO FINISH IT I SWEAR!! SORRY THAT SPICY PART WASN’T THAT JUICY AND STUFF, I STILL NEED TO LEARN HOW TO WRITE PORN…HOPE U GUYS LIKE IT😤😤🫶🏻

[ponderingmoonlight]

Satoru Gojo trying to make a bun with his daughter's kinky hair

Pairing: husband!Gojo x black!reader

Word Count: 1,1k

Synopsis: It always looked so easy to him, the way you put your thick hair into the most breathtaking hairstyles. But when his daughter asked him to do a sleek bun on her, he was confronted with the stinging fact how difficult styling kinky hair can be. But that doesn't stop the dad of the year from learning...

Warnings: This is the first time ever I'm writing a black reader and I'm beyond excited 😭 I'm hoping with all my heart that you guys like what I came up with! I'm not a poc myself so if this offends you, don't read this work. Also, I'm writing from the point of view of my own research and the tellings of my beloved moot @almostshinymiracle. As usual, there's many ways to do your hair and this specific one might not be yours 🤍

Comments, likes and reblogs are so appreciated, I'd be more than thankful for you guys telling me what you think - THANK YOU 🤍

Your eyes widen when the loud shriek of your daughter echoes through your house. What’s wrong? Did she hurt herself while playing? As fast as your feet carry you, you run down the hallway and open the door to her room.

But no, your daughter didn’t fall, she didn’t hurt herself. She sits in front of her dad who holds a brush in his hand.

“Hey honey, is everything alright over here?”, you question softly while kneeling down next to both of them.

“I’m so sorry. She said she wants a bun like the one you wear so often and I thought it can’t be that hard. But the brush doesn’t even get through her hair…”, your husband explains, bright blue eyes fixated on his daughter’s hair.

“It’s not that simple with kinky hair, babe. Look, the bristles of your brush are way too tight to get through her hair. That’s why I’m having a special one.”

Oh, how absolutely adorable he looks with his face visibly in guilt, still holding onto the brush that seems to be his while visibly pondering about your soft explanation. Making your daughter’s hair as a dad without experience has to be difficult already, but a girl with black roots and a hair structure completely unknown to him? You chuckle to yourself, remember the countless times he observed you doing your hair already.

“This seems so damn exhausting, babe. Can’t you just…brush it?”

“If I just brush it, I’ll look like a mop. That’s the price I have to pay for having kinky hair I guess.”

“But you look like a princess. My princess”, he purred into your ear while his long fingers tried to brush through your thick hair.

“She just asked me and as her dad…I just wanted to help, y’know”, he mumbles with a pout.

“And I’m so proud of you for trying, Satoru. It’s just an art itself and if you didn’t grow up with it, it’s quite difficult. Sometimes not even hairstylists are able to tame my and her hair from time to time. No worries, I’ll do her hair and I’ll show you how it’s done when there’s enough time, okay?”

You can’t help but give him a kiss on his cheek, letting yourself fall into his arms.

“Mommy, can you do my hair?”, your daughter interrupts your way too short cuddle session.

“Of course, angel. We’ll be ready in 10 minutes, Satoru. Don’t worry about it-“

“My name is baby”, he corrects you before leaving the room, his shoulders almost hanging to the floor.

This doesn’t sit right with you. It shouldn’t hurt him like this that he wasn’t able to do his daughter’s hair when it’s absolute not comparable to his very own. Mindlessly, you run your fingers through her thick mane that is so similar to yours, so familiar that you’d be able to make a sleek bun with eyes closed. You’ll definitely show him how to take care of his daughter’s hair when there’s more time than today.

“Is daddy sad?”, your daughter asks innocently while you apply gel.

“He was so excited to do your hair, honey. But with kinky hair like ours, this can be really difficult, you know?”

“It hurt…”, she admits shyly.

“Did it hurt as much as doing braids?”

Your little daughter chuckles while you tickle her playfully on her neck.

-the next day-

The heartfelt laughter of your daughter makes your eyes flutter open. What time is it? Given the fact that the sun already rose, it has to be late in the morning. Your naked feet meet the cold wooden floor, carry you to her room on their own. Satoru’s side of the bed was already cold when you woke up. Did he have to leave for a mission? Or is he the reason why his precious little daughter laughs?

“Okay, let me remove the scarf from your cute little head. Is this how mommy does your hair?”

You stop in your tracks, already grinning from ear to ear like an idiot. A scarf wrapped around her daughter’s head? You know exactly what that means.

“That tickles!”, your daughter shrieks.

“Shhh, don’t you wake up Mommy before I’m done here, okay? I want this to be a surprise.”, Satoru whispers exaggeratedly mute.

It takes all your strength to not break out in laughter, to stay hidden behind the slightly open door.  

“Okay, now let me wrap this around it…and…Fast, I need a bobby pin, honey!”

Your heart almost overflows with warmth. When did he learn how to do his daughter’s hair, what steps it takes to create a sleek bun with kinky hair? It’s hard to keep you from entering the room, to keep your composure. The urge to see what he’s doing becomes almost unbearable-

“Did you hear that daddy?”

“Yeah, that sounded almost as if someone behind that door stalks us!”

With a swift motion, your husband exposes you to his bright blue orbs. Your heart skips a beat. Is he mad, disappointed? The look on his face is rather amused, calms down your tingling nerves.

Until you look at your daughter.

Your precious little daughter with a perfect sleek bun.

“Oh my”, you breathe out.

Instantly, you kneel down in front of her, eyeing her from every angle. He really managed to put all her unruly hair in one of your afro puff hair ties, the whole package covering the floor along with multiple tubes of different gels and countless diverse brushes. It looks like an absolute mess around her room, different brands and tools clustered around. But you only have eyes for your daughter and beloved husband.

“This looks absolutely stunning!”

“Do you…really think so?”, Satoru mutters while scratching the back of his head.

Is the strongest jujutsu sorcerers of your time really…blushing? Immediately you grab his hand covered in dried gel and press a passionate kiss against his cheek.

“She looks like a model, I couldn’t have done it better! How did you do this? Only yesterday, you didn’t know what to do!”

“I did some research…”

“The whole night?”

“The whole night.”

“This looks fantastic!”, your daughter cries out when seeing herself in the mirror, twisting and turning herself in order to soak in her gorgeous bun.

“You always make it look so easy. Sometimes I forget how much skill this requires”, he mumbles against your ear, dragging your body onto his lap.

“I hope you’ll remind this when you ruin my hair next time”, you playfully reply.

“Want me to ruin your hair right now?”

[slowlysoluminary]

Reset AU ... mirror room art piece and a supplemental from ghostloop's pov 🎉

Writing under the cut! (Lots of words... oops!!!!!!!)

(Venturing through the house has been nothing short of a terror.)

(The sadnesses littering the area are NOT helping!)

(Granted, you know how to fight - you have each sadness' type memorized, each name and gimmick on lock - but your craft...)

(You're not sure what Craft type you are. You're corporeal enough for your hits to connect, but not corporeal enough for attacks to land on you. Harder still, considering the craft types are all equally as easy for you to summon.)

(Maybe "easy for you to summon" is poor phrasing. Your attacks feel wrong. Unfamiliar.)

(Your Piercing Craft likes to trail, not unlike the rest of your body. You struggle the least with Scissors-type attacks, but it feels like something fundamental is missing in each of your strikes.)

(Your Creative Craft leaves after-images. You thought you were Paper craft for a good while, but you're clumsy with it - like it wasn't made with your body in mind.)

(Your Protector's Craft sparks like energy through your fist. Something pangs at your chest each time you form the handshape.)

(Your attacks are strange. Craft personalizes itself to its user, but for such attuned craft to be so alien....)

(Thinking about it gives you a weird headache.)

(So you won't!!)

(You watch Siffrin fight. He made you sit out of battle after that time you downed yourself. Impeccable aim, Loop!!)

(... They never win, but you figure you should respect their wishes regardless.)

(You feel Experienced. Like these sadnesses would wither away if you poked them too hard. They probably would, if you could land a hit in the first place!)

(You can't help but compare the way he fights with the way you fight. Or, the way you think you should.)

(Like his name, like the House, like everything else, it's all familiar. You fight the same way as him, but your craft makes it difficult to do so comfortably.)

(You can't help but be envious. Why are you envious?)

(The style isn't even yours! You're pretty sure it's adapted from his, even!!)

(Nothing is your own. Not even your body is safe!!! Your skin prickles when you look down. Stars dance across your form naturally, yet it feels unnatural all the same.)

(Stars, are you going crazy? You think you're going crazy!)

(Siffrin shifts next to you, walking comfortably in your silence. You lead the way to the next door.)

("Why Stardust?" They asked you that, before. At least, you think they did? What did you respond with? Something about what's left...?)

(... You don't know. Just, seeing him, talking to him - he's Stardust! So, you must be Loop.)

(It found you so easily in your sea of muddled memories. It must be what the Universe willed!)

(But you still don't know. But you still can't remember. What's wrong with you?)

"Finally, third floor..."

(Siffrin turns a key. You're climbing the House. Right.)

(You smile. Is it forced? You're not sure. The gesture reminds you of something.)

>"Awh, good job, Stardust! It only took you... ehm...."

>"20 Loops! That's great! A bit worse than me, but who's keeping track, right?"

"'A bit worse than you?' Did you remember something?"

("A bit worse than you?")

>"What? I didn't say anything."

(You didn't. Did you?)

(Siffrin makes a noise. They're looking at you funny.)

"Nevermind."

(O~kay. Weird.)

...

(The King sobs.)

(They talk to you about him. A lot more than you want them to, if you're being honest.)

(Hearing his name, his likeness, to be spoken of so fondly - you feel rage. A deep and primal anger you're sure you've never felt before and will never feel again.)

(So, yes! Hearing the King sob the whole time like he's not actively dooming an entire blinding country has done wonders on your psyche! The reminder of his existence fills you with such joy and whimsy!)

(Your smile is pulled so taut you think it would tear at your skin, if you had any.)

(Siffrin's expression is plagued with sympathy. Something in your core stirs violently at the thought.)

>"Chin up, soldier~! One more floor to climb!"

(The sympathetic look fades, but you don't feel any better. You don't think about the implications.)

"... Right. One more floor."

>"I hope all this effort was worth it!"

"Ditto. Even if I can't snap some sense into him, I just..."

"I want to talk. I've told you about it before, but-"

(stop don't talk about him no no no no)

>"STARdust! Surely there's no need to go over everything again!"

>"You might be forgetful, but helpful Loop here already knows the ins and outs of your fool-proof plan~!!"

>"You've told me about it, you continue to tell me about it, you don't stop telling me about it — I GET IT ALREADY!"

>"Just. We'll. We'll get to it when we get to it, right? Please."

(you're not sure why)

(but the thought of talking to the king fills your entire being with sickness)

(Too bad you can't throw up! Teehee!!)

(Siffrin looks pained.)

"Right, I'll just -- I'm."

"I'm sorry..."

(Oh.)

(His voice is so tender. So quiet.)

(You ruined it.)

(That's fine. You don't -- you don't need the ability anyway. You can make your way through the house on your own. You don't need them to get stronger. It's fine.)

(...)

(What were you thinking about? It doesn't matter.)

>"So~! That out of the way."

(This time you ignore the King wailing above you.)

>"Where do we go?"

(His face is hidden from you, beneath the brim of his hat. You have a fun time thinking about the expression under it!)

(Is it twisted in frustration? Appalled? Mortified? Betrayed?)

(You know those faces like the back of your hand, but the specifics amalgam in your head, a foggy mass of uncertainty.)

(You feel a tingle on your cheek.)

(... Yes, fun! What fun!)

(Siffrin clears their throat.)

"... You've been leading me through most of the House, Loop."

"So I thought you would know where to go?"

(You have?)

>"I have?"

"Yes?????"

(What????)

>"No I haven't."

"Yes? You have??"

(He looks offended???)

"The rock trap? The key I missed in the Head Housemaiden's office?"

>"'Fraid you're not ringing any bells!!"

(Conversations are one of the only things you remember. Everything else blends together.)

(So, you should know this, shouldn't you? They must've brought it up a few times while you were walking. You weren't thinking too hard about where you were going. The paths feel wholly natural to you... But you do remember that the amount of times you had to give Siffrin a Super Sour Tonic was atrocious, really.)

(How does anyone lose to sadnesses THAT often? It's ridiculous! He should just let you fight!!!)

"Loop?"

(Whoops!!! You should pay more attention to your surroundings...)

(...)

(No, okay, wait.)

>"When did we get to the mirror room?"

(The glare Siffrin gives you bears the striking image of absolute incredulocity.)

(That's not a word. Whatever!!! You can make up new words if you so please!!)

"You're kidding."

>"Completely serious question, Stardust!"

"...'Stardust, I am the epitome of good memory...'"

(HE'S MOCKING YOU!!)

>"I am! I swear it on my mother!"

"Stars have mothers?"

(You shrug before remembering to raise a gloved hand to your mouth.)

>"I don't know!"

>"But I'm sure, if I had one, she'd be especially bright."

(An eyeroll.)

(They don't laugh.)

(Why does that bother you?)

(Eh, probably because that one was funny! No fair!)

>"You're no fun, Stardust..."

"Okay."

>"Whatever! I'll find a pun buddy somewhere else!!"

"And where would you go? Vaugarde's frozen in time."

("And you're practically a ghost," is what goes unsaid.)

(...mmm. No, it's fine.)

>"I'll write to them! We'll be pen pals!"

>"Or I guess we'd be pun pals, ehe."

(They snort. Mission success!!!)

"Not funny."

>"Oh, come on! You laughed!! That means I won the bet!"

"The bet was about laughing at your jokes. Puns don't count."

(Bummer! You pout.)

"Real talk. Any particular reason for bringing us here? I trust you, but..."

"... The only thing in here is that mirror."

(They point to the large mirror at the end of the corridor. You nod. There is a mirror, and nothing else.)

>"Indeed so."

"And you called it the mirror room?"

(Did you?)

>"No I didn't."

"I'm not arguing with you again..."

(Aren't they doing that already?)

"Just answer the question."

>"I wasn't aware I was being interrogated! I need a lawyer!!!"

"Loop."

>"Fine! I-... Um."

>"I."

>"I'm not ... quite sure?"

"You're not sure."

>"Nope!"

(They sigh.)

"So you led us here... for no particular reason?"

>"Exactly!"

>"Well. No, I'm sure there's some reason we're here."

>"I feel like there's something else in this room, you know?"

>"But! As far as I'm aware!! There is nothing in here!!! Save for that dazzling old mirror!!!!"

"Right."

(He doesn't believe you.)

"... Let's look around, then?"

>"Sounds good to me."

(You look around.)

(Okay, you don't actually do anything. Siffrin's going at it, though!)

(He checks the pillars. And the corners. And the bricks. And the pillars again.)

(It's... really boring.)

(It's better than the Other Thing you could be doing. The Elephant In The Room. The Big Mirror In The Corridor-Room. That.)

(Hm. Hmmmmmmm.)

(You weigh your options.)

(Boredom. Or headache. Boriiing borreeedooom...... or excruciating headache.)

(Or answers? You don't know the mirror's deal! You could get something meaningful out of this!)

(Or you could get a headache.)

(Or you could lean against a pillar, bored, for the rest of eternity, waiting to be Done and Over With This.)

(...)

(You've been pointedly ignoring the existence of the mirror for quite the while now.)

(Something goads you. A whisper.)

(You follow. Siffrin watches you, curious.)

(You don't... You don't really want to look.)

(Just looking down spikes something uncomfortable under your skin.)

(So you're not sure what to expect, if you were to look in your reflection.)

(Whispers turn to spoken tongue turn to yelling turn to screaming as you approach the glass. Yet, no matter how loud they get, how heartfelt they screech, you can't make out the words.)

(Something in you hurts as you stand in front of the glass.)

(You take a breath)

(in, and out.)

(And you look up.)

(and all at once)

(everything goes quiet)

(...)

(You gaze at your reflection)

(You gaze at a star.)

(is this you?)

(you wave your hand)

(it waves back.)

(You frown. It frowns too.)

(Stars. All up its body.)

(More than you could dream of, could you still dream in the first place.)

(Flame-like spikes flicker freely from its head, immitating hair.)

(Imitating life.)

(You're looking at a ghost.)

(you're a ghost?)

(The screaming returns. You flinch back in surprise. The ghost does not flinch with you.)

(LOOP, it screams. LOOP, LOOP, LOOP, LOOP !!!)

(Its head morphs. It's something spikier, now. It's something right.)

(your head hurts)

(The ghost snickers at you. You look at it.)

(You look at it)

(it's)

(it's)

(loop)

(you look at loop)

(LOOP, the screaming chants, in agreement. LOOP!)

(someone is shaking you?)

(this is loop)

(but you're loop?)

(are you loop?)

(The screaming rises. You didn't think it could get any louder. You cover your ears and cower. It doesn't do anything)

(loop laughs at you.)

(you forgot)

(of course you forgot! you always forget! forgetful little siffrin! sieve brain siffrin)

(you stole their role. in the play)

(you stole them)

(you)

"LOOP!"

(You blink)

(You is in front of you. Your back is leaning against cool glass.)

(if your back is to the mirror)

(how are you looking in your reflection?)

(The you in front of you sighs.)

"You were out cold there... What happened, Loop?"

(you wait for them to respond)

("Nothing, Stardust!! You should go help out your little entourage! Or, you know, you could do something more productive? Like talk to the Head Housemaiden?")

(that's what you think they would say)

(you feel a shiver)

"... I'm not... part of a party...? Oh, no, nevermind. I get it."

(your reflection releases you. you slump to the ground.

(you pull your hands up to your head)

(and stop)

(your arms)

(your arms..)

"Loop."

>"... Loop?"

(Oh!)

>"Yes! I am Loop."

(Siffrin gives you That Look again.)

"What was all that?"

(All that?)

>"I'm not sure what you're talking about!"

"It was like you... um..."

"Forgot your name. Or something."

(Forgot your name? Scandalous!! You'd never forget such a thing!)

>"Nope, all good!"

>"I just... hm. Thought you were talking to someone else there, for a second?"

>"But I'm fine now!"

"If you say so."

(He doesn't take your word for this, either.)

(Oh well!)

(You bend down and flip the switch, extra careful not to look at the mirror. Or the photo that materializes in front of it.)

"How did you-?"

(They try to ask, but you're already moving for the key.)

(Loop.)

(That's you!)

(So why does that name remind you of someone else?)

[epiicaricacy-arts]

without the sour the sweet wouldn’t taste

why are you as a man eating another man’s ear after you failed to make him eat his ex girlfriend. 🤨🏳️‍🌈⁉️

im allowed a bit of toxic yaoi. as a treat

process discussion utc ⬇️

for those familiar with my work you’ll know that i like trying a lot of new styles and experimenting in order to achieve a certain vibe. usually those are heavy painterly styles such as the sunday art inspired by Yuming Li, which is what i’m familiar and comfortable with, both traditionally and digitally

what im NOT familiar with is watercolour. i’ve never had a good time with it 🥲 i just cant seem to wrap my head around the process since its requires me to work backwards (light to dark vs dark to light)

for this piece i just couldn’t imagine myself rendering it in my usual style. i needed to do something new so that i’d stay invested enough in the piece considering that it has two people, meaning double the work. for some reason i thought it’d be fun to do double the work with a style i am completely uncomfortable with but oh well!! i managed to do it 🤷‍♀️ i was specifically looking at the works of Ko Byung Jun, an artist i’ve seen all over my pinterest feed

while i didn’t end up really following the style super closely i still learned quite a lot just by looking at it while i drew. i tried my best to stick to watercolour brushes and an ink pen but as i was nearing the end i needed to make some alterations that i wasn’t bothered to try fixing with the watercolour brushes so i just went over it with my digital ones 🫡 i did my best that’s what matters!!!

i had to repaint rody a few times cause i just couldn’t get it right and the colours never ended up matching vincent. i painted them separately and i think i got possessed while painting vincent cause it happened in like. 40 minutes. and i couldn’t get it to happen again 😔 it didn’t really matter cause i ended up going ham with the curves tool as always but you know 🤷‍♀️

here’s the image without all the effects:

i find lately it’s been more and more common for me to be sketching several iterations of a concept for days, even weeks before i land on something i like. i have an entire separate canvas that i’ve spent 5 hours just doing thumbnails trying to figure out how i wanted to pose these two in a way that would showcase the characteristics that mattered in the story of this piece.

that’s my process for coming up with drawings: i find inspiration somewhere, i figure out the key concepts/characteristics/symbols etc i want highlighted, and i work around those. sometimes i have a composition in mind or just a general vibe i want to portray. for this one i wanted to make sure the towel, rody’s injured finger and vincent’s face could all be clearly seen, while also portraying the fight scene and the vibe i get from the reference song. almost all of my work revolves around a specific lyric from the song which drives the story of the piece. here i interpreted the line “without the sour the sweet wouldn’t taste” as a connection to all the little actions vince takes with rody that can be seen as “sweet.” drying rody’s hair, bandaging rody’s cut. i then asked myself how i could take those actions and make them “sour” or show them in a different light, in which vince is biting the finger he bandaged and pulling rody closer, preventing his escape with the towel he used to dry his hair. what im trying to communicate in this illustration is the idea of “if it weren’t for how i’m treating you now, you wouldn’t understand how kind i was to you then” in an attempt to illustrate the complexities of the way vincent acts towards rody.

i’m truly in love with the story telling of this game. it’s hard to really say anything about how the characters acted during the story because it’s so complex in how it’s done. it’s very hard to summarize their relationship because there’s so much about it i can’t explain without just quoting the game directly. i think it’s such a beautiful portrayal of obsession and just being fucking weird about someone. i wanted to ensure the elements i mentioned in the above paragraph because i didn’t want to be portraying vincent as solely a villain and rody as a victim. i wanted the storytelling of this one illustration to live up to my impression of this beautiful game and i hope i did it justice.

thank you for reading this if you’ve made it this far. i love rambling on all my art posts cause i think it’s so valuable for artists to expand on their work outside of the result alone. i hope what im saying is at most helpful to someone and at the very least a good read. i’m probably gonna take a bit of an art break after this since it took a lot out of me, plus im on the last days of my trip. thank you again for reading!

here’s my dog

[daughterofcain-67]

𝒞𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝒟𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃: 𝓅𝓉 1

(Dean Winchester x Artist/Bartender!Female Reader)

(𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 2) (𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 3)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You’re an artist that fell in love with a mysterious boy right before college. Then he left without any way to contact him. Decades later you’re an artist/bartender and you’re surprised to see who comes walking through the door.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: none that I can think of.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: I have no idea who actually did the cover art for The Prince of Thorns, King of Thorns and Emperor of Thorns by Mark Lawrence, the comic illustrations of the Maximum Ride series by James Patterson, or Cinder by Marissa Meyer. But I loved the artwork for the cover art and illustrations, so they deserve all the credit for their creativity. ((The artwork and references to the books is just to use to build Y/N’s portfolio, I do not own any of the artworks.))

It wasn’t easy being an artist. And it didn’t help that you seemed to be a starving artist at that. Everything seemed to have been done already. You supposed that your creative mind wasn’t as unique as you originally thought it would be.

You had countless sketchbooks in your home, just on one of your many bookshelves, purely dedicated to the sketchbooks you’ve had over the years. You’ve been sketching and drawing for as long as you can remember. You picked up on using water color and oil pastels sometime in high school when you were being experimental with your styles. But over the years you found that your luck expanding on your career was sort of a fifty fifty shot.

When someone hadn’t commissioned you to paint a wall of theirs, or if you weren’t working on a cover for some author - which was also another rare opportunity - You spent your time working at a bar in Wisconsin. It was some way to make some money after all, plus you did get to meet some pretty interesting people.

As for tonight, it was just another Thursday night for you and you were on your break. With that being said, you had your sketchbook out and you were sketching yet again.

Lately, in your personal sketchbook, you would draw the familiar face of a man you used to know. One that probably didn’t even remember your name, but you’d always remember his. You’d always remember his beautiful eyes that reminded you of the green forest, or the way his smile would light up any room he’d step into. You could remember the smell of his leather jacket, or the way that unusual pendant looked a little too good around his neck. You could still remember the sound of his laugh, or the flirtatious little tone and his mischievous smirk. He was a man you knew you could never forget, even after all these years.

“Drawing that mystery man of yours again, Y/N?” A work friend of yours named Danielle asked.

You glanced up at her while she adjusted her glasses and sat in front of you, “He’s no mystery.. just a memory.”

“You know, if you really can’t forget about him then maybe you should look for him.” She suggested and you shook your head.

“That’s not possible. Even when we first met during the summer before my freshman year of college, he was always traveling around with his father. It was a part of his career. And if anything, the guy’s still going it. They always traveled around the country.” You explained and Danielle pouted a little.

“You mean you can’t even track down what business it was? Not even by phone number or anything? Some company they ran.” She said and you rubbed the back of your neck.

“Did he even tell you what kind of business he was a part of?” You shook your head.

“No… he was really secretive and he always told me he didn’t want to freak me out. A part of me wonders if he didn’t trust me. Then after like two weeks together he ghosted me.” You admitted.

“And you’re still obsessing over him? Come on, you’ve really got to let it go. If he was that much of a douche to ghost you and if he didn’t even leave you a way to contact him, then you have got to move on.” Danielle told you and you knew deep down she was right.

You looked down at the picture again of your ‘mystery man’ as Danielle liked to call him. Just as you were about to put the pencil to your paper once more, Danielle’s hand got in the way and she dragged the book across the table and rotated it so she could take a look at your work.

“Okay, this guy can’t actually be real. No one is that attractive.” She said with a chuckle before she looked up at you once more.

“So what did you say his name was again?” She asked as she handed you the sketchbook again.

“Dean… Dean Winchester.”

“Dean… Not a bad name I guess. Better than like Brad or something.” She laughed.

“Any chance that he’s a reader? Maybe he’s seen your cover art on some books.” You shook your head.

“No, he’s not much of a reader. His brother is a reader though so.. maybe? Although who knows if Sam would read any of the books I’ve done the artwork for.” You shrugged, unsure if Sam read any fantasy novels or science fiction.

“His brother’s name is Sam? That’s a little anticlimactic isn’t it? Is it short for something?”

“I don’t think it’s anticlimactic. Simplistic. And no, I don’t think it’s short for anything, but I never really asked Dean about it. Never met Sam.”

“Hey! Y/N! Danielle! Y’all can’t leave me by myself, I just got here!” A second voice said and that was your other friend, Callie. She had a bit of a southern twang in her voice that was definitely different compared to your other coworkers.

You and Danielle both laughed and you got up from your seat. You closed your sketchbook and went back to the back of the bar to put your sketchbook in your backpack. Then you began to resume your shift. The sooner the night was over with, the sooner you could go home and maybe check your emails and see if anyone has reached out to you for any projects.

The next several hours went by and it was closing time at the bar. You walked out of the bar with the two coworkers.

“Have you two heard the news yet about the Nelson’s wife?” Callie asked and you glanced over at her, brow arched upward.

“No. I didn’t even know something happened.” You said.

“Well apparently when Mr. Nelson came home last night, his door was opened up and there were some kind of freaky claw marks on the door. When the boss went inside he saw that his wife’s guts were literally outside of her body. But you wanna know the weird thing of it all?”

“There’s a weird part? Just when I thought things couldn’t get any better!” You asked.

“Ha ha, very funny.” Callie replied, not finding your sarcasm amusing at the moment.

“The weirdest part was that her heart was missing. No weapon was found, no evidence of some kind of fur if it really was an animal attack. The police have searched the place top to bottom to find any clues or evidence of an animal attack. But honestly I’m surprised the bar was even opened tonight.” Callie continued.

“That explains why I hadn’t seen the boss tonight. He must be going through a lot. I couldn’t imagine losing my boyfriend in such a horrific way… and to actually see his wife like that? I can’t imagine.” Danielle said and you frowned a little.

As difficult as it was to learn about the loss of your boss’ wife, you didn’t think that your boss would be missing that much. The Mrs. didn’t exactly have a great reputation after all. She was a bit of the town harlot to put it lightly. It was common knowledge that she had been cheating on her husband for the past three years with several men.

“How is Mr. Nelson taking it?” You asked.

“Well as far as I know he’s been at the sheriff’s office all day for an interrogation. You know how it is, always suspecting the spouse first. I don’t know if he’s actually had the time to really mourn.” Callie replied.

“Well… surely it’s just some freakish accident. It couldn’t possibly happen again. The same animal wouldn’t strike the same town twice, right?” You said.

“I wouldn’t think so.” Callie said.

“Well just incase that animal is still around… make sure you get home safe! Why don’t we create a group text now just to make sure we all get home okay.” Danielle suggested.

“Honestly… that doesn’t sound like a bad idea.” You said and pulled out your phone.

Once the three of you were on the group chat, you split off into your different vehicles to go home. You made it to your apartment and shut the door behind you. You tossed your bag on the couch before you plopped on the furniture, then you reached for the remote and turned on the television.

There wasn’t anything good on TV so you changed the channel to Boomerang and watched some cartoons. They were playing the old episodes of Scooby-Doo and you smiled to yourself. You hadn’t watched this show in years and you felt nostalgic watching it. Then your mind wandered off to the old days. You started to think about the summer with Dean.

You shook your head, deciding that Danielle was right and you really should forget about Dean. It’s been years and you never saw Dean again after the best two weeks of your life. It wasn’t worth thinking about. So you grabbed your computer and checked some emails to see if anyone’s reached out.

Evidently there was an email for some author named Marissa Meyer. She was emailing you to compliment your illustrations for James Patterson’s Maximum Ride comics and for the cover art of some other books. Honestly you were surprised. She was writing to see if you’d be willing to do some cover art for one of her books. She emailed you the plot of whatever story this would be and she said the title she planned was Cinder. It seemed to be an interesting plot so you started typing out the response, letting the author know you’d be willing to make the cover art and that you just needed a deadline for it.

Shortly after you sent the email, you started looking at some inspiration photos on Google and Pinterest and that was when your phone started ringing. When you glanced down, you saw that it was a group call with Danielle and Callie. You smiled and you answered the phone before you lifted the phone to your ear.

“Hello?” You answered.

“Oh good, you answered!” Danielle exclaimed on the other line and you chuckled.

“Don’t worry, no animals have broken in to attack me yet.” You clarified and Callie laughed.

“See, I told you there was nothing for you to worry about. She’s probably getting ready to draw something and you broke her concentration.” Callie said and you hummed a little.

“Haven’t started just yet. Though about water coloring though.” You admitted since it had been a while since you’d used that medium.

“Well next time send a text! That was the whole reason why we made the group chat, remember?” Danielle continued and you grinned.

“Sorry for worrying you. I’m alright, and I’m glad both of you are alright too.” You insisted.

“Are both of you working tomorrow night?” You asked.

“I know I am.” Danielle replied with a little bit of an exasperated sigh.

“I’m not. I’ve got the rest of the week off.” Callie spoke up.

“The whole week? So we’ll see you when, Monday?” You asked.

“Yep. Needed a little me time and what perfect time would that be than having the weekend all to yourself?” She said.

“What about Dylan?” Danielle asked, referring to Callie’s boyfriend.

“He said he was… busy with something.” Callie said.

“You know, Danielle, you and Chris may like this one restaurant on South drive.” Callie said, talking about Danielle’s boyfriend and you felt like the odd one out, not having gone on a date in about three years.

“I’ll let the two of you talk about your boyfriends and your little date ideas.” You said and you were about to hang up before the both of them started talking to you to not hang up.

“Woah woah woah! Why don’t we get you hooked up with someone?” Callie asked.

“Yeah, that would be fun! I mean it’s been a while so what’s the harm in it? We can take you to the bar after work this Saturday night.”

You arched a brow before you looked at your bag that still had the sketchbook with the pictures of Dean in it. You supposed maybe going out this weekend maybe help you get over the memory. Dean was more of a phantom of that summer anyway.

“I suppose that could work. I get off at six. I can get home and get ready by seven or something.” You replied.

“Oh good! Maybe on break tomorrow you and I can go looking for some cute dresses for you to wear!” You cringed at Danielle’s words and you used your free hand to rub the back of your neck.

“Great.” You muttered with nervous laughter.

“Hang on, guys. I have to go. Dylan is calling me.” Callie groaned with some sort of annoyance in her tone and you wondered if everything was alright. However before you asked, she hung up.

“Wonder if she’s alright.” You said since Danielle was on the other line.

“Honestly I think she and Dylan have been in a bit of a rough patch recently. I wouldn’t be surprised if they break up by the end of the month.” She sighed.

“Rough patch? What’s been going on?”

“Well from what Callie’s ranted about, Dylan is developing some trust issues ever since she told him she didn’t want to live together.”

“What? They’ve only been dating for like a month and he wanted to move in?”

“Something like that…”

“Well you’re being awfully gracious for giving them the end of the month to end things. I’ll give them a week and a half if that.” You chuckled.

“You never know. Anyway, it’s getting late. See you tomorrow?” Danielle said.

“I’ll be there.”

Dean rubbed the back of his head as he walked down the stairs. Then he tied the strap of his robe around his waist as he made his way into the library just to see Sam reading a book. Not much of a surprise there. But this time it didn’t seem like it was a research book in his hands.

“Whatcha got there?” Dean asked, hearing his brother hum in response.

“It’s a fantasy series by Mark Lawrence. I’m reading the second one called King of Thorns.” Sam spoke.

“I didn’t exactly take you to be a fantasy ready. Always thought of you as more of a realist.” Dean admitted as he sat down across from his brother before he moved the laptop across the table. Then Dean opened it up so he could see if there was any new cases that sounded like his and Sam’s thing.

“Charlie recommended the book to me. Said that it was pretty good. Like it’s not Lord of the Rings good or Harry Potter good, but she thought it was worth the read nonetheless.” Sam said.

Dean hummed as he looked over at the book again and he caught a glimpse of the front cover, “Cover art’s pretty good.”

“Yeah… Charlie said the artist has done quite a little bit. She’d done the cover art of this trilogy and the illustrations for some sort of comic series based off some YA science fiction books. I think her name is.. oh hang on I think her name might be in the book.” Sam said as he flipped to the back.

“Oh here it is. Cover artist, Y/N L/N.”

Dean’s gaze shot from the book in Sam’s hand to Sam right after he read the name. That was a name he hadn’t heard in years. Felt like centuries really.

“Let me see that. I want to get a better look at the cover.” Dean said and Sam put his bookmark between the pages and handed the book to him.

As Dean looked at the cover, he admired the work. He suddenly began to recall that summer when he was a couple decades younger. Still fresh and when John was still around. He remembered meeting this beautiful girl in Wisconsin. You, in fact.

That was the best two weeks of his entire life. He remembered how great of an artist you were, how much he loved looking through the sketchbooks you showed him. He remembered you telling him way back when that you wanted to be an artist. Seems like you’ve come quite a ways if you’ve done some illustrations and some book covers.

“Has this artist done anything else?” Dean asked curiously.

“Since when were you interested in art?” Sam asked with a smirk as he leaned in, his arms folded in front of him on the table. Then the look of realization went across his face.

“Wait… Y/N. Isn’t that the girl from-“

“Wisconsin? Yeah.” Dean said and he chuckled.

“Honestly the best summer I’ve ever had.” Dean admitted.

“Why didn’t you ever go back to visit her? Is she a hunter? Maybe she could help us on some hunt sometime.” Sam said, trying to be encouraging but Dean shook his head a little.

“No, she wasn’t a hunter. In fact she was far from it. When I met her, she hadn’t even started college yet. Just graduated high school. She had no idea of the darkness in the world that we deal with and well… I wanted to spare her from it.” He said.

“Sounds like you had it bad. Dad wondered why it took you two weeks to end the case. He said it was awful long for you.” Sam smirked.

“Honestly, yeah. I did. if I wasn’t a hunter, I might have stayed. Maybe even go to summer school or work as a mechanic there to make a living just to stick around while she was on her campus. She was a sweet girl but I knew if I stayed, monsters would come and I didn’t want her exposed to that kind of shit just because I stayed around. I finished the case in a week but I stayed the extra week before I had to decide to move on.” Dean continued.

“Do you ever regret it?” Sam asked.

“Honestly, I don’t think she would even remember me.” Dean replied and handed the book to Sam yet again. Sam took it and set it down on the table beside him.

“I think she’d remember… anyway, as far as I know she’s just illustrated for that series and the covers for this series.” Sam said but he pulled out his phone to search your name.

“Here’s something… She’s painted some walls in the local elementary school building as well as a pediatrician’s office. But honestly I think that’s the only commissions she’s had. Other than that, based off her social media she’s just working in a bar.”

“A bartender? A girl of her talent should be working for some comic company. Maybe even character designing for some animation studio.” Dean said with a bit of surprise.

“Well, sometimes people aren’t always that lucky in life. But I agree with you, she is good.” Sam sighed as he closed out his phone before putting it back in his pocket. Then he turned his attention back to Dean who was looking back at the computer screen in front of him.

“Find anything worth while?” He asked his older brother.

“Well speaking of Wisconsin…. Turns out some bar owner’s wife was found dead. Police are calling it an animal attack but there wasn’t any evidence of an animal left behind. Then again there wasn’t exactly any evidence of humans either because apparently, intestines were outside the poor woman’s body and her heart was missing.” He said.

“So… werewolf maybe?” Sam suggested.

“That’s my first thought. We might as well head that way and check it out for ourselves.” Dean said and Sam nodded before Dean decided to get up so he could take a shower and get dressed before going on the hunt.

When Dean made it into his room, he decided that’s before he’d get dressed he’d look for something.

Honestly he wasn’t even sure if he still had this amongst his memorabilia. He didn’t exactly carry ugh outside of his pictures of his parents, Bobby and Sam and himself when they were younger. But when Dean opened up the auto man at the end of his bed and started looking through old pictures and papers, he moved his father’s journal to the side and then he found a black folder.

Dean let out a breath of relief as he pulled the black folder out and he sat down on the bed. The field was made of paper and it was a bit worn with the years of being moved around since they went from motel to motel a lot. Then Dean opened up the folder and he was pleasantly surprised to find that what he was looking for was still inside.

Inside of the folder there was a sheet of sketch paper with a drawing of both you and him on it. It was an old picture, Dean’s hair was longer and he didn’t quite have bags under his yees from the years of losing sleep because of a hunt. Then there was you, and you were even more gorgeous in person. Your talented hand didn’t give you justice on paper.

In the picture, you were wrapped up in his arms while the two of you sat down on a blanket in the grass. Both of you had a peaceful expression as you looked out at the lake. Dean could still remember the way you felt in his arms, remembering the moment you had drawn in the picture. It was the second to the last night that he spent in Wisconsin.

Dean smiled at the memory, knowing that even after so many years you still had a piece of his heart. But then reality started to get to him and he wondered if you had been married after college graduation. Did you have a family of your own? Dean calculated and by this time you had to be in your mid thirties like he was, right? Most people were arrived by then if they were lucky, and any man would be lucky to have someone so special like you.

Honestly Dean couldn’t help but wonder if maybe you still thought about him once in a while. Maybe late at night when you were watching a movie drinking some wine and drawing one of those covers Sam showed him, he wondered if you thought about him.

Dean put the picture back into the folder and placed it on the night table beside his bed before he grabbed his bag and some clothes to pack up. Then he got his other pair of jeans and a shirt to wear before he headed off to the shower.

Two days had gone by and that was the night you were supposed to go out with Danielle and Callie to some sort of club or whatever. Honestly you weren’t sure if dancing was your thing. You weren’t in your twenties anymore after all but when you were texting Danielle about it all she told you was that it was something to put you out there, give you something fun to look forward to this weekend.

At the moment you weren’t really focused on your little outing that night. You were a little more concerned about the fact that you hadn’t heard from Callie in the last couple of days.

It wasn’t like Callie. She typically texted you and Danielle at least once daily whether she texted some sort of joke or sent a picture of some silly picture first thing in the morning before going about her day and living her life on her days off. But it had been two days and you found it odd that she hadn’t sent any memes, jokes, or even talked about going out that night.

When the door opened you happened to glance up and you saw Danielle running in with a frantic expression across her features. When Danielle made eye contact with you, you realized she was rushing over to the bar to meet you.

“Y/N, have you heard from Callie lately? I saw her boyfriend this morning and he was out at some diner and he acted like he was just fine while he was sitting beside some girl.” She rambled, catching you off guard with how fast she was talking.

“What? No I haven’t, wait he was with another girl?” You asked.

“Yeah and you wanna know what else? I heard Nelson was visited by two guys in suits. I think the FBI is looking into it. Maybe they caught a glimpse of something with Nelson’s wife and they’re looking into it.”

“But the cops already talked to Nelson. That was the whole point of him not stopping by the bar at all like two days ago. Why would the FBI need to talk to him again? Poor guy’s already been through enough.” You said.

“Well, honestly I don’t think Nelson minds. I bet he’s a little glad he doesn’t have to deal with the constant heartbreak of his wife bumping ugliest with different men every other night.”

“Oh come on, that’s a little bit of an exaggeration.” You tried to give the former Mrs. Nelson the benefit of the doubt.

“Would you really be surprised if it was that often though?” Danielle smirked, you rolled your eyes a little before you started putting some of the clean glasses away to prepare for customers.

“Do you think the FBI will come here to see if we know anything? You know the manager’s out of town this week. What do we tell them if they happen to come in?” Danielle asked, starting to get a little worried, not much to your surprise.

“Danielle, breathe. If they come in and you spot them, just send them to me. I’ve got it covered. Not that they’ll ask anything we have any knowledge about anyway.” You said and Danielle took a deep breath before exhaling and nodding.

“I’m still worried about Callie.” She said.

“Well think about it… if you and your boyfriend broke up, are you going to want to spend a lot of time on your phone for the first couple of days? Or are you going to want to sleep and isolate for a while before you start making public appearances again.” You reasoned.

“I don’t know…”

“I’ll tell you what. After we clock out tonight, we can go over to Callie’s house and check up on her and make sure she’s alright.” You insisted.

“Okay… yeah that sounds like a plan.”

“Now… why don’t you go ahead and clock in and we can get the show on the road. They may not even come at all, and Callie will more than definitely be alright.” You insisted and Danielle nodded.

With that being said the two of you got to work. You were busily serving different customers at the bar with different drinks. Some you were used to making but apparently there were some visitors and they wanted something fancy. Two preppy looking guys had just walked through the door and made themselves comfortable at the bar. They looked like they were the country club type of guys.

“Hey, Miss! Can I get a Boulevardier cocktail over here?” One of them said. He had waved ginger hair and he was wearing a blue golf shirt.

“Yeah and I’ll have Vieux Carre cocktail, Darlin.” The other said. He was blond, hair parted to the side and he wore an orange golf shirt with white stripes.

These people must’ve had the worst taste in clothing, and an even worse taste in drinks. You couldn’t even try and pronounce these things and you weren’t even sure if you had the right ingredients for these stupid sounding drinks.

“Sure. I’ll get right on that for you fellas.” You replied and went to the back to get the glasses. Then you pulled out the phone to see what the heck those drinks were. Luckily for you, you had some similar ingredients, but you weren’t working in a fancy bar so you had some pretty basic drinks, they’ll just have to deal with generic.

You grabbed what you needed and started to make the drinks and you thought you heard Danielle’s voice followed by two gruff sounding voices. Yay, more customers.

You were too focused on making the drinks but that was when Danielle started walking towards the bar with the two men she was talking to.

“Y/N? I’ve got a couple of agents that would like to speak with you.” Danielle called.

When you glanced over you saw a familiar green pair of eyes, the ones that you’ve drawn numerous times. They’ve changed though, like they’ve seen so much more. But seeing Dean there… it was like everything in your world stopped and you accidentally dropped the glasses you needed.

The sound of the glass shattering on the floor snapped you out of it.

You immediately started looking for a broom but Danielle started rushing over to help you, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get it for you. What did these guys order?”

“Thank you… Some cocktails with fancy names. I’ll send you the recipes.” You said as you wiped your hands on the apron.

“You okay? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” She said and you nodded a little.

“Yeah, I’m okay… I’ll tell you later.” You told her, not wanting to be wrong if your suspicions are correct.

You nibbled on your bottom lip softly before letting it go and you walked over to the two federal agents.

Dean was straightening up his tie uncomfortably. All these years later and he still hated these damned monkey suits but then he felt Sam nudge his arm and when Dean looked up, he could feel his breath taken away.

No, it couldn’t be you could it?

You looked so beautiful, time seemed to have done wonders for you and Dean almost found it hard to breathe at the sight of you.

Of all the towns this case had to take place in, it just had to be the one you lived in. Have you heard anything about the case? You didn’t know about all the ugliness out there yet, did you?

“My friend said you wanted to speak with me? How can I help you?”

God your voice brought back so many memories, but Dean couldn’t dwell on them. Besides, you probably forgot about him so what was the point? Still… it was eating at his mind.

“Um… yeah… Agent Peart, could you get us a couple of drinks and maybe talk to one of the other bartenders?” Dean said.

Sam looked over and raised a brow skeptically. Dean was lucky Sam didn’t really question it and the younger Winchester walked off, giving Dean the time to be alone with you.

“So Ms… L/N, right?” Dean asked, almost hesitant.

But he watched the corner of your lips turn upward into a smile, “Yes, Agent Winchester.”

Dean couldn’t help but smile at the fact that you did remember him after all.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d recall…”

“Dean, it may have been a few years since that summer but I’m not old enough for dementia.” You joked.

Dean couldn’t help but laugh a little and the two of you found a place to sit at the bar table. It’s been so long since he’s been this close to you and it felt just like it did before.

“So how’ve you been? How’s your father and the business?” You asked, Dean remembered that he never told you the exact truth. You had a lot to catch up on he supposed.

“Dad um… well he passed several years ago. About five years after that summer, actually.” Dean said and he watched the way you began to frown.

“I’m sorry to hear that… I remember how you used to talk about him and how close you were.” You told him and he gave a bittersweet smile.

“Things well.. they changed in the five years after. A lot did actually. But my brother and I actually take care of the family business.” He told you and you lifted a brow.

“If you’re an agent now, how do you have the time for a traveling business?” You asked and he felt his palms get clammy, knowing that might be a difficult thing to answer.

“Um… well… Agents like me and Peart aren’t always in one place, so I still travel a lot anyway and when I’m off duty I handle the business as much as I can.” He tried to explain in the most believable way possible.

“You never did tell me what kind of business your dad started. I was always so curious.” You said and Dean wished he could tell you the truth.

��Actually… I need to ask you a few questions. I’m sort of on a case and I don’t really have a whole lot of time to catch up this time around.” He admitted softly.

Dean felt his heart sank at the way your shoulders seemed to slump a little before you looked down at your glass of brandy. He wished he could spend as much time with you as possible, but he couldn’t afford to lose anymore people. People have already lost their lives because of him and he couldn’t afford to do that to you too. He couldn’t handle it.

“What is it you want to know, Agent?”

The switch to the professionalism in your tone pierced Dean through the heart. Maybe he should have asked Sam to keep him some company after all, but from the looks of it he was busy interviewing someone else and writing notes down like the nerd he was.

“The owner… did you have many interactions with his wife?” He asked and he watched you shake your head.

“No. Too busy working. Plus she seldom came here anyway. She was more of a promiscuous woman than anything else. Nelson knew that better than anyone else.” You sighed.

“Nelson.. do you think he’d ever want to take revenge on his wife or pay someone to do it?” Dean asked, making this seem like routine questions - in a way they were still important for a hunter’s case. Who knows, maybe Nelson could he the werewolf he was looking for.

“And risk losing the bar because he’s in jail? No. He was hurt by his wife’s actions, yeah. But for a while they tried to work on it, but then they separated for a month. After that they started living together again before the affairs started up again. And from the looks of it he didn’t have the time to deal with his adulterous wife if she wasn’t willing to change. But there were rumors of a divorce.”

“Do you think Nelson had any enemies? Someone that wanted to get to him through the Mrs?” Dean asked.

“Look, Dean. I don’t keep tabs on my boss and his wife. I don’t care about that kind of thing. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have customers to serve and you have a murder to solve. Don’t let me keep you.” You said and abruptly stood up and walked away to get back to work.

Dean rubbed his face before pinching the bridge of his nose, “Well that looks like it was a disaster.”

Dean heard the sound of his brother’s voice and he rolled his eyes a little before he got up.

“Let’s get out of here and compare notes…”

“You okay, Man?”

“I’m fine, Sam. Let’s just go.” Dean stated and he pushed his chair in before they walked out of the door after putting some cash on the table top for the drinks.

Once the two of them got into the car, Dean started the Impala and when he was pulling out he started to drive to the hotel, then Sam started to talk again.

“So why were you so in a rush to leave? What the hell happened back there?” Sam asked, causing Dean to grimace a little but he knew his brother wouldn’t let it go until he knew what was going on.

“You remember the girl we were talking about? The cover artist?” He said and Sam nodded.

“Wait, that was Y/N? Why don’t we go back? You two can catch up! It’s just a werewolf case, a milk run. I can handle this and give you time with her.” Sam said; and as much as Dean appreciated the willingness, he knew his chances were probably gone.

“Oh no… what did you do?” Sam asked when Dean went quiet.

“Why is it always something that I did?” Dean asked and Sam scoffed.

“Because, Dean. As smooth as you are with women you’ll never see again, you always screw up with the ones that matter and you let them go. Why are you trying to let this one go?”

“Because I can’t have what happened to Jo and Lisa happen to her. Even though Jo was a hunter, she still got killed! Lisa didn’t have experience with hunting, never wanted anything to do with it, and she just got in trouble just by knowing me.” Dean said sternly, beginning to speed because he wasn’t exactly focused on the road.

“Dean! Slow down! We aren’t on a roller coaster!”

Dean heard his brother’s panicky voice and he eased on the gas and tried to focus on what he was doing and eventually they made it to the hotel. Luckily there weren’t any cops on the road so he didn’t get pulled over or anything on the way. But he turned off the car and Sam cleared his throat a little.

“Sam, I don’t want advice on this one. It’s better to just let this one go.”

“Dean, come on. I know for a fact you still have that picture she drew for you. And you said it yourself, that was the best summer of your life! You deserve to experience that kind of happiness again. Especially since things seem to be so calm right now. No angelic wars, no apocalypses, things are quiet and you deserve a break.”

Dean was still quiet.

“And you still aren’t going to tell me what down at the bar, are you?”

With a grunt, Dean stepped out of the car and started making his way up the stairs to get to their designated room.

Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373 @nancymcl @jackles010378 @hobby27 @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @blackcherrywhiskey @prettyinplaid94 @globetrotter28 @suckitands33

[flamingo-writes]

hello >-<

so i have this idea

hobie is a punk musician right? what if he kinda like this artist (their work and all) but the artist is a anon so he got no idea who it was but he knows their art style by heart

he would go to art galleries that will feature the artist

he would even go to the extent of buying a print or two

he would also ask for a commission from the artist

but he would do all of it in incognito (he’s like an idol idoling his idol from the fake acc to ask for comms to disguises just to go to the gallery)

little did he know his fav artist/reader is also a big fan of his band

how would they meet??

(sorry if it’s to long or kinda hard to understand, thank youuu have a wonderful day)

•🍓

You have no idea how much I loved this. I kinda projected myself (like I’ve honestly been in all of my hobie fanfics, but bcs I too, am a punk and do art occasionally) my eco-punk tendencies keep showing, and I’m honestly not gonna stop anytime soon (as you can tell from the constant mention of plants in my writing). This took me forever but I’ve been hella busy 😭

I’ll perhaps do a second part of this

WC: 1.2K or something.

Art is Freedom — Hobie x GN!Reader

"Art is Freedom" was the signature of the anonymous artist Hobie desired to meet. There was something about their art that simply fascinated him. From murals made out with plants, to your standard mural with spray paint. In galleries, this same artist did installations with all sorts of recycled materials. From newspaper, cardboard, paper, sometimes even stuff like aluminium and glass. Others screen printing on recycled fabric and old shirts, and most recently digital art, with the option of buying prints.

What Hobie liked about this artist was how cold and straightforward could they be with their art to express their thoughts and feelings. With a strong commentary on environmentalism. Also very graphic art talking about feminism and domestic violence. He loved the passion put into these pieces, he gawked at the raw energy expiring from the art pieces.

However, tracking them down was particularly hard. They were good at covering up their tracks. Although Hobie knew what that was like, so he started thinking in a similar way this anonymous artist would do. Sometimes feeling guilty for wanting to uncover this artist’s identity, he wouldn’t like it if someone was waiting for him to make a mistake at covering his tracks and found out who he was. But at the same time, he genuinely wanted to meet this person, have a talk with them, sure that Spider-Man and this artist would get along very well.

One fortuitous day, at the art gallery Hobie liked to frequent, there was a new exposition. This one was a photography show. It was the first time this artist showcased pictures. The theme was punk. And most of the photos were from concerts. Spider-Man was even in most of them. Not only was this artist a fan of his band, but from the pictures, Hobie was able to get an idea of who this artist was.

The group of hardcore punks who always showed up to his concerts, art shows, or were wrecking havoc during manifestations, was for the most part the same crowd. Some faces and even names became familiar not only to him but to everyone else.

And you had a face easy to recognise. You had a reputation for always being in the middle of the mosh pit, jamming and jumping like everybody else. However, you were taking pics. Right in the middle of the mosh, you managed to take the best pictures from the stage and the crowd. How did you manage to take those pics while getting out, not only yourself but your camera intact? It was a mystery many people liked to think about.

Hobie had seen you at almost every gig. And he’d seen the magnificent work you did with the photos. However, for the two years he’s been following this anonymous artist, he’d never seen photos. However, for the three or four years you’ve been following his band, he’d seen you in the crowd and seeing your work.

And now standing in front of your exposition, he could clearly identify the peculiar style of the pictures. Those pictures clearly were taken from the depths of a mosh pit. And keeping cameras intact and photos this good of a mosh pit could only be you.

His eyes widened at the realisation. He knew you all along, and had been watching your work from afar for so long. He didn’t personally know you, but he’d seen you around so much to think you were a cool lad, the pins on your jacket were rad, and that you had good taste in music. And of course, he thought you were a talented photographer.

But now that he’d put two and two together, not only were you a magnificent photographer, but an overall artist. The respect and admiration he felt for you duplicated, as he’d thought he was admiring at two different artist while it was actually one and the same.

“Oh! Look at these!” Some people in the gallery said as they neared the pictures and paid close attention to them. “Dude, this pics are sick! Kinda like the ones you always take!”

He diverted his gaze and saw a couple of people leaning closer to take in the details, and a third person wearing a hoodie. Hands hidden in the pouch and hood over their head.

“They’re pretty good,”

Hobie raised an eyebrow as he paced around the gallery, trying to get closer, wondering if it could be you underneath that hoodie.

As he got closer, pretending to glance at the pictures, he saw you from the corner of his eyes and smirked. Your poker face was actually very good, but he could see right through it.

“You think the artist knows how meaningful their art is to others?” Hobie said in a low voice as he glanced at you.

“They better! They’re fucking awesome!” One of your friends said, clueless of what Hobie was trying to do.

“I’m sure they’ve got some idea,” You said meeting Hobie’s stare.

“Well, they sure are my favourite artist, I’ll tell you that…” He said confidently. “I’ve seen you around in gigs, haven’t I?”

“Yeah, probably. I’m always around in gigs…” You said shyly.

“Especially Spider-Man! You love that guy!” One of your friends said, as you felt your cheeks warming up slightly.

“Do you?” Hobie asked.

“His style is very unique. And he’s amazing. He’s been a huge inspiration for me,” reluctantly, you admitted.

“Really? That’s cool. I’m Hobie,” His smirk flashed across his face with a slight arrogant yet full of charm.

“Nice meeting you,” You introduced yourself to him, telling him your name. “I like your style…” You said, pulling one of your hands out of the pouch of your hoodie and pointed at his pins.

“Thanks,” He said, repeating your name. “So, you said Spider-Man was an inspiration…”

“I do art sometimes,” You shrugged. “I wish I could live off of it but, it’s hard,”

“The world is so unkind to artist, unless you decide to sell yourself like a whore,”

You looked at Hobie, thinking there was something strangely familiar and yet refreshing of him. He was tall, he was skinny, but definitely looked like the guy you wouldn’t want to get in a fight with. And yet, he didn’t look all that intimidating. In fact, you felt curious.

“Yeah, pretty much…” You agreed.

“Wanna go for a beer sometime?”

It was hard for you not to smirk as you looked away. Your friends now further away, having read the room and left you alone with Hobie.

“Excuse me?” You armed yourself with courage to look back at him and meet his stare, his eyes a lighter shade of brown compared to the rest of his skin. He was gorgeous, you thought.

“You seem like a pretty interesting person, I’d like to know you better and know a bit more about the art you make, if that’s okay of course…” He shrugged, nonchalantly, able to read your slightly shy and awkward demeanour.

“Do I know you?” You asked.

Hobie chuckled softly. Knowing exactly what you meant, wondering if you were able to somehow relate him to Spider-Man already.

“Yeah, I introduced myself two minutes ago,” he teased, as you chuckled and rolled your eyes playfully.

“No—I me-mean yeah…” You giggled “But…Before that?”

Hobie shrugged.

“Why you ask?”

“I don’t know…” You sighed looking at him curiously, attentively. “Something about you feels oddly familiar…”

“Perhaps,” He shrugged “who knows, there’s only one way to find out…” He winked.

You smirked.

“Later today? At the Hayfield?” You said, naming your favourite bar, agreeing to his invitation.

“Someone likes artisan beer,” Hobie pointed out with an approving nod.

“Isn’t that the best kind of beer?” This time, you shrugged nonchalantly “Besides, Hayfield supports all the local beer producers and amateurs too”

“Nice. See you then,” Hobie said. “9 works for you?”

“9 it is” You smirked, feeling your chest stirring slightly.

“Nice meeting ya” He said turning around, with a triumphant smirk.

“Nice meeting you too…”

~~~~~~~~~

don’t forget to leave a comment if you like this and reboots always help your local and favourite writers get more traction 🙆🏻‍♀️

[succubusonthedoorstep]

ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ArtTeacher! Geto x Fem Reader! ᖭི༏ᖫྀ (1.1 Word Count.)

Warnings? Gojo's sweet tooth, shy reader, vibrator use, butt plugs, edging, implied cunnilingus? jealousy, peeking down shirts, sir kink. painting is Geto's love language. +18 Only! No Minors Allowed! (Part Two.)

Author's Notes? still writing my jean and eren x reader fic, but here's something I've been sitting on for a moment!! <3 (Like, reblog, and comment please!)

ArtTeacher!Geto who enjoys instructing the acrylic painting weekend course. He’s been at it for about a year, lending his Sundays to locals and students. Most looking to sharpen their skills but some seeking a new pastime. Gojo did him a favor, pulling strings at the university to give Geto a classroom (with air conditioning!) rather than the offered room in the student center. However, it was pretty isolated, a feature he learned to love after meeting you.

ArtTeacher!Geto unlocks his door an hour before his class is due to start. Students seldom came early but he left the option open anyway. Sometimes Gojo visited, usually to hand him some small, sweet cake he couldn’t help but rave about. While cleaning the paint palettes and setting up for class, the door slams shut from behind him. 

ArtTeacher!Geto whips around, eyes landing on you. He couldn’t help but immediately notice how cute you were, holding art supplies in your arms. The faucet dripped lightly behind him, brushes now forgotten. His thin white button-down shirt was rolled up to his elbows, a feature your eyes lingered on as you started explaining.  “Sorry for the scare, I know your class doesn’t start for another half an hour…” 

ArtTeacher!Geto alleviates your worries, insisting he’d never turn away an eager student. He stops what he was doing to help you set up on the easel closest to his desk, asking why he’d never seen you in his class before. 

ArtTeacher!Geto can’t listen more intently to you speak. Your voice was melodic to him, echoing slightly from the walls when you laugh at his joke about leaving home. You just moved into the city for a job opportunity and wanted to socialize in a familiar place, the art studio. He noticed some of your paints were used and you held the brush the same way he did. You were no amateur, that was for sure.

ArtTeacher!Geto’s mood goes sour once class starts. He generally enjoyed his classes, but he only wanted to be around you today. Of course, he'll still play his role well- complimenting brush strokes, giving feedback, and staring contemplatively at completed works. The whole time he’s thinking of you on the other side of the room. The image of you, in his well-lit traditionally styled studio, made his heart jump. You’d be wearing the thinnest, finest silk as you lounge for him across a chaise sofa. 

He could torture you for hours there- a plug up your ass and a vibrator for your pussy whenever he’d get bored with his work. Geto would paint you for hours, finding joy in matching his paints to your skin tone, lips, and nipples. (Even if the silk limited his view.) 

‘Enjoying the view, Geto?’ You ask, holding your arm over the end of the sofa like he asked. ‘I’ve never seen you take so long for a sketch.’

“Patience, patience,” he cooed, taking another slick glance at your most intimate parts while you yawn. “So many details to take note of, it won’t be a worthy painting of you if I miss a single one.” His easel was positioned for you as well. You had the perfect view of him working and could lean over the other end of the couch to check his progress.

Both of you knew that was out of the question, however. The little pink toy between your legs prevented any unauthorized movement. Geto was a cruel lover- dragging you just to the edge of orgasm only to press the toy to your hole and call you greedy for needing more.

Without warning the toy came to life, buzzing lowly and drawing soft breaths from your mouth. Geto, no longer interested in painting, watched your reactions with the matching remote in one hand as he palmed his cock with the other. 

“You won’t cum,” he challenged, turning the vibrator up to a higher setting. He watched as you squirmed in ecstasy, his teasing from earlier coming back for you. Leaning back onto the arm of the couch, you spread your legs for Geto’s view and let him hear the sweet moans he loved so much.

“Missing all those d-details,” you expressed, hips lifting from the sofa in pleasure. Geto couldn’t take his eyes off of you. “Is this part of your creative process?” You asked, sliding the silk robe up your legs and exposing your glistening cunt.

The stool he sat on fell over at the force he used to stand up and make his way over to the couch. Geto’s knees met the floor harshly, hands finding your thighs to push them apart and make room for his face. 

“Just need a closer look, is all…”

ArtTeacher!Geto’s fantasy is ruined at the trilling of his alarm bell. Class was over. His students were already packed and filing out of class, their goodbye’s drowned out by him searching for you.

ArtTeacher!Geto smiles when he catches your eye and waves you over. His smile falters as he watches you wave goodbye to a third-year at the university, some kid with pink hair. Geto pushes his jealousy off; he’s never in competition.

ArtTeacher!Geto has to hide a smirk when you approach his desk, clearly in high spirits.

“Thank you for class, sir. I met a lot of good people,” You gush, and Geto has to push in his chair more at the name. “I’d love to come back, when’s the next-”

“Next Sunday,” He recites it like the gospel now. The tightness in his pants only gets worse as he watches you take a sticky note from his desk and scribble your name and number on it. Geto casts a brief look down your shirt when you bend over to write, silently thankful for a memory he can use later.

ArtTeacher!Geto takes the sticky note from you with an appreciative grin, brushing his fingers with yours and melting when a flustered look crossed your face, breaking eye contact.

“See you next week, sir.”

send me prompts so i can post between fics mwah (like, comment and reblog!)

© succubusonthedoorstep2023. all rights reserved. please do not copy, repost, steal, or translate my work.

[r--kt]

Kakashi — the man who cut the lightning

where did chidori and raikiri come from? already guessed what I'd say? yeah — cultural code!

contents | raikiri myth · thunder god's incarnation.

CH. 114

it's possible that this has already been written about before, but I just don't remember if I found out about it from tumblr or dug it up myself. anyways...

Raikiri myth

the name of the thunder god Raijin is associated with the story of a warlord Dōsetsu Tachibana, XVI century. Dōsetsu was in possession of a famous sword called 'Chidori' [ 千鳥, Thousand Birds ]. one day, while he was still a young man, he was taking shelter under a tree, as it was raining. suddenly, a bolt of lightning struck him. however, Dōsetsu used his Chidori to cut Raijin who was inside the lightning bolt, and it allowed him to survive. after this incident, he renamed his Chidori to 'Raikiri' [ 雷切, Lightning Cutter ].

what else can I say? is there at least something in Naruto that is not a war/regime criticism and not a cultural code? [ yeah, gay men ] this part of the post just doesn't need commentaries, it explains so many things...

Thunder god's incarnation

a bit about Dōsetsu himself. of course, you can't just relate him to Kakashi (they aren't alike in general), but I'm interested in looking at his image of a military commander, which is close to Kakashi in some ways.

it is said that Dōsetsu has extraordinary physical strength, a sharp mind and practicing sword style named tachiuchi ni myō o etaru (the art of slashing in all-direction). the Chidori sword is forged by renowned 13th century swordsmith and its hilt design featured the Tachibana family crest. [ does it sound familiar? like the tanto of the Hatake clan? ]

for his mythical feats and personal prowess in the battlefield, Dōsetsu has become a subject of folklores and earned some nicknames, such as Hachiman incarnation [ 弓矢八幡 ], Raijin incarnation [ 摩利支天の化身 ], or God of war from Kyushu [ 九州の軍神 ]. because of his fierce character, he was nicknamed "Oni Dōsetsu" — "Dōsetsu the demon".

I'd say that this is a pretty entertaining background for Kakashi's story. personally, I perceive him as one of the closest characters to real samurai, and therefore such a number of references to history and folklore in him cannot but please me. especially the battle nicknames, in both cases, and a certain connection with the gods of thunder and war. now I'm thinking about the image of Kakashi's Susanoo, which is, well, a full armoured samurai, among other things.

[malaierba]

Remember that it was explicitly stated that Toshiro was trained in ninjutsu?

(HE WAS SIX. LIKE, BY THE WAY)

(the way he has that fucking flashback always sends me btw. I know my man felt the floor sink and everything)

And most of people trained under his family's residence are ninja-coded. Since his dad has those dark, ambiguous links with powerful people, so he's likely the same.

So why is Toshiro's attire and fighting style like a samurai's?

Strictly speaking, ninjas were essentially historical mercenaries, and samurai were nobles who fought under the shogunate without a fee. They were famously guided by the Bushido Code, while ninjas were expected to be shady and fight dirty.

Essentially opposites. Which makes me think that there's a few likely intentions behind that choice:

Maybe she just wanted to drive home more clearly the culture clash between laishuro. Like Toshiro just so happened he wanted to dress like a samurai in his adventure. Maybe he's trying to avoid being recognised? Could be, but I don't think that's it

Maybe Toshiro's training and general upbringing changed as his dad became more influential. Maybe there was a possibility that he could marry up, or get adopted into noble society, who knows, thing is there was a political reason that justified trying to raise Toshiro so he's more of a diplomat than his dad probably is. But then that'd mean that his dad regretted the switch when he deemed his son "a dull man"? I'm 50/50 here, there's always a possibility that in this fantastic alliteration of Japan has some overlaps between samurai and ninja, and maybe ninjas can be nobles after all. Feels too counterintuitive to be logical though.

Maybe it's meant to highlight how different Toshiro is from his family. So visually, it singles him out and associates a certain set of values with him; And then within the story, it lends itself to some compelling ideas like: Did he do it on purpose, was it somehow decided for him as a weird punishment or something? If he did it on purpose then that'd be the very first big decision he took for himself, to say "I want to embody this". Very bold of him since it sends a clear message to everyone. It'd be kind of cool if he made the switch after his father accused him of being dull. He could feel responsible for inheriting the family and having a lot of people to his charge, but at the same time he has such a negative opinion of the type of leader his father is that the only way to reconcile his conscience would be to become the new head of the family but also lead completely different to his dad. OR maybe it was a silent way to say that he never felt like being in that position of leadership anyway. Quietly quitting, in a way? Or maybe it didn't even happen consciously. Toshiro naturally seeked role models that embodied a type of man that he could actually look up to, and slowly molded himself to that standard, for better and for worse. Strong sense of responsibility and all that.

I guesssss it could be that Toshiro's family really is nobility, but they train their servants in all of those special skills as a private bodyguard force? Hien expected Toshiro to propose to her, would that union be allowed if Toshiro's family was nobility? It's even said in one of the art books that the reason why Toshiro's dad didn't marry Maizuru is because he met her after marrying his wife. Besides, why train Toshiro in ninjutsu too? And then there's those moments when it's hinted that he's familiar with some darker dynamics. I keep thinking about how he knew what Laios group had to do in order to lose the cops fkdkkd. Anyway I can see the logic in the argument, I'm just not sure Toshiro's family isn't hiding something sus. I see it as very mafia coded. Honestly, that might be just it

In any case, it does overlap some interesting elements on Toshiro. There's an expectation on him from his family, the way the household projects an image of strength but also some shadiness, that contrasts with how he presents himself, how he's treated by his charges, how the image he projects is of a mild mannered, stoic, diplomatic man.

[luvlloyd]

[🌺] hi Aiden Clark lovers!! (and anyone interested lol)

quick question for y’all,

if I were to write a Aiden Clark x reader fanfiction and post it on Wattpad (and or maybe here depending on how many are interested), would you guys read it? I provided an excerpt and additional details of the story so you guys can read my writing style and get the flow of the story. Its just an a portion I took out from my story.

Would this be something you’d guys like to read more about? I just wanna know whether or not I should actually publish it 😭

Thank you sm and have a good one!! <3

excerpt and additional details below cut

feel free to skip, this is just a brief introduction

welcome to tunnel vision by @PR0D13Y

Aiden Clark x Reader

★﹒WARNINGS | gore, violence, death, mentions of bullying, angst, trauma, manipulation, kinda absent parents. (NONE OF THIS IS MENTIONED IN THIS EXCERPT THOUGH)

…As I gazed at my phone, my anticipation was bubbling for a response back. I waited at least two minutes until it dawned on me that she had deliberately left me on delivered. With a scoff, I tucked my phone into my jacket pocket.

I loved Ashlyn, truly I did, but there were moments when her actions got on my nerves. Take now, for instance. Every time I tried to talk with her on a deeper level, she always pushes me away. While I understand that she craves space, her cold demeanor towards me has yet to unfrost, even after seven years from once we first met. We are inseparable, at least in the eyes of others. But in reality, there always seemed to be an invisible wall between us when we talked…

I sighed as I equipped my helmet and mounted my motorcycle, a sleek black base adorned with line art in my favorite color, a cherished gift from my parents on my sixteenth birthday. I gave the bike a pat, murmuring,

"Just you and me, buddy." Glancing at my hand, I hesitated as if waiting for a response that never came… The silence clung onto the morning horizon, leaving a distance feeling of emptiness inside of me.

With a roar, I ignited the engine and maneuvered onto the main road from my driveway, the morning breeze caressing my skin. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a gentle glow on the indigo sky. It felt like a moment of pure freedom from worries and thoughts, just me and the open road. Humming softly, I navigated the quiet streets of my hometown. Arriving at the modest school building, a familiar sight in our small town, I parked my bike and removed my helmet with a smile.

I sat on a bench outside the main door, tapping my feet impatiently, waiting for Ashlyn. My fingers idly scrolled through apps on my phone until I heard the groaning of wheels and the slow halt of a yellow bus. A flurry of students emerged, I spotted a familiar redhead with two braids, her green eyes scanning for me until they locked onto mine. With haste lacing her steps, she made her way over to me.

"Let's go," she muttered, and I rose from the bench, amused by her slight irritation.

"Surprised you have friends!" a playful voice chimed from behind her. She turned, her expression tightening but saying nothing. And then I saw him…

His eyes, a deep crimson, reminiscent of the darkest rose, held a mischievous excitement as they met mine. His slightly disheveled blonde hair caught the early sunlight, casting a soft glow around him. He was an unfamiliar face, but an attractive one if I were to be honest…

He looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, glancing up at me up and down as if saying, well well well, look what we have here...!

Behind him stood a taller figure, with a boyish face. He was rather lean but had an awkward demeanor to him. Ashlyn shot me a warning glance, but I couldn't resist the urge to open my mouth.

"Hey, I'm (name). You guys must be new here," I greeted, flashing a friendly smile despite Ashlyn's audible groan. Aiden's face lit up with enthusiasm…

Thank you for reading!! Please let me know what you think <3 This is just an excerpt of the text and isn’t the complete chapter.

[jackdaniel69nice]

@khonaker I have to be careful writing this one because Mrs Midnight makes me too emotional.

While tokoyami finds his alignment more in touch with literature, dark shadow is drawn to art. So of course Mrs Midnights art history class is their favorite. They love Mrs Midnight, she is always so sweet to them and even lets them be out during class. They have made lots of drawing to give to her and chat about all different time periods, styles, and regions of art. She also has a sadistic side and “enjoys tormenting her opponent” which dark shadow also has fun doing >:)

She has a reputation for being a very good listener and open to all kinds of problems. When someone is struggling with something embarrassing (such as nsfw, lgbtq, and romantic topics) she is someone that it feels ok to talk about those things with. We know she gives good advice and uplifts and inspires her students. Tokoyami has probably talked to her about such subjects before although he’s too focused on his hero work than to worry about romance.

While the audience usually sees nemuri in the light of her hero persona I like to think she is much more calm and motherly towards her students in one on one interactions. She is the fun and free spirit of UA which contrasts aizawa’s strict nature.

Nemuri adores shadow because they are cute and feisty. She loves their enthusiasm and vigor and how much they love participating in class.

She thinks tokoyami is to mature for his age and want him to have some fun and relax more, act like a kid. She tries to encourage some playfulness in him with the help of shadow and get him to be a little more reckless. It’s not very effective but toko tries to take her advice as much as he can. Maybe he does a couple things to be a bit more rebellious now.

She also tells him not to be so afraid of consequences for mistakes, has a lot of fear for hurting people and that seems to control a lot of his actions. Once again he’s not going to get over his traumas immediately but he’s slowly working on them.

.

.

.

I don’t really wanna write about her…loss but I suppose I can say something.

They were devastated obviously upon the news. There is guilt because they went to save hawks instead of rejoining their class and if they had been there would she have lived? Did she have to die in order to save hawks? but mostly there is grief, intense loss. Tokoyami disassociated as first and focused on being rational and calm, he tries to comfort his classmates…and shadow. Shadow cries, cries, and cries and is also so very angry, angry at who did this. It takes time for them to heal and gain some semblance of normalcy again. They can’t think about their favorite class without hurting and missing her so much.

Toko only allows himself to break down when he is in his room. Sometimes this frustrates shadow but they are familiar with Tokoyami’s suppression at this point and doesn’t hold it against him. He thinks he has failed by not listening to her as well as he should have. He regrets not getting closer to her before she was gone. It hurts, shadow holds him while they cry, maybe they are holding each other.

Shadow makes drawing for her still and puts them on her memorial. Someone collects them and puts them in a binder before they can be destroyed by the elements but I’m not sure who. Toko names his new sword “Midnight” after her.

[notiddygxthgf]

3. Obsessed

★ pairings: aki hayakawa x fem reader

★ ❝ Aki, you smooth bastard. ❞

★ c.w.: nothing :) (more content warnings and tags)

★ a/n: accidentally posted chap 4 before chap 3 oopsies!! omg so like this one lowkey seems like filler but I PROMISE ITS NECESSARY. im building the tension. i hope you all like obsessive aki as much as i love him. teehee. like comment and talk to me! id love to hear ur thoughts x

★ w.c.;3.2k

shameless ; chapter index

YOU HELD YOUR PHONE TO YOUR EAR later in the evening, listening to your husband talk about his day. His voice was a comforting, familiar anchor, but tonight, it struggled to pull you from the storm raging in your mind the way it usually did.

"And then I told them they couldn't just ignore the data. They finally agreed to reassess the project," he was saying, his tone tinged with satisfaction. "That's how my day was."

"That's great," you replied absentmindedly, your fingers hovering over your phone's keyboard.

As he continued speaking, you opened a new message thread. The name "Aki Hayakawa" stared back at you, the cursor blinking in anticipation. You started typing slowly, uncertainly:

Aki, I'm sorry for running out on you like that. It wasn't |

You paused, backspaced, and tried again:

Captain Hayakawa, I apologize for how I acted tonight. It was unprofessional. |

No, that was too formal. You sighed, deleting the message once more.

"Are you still there?" your husband asked, snapping you out of your reverie.

"Yeah, I'm here," you said quickly. "Just... distracted. Sorry."

"What are you up to?" he asked, his tone lightening. "You sound busy."

"I'm just sending a text to my friend, Himeno," you lied smoothly, hoping the guilt didn't seep into your voice.

"You're so sweet," he said warmly. "Always thinking of others."

Always thinking of other men, apparently, you mean? 

You forced a smile, even though he couldn't see it. "Yeah, I guess so."

Your thumb hovered over the screen again. This time, you typed:

Can we talk?

You hesitated for a moment, then pressed delete before you could change your mind. You had done enough damage tonight. The best thing you could do was just ignore him for the remainder of your stay in Tokyo. It would be over before you knew it.

"Anyway," your husband continued, oblivious to your internal struggle (as he typically was), "So my coworker came up to me and asked if I would go out for drinks with him tonight."

"Sounds great," you said automatically, your mind still on the message you had just deleted. You glanced out the window at the city rushing by – the midnight was blue, almost as blue as his eyes.

You hoped that, somehow, everything would make sense in the morning.

.

Your first informal mission took place at the art museum. There had been complaints of Devil-sightings there. It wasn't anything particularly alarming or dangerous, but you had been sent to check it out (and kill it).

With nothing but the quiet sound of your shoes clicking against the old wooden floorboards to accompany you, you made your rounds through the second floor. Your Public Safety uniform pulled very few strange looks here where everybody else was also done up in black-tie attire. There was an art showing tonight.

You put an 'x' over the words "Second floor". No Art-devil spotted there. Two more to go.

Stopping in front of a small painting, you took a moment to admire the artistry. You didn't mind doing the scut work while Makima was understaffed – more gruesome positions existed, surely. This was most certainly not the worst way you could think to spend your first day back on the job.

The painting was a masterful symphony of oil paints – shades of pink and green and blue forming the prettiest little petals. It depicted a serene field of wildflowers and nothing else. A singular tree near the right side of the painting, a clear blue sky on the top of it.

One day I'll buy a painting like that, you thought to yourself. Not that it had much of a place in your stale, modern-style home in the Japanese countryside. You always wanted a house with color – one with wooden seats and tables and wallpaper and a happy family – even if it aged poorly. There was something homely about flowers and colors. Something that the black-white-and-grey color scheme of your contemporary home lacked.

It was such a shame, too. You told your husband about these wishes long before you married him and, yet, he insisted upon having a home that would look "sleek" and "modern". Had it not been for his vision of what your home should look like, you would have taken the painting home with you.

Briefly, the image of a small, gold-framed painting of a flower field hung up in your cold, cool-toned dining room crossed your mind. It wouldn't work.

Then again, perhaps the painting could serve as a metaphor for your feelings?

You looked away from it, and went back to scanning the room for any sight of a Devil. You didn't find one.

What you did find, however, was the one person you didn't want to see today. A certain young captain stood with his arms crossed behind his back, inspecting a larger painting only a few yards away from you.

Then, as if the situation couldn't get any worse, he turned to look at you.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

You ducked over, shielding your face from his gaze. It was too late, though – you heard his telltale footsteps coming your way and you knew he'd sniffed you out.

His voice was a sickening croon behind you, "Enjoying the show?"

Okay. It would appear that neither of you wanted to address the elephant in the room (being last night, that is).

You couldn't stop the little flutter your heart did when it heard his voice.

"Yes, thank you," You snapped back a little quicker than you anticipated. "The paintings are beautiful."

"They are, aren't they?" He reiterated. Something told you he wasn't only speaking about the paintings. "You like that one?"

"I do," You answered. This whole conversation was just a whole lot more awkward than you could bear today. "It's peaceful, I think. Pretty."

You shouldn't be talking to him. You really shouldn't be talking to him – not after whatever the fuck had happened between the two of you at the party.

To your surprise, Aki didn't toy with you any longer than that. He walked away – you had only heard him leave, after all, as you hadn't made any effort to look him in the eye. How could you? You had seen that face of his far too many times in your dreams.

"Keep up the good work," He said over his shoulder.

You turned to look only when you were certain he was a respectable distance away from you. Then, looking at the back of his Public Safety suit jacket, you thought, How bizarre.

.

You were making your rounds at the grocery store two days later, grabbing some last minute food and snacks because you truly hadn't anticipated your stay to be so long. A small slip of paper clutched in one hand and a pen in the other, you crossed "bread" off the list.

"Okay," You muttered to yourself, glancing around for your next stop. "Pads, produce, chips," Deciding that you couldn't live off of the tiny little hotel sample containers in your shower, you quickly scribbled down 'Shampoo/Conditioner'.

Then you continued on your merry little way, pushing the cart forward and exploring the rest of the grocery store. Aisle 14's sign was done in a shade of lilac, and read 'Feminine Hygiene, Baby, Sexual Wellness'. Oddly enough, you had to pass through the baby section before you could get to the feminine hygiene products. You tried not to make eye contact with any diaper boxes, as they only served to remind you of the fact that – despite being married – you were the only one out of all of your friends who hadn't settled down and started a family by now.

Soon, you thought. But, then, a vision of a screaming baby throwing up in your arms flashed through your mind, an image of your husband asking you what was for dinner after the both of you had come home from work, and it didn't feel so right.

"Let's see," you hummed, tracing your finger over a box of day pads. You figured that it wouldn't hurt to be prepared, even if you weren't supposed to get your period for at least another two weeks.

So you grabbed a multipack – day pads, liners, and night pads – and you tossed them into the cart. Then, you checked "pads" off of your list.

At the end of the aisle, there were walls and walls full of condom boxes – some were even flavored – and lubricants.

Won't be needing those any time soon, you mused. You and your husband hadn't exactly been very... active recently. With work and cleaning and everything else to be done around the house, neither of you had the energy.

Well, okay. You didn't have the energy. He had made a great many fruitless attempts. It was difficult to want to have sex with a man who acted like an insolent child when you told him that, yes, it was his house too, and he could do some dishes once in a while.

You were happy, though. You were just... going through a rough patch was all.

"I'm married!" 

The words echoed in the back of your mind. You saw a vision of him there, too – not your husband – taking a tentative step towards you while you backed away from him.

"You weren't acting like it," The words replayed, clear as day, "I can't forget about tonight. I know you felt it, too."

You gazed blankly at the condom boxes on the shelves. He had been right. You weren't acting like a married woman, even now. Because when you thought of someone pressing kisses to your neck and slipping the clothes off of you, it wasn't your husband you envisioned. It was him.

You were fucked. Truly, royally fucked.

That being said, you walked right on past the wall of condoms. You were many things – a liar, Devil Hunter – but you would not break your marriage vows. It was your fault that you had been sucked into a wedding so early in your life. You had to see it through.

You had to do right by your husband.

The next aisle you hit up was the produce section in search of soup vegetables.

Some carrots would be nice, you thought. Oh, and some potatoes. Maybe even some angus beef? 

You rolled up to the vegetables. They looked so tasty, all bundled together, being misted gently with water. You pulled a few carrots off the display and popped them into a plastic produce bag.

Leeks, you thought, pursing your lips and glancing around. They were two shelves over to your right.

And you'll never guess what else was only two shelves over, so tall he had to bend over to reach the legumes, sporting a loose black tee shirt and some black sweatpants.

Captain Hayakawa. Your stomach did a backflip and a death drop and your heart seemed to beat a little faster. What the fuck.

You could tell yourself whatever you wanted, but the way your body reacted to his presence gave your true feelings away. He had you wrapped around his finger.

Still, you hadn't seen him in casual clothes before. He looked much cuter that way, you thought. You could see his arms much more clearly now, the ridges and hills of his chiseled biceps, his strong forearms.

And he was buying groceries. Could he get any better?

You couldn't recall the last time your husband had even cooked some food, let alone go buy produce.

Maybe he was grocery shopping for someone else? Maybe he had a woman at home, to whom he was only bringing these groceries. It seemed far more likely that he had just come here to cook for himself.

What am I thinking? He was bad for you. Real bad. You had no business thinking these things about another man.

So, you did what any other respectable, married woman would have done and left the produce section before he could notice you. Before you could even begin to question whether or not this meeting was really pure coincidence.

You could always pick your veggies up somewhere else.

.

"Hello, front desk, how can I assist you?"

You sighed a breath of relief, "Hey. Do you think you could have room service send up an extra towel?" You glanced down at the shattered bottle of wine you had picked up from the grocery store. You had used one of the hotel towels to mop it up. It was only after the fact, of course, that you realized you only had one towel left.

"Of course," The friendly woman on the phone answered, "Can I have a room number?"

"1409," You answered.

A few keyboard clacks later, and she said, "You have a package at the front desk. Would you like us to send that up, too?"

A package? You thought. You didn't recall ordering anything. Still, you figured it was most likely something Public Safety had sent you (and, least likely, a bouquet of flowers from your husband).

"Okay, yeah, sure," You hummed. "Send that up, too, thanks."

The phone call ended a moment later, after the two of you had exchanged goodbye. Within five minutes, there was a knock at your door.

"Room service," A feminine voice grunted.

"Coming!" You answered. Tip-toeing around the mess of broken glass you'd left bundled up inside of a red-stained white towel, you jogged to the door to answer it.

A short, brown-haired old lady in a maid's uniform was holding a freshly folded towel in one hand, and a rectangular brown box in the other. You took both from her gratefully, ducking your head and muttering a quick 'Thank you' before closing the door.

You set the towel down on the bed. Then you flopped down next to it, eyeing the brown box up precariously. It had "FRAGILE: HANDLE WITH CARE" printed all over it.

I wonder what it is.

Of course, you had left your letter openers and box-cutters at home, so you made do with a butter knife that the hotel had so graciously provided to you. You took out a few layers of packing foam and tissue paper before the item was finally revealed to you.

It was a small, gold framed painting. One with pink and blue wildflowers in a green, open field. One with a clear sky and a tree. The one from the gallery.

"How the fuck...?" You asked, turning the thing over in your hands, as if to make sure that your eyes hadn't deceived you. (They hadn't.)

It was something so strange, so oddly specific, that you could only attribute it to one individual.

"The paintings are beautiful."

"They are, aren't they?" Captain Hayakawa reiterated. Something told you he wasn't only speaking about the paintings. "You like that one?"

"I do," You answered. "It's peaceful, I think. Pretty."

You admired the beautiful painting beneath the warm hotel light. Then, with a giddy sigh, you flopped onto your back, clutching it to your chest.

Aki, you smooth bastard. You thought. Fair play.

.

The conference room buzzed with anticipation as agents filed in, each clad in the standard uniform of crisp suits and ties.

You sat in the front row, your hands folded neatly in your lap, trying to maintain a professional demeanor.

The atmosphere was thick with tension and a sense of gravity, appropriate for a meeting about the Gun Devil—a formidable enemy everyone in the room was acutely aware of.

Miss Makima stood at the front, her posture perfect, her pink hair immaculately styled. She exuded an aura of authority and control that was almost frightening, which was normal for her. A large board behind her displayed a complex array of photographs, maps, and written leads, all connected by a web of strings and arrows. It was a visual representation of the intelligence gathered on the Gun Devil, a chilling reminder of the stakes at play.

As Makima began to speak, detailing the latest developments and potential leads, you tried to focus on her words. She spoke with a calm, measured cadence, explaining the connections and evidence they had so far. But as the minutes passed, you felt a warmth spreading across the back of your neck, an unsettling sensation that made you shift in your seat.

Curious, you turned your head slightly, just enough to glance over your shoulder. There he was—Captain Hayakawa—propped up against the wall at the back of the room, his gaze locked onto you with a disconcerting intensity. His blue eyes were sharp, unwavering, and you felt a jolt of electricity shoot down your spine. The way he looked at you, it was as if he could see right through the layers of professional decorum you had carefully constructed.

A rush of heat flooded your face, and you quickly turned back around, your pulse quickening.

Behave, you reminded yourself sternly. But it was hard to focus, hard to even think straight, with his gaze burning into you so desperately like that – like you were the only person in the room, like he would freeze time if he could just to ravage you right then and there.

You pressed your legs together, a subconscious reaction to the sheer force of his attention.

He was going to be the death of you if you didn't get the hell out of Tokyo soon.

Makima continued her presentation, moving to a new section of the board, but her words became a distant murmur in your ears. All you could think about was the weight of Aki's stare, the way it made you feel exposed and vulnerable. You couldn't help but wonder what was going through his mind. He wasn't shy, not in the slightest—his gaze was bold, almost challenging, as if daring you to meet his eyes again.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to look back at the board. The images and notes blurred together as you struggled to refocus. You knew you should be paying attention—this information was critical, after all—but Aki's presence was an insistent distraction. You could feel his eyes on you, a constant, burning sensation that refused to let up.

When the meeting finally concluded, you realized with a sinking feeling that you had retained almost nothing from the entire seminar. You gathered your things, avoiding eye contact with everyone as you hurried out of the room. 

ITS SO SHORT ik ik. to make up for it, read chapter 4 and pretend i didnt accidentally post that one first LMFAOAOOA... see yall soon!! x

credits: UNKOWN ATM. I found the cover pic on pinterest unfortch. If you know the artist, please let me know, so I can credit them properly for their work!!! This is NOT MY BEAUTIFUL DRAWINGGG. I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

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wanna join the taglist? | shameless ; chapter index