#Quite literally because that’s what I drew all that with

[velvet-games]

he’s so normal :)

I actually drew this before a lot of the recent stuff I've been posting; it was just me trying to figure out a good redesign for vox. I might make a proper redesign explanation later, but here are some quick notes while I'm still playing with it:

vox trapzod and alastor trongle :)

^^ ok but unironically this was kind of a hard decision since I have mixed feelings about vox's body type

stuff I was considering:

1) vox is alastor's foil and has a similar body type to alastor at least in part because you're supposed to be comparing them (It's actually so cool cause I was watching TB Skyen's reaction to ep 2 and he immediately predicted that they would have beef lol)

2) tumblr sexyman bod <3

3) I LOVE @/bestosunglass' way of drawing him, and it made me realize that I kind of love the idea of vox being a little bigger than alastor? it's very big himbo puppy + lithe cat energy

4) not sure what my headcanons about vox's body are in terms of biological vs tech yet, but I think I want to lean toward tech (which is customizable)

I love the angst concept of vox having the freedom to change his body with relative ease, which makes him feel like he has to constantly update and update and update and update and update and it's never good enough because he could always change something and he'll never quite be good enough--

basically being a victim to his own progress-oriented mindset

and also treating himself like a product; if it's not working, if it's not the best, newest model, then it's broken and useless and disposable

tbh alastor's ability to find beauty and art in the old (not necessarily based on function, but on character and care) would be good for him

ooc or not, as someone with dysmorphia issues myself, I really want an "I like your body because it's yours" moment from alastor

I think all of that + toxic masculinity would probably mean vox would make himself comically buff (at least at first) lol

5) but I like drawing him kinda scrawny ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ it's just weird because I kind of want to audience to pick up on the fact that he's not actually hypermasc but vox would totally (mostly successfully) broadcast that to the characters in the show

6) I think a trapezoid is a good shape for him! it contrasts well with alastor being a kind of sly and striking triangle shape. trapezoids are more interesting and dynamic than rectangles, but are still more stiff and business-like than triangles (p sure I am completely misunderstanding shape theory here but it makes sense to me lmao)

vox is such a mess of vibes? like he's a cult leader he's a televangelist he's a hypnotist he's a business shark he's a tech CEO he's a newscaster he's a TV he's a computer he's a literal shark he's a mastermind he's a pathetic fanboy

still not sure which of those is the most important/what should be obvious in his design

obsessed with the concept of TV knobs as buttons but it's kind of old fashioned

I headcanon him as having been a nerdy kid that got kicked in the shins for being obsessed with TV/tech lol

also hc him as being vaguely and very obliviously transfemme; the buffness can also be overcompensating for a lack of masculinity both physically and mentally

[sweetiebean00]

Hey Bartender

I love my angsty boys as much as the next guy, but I feel like it's Dick Grayson's time in the moonlight! Hope you enjoy!

Dick didn't tell anyone what he did when he wasn't patrolling, when he wasn't in uniform. When being Richard "Dick" Grayson got to be too much. His family didn't need to know, Bruce and Alfred had dealt with a literal demon. Not that anyone else knew it. He pretended far too well at that, he was used to it. To pretending. To playing up the smiles, and the bad jokes. The care that was real for his family, but none quite understood why Nightwing was feared in Bludhaven, in any of the cities they went to. Not that they noticed, not if Dick could help it.

Still, as he walked through the doors of the same old club that hadn't quite been shut down yet. No evidence of any illicit dealings, he did check before arriving. Especially in case he was recognized by being Bruce Wayne's adopted son, his ward. He's been coming to this place for months, wanting to be lost. To be forgotten. It was easy too, gave them his name, his last name as his first. He hated lying, it was part of the job but he hated it at times. Made it easy when everyone who saw him, who got used to the twenty something year old looking like a child soldier (because that's what he was) coming in and sitting at the counter. 

Avoiding looking in the mirror behind the bar, the club danced and pulsed with light. With energy. Men and women, teenagers and adults, and everything in between was allowed in and they danced. Had fun in a safe space to forget. Those who didn't take no, received a shot in the head. At least that was the first thing Dick encountered. The girl behind the counter, her hair pinned up and eyes narrowed as she put the gun on the bar. The warning was silent to the man who had been reaching for an abandoned drink. Her threat was clear, and when the gun was fired off at someone who had been trying something fishy, a butcher's knife slammed into the counter. Inches from the hand trying to tamper with the drink inside. 

She had looked to Dick, looked at him through the lenses of her glasses that hung on the end of her nose. She nodded once, as if understanding something Dick himself hadn't understood. Only poured him a baby shot, with a half-smile. A silent taunt, a test to see if he could handle the liquor properly and not like the morons about the club. After the next five, she had given him a proper glass, and three more in she looked at him. His hands clasped on the top, his fingers interlocked and told him the rules. Had him sign a contract that was legitimate and he wondered if she drew it up herself. When asked for a name, he gave her his full name and she didn't bat an eye. 

That night he woke up slumped on the counter, and the bartender, who he learned was Angel, was shaking him awake. Asking if he wanted her to call someone because they were closing up. He didn't have the conscious thought to respond, and when he woke again he was on a couch. A blanket thrown over him and a bucket by his head, a glass of water and an unopened bottle of ibuprofen next to him on the floor. What was important was that his clothes were still on, there was nothing arrayed with him, his senses. His phone was plugged in, and a sticky note was taped telling him to turn the sound off next time he wanted to pass out else he'd find it broken by a bullet. 

"Watch yourself tonight Grayson," The bouncer, Brutus, broke him from his thoughts. He blinked, turning to look at him. He was tall, large. Bald and sporting tattoos from the eyebrows down over every inch of his skin but his back. "Angel's in a mood tonight."

Angel's in a mood? Dick swallowed, brows furrowed as he side stepped those entering the club next. It was a little out of the way place, nothing fancy and apparently the only way people find it is by needing an escape, a safety net to catch them in life. Angel called it Haven for a reason, after all. Brutus nodded his head at the sign by the door, easily missed but Dick knew what it was. There was a tally mark for every scumbag that entered and didn't leave the way they came. In a body bag, missing a finger, etc. His eyes widened, it must be a bad night for it to be hitting ten marks. The sound of a gunshot rang, and he watched as Brutus sighed. Adding another mark to the chalkboard.

Dick turned, turned into the crowd and part of him so badly wanted to fix it. To help. But that's not why he came here, and when old habits kicked. When he tried being the hero once, he had been stopped right in his tracks by Angel. She handled the situation, and when he woke up on that shitty couch she was at the bar. Head in her hands, and he had seen just her back. Seen silvery blonde hair that fell about her shoulders messily, had seen that her skin was sunkissed and golden. That she was covered in ink, with an entire sleeve on her right arm that ended at her elbow on the left. She had what looked like wings on the nape of her neck, and she spoke without her voice being hidden by the base drum. She spoke soft, cool, and calm. There wasn't an edge, there wasn't anger, or anything. Just quiet facts in a soft, but raspy voice. Probably from all the yelling she needed to do in the club at night, but it was.. it shocked him. She didn't look at him once that morning, and when he saw himself out he saw her face hidden by a cup of coffee and fogged up glasses.

This time, he took a deep breath. Side stepping the regulars and the new ones, teenagers and adults wanting to forget. He swears he saw Roy Harper in here once, but like Angel had said. This was the club people came to be forgotten, to forget. To get lost. He promised himself to never approach anyone he recognized in the club outside of it, never bring it up. And despite the detective inside being curious, he didn't investigate it. Didn't even put it in the search engine, didn't look up a blonde woman named Angel. Not even when his fingers twitched, and he burned with wonder. 

His shot was waiting for him when he looked down, and he looked up to see a fire in her eyes. She watched the crowd like a hawk, her glasses pushed up her nose and he wondered if they were for show. Babs hated it when her glasses hung too low, got in the way. He didn't ask, instead knocking it back like he had been for months, weeks, days now. A knife left her fingertips in a split second, and he watched it soar through the crowd. Her aim was never off, never wrong, and he wondered how she did that every time. 

"Gray." She greeted with a nod, the music was changing to something slower. More somber, but still a rapid beat. He listened to it for a moment, before knocking back the shot again. Sometimes he wondered if this was magic, if it was magic that kept the glasses refilling. If he was in some fevered dream. If Angel was a meta, or a magic user that Batman hadn't sniffed out.

"Angel." 

"Why do you come here, Gray?" Angel questioned, taking the glass from him and adding another one next to it. He blinked, she grabbed a bottle from the back pouring it without breaking her gaze from the dancing and the drinking. "To forget, to be forgotten? Maybe both? Maybe neither?"

He swallowed, hands twitching. He caught the glass that slid along the bar top, watching her people watch. What was her aim? What was to gain by breaking her own number one rule? Never address the elephants in the room. She sighed, knocking her glass lightly against his. He heard her muttering, heard the voice blend with the music and he noted it was low enough he could make out the solemn tone of her voice. Was it on purpose or was the music just rigged to some playlist and shuffling?

Dick cleared his throat, mind scrambling for an answer besides 'um'. He didn't know if he wanted to share with her the truth, the reason for his hiding. The way his mind was getting too loud, the eternal battle for Gotham's people growing heavy on his shoulders. He swallowed as she filled her glass again, as she tapped it with her finger until he downed his own and then refilled it.

"I- I want to forget, and not be remembered." He finally admitted, quietly. In the same notes she had spoken in, as if they were sharing their dark secrets. His skin itched and it took him everything to not start clawing at his arm to scratch the itch inside his bones. He downed the shot and then swiped hers, downing it too. "I-"

"Grayson, stop." She said, softly, no room for argument but it wasn't firm. She reached her hand out, palm up to him on the table. "I'm not asking for the story, not even sure I know why I was asking. It's just, you've been coming here for months now. Late, like two in the morning late, you stay until you can barely think straight, talk even. I just, I've seen that kind of thing before. I know how it ends."

He didn't know how to respond, a lump forming in his throat and now he understood what Brutus meant. She was in a mood, a mood for the deep gritty pain of others. Not to cause it, not to revel in it. He's seen her approach customers before, seen her offer her hand and a way to help. Watching those that took it seem as if they became... lighter. Lighter than the traumas and stress, watched as she fixed them with another kind of drink. Watched as one of the people, her helpers, put a blanket over their shoulders and led them outside. He didn't see them again, but he'd notice that she would seem more tired. More run down, and out of it. Like the weight of the world was on her shoulders now... Dick swallowed the lump.

"You need help, Gray, and not the kind of help the glass can provide." 

"I-" His voice cracked, and he couldn't bring his gaze from the table. Not as she slowly retracted her hand, offering him another glass. "Thanks, Angel, but-"

"I'm not offering you the help, I've offered others." She said quickly, and he looked up. Ignoring the sting in his eyes as she ran a hand through her hair. "I was just stating, have you considered therapy?"

He laughed. The sound wet, watery, but it was a laugh better than the fake one that has been grating on his nerves. On his ears. He took the shot slower this round, savoring the bitterness that coated his tongue. The burn that followed the drink down his throat. She smiled, it wasn't the same smirk she gave everyone else. It wasn't the same half-smile he's seen her sport when she's snickering at one of his shitty jokes, or Brutus’ begrudging groans. The smile is soft, gentle and almost sad. As if she knows what he's feeling, as if she can feel it, understand it. He didn't know how to feel about that, what to think, or even what to say. Instead, just kept drinking from the glass that kept refilling as the music changed, the dancers returning to their wild carefree behavior as she kept an eye on the crowd and on him. As if worried he would break if she looked away.

He wanted to tell her not to worry, that everything would be fine. That she could do what she did best, make drinks and help her patrons. He wouldn't break if she looked away, if she stopped filling his glass or paying attention. He smiled bitterly; Richard "Dick" Grayson was already broken. She just didn't know it yet. It's okay, his family didn't know either.

He doesn't know how long he spent there, sitting at that countertop. On that old barstool with a cushion jimmy rigged to stay in place. He wonders if it was Angel or Brutus that had the idea to staple it on, and he snickered at the idea of Angel getting pissed and just taking a stapler to the thing. It wouldn't be out of character, not even close to it. He rested his head on the counter, the cold wood soothing to his heated skin. The music, the sounds, all drowning into one as colors merged and swirled into a mosaic. Angel's face, lit by strobe lights, was in his line of vision. A hand gently shaking his shoulder, and he watched her brows furrow. Lips pursed and eyes roll, before the world went dark. 

Dick woke to a mild headache, the world far too bright. He groaned, rolling over into his pillow and pulling the blanket over his head. He loved drinks from Angel, the hangover was always mild. He breathed, only to freeze as his brain caught up with his surroundings. He was in his room, in his apartment. He jerked up, hands grasping at his clothes and... he was still dressed. Still fully dressed, even his shoes were still on his feet. There was no glass of water next to him, no unopened bottle of ibuprofen or Tylenol. His phone was plugged into his charger next to his bed, and there was no sticky note reminding him of certain death if he didn't silence the phone, mute the calls, or stop whoever or whatever was pinging his phone despite the silent mode activated.

He frowned, swallowing at the lump forming in his throat as he climbed warily out of bed. Everything was how he left it the night before, his suit on the floor that he very quickly shoved under his bed with his foot. Hoping whoever brought him here, didn't see it. He pressed a hand to his chest, trying to ease his racing heart; and failing. Slipping from the room, he froze. 

There passed out on his couch, is Angel. Silvery blonde hair was all over the place, some hanging into her face. The rest pushed back, he saw freckles dusting her cheeks. This is the first time he has seen her properly, in the light no less. He looked away, avoiding the way her noted her lips were pink and pouty. She didn't want others to see her face in the light, in the dark of the club with nothing but neon strobe lights her hair was hidden. Her skin tone, her eyes. There was enough light to see others, to see the faces around him, see the clothing people wore. But the colors were so strong it was hard to tell if someone's hair was black or blonde, freckles, dimples, and moles were gone. Designs on clothes faded, only silver catching light, only the metal of piercings shined clearly. 

Dick moved to his kitchen, rubbing the back of his neck and combing through messy black hair. This is fine, he is fully dressed. Everything is intact, he could question how the hell she knew where he lived later. Question how they got in also, much later. Along with if she managed to carry him herself, or drag him, or did Brutus take care of it. He shook the thought off, he'll find out later. Probably when she woke up. 

In the meantime, breakfast. For two. Maybe some coffee as well. He could do this, he knows how to cook... ish. Okay, so he had received a ban from Alfred's kitchen, but he can cook! He sighed, really wishing he had asked Alfred for lessons now. It's fine. Scooping the grounds into the filter, he started the pot. Letting the warm smell heat his apartment and hoping it wouldn't attract a coffee addicted brother of his today. Not yet anyway. He loved his siblings, his family, and he normally didn't mind (too much) them crashing into his place whenever (especially when Bruce became too much for them). However, Dick had no idea how to go about explaining Angel, about why she was on the couch, not even how he met her. While he could try and play off another hook-up, her being on the couch bespeaks another story alone.

He took a deep breath, this was fine. This is fine. Everything is going to make sense. Dick heard a groan, heard a soft grunt and could see as the head of silver pushed up from behind the back of the couch. Angel shifted, stretching her arms over her head with a whine that had this mouth growing dry. He swallowed thickly, forcing his focus on the coffee pot still brewing. He could hear her getting up, could hear her moving. Her footsteps barely made a sound on the floorboards beneath her, and if he hadn't been trained by the Bat he was sure he wouldn't have even heard her. As it were, he heard her get closer. Felt her eyes as she shuffled her feet and sighed near silently. 

"Good morning," She greeted with a yawn. 

He glanced at her slowly. Waiting for her to either hide her face or something, but she did neither. Instead meeting his gaze head on, with a sleepy smile-grimace on her face. She had freckles dusting her nose and the apples of her cheeks. A scar ran from the center of her chin down and another was on the corner of her lips, she blinked green eyes slowly up at him. Running slender fingers through pale hair and waiting until he was done.

"Morning Angel..." There were so many questions, so many things he wanted to say and so little time. What to say first, how did he get here. How did she? What happened? Why were they here and not in her club with him waking on that shitty faded green couch with patches sewn into it where holes formed. "Coffee?"

She hummed, "Yes please, I'd have made some when I first got here but... that was an intrusion I refuse to make."

His lips twitched at the corner, nothing changed. Angel was still Angel, even if he now knew her eyes were framed with dark lashes. If he knew her eyes sparkled at the sight of caffeine. He poured some into a cup, one he was pretty sure had been left by Tim. But it was clean and it would do, even if it was covered in a skull and crossbones saying 'Death before Decaf'. He slid the sugar her way, watched as she dumped several packets into the black liquid. Watched as she gestured at the fridge and didn't open until receiving a nod, and watching as she grabbed his milk carton out to pour some in. He sipped his, long and slow as she stirred hers quietly. The only sound was the metal spoon clinking against the glass.

"So..."

"I know you have questions, but I need to say this first, Gray." She cut off, hand raised as she slowly brought the cup to her face and inhaled. "You are going to drown yourself in whatever sorrows and thoughts are inside your head? Fine, but if you do not deign to talk to a therapist, a friend, family, anyone even, for every shot you get from me? You have to talk."

He frowned, "Excuse me?"

"Did I stutter?" She raised a brow, meeting his narrow stare with another one back. He noticed her glasses missing, could see dark bags beneath her eyes. "Look, the club is there for a reason, and you are welcomed. But if you want help to forget, to be forgotten, I ask that you share it for every shot. Or you won't be drinking a shot, I'll give you shitty ass tap water."

He mock-gasped, hand clutched to his chest as if he had some fancy pearls on. Internally, his stomach was rolling. Twisting and knotting as ice started to build inside his fingertips, and he ignored the way his hands had started shaking. Downing a gulp like it was a shot of the coffee, feeling a different kind of burn. She didn't roll her eyes, like he expected. Didn't even bat one. He sighed, he didn't want to talk about himself. Not.... not like this, not like that to anyone. They didn't need the worry, the stress... the burden was his to carry.

"Grayson." 

She crossed her arms, brows furrowed now. Yet her tone never became demanding, never scolding. She was giving him choices, options, and yet... he didn't detect the threat. The warning of anger, the promise of demand. He didn't know how to feel about that. 

"I'm not saying you need to go walk out there and do it, to pick up a phone and jump the gun, and I don't know what your life is like outside the club. What I do know is you can't keep drinking yourself into a stupor, I can't help you with that."

He licked his lips, breaking from the intensity of her stare to look at the dark liquid sloshing in his glass cup. It was ceramic, a milk white color with flash symbols dancing all over it. A housewarming gift from Wally, and he knew there was a matching Robin one in there, another to match was Superboy, was Aquaman (they pretended it was Aqualad), and Artemis, and Miss Martian (technically Martian Manhunter). For their morning brunches, they had said when they brought it over. Even if Wally's was the most used. 

"What do you want me to do?" He hated how his voice sounded like a broken sound, just barely louder than a whisper. He saw her frown out of the corner of his eye, but not once did pity cross her features. Not once did she show a sign of being disappointed or anything. 

"All I ask is this, talk to someone. Maybe someone more licensed than some random bartender you met in a club for people who want to get lost." 

For the first time since he's met her, Dick heard the steady, even cool notes of her voice waver. They went higher, a lighter note that sounded... almost nervous, dare he say? He found himself breathing a short chuckle at her joke, her lips twitching at the sound. 

"Either you can talk to one of them, and if you do -I will know if you don't, keep that in mind- I won't bug you again. Otherwise, for every shot you get from my bar, from my club, from me? You need to spill something for me to keep spilling that liquor in your cup."

"Why do you care?" Dick blurted out after she had finished speaking, her brow raised. "It's not like me drowning myself is costing you anything."

"Oh, Mister Grayson, don't you get it?” She laughed, a short and bitter sound more akin to nails going down a chalkboard. “You will cost me everything."

He blinked, once, twice. Unsure how to respond to such a bold declaration. She didn't break, her eyes never wavering. Focus never splitting even as she blindly reaches for the cup of coffee on the island counter and brings it to her lips. He swallowed the lump in his throat, it wouldn't be hard to spin her some tall tales. To lie, to try and get out of this entire arrangement. 

Except, he knows he's never been the best when it comes to expressing himself. To share his inner bits, the vulnerabilities, insecurities, the fears and memories that plague him. He had unfortunately, after a month of being cooped up in his shitty apartment in Bludhaven, had learned to mask it. The face of Dick Grayson becoming a mask as strong as the domino he wore at night, it... it sucked. Feeling too much and too little all at once. There were times he considered calling up Dinah, asking if she was willing... but then the demons in his head would get to him. Too loud, too nasty, and he'd wind up bottling it all up. Caging everything in once again come sunrise. 

"You don't have to give me names, give me details." She said softly, back to that somber tone of voice. To the softness and lowness of an alto with a slight rasp. "Give me anything that can clue me in to who you are when you just want to forget. But, I think you need someone to listen. And if you're going to drown yourself in my establishment, I ask that you let me listen."

"I..." He cleared his throat, tipping back his cup. "I'll think about it."

She smiled, it wasn't like the half-smiles or the smirks, not like that rare grin that lightly curled her lips. It was... It almost looked sad, accepting. As if she knew his answer before it even came to his lips, as if she knew how this would end. As if she could see the train coming off its tracks heading right her way. Or is it his way? He didn't know, and a glance at the microwave showed it’s far too early for that line of thoughts. It's only ten in the morning, way too early for that. Far far earlier for an awkward silence by his standard.

"Do you like cereal?"

She blinked at him, and her smile twitched. In five minutes, they were sporting two bowls of cereal. Her apple jacks floating atop the milk, while lucky charms filled his to the brim. She was seated on a barstool, her eyes crinkling with mirth at the corners as he sat atop the island itself ("You fucking heathen!"). The talk was quiet, the awkward silence having disrupted a debate on what cereal is obviously the best. On whether sitting on the counter is in fact something sophisticated adults did ("I'm not a hoodlum, Grayson!"). 

She explained that Brutus is the one that helped her get him home, that he had signed the legal document with his address for any tab problems that would arise if he walked out without paying. Apparently, it happened enough times for her to make it a legal thing, and he wants to say he's surprised. Honestly, he's not. This is Gotham for crying out loud. 

As time began to near noon, their bowls, cups, and silverware washed in the sink. He snickered at the way her eye twitched at the way he left them to dry on a towel, her glasses being plucked off the coffee table and shoved up her nose with a finger. She stretched, the black leather tank-top-corset thing riding high on her stomach to show off a glittering purple-blue gemstone on her belly button. He ignored the heat that burned at his cheeks when he saw it, immediately directing his eyes to the ceiling. She wore hip hugging blue jeans, the knees worn enough to show her knees and he noticed she was wearing heels. Raising her to his chin, he had to resist making a short joke as rustled her hands through her hair. 

The silence returned, suffocating and awkward. It made him want to make a joke, say something or another to make her green eyes roll. To make her snort again. Instead, she beat him to the punch, tugging a tie from her jeans and throwing her hair into a messy bun.

"Hey Grayson, have you considered dancing?"

[thedvilsinthedetails]

When the doodles on ur hand start to be giving gravity falls au energy…

I am not an artist I just have an incredible talent at ignoring my teachers as they try to transmit knowledge to my brain

But srsly I can’t draw for shit don’t judge it or I’ll (respectfully) bite u

Ugh ok so I might just start having 3 WIPS going at once (rubble or sin, gravity falls au and 90s camden dirtbags au)

EDIT:

[turrondeluxe]

Do you think Breakdown has nightmares about what happened with MECH? I think Knock Out would be a nice thing to wake up to if he ever has night terrors

(P.S: Do transformers even have nightmares?)

Oh he definitely has

[averlym]

4 on the angst list with Araleyn please I need them to suffer

4 : "but it's my fault, right?" (prompt list here)

[beebfreeb]

points at you is Prismata perhaps inspired by wandersong design wise

Yeas 😊

[jewishbarbies]

I went to give you the examples you asked for but "something went wrong with my ask". If you didn't block me, and this message gets through without the images I provided, I would encourage you to look through the notes of the post - replies and reblogs/tags - that are easily visible, and draw a conclusion for yourself.

But basically. It's got stuff like "this proves feminism is just women lashing out" and "I cry for the white race" and "this is just sex tourism" and a tweet that is basically "women say things like this and wonder why every society on earth puts restrictions on them." That seems pretty racist and misogynist to me.

I have images turned off to avoid spam and harassment as a jew on the internet. anons literally can’t be blocked effectively.

I didn’t look through the notes of the post because there was no reason to when all I saw was the version I reblogged. yeah, that kind of thing is obviously bad. but there’s literally a million different versions of every single post, and if I don’t see bad stuff on the version that gets put on my dash, I’m obviously NOT supporting the other versions of the post. I agreed with the premise of the responses on the version I actually shared based on MY interpretation and that was the only version on my dash. what do you want to do about those other replies? I’m genuinely asking because I don’t understand what the point of this is or why you feel the need to start this hostile instead of coming to me with genuine intentions and giving me a head’s up because I didn’t know.

[bc-jpeg]

What do you think about Mumbo's art cam in the newer episodes?

I am personally still shocked like, HE CAN DO ART NOW? This man won't stop suprising me, I love it so much, also I don't see many people talking about that and I have no idea why because for me it's the best thing ever.

Anyways, hope you're doing good :D byee

the man does literally EVERYTHING.

when mumbo created @a.creative.junkyard for his art practice, only then I realized that he had literally been doing something like this for several years already. firstly for youtube, and after that he created many presentations of film projects to work with his clients, which already means a quite good basic skill in graphic design and especially the design eye.

still a big fan of his works from this account.

I love how he got creative with the start of season 10, using his skills to add some fun to the editing by creating new slides for his episodes. the way he’s sincerely passionate about creating such things, I empathically feel his joy.

mumbo started visualizing the whole stories through what he creates, and all the effort, work and fun is absolutely worth it. he may have had some small storytelling pieces before, but now it has definitely moved to another level.

the hand drawn concepts. if you look closely at the video, he strokes the colors manually. mumbo gets so immersed in the process when drawing these concepts, it feels therapeutic even. I always liked to see the concepts of the other hermit’s bases, that they drew by hand. since my main hobby is drawing, it always brings me closer to people on some other level when I see their drawings. as a big fan of mumbo, I’m so infinitely happy that he started to show this part of the process too. these concepts always add even more to the result, I don’t know how to explain it in words. just more. more sense of life from a story, from a building itself.

mumbo has knowledge and experience, but it's like he's been focusing on other aspects while building on the server before. in season 9, he started moving in a different direction more, and now it has achieved clear visible progress, he’s more actively experimenting and isn’t afraid to take on something that he has never done. now mumbo is even more confidently saying that he’s proud of himself.

this may seem insignificant to an outsider viewer, but

for a man who has been building redstone stuff and solid giant symmetry for several years in a row, it’s mind blowing.

[yelsapo]

I honestly think this episode was meant to be confusing in a sort of Alice-in-Wonderland-ish way, where the loose ends won't/aren't meant to be tied up later. It's confusing and random, but that's the point.

Kate tells Ruby, "It's what we all do. We see something inexplicable and invent the rules to make it work."

And I think that might be exactly what Ruby does. Stick with me PLEASE

The premise of the episode opens with a superstition: a fairy circle. Something surrounded by stories and myths that don't necessarily make sense, and yet many people form their entire lifestyles around these belief systems because they explain the unexplainable for them.

The woman that follows Ruby appears to chase people away from her, or convince them to abandon her, which is clearly a common theme within Ruby as a character. She's afraid of being abandoned.

Typically breaking a superstition means that you're going to suffer some sort of misfortune as a result, right? If you were to break a superstition that you believed in (ie. ruining a fairy circle), what misfortune would you fear most happening to you? For Ruby, it probably centers around her fear of abandonment.

We know that Ruby is supernatural in some way. She's definitely not a typical human. She can make it snow on command? Who's to say that the "silly little explanations" that she makes up to make sense of her unknown don't ACTUALLY come to fruition. What if she has the power to do that?

So, let start from the beginning. Ruby and the Doctor break a fairy circle, an action which culturally means bad luck. In Ruby's mind, her worst luck would be to be abandoned by everyone, and to never find her birth mother in the end. And that's exactly what happens.

Roger Ap William is a name mentioned by the Doctor in the first couple of minutes of 73 yards. The only information that is given is that he was evil, welsh, and almost brought the world to nuclear destruction. That's all Ruby knows. Mad Jack appears at first to be some arbitrary name Ruby reads on a piece of paper, but is later revealed to literally be Roger Ap William? How coincidental is that? I don't think that Roger and Mad Jack are actually the same person. In fact, Mad Jack probably WAS just someone's dog. They were just two names that Ruby had recently heard, and then drew an imaginary line between. To further the point, Roger is SUCH a caricature. His only three personality traits are quite literally evil, welsh, and likes nukes, which is all the Ruby knew about him.

Throughout the episode Ruby finds herself in a situation that doesn't make sense, so she comes up with her own explanations to make them make sense. She invents her own rules and her own mission. She comes up with a string of tasks that aren't logical to us, but it's the explanation she has come up with given the information that she had. She's convinced herself that it makes sense. She starts to form her lifestyle around a belief system that she created because it explains the supernatural she is experiencing.

And because of whatever supernatural abilities surround her, she's actually making her percepetion of reality the REAL reality.

(Edit: Not to mention that superstitions have been a common theme this season (ie. 14 invoking that salt superstition in WBY kicked off this season's entire plot) AND WBY is the first case in which we see Susan Twist as well...

It all leads back to that moment.)

[barcaatthemoon]

most likely to || lucy bronze x reader ||

you and lucy do a couples' interview for the media team.

media days had always been some of your favorites. it was generally a lighter training for you, unless they wanted some footage that day. today was a special media day, something that jona had asked you about after you and lucy came forward with your relationship. it had been a bit of a process for you to convince lucy to do the interview with you, but you knew that she was starting to get excited as the day drew closer throughout the week.

"ready to go?" lucy asked as she stood in front of your cubby. the interview had been arranged for post-practice, but you doubted that they had taken into account how long it took you in the shower. lucy had been ready for at least 20 minutes, not that she could ever mind waiting for you.

"tie my shoes for me?" you asked, since lucy was already in front of you. she rolled her eyes at your request, but knelt down to do it anyway. you knew that the eye roll was just because your teammates were around. lucy generally did all sorts of little things for you throughout the day, claiming that she always wanted you to feel like a true royal. "thank you, luce."

"you know, actions speak louder than words," lucy said. you didn't even have to wait for her to tap her cheek before you were leaning in to give her a kiss. lucy was absolutely beaming as she stood up completely, a light pink blush on her cheeks now.

"wait!" you called out as lucy started to move. you stood up and pressed a kiss to her other cheek. "you did both shoes."

"i double knotted both shoes, actually." you put your arm around the back of lucy's neck and pressed a kiss to her lips this time. behind the two of you, jana was gagging while pina and patri pretended to make out. it felt sort of wild that at the beginning of the season, you had been in their group making fun of the other couples on the team before lucy asked you out.

"one day maybe you'll all get girlfriends too and know what it's like for someone other than your mothers to love you," lucy teased. you swatted at her arm as you mumbled for her to be nice. pina and jana both grumbled as they sat back, but patri started to launch into a full blown rant about how she was more than happy being the "barcelona stallion" and sleeping around for the time being.

"do you see what you've started?" you asked, but lucy showed absolutely no remorse. she just grabbed your hand and walked you out of the locker room to get properly ready for the interview.

…

"alright, we're just going to play a simple game of 'most likely to' today. i'll ask a question, and you just point to whoever it most likely to do that thing." both you and lucy nodded, having a good understanding of the game. "first question, who is most likely to accidentally sleep in?"

"pssh, this is an easy one," lucy said as she pointed at you. admittedly, you had overslept quite a few times over the course of the season, resulting in both you and lucy being late to training. lucy was a lot worse at getting you up than alexia had been, the other woman often resorting to literally dragging you out of bed in your first senior season at barcelona.

"hey, my brain needs the sleep. it's still developing!" you tried to argue. lucy just laughed, knowing that you usually overslept because you stayed up way too late the night before. although, she did know that you could sleep absolutely anywhere, which she was slightly jealous of.

"who is most likely to burn dinner?" this time, your hand shot straight over to lucy. you had several legitimate examples of her doing this while trying to make sense of a spanish recipe. it was less that she was a bad cook and more that lucy was too stubborn to ask you for a translation.

"it was one time," lucy grumbled. you smiled and pressed a kiss to her cheek, which had her swatting you away from her with a pout.

"who is most likely to get a little too wild on a night out?" this question was a plant and you knew it. someone had to have told them to put this in to embarrass you, probably patri or mapi. they had been the two who had fed you shot after shot on a yacht just a few months ago, resulting in a unique combination of seasickness and drunken puking.

"life of the party this one," lucy teased. she reached over to pinch at your cheeks, earning herself a sharp slap to the knee. "and a bit mean. i don't know how i put up with her."

"whatever," you huffed as you crossed your arms.

"who is most likely to have an extra cheat day?"

"she actually has more in her meal plan than me," lucy answered. you couldn't argue with her there, thankful for the fact that you burned through calories more due to your extra strength training. jona and the other coaches had agreed to let you bulk up a bit, and it was definitely paying off on the field.

"i mean, look at these muscles." you flexed for the camera, knowing that it would end up in endless thirst edits later on. you reached for the bottom of your shirt, but lucy stopped you. she didn't mind you being a bit goofy, but she tended to get jealous when you actively showed off.

"who is most likely to get a little hotheaded?" your hand shot over to point at lucy, who had definitely snapped at some of your friends and teammates for getting a little too close to you. lucy shrank back in her seat, embarrassed from being called out.

"i can't help it. look at her!" lucy shouted as she threw her arms up.

"who is most likely to be considered whipped?"

"oh without a doubt lucy."

"(y/n)." both you and lucy looked at each other for a couple of moments before lucy recanted her answer. "from the outside, it may look like i do a lot for her, so maybe it is me."

"alright ladies, we are almost finished. just one more question, who is most likely to be the little spoon?" this time, you knew exactly who had asked this question. surprisingly, it wasn't any of your friends, but rather alexia. she had walked into your bedroom to wake you up for training only to find lucy bronze fast asleep in your arms while you watched her. lucy claimed to have not felt good, but alexia knew better.

"someone's taking the piss out of me with these questions," lucy grumbled as both of your hands pointed towards her. "in my defense, sometimes i just turn away because she clings worse than a koala. she just kind of grabs at my back."

"that's almost as good as the excuse you gave alexia," you laughed. the production team called cut on the video, allowing for you and lucy to finally go home. "wow, if i knew that it was that easy for you to admit that you were whipped, i would have just asked to do one of those earlier."

"people didn't know about us earlier," lucy muttered as she pressed a kiss to your lips.

"not officially, but we were the worst kept secret in the league. you did feel me up on the pitch the first game after we got together," you reminded her. lucy huffed as she rolled her eyes, knowing that wasn't the entire truth. you were giving out hugs to everybody, and lucy's hand had simply slipped a little when you jumped into her arms.

…

you knew immediately the day that the video dropped. the locker room was quiet, but not in a focused way. it was like they were waiting for someone, and once you and lucy were both sitting in there, chaos broke. cata was the first one to sit next to you, putting her arm around your shoulders as she pulled you tightly into her side.

"careful, lucy might get mad. she's a bit of a hothead." if those words had come out of anybody's mouth other than vicky's, lucy would have flipped a little. the fact that it came from the kid's mouth meant that an outburst was narrowly avoided.

"she doesn't seem very clingy to me. are you sure that you don't just like being the little spoon bronzey?" cata asked as she tried to get you to hug her back.

"i think that's enough," lucy said sharply. she walked over and tugged you out of cata's arms. she wrapped her arms around your waist and pressed her face against the side of your neck. "i won't lay a finger on her, but i'll kick your ass coll."

"lucy," you warned. she huffed from behind you and tried to find something to distract herself with. unfortunately for you, the team was intent on riling lucy up for the rest of the practice. it was to the point where you weren't sure that she'd be happy with you when you got home. the interview had been your idea in the first place.

"that lot is due for an ass kicking," lucy groaned and grumbled. you hadn't seen her so grumpy in a long time. she flopped back against the couch and let her head fall back as she closed her eyes. you didn't notice the way that she was waiting for you to come crawl into her lap, not until she cleared her throat. "are you coming over here or not?"

"you want me to sit by you?" you asked her.

"no, i want you on my lap. i want to hold you for a little while, please." lucy pouted up at you. your lips curled up as a wide grin broke out onto your face. you kicked your shoes off and scrambled into lucy's lap, content to let her hold you. you didn't like being the little spoon, but you absolutely loved to curl into your girlfriend's lap at the end of a long practice. "that's better, isn't it?"

"much. te amo, lucy," you mumbled as you pulled her in for a kiss. lucy surprised you by keeping the kiss innocent. she broke it after a few seconds to press her forehead against yours.

"te amo, lovely." lucy brushed her hand through your hair, smirking to herself as you relaxed against her. she may be whipped by everybody else's standards, but you absolutely melted any time that lucy touched you. it was a true testament to just how much you loved her.

[maryangelex]

Home is the Feeling of You

John Price x Reader

Summary: You’re Price’s fiancé back home and it’s been months since you’ve seen him. He’s been on deployment and days have been getting lonelier the more days pass. Until you get home one night from work to a more than pleasant surprise.

Warnings/Tags: civilian!reader, fiancé!reader, creampie, domesticity, domestic!john price, fluff to smut, praise kink, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, masturbation, (light?) breeding kink, phone sex, spit as lube

A/N: so here’s the anticipated civilian!reader fic! I’m just a simp for this man being a husband or anything domestic about him. Enjoy!!! ;)

You were exhausted from work; feet swollen from being in heels all day, muscles tense and eyes burning with the desperate need to be closed and drifted to sleep. You were on your way home but weren’t too eager to get there, if you were being honest.

Your home felt cold and empty despite your best efforts to make it a cozy abode for you and John. But it was hard to feel the slightest bit of warmth in it whenever he was deployed. He had been gone for months now, you had lost count of how many since every day that passed without him felt like an eternity.

You two tried to keep in contact as much as possible. He called you nearly every day, as best he could; sometimes the calls would last seconds other times you managed to get half an hour with him to vent and catch up.

You felt bad every time you complained about your day, though, since he was in quite literally a battlefield most of his time. But he insisted you told him everything, he loved hearing you complain about mundane things, hearing about what shitty thing your boss did, or about your coworker’s crummy love life. It made him feel closer to you and gave him a sense of home to listen to you talk about your day.

When John would say things like “I miss you, love, I’ll be home in no time” or “I can’t wait to kiss that pretty face”, you couldn’t help but feel a fire kindling in your chest. It made you feel warm inside to hear him say that because you knew it was true; John wasn’t a man who lied, he carried his heart on his sleeve for you.

And when he wasn’t being tender and sweet, telling you how much he missed you and loved you, he’d let you know how desperate and needy he was for you. He’d tell you how the sound of your voice alone made his cock twitch in his pants. How the hand that wasn’t holding the phone had slid down his trousers, slowly stroking himself through his boxers.

You’d press your thighs together, listening to his husky voice become almost a whisper on the phone. His breath audible through the phone, letting out soft needy whimpers and promises about what he’d do to you the second he got home. You’d let yourself indulge and return the favor to him by telling him how you were wearing whatever lacy panties he’d bought you and how you were writhing in your shared bed as you pleasured yourself to the sound of his voice.

Still, those steamy calls between the two of you could only do so much for you. It only momentarily veered the loneliness away. You wanted him in your bed with you, wanted to have him watch football games on the couch, wanted to have date nights with him every Friday again, wanted his presence to warm up your flat and make it a home.

Once you got home the sun had already set. You took the stairs up to your and John’s shared flat, and with a sigh of relief, you pushed the door open. You walked in and closed the door behind you, dropped your keys on the tablet at your entryway, and stepped out of your shoes. Your feet touched the cold floor under you and the sensation drew another content sigh out of you.

You noticed the light in your kitchen was turned on. Maybe you left it on this morning after making breakfast without noticing, you were in a rush after all. As you approached the kitchen you heard the sound of something sizzling in a pan. Your heart skipped a beat, a smile creeping on your face at the realization that John was home. When you saw him there, standing in front of the stove with his back to you, you were filled with glee. Your stomach fluttered like it did the first time you two met when you bumped into him at that bookstore and almost spilled coffee all over him. When you first locked eyes with his, those glimmering blue pools.

He glanced over his shoulder and flashed you a smile before turning back to whatever he was cooking so diligently.

“Welcome home, hun” he greeted “‘m makin’ us dinner since I knew you’d be beat from work”

You walked up to him and wrapped your arms around his waist. Your lips pressed against the muscles on his back, peppering kisses on the center of his spine, his shoulders, the nape of his neck. Your arms travelled up the front of his body, feeling the muscles on his chest and abdomen shift as he moved his hands whilst he cooked. You hugged him tightly, squeezing him as if to make sure he was really standing in front of you. As if the tighter you squeezed the more he materialized in your apartment.

“Not too tight, love, you’re squeezin’ the wind outta me,” he chuckled.

“I just missed you so much, John,” you confessed with another tender kiss to his back.

He hummed in acknowledgment with a smile still stuck to his face. He plated the meal for both of you; salmon and stir fried veggies. You released your arms from him painstakingly and grabbed a couple of wine glasses to pair with your meal. John took your plates to the couch while you brought the wine.

You collapsed down on the couch beside John, releasing another heavy sigh as your muscles sank on the plush material. John had set the plates on your coffee table along with the glasses, and handed you a fork whilst encouraging you with a gentle chuckle and a “Eat up, love.”

You sat up on the couch, turning to look at him. Both of your hands rose up to him and cupped his face lovingly. You looked deeply into his eyes; those eyes that always sucked you in, made you feel safe and loved. He looked at you with so much adoration, like he was silently telling you how happy he was to see you, be home with you. You leaned forward and clashed your lips with his, not pulling back for a minute and savoring the sensation of his lips against yours, how his mustache and beard scratched your soft skin. The two of you held your breath as you held each other with your lips, feeling as if pulling back was not an option. When you finally released each other, you sighed, your foreheads leaning against each other as you rubbed the tip of your nose against his.

“Missed you, hon,” he whispered, giving you another kiss, this one more chaste and playful than the prior one. His hand patted your knee, “C’mon, food’s gettin’ cold and I’m bloody starvin’. ”

You giggled as you both dug in. One of the things you missed the most about John was how well he cooked, his meals were hearty and comforting just like his presence. The two of you enjoyed your food as you caught up with him on everything you hadn’t mentioned in your calls these past few months. John spoke much less given the nature of his work, he much more enjoyed to listen to you, and he did so attentively.

At the end of your meal there was only the wine to sip on as you enjoyed each other’s company. The TV played quietly in the background. You were laying on the couch, your torso reclining on the arm rest as your feet sat on John’s lap next to you. He caressed the smooth skin of your legs with his big hands, gently squeezing the muscles on them every now and then. You nudged him with your foot, silently instructing him to keep up the massage. He took your foot in his hands, they engulfed him completely as he squeezed and rubbed them with his palms and thumbs. You winced at the feeling, making him stop and look at you.

“That alright?” He inquired, you gave him a nod in response.

“Just sore from standing all day”

“Let me take care of it” he grinned, his hands returning to work on your feet. His touch traveled up your leg, arriving at your calf, rubbing the tender muscle and eliciting a groan from you. John was enjoying the sounds he drew from you. His hands were getting more adventurous, sliding up past your knee and kneading at your thick thighs now. You gave him a grin and a cheeky look; he returned it.

“What’s crossing your dirty little mind, sweet girl?”

“Same thing as yours, hun”

His hands rubbed your thighs, putting pressure on them as he grabbed and massaged the bulks of muscle and flesh. You bit your lip as his hand wandered under your skirt. He was enjoying himself seeing your expressions shift and your cheeks flush red as he touched you. You reached one hand over to caress his forearm with your finger tips as he slid his hand further up your inner thigh, and your legs spread slightly as a quiet invitation.

“Needy girl,” he teased.

“C’mere already, John, will ya?” you quipped. John complied with your demand, as if waiting to hear you say it, like he needed your permission. He shifted on the couch, moving the leg in his hands to his other side so he could sit between your legs. He grabbed both of your thighs on each side, lightly sliding you down so you were flush with him. You could feel the bulge in his jeans pressing against your clothed heat. You teased him by rolling your hips against him a bit, to which he responded to with a groan and a squeeze to your thighs.

He bunched up your skirt to reveal your panties. His fingertips tracing the soft material over your hips and pelvis. Your hands rested on each side of your head as you watched him with lustful eyes. Now his hands were grazing over your mons, lowering to the crotch of your panties that was already saturated with your juices. His touch made you blush even more, you were embarrassed by how easily the man could make you wet, as if it was the first time he’s ever touched you.

“My girl’s so eager, look at how wet you are” he grinned, his voice low and sultry. He grabbed the hem of your panties and tugged them down, slowly sliding them past your legs and then discarding them. One of his hands palmed your exposed cunt. You wiggled your hips against it and let out a needy whimper.

“John, don’t tease me” you scolded him in a soft voice, more desperation than anything.

He hummed at your comment, sliding his fingers up and down your folds, while his other hand went back to massaging your thigh. He observed as his fingers worked between your folds, his eyes fixated on your glistening pussy. It made his mouth water at the sight of his fiancé being so needy for him, it made him think how much he really missed having you in his grasp. He placed his hand on your mons, thumb reaching down to rub tight circles around your yearning clit. It made you moan to finally feel his touch on your sensitive bud.

He cursed under his breath at the sound, his cock twitching eagerly in the confines of his jeans. You reached one of your hands to stroke him through the rough fabric, tracing the print of his dick.

“Please, John,” you begged “I want you already”

John chuckled, a hint of mischief behind it. “I know, love, I know…but let me take my time to enjoy you, yeah?”

You pouted but gave him an abiding nod. He took his hand off you, making you whimper and your clit pulsate at the loss. He shifted on the couch again, now kneeling in front of it as he pulled your legs again to face him. You were hanging off the edge of the couch in front of him with your legs draped over each of his shoulders, his face inches from your heat.

“Fuck, I missed this pretty pussy,” his breath fanned against your sensitive cunt, and you were so desperate for him to devour you already.

He stuck his tongue out and licked a stipe up your pussy, the taste of you making him moan and roll his eyes back. Your lips parted as you let out a sigh full of relief. Your hands pulled your skirt higher to watch him savor you. He lapped at your pussy, tongue flat licking from your hole to your clit. His hands gripped your thighs as they closed around his head. Your eyes would not break from the sight of him eating you out like it was his last meal on earth.

His lips closed around your swollen clit and sucked on it, making the muscles on your thighs twitch and a whimper fall from your lips. He alternated between encapsulating your clit in his mouth and licking tight circles over it with the pointed tip of his tongue. He was making you a mess of moans and whimpers as your hands clutched the material of your skirt.

He reached his arms under your thighs and over your pelvis; one splayed out and held you still while the other spread your lips apart, exposing your clit fully for him to once again abuse it with his mouth. His lips wrapped around it, sucking and tugging at the bundle of nerves, making your eyes roll back and your hands fly to his hair, releasing a moan with his name attached to it.

You received a moan into your pussy from him in return. He latched his mouth onto your clit, lips sucking and massaging it. His hands now gripped your hips, grinding them against his face as he clung his mouth onto your pussy.

You felt your orgasm pooling in the pit of your stomach. Your eyes were so far into the back of your skull you were seeing stars. Your mouth chanted John’s name loudly like a prayer for salvation, pleading him to let you cum.

He nodded his head in unison with your hips as he licked your pussy, tongue giving special attention to your clit. He whimpered into it in desperation to feel you cum all over his face.

“C’mon baby I know you’re close, be good and cum for me” he mumbled against your cunt, practically begging you.

The grip on his hair was unrelenting, your back arching off the couch and hips slamming into his mouth. Your orgasm surged within you, ready to erupt like a volcano of pleasure. You missed him so fucking much. He knew exactly how to please, always has. You rode his face as you came, your hot liquid leaking out of you and onto his face, coating his beard in it. You were twitching in his grip, your hips stilling and mouth agape as a choked out moan emerged from you.

John’s grip on your hips was literally bruising and you couldn’t be happier to have a reminder of his return home later. He slowed down, lapping at your vulva and kissing your soaked pussy, making sure to savor every bit of you.

He looked up at you, sitting straight up with your legs on his shoulders, his eyes gazing at you lovingly as you still panted and came off your high.

“You’re gonna give me one more, right love?” He said peppering sloppy kisses in your inner thigh. You nodded your head drunkenly. He reached up to your skirt, finally pulling it off you, as you worked on unbuttoning your blouse as best you could with your clumsy, shaky hands. But John was too impatient; he clutched the fabric and tore the buttons apart with ease like he was tearing a piece of paper. He chuckled at your surprised expression, he knew he’d get an earful from you later when you weren’t too hazy to scold him.

“I’ll get you a new one, sweetheart,” he said as his hands found your breasts, massaging them before unclipping your bra and tossing it away. He stood up in front of you now, your legs around his hips, and he took in the sight of his soon-to-be-wife all flustered and naked for him. That body he admired so much, that soft supple skin he loved to bite and caress, those perfect breasts and that pretty pussy that loved his cock so much.

He unbuttoned his jeans and tugged down his boxers, cock springing out free and swollen. The sight of it made your pussy flutter, ready to take him in finally. You were aching for him, already felt yourself aroused and ready for another orgasm from him.

He cupped your mouth in one of his hands, silently instructing you to spit on it for him, to which you complied. He brought the hand to his cock, pumping it a few times and lubricating it with the spit you provided for him. He aligned his fat tip with your entrance, slowly pushing it in at a burning pace. You moaned at the sensation, it had been too long since you had taken in John's impressive size and you were not as accustomed to it. You had almost forgotten how fucking good it felt to have his full length in you up to the hilt.

He cursed under his breath, "Fuckin' 'ell, love, I missed how good your pussy takes my cock", his hand briefly caressed your cheek when the base of his cock was flush against your pussy. His hands gripped under your thighs, his knees were on the edge of the couch and he folded you into a mating press position. His cock was buried impossibly deep inside of you, you could feel him in your cervix.

John began to move at a slow pace, his cock sliding in and out of you slowly, making obscene squelching noises that echoed throughout your apartment. "S'tight and wet f'me, darling", he mumbled. He gradually picked up the pace, his hands held onto the back of the couch while yours held your own legs up and open for him.

His pace became harsher and faster, pulling moans from the two of you. His balls slapped against your ass as he thrust into you, the tip of his cock nudging against your cervix making you almost scream with pleasure.

"Ah, John..." you started, barely able to gather words to say as you looked at his face with wide eyes, your pupils blown, "J-John, you fuck me so good...I missed how good you fuck me"

Your words made him feral, making him pound into you. He watched your expression hungrily; lips parted shining with drool, cheeks bright red and burning, and your pretty eyes glossy with lust as they looked up at him.

"Fuck, baby, fuck..." he groaned as he leaned back, sitting up straight and grabbing your waist, slamming you against his cock as you held your legs open for him still "wanna see you with a big round belly under your pretty white dress... wanna fill you up with my cum, sweet girl"

He pressed a hand against your abdomen, "Feel that? y'like feelin' my cock inside you?" The pressure of his hand mixed with his words and relentless pounding made you mewl, your throat hoarse from all the noises John was drawing out of you.

"Y-yeah, John, feels s'good," you whimpered watching his dick bulge within you. You felt another orgasm surging like a wave in your stomach, your walls pulsated and clenched around John's throbbing cock. He felt you close, he knew you were about to cum when your cunt gripped his length relentlessly. He brought two fingers up to his mouth and wet them, then placed them on your pussy, rubbing circles rhythmically with every thrust.

"Cum for me, darling, cum around my cock," he said breathlessly, his eyes fixated on your face as he fucked you and rubbed your swollen bud.

You were euphoric, the overstimulation pushing you over the edge. A couple of more thrusts and attention to your clit and you were gone. Your legs twitched and your body convulsed as you came, gripping John's cock with your walls tightly. You cried out, tears streaming from your eyes.

It took everything in John to not let himself cum right then and there, the feeling of your walls constricting him almost pushed him over the edge with you. But he had other plans; he withdrew his cock from you briefly as he took you in his arm effortlessly, flipping the two of you around. You were shocked and puzzled at the quickness of it, now you were sitting on John's lap all fucked out and out of breath. He had you straddle him and you hold up yourself the best you could, with whatever strength your muscles had.

"J-John, please, I-I can't" you begged, holding onto him and already feeling his tip against your tender entrance again.

"Shh, s'alright, hon, you can do it, I know you can," he cooed, his lips against your ear as he slipped his cock back into you, "just can't get enough o' you"

He held you with one arm firmly around your waist and his other hand gripping your ass, his lips kissing your neck and coaxing you with praises and encouragement as he sunk you down on his cock. You moaned at the intrusion, you were so sensitive it was maddening. Your body was limp as you rested on him, arms lax around his shoulders.

You shut your eyes and let him fuck himself into you, letting him overtake your sense once again. He pounded up into you, holding you in place as his hips thrust up into your abused cunt. You were a mess of moans and whines as he chased his own high.

He was grunting and cursing under his breath, "My pretty fuckin' wife, my girl...takin' my cock so well...bein' a good girl lettin' me fuck you senseless." He was close, his thrusts getting sloppy and desperate. He hoisted your body up, grabbing your hair to make you look at him. You were cockdrunk, out of your mind, but you felt a third orgasm about to hit you like a truck again. John admired your dazed expression, his blue eyes now black with pleasure, he panted exhaustedly and full of desperation to empty his balls in you, fill you up like he said.

He took your face in his hand and clashed your lips together, moaning into your mouth as his hips stilled and the sensation of his cum flooding your insides made you cum with him. Both of you moaning into each other's mouths, your cheeks once again saturated with more tears. You pulled away from each other, panting out of breath with your sweaty foreheads resting against each other. You felt John's hot cum travel out of you between your legs. The hand that gripped your hair now softened, patting the crown of your head and smoothing out your hair. He looked into your eyes, admiring your post-orgasm face, basking in your beauty and in the afterglow of his own orgasm.

You smiled at him breathlessly, exhaustion all over your expression, you kissed him once more, this time more tenderly, putting all the love for him that filled your heart into your kiss. You pulled away and cupped his face, the two of you held each other, sweaty bodies against each other.

"Welcome home, John."

A/N: y'all... i did not intend for this to be so long again!!! but if you loved it and made it this far, let me know!!! thnx for reading ;)

[d1xonss]

so ours babys a lil insecure bc of reader and his lil age gap he vents it to rick a little and since shes such a social butterfly literally talking and befriending everyone he gets upset and starts to think lowly of himself like theres younger men men who arent busy leading the community so they can spend all their time and affection on her blah blah he gets these crazy thoughts and she comforts him eases all his worries ):

Forever

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Reader

✧ Era : Season 6

✧ Pronouns : she/her

✧ Genre : Angst/Fluff

✧ Word Count : 3.1k

AN ~ Aww sad:(( but we love Reader comforting Daryl, it's one of my favorite things to write. And an age gap too?? I love it. Hope you enjoy!

“You’re ridiculous.” Rick spoke with a scoff.

Daryl’s eyes narrowed slightly at the man, not necessarily because of what he had claimed, but because it almost seemed like he hadn’t listened to him at all.

He already felt a little ashamed going to his friend in the first place to talk about how he was feeling, something the man rarely ever did. But that alone showed how desperate he seemed to be for any kind of advice, willing to put himself out there to express what had been going through his mind recently in hopes of some sort of reassurance.

He didn’t really know what had been going on with him recently, but ever since the group had made it to Alexandria, his insecurities slowly began to eat him alive. He started to take note of his appearance a little more, now that they actually had mirrors in the houses provided for them, seeing for himself how much older and tired he really was. It shouldn’t have bugged him as much as it did, but yet, it seemed to be all he thought about. And that constant loop of thoughts only traveled to another, thinking about how much living on the road seemed to age him, while the woman he was madly in love with stayed so young and beautiful.

She was absolutely perfect, not a single flaw, while he on the other hand had countless ones that he couldn’t seem to just get over and ignore. But that wasn’t the only aspect about her that seemed to cloud over his mind. She was quite the extrovert, making friends everywhere she turned as she was constantly radiating such a good and friendly energy. It even drew him in towards her from the start, falling victim to her charming personality. Though it wasn’t her kindness that made him a little more self conscious than before; it was the fact that a few younger men had obviously taken a liking to her natural sweetness ever since they moved here.

Now he knew that she would never cheat on him, the thought never even crossed her mind, but that still didn’t stop his jealousy from bubbling over to a point of no return. Wanting to beat the shit out of any guy who looked at her for just a little too long. He wasn’t blind by any means, and some of them had a hard time hiding the sneaky glances they were taking at his woman whilst she was just in her own little world.

Though the longer he seemed to stew over it for the months and months they had lived there, it made him start to wonder if maybe she would be better off with someone else. Someone a bit younger, more energetic, more outgoing. Someone that matched her personality better than he did. It was no secret that they were polar opposites, but he always imagined that they completed each other in a way, not even thinking twice about it. However, now that he had all the time in the world to think, it slowly started to consume him, thinking more about how he didn’t deserve her at all. But hell, maybe no one deserved her. 

The man then seemed to snap out of his thoughts, scoffing toward Rick who was looking at him with a small smile, “Man, m’ bein serious.” he grumbled.

“So am I.” Rick shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he tilted his head a bit at him, “I really don’t think you have anything to worry about man. You two are always attached at the hip, she loves you…I think you might just be in your own head about it.”

He sighed heavily as he thought to himself for another moment, his thumbnail in his mouth as he contemplated why he was confiding in Rick in the first place. At this point he had it in his head that the man was just telling him what he wanted to hear. “I dunno…” he eventually muttered in response.

Rick only shook his head, “You shouldn’t be so focused on this. You’ve always known how nice she is, everyone loves her-”

“Man, that ain’t the problem. I already told ya that.” Daryl interrupted with irritation in his voice.

“I know…I know.” he assured, “I guess I just don’t see the connection of how you came up with the idea that she suddenly deserves someone “better.”

The archer shook his head with a light scoff, “Seein her talkin with those guys…something kinda just clicked that she should be with someone more fit for her…” he trailed off for a moment, before pathetically shrugging his shoulders again, “I dunno.”

Rick honestly couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Although, he could, he knew that Daryl sometimes got like this, thinking he didn’t deserve the things that he was given. But he never thought he would be standing here listening to him speak about how you would be better off with someone else. Anyone who even caught a glimpse of the two of you could easily see how in love you were with each other. He swore the sight could potentially make someone sick.

The man then cleared his throat, “Well…if you want to know what I think, I say you should talk to her.”

“Talk to her?”

Rick couldn’t help but laugh at how baffled he looked at the suggestion, “Yeah, talk to her. Besides, I think she’ll have a better chance at reassuring you about this than I will, she seems more fit for the role.” he joked.

But Daryl on the other hand scoffed, not exactly loving the idea, “This shit’s already embarrassing, why would I wanna bring it up to her? Didn’t even really wanna bring it up to you.”

“Thanks.” Rick said dryly before stepping closer to slap a hand on the man’s shoulder, “But just trust me on this, alright? You need to tell her how you’ve been feeling. Because if I know you at all, I know you want to keep this bottled up. But that’ll just make it worse and you know it.”

He was right. As much as Daryl hated to acknowledge it, he knew deep down he was right.

But that didn’t stop him from wanting to put it off every chance he got, pushing it into the back of his mind as he always seemed to do in hopes that it would just go away. Though he knew it wouldn’t, he couldn’t bring himself to want to think about it right now.

He went home later that night utterly defeated and clueless on how to even approach the topic in the first place. When the time dreadfully came around, how would he even bring it up? He was never good with words, especially when it came to something about how he was feeling. It was all just stupid and complicated in his mind, not knowing how to actually piece together the things he wanted her to know. But he knew he had to try.

The front door opened and shut with a small creak as he entered the house, kicking his dirty boots off to the side before he softly called out your name. But all was quiet, not a single sound of your voice calling back to him, to which he only assumed you were still out somewhere in the community. It wasn’t often you stayed out this late, but he silently knew that if someone needed the extra help, you would do it in a heartbeat.

The older man sighed deeply to himself before trudging up the stairs, wanting to get out of the filthy clothes he was trapped in before settling for the night, waiting for you to come home. He couldn’t ever really fall asleep without you there. He didn’t know if it was because he would always worry too much if you weren’t right beside him, or if he just physically needed your touch to relax, but it had to be somewhere in that ballpark. Perhaps both…definitely both.

He entered your shared bedroom with a tired huff, beginning to undo the buttons on his vest before folding it sloppily and setting it off to the side on the dresser. His hands then moved to peel off his dirty shirt that stuck to every part of his tanned skin, raising it over his head before throwing it in the hamper across the room to be washed. He ran his hands through his hair to get it out of his face as he crossed the space to get himself another pair of pants to sleep in, when suddenly his movements stopped short.

The tall, full length mirror that sat off in the corner quickly caught his attention as he saw just a brief glimpse of his reflection dancing behind the glass. He blinked a few times as he knew he shouldn’t look too close, knowing it was only going to add fuel to the already ongoing fire. But a part of him couldn’t help it, seeing as it was too late now that he had taken notice of a few new flaws he hadn’t spotted before. It was like some kind of sinkhole that he couldn’t escape from, looking over the things he hated the most about himself over and over again.

He slowly stepped closer toward the object even though he knew he shouldn’t, seeing himself a little more up close as the moonlight poured through the window just above him to illuminate his figure. His eyes scanned everything he could make out in the slight darkness, seeing the wrinkles that were now more prominent on his forehead. Seeing the dark circles under his eyes from the exhaustion and stress that had been weighing on him constantly. And seeing the scars that littered over his entire body.

“Daryl?”

The man nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of your soft voice from behind him, spinning around to see you standing in the doorway. Your eyes widened a little in surprise. Never had you recalled a single time where you had been able to catch him off guard, accidently sneak up on him enough to make his heart skip. He had always been aware of his surroundings, the man had the instincts of a goddamn cat. So to say you were surprised when he hovered about five feet in the air at your presence, would be an understatement.

You raised an eyebrow at him in slight concern, “You okay?” you asked softly as you approached him with hesitance.

Daryl’s stomach had plummeted to his ass, a heat rising in his cheeks from embarrassment as you caught him staring down at himself for a bit longer than usual. He swallowed thickly as he saw you walking further into the room, nodding a bit quickly, “Yeah…m’ fine.”

Though the way he spoke was far from convincing, his voice coming out a bit higher than usual, and the reassuring smile he tried to send your way being a little too forced for you not to realize. Your eyes narrowed toward him in slight suspicion as you came to stand right in front of him, taking in his appearance. There was something that was clearly circling his mind, you had noticed for far longer than he thought you did. But you always knew when there was something off about him.

You gently reached out to grab one of his hands in your own, “Come on…don’t lie to me.” 

He sighed softly, knowing that he should just bite the bullet and tell you, but he couldn’t bring himself to just yet. “Just…just had a rough day. That’s all.” 

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” you said with a slight shake of your head, watching as he furrowed his brows a little in question. “You’ve been acting off for weeks now, you really didn’t think I was going to notice?”

His eyes widened. Shit. 

A small smirk formed on your lips as you clearly saw that you had caught him in a little white lie. It was written all over his face. You squeezed his hand in reassurance, “I’m not upset…I just want you to talk to me.”

He knew he couldn’t avoid it forever, especially after Rick gave him that little wake up call earlier to just rip the bandage off. But he hoped he could put it off for at least a few more days, wanting a little more time to prepare the things he wanted to express to you honestly. Though he could tell just by the way you were looking up at him, that you wanted answers, and he couldn’t just ignore what was standing right before him.

He sighed softly as he looked at the ground for a moment, before slowly nodding his head, “Alright…” he started, not even knowing where to take this. “Look…maybe…maybe this ain’t workin.” he blurted without thinking.

Your eyes widened a little, “What?” 

Daryl’s eyes then grew as well realizing just how bad that sounded, quickly shaking his head, “No, no, I- I mean…that ain’t how I meant for it to sound at all.” he reassured, before taking another moment to collect his racing thoughts. “I’ve been…thinkin recently and…I ain’t gettin any younger. Hell, I feel like I aged five extra years just from bein out on the damn road for so long.”

You nodded along slowly, not really seeing where this was heading, “So?”

He sighed softly, “So…I’ve been thinkin bout how…maybe…ya deserve to be with someone a little more fit for ya. Someone younger than me…someone who can give ya what I can’t.” he spoke almost regrettably, like he dreaded even saying those words out loud in the first place.

The truth was, he never wanted to let you go, that was a knowing fact that didn’t need to be proved. But at the same time, he didn’t want to hold you back from a chance at a better life. One that you so clearly deserved.

But your expression seemed to soften drastically, now hearing his explanation out loud, it all seemed to click in your head. Why he had been acting off for the longest time, it was because he was just thinking too much about something that meant absolutely nothing. When you first noticed his odd behavior, you automatically assumed you had done something wrong without realizing. But now hearing it out loud, hearing how hurt he sounded, all you wanted to do was hold him and never let him go. Wanting to reassure him for the rest of your lives if you had to that he was truly the only man you would ever want.

A small huff passed through your lips, “Sweetie…that’s what this is about?”

Daryl shrugged a little in response, “Well…yeah. I’ve seen ya makin friends with a lot of the people round here…it just crossed my mind that…maybe-”

“Stop.” you said gently as you moved even closer to him, reaching up to give his arms a gentle squeeze, “Don’t say another word.”

His gaze softened as he stared down at you, regret filling him completely as he saw just how his words had affected you.

“I love you…so much.” you whispered as your gripped his arms a little tighter, “I’m not looking at anyone else…I don’t want anyone else. No one else on this whole damn planet would be a better fit for me than you. I don’t need some younger guy. I’m not even friends with them, they only come talk to me if they have a question about something. And most of them aren’t very bright.” you said bluntly, earning a small chuckle from him. “I just wish you had told me about this sooner.”

He bit his lip a bit shamefully, “I know…m’ sorry. I just thought…ya might be better off-”

“I won’t.” you insisted, “You’re all I will ever need…you hear me?”

A small smile grew on his face upon hearing that, knowing that you meant every word. Though there was still another thing hovering over his mind. “Even though m’ an old man?” he asked half heartedly, though a part of him was still serious.

You rolled your eyes a bit, “Just because you’re older than me doesn’t make you an old man.” you laughed softly, “But if that’s something you’re really worried about…I promise to stick around even when you’re eighty.” you winked.

His lip quirked up a bit in amusement as he reached out to place his hands on your hips, gently tugging you closer, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” you nodded, “You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

You then felt his thumbs start to rub soothingly along your hip bones, still a little unsure if this was truly what you wanted. To be with someone like him. “Ya promise?” he eventually asked.

You tilted your head a bit at him, “Come on…what do I have to do to convince you that I want this forever?”

The man was silent for a long moment as he thought to himself, absentmindedly still running his thumbs along your hips as he stared down at you. The truth was he didn’t really need anymore convincing than what you had already told him. Just by the small bit of reassurance you provided, he felt as though he was lighter, a weight being lifted from his shoulders knowing you were his. But still, he couldn’t imagine a more perfect time to make it even more official.

“Marry me.”

Your eyes widened a little in surprise, not expecting him to be so blunt let alone say those words to you at all. He never really struck you as someone who would want to get married at a time like this, but it’s not like you minded. As long as you were with him, that’s all that truly mattered to you.

Only now it felt as if the wind was knocked out of you, hearing him utter those words so clearly as if he meant it with his entire being. You couldn’t help but laugh a bit nervously, “Don’t joke about that, cause you know I will.”

He smiled down at you, shaking his head softly, “M’ serious.” he assured, raising one of his hands to run his thumb along your cheek, “Marry me.”

A lump began to form in your throat as you felt yourself get a little more emotional seeing how real this was becoming. Seeing how serious he was. He really wanted this.

“Okay.” you whispered with a small nod of your head.

His smile only grew, “Okay?”

You nodded a bit more frantically as a large smile broke out onto your face, “Yes…yes I’ll marry you.”

He chuckled, pure relief and happiness filling him completely as he picked you up in his arms, spinning you around lightly as you squealed in surprise. Though he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to seal the deal as he gently set you back down on your feet, kissing you deeply as he felt you hum into his mouth. A part of him almost couldn’t believe that you had agreed, wanting to truly be with him forever. But then again, with the way you looked at him, with the way you said yes with little to no hesitation at all, he knew. You were his forever.

~ Thanks for reading!

[deecotan]

For the pregnant Zosan art (which I love) is Sanji eating or cooking anything strange with the pregnancy cravings?

YES. I answered something similar here about my pregnant sanji headcanons and weird cravings is definitely one of them. i also drew this back then (i don't remember if i have posted them to tumblr or not?? sorry my memory is shit) which is basically a glimpse to what zosan is up to on sanji's early days of his first pregnancy. so yeah

some more fun headcanons:

zoro's stomach becomes a whole new level of indestructible after enduring months of sanji's weirdass pregnancy cuisine, because not only he eats them alongside sanji, he takes the brunt by eating the "rejects" aka the food sanji HATES all of the sudden literally 5 seconds after making them. forget about eating razor blades, zoro's stomach achieves true nirvana after enduring chocolate tuna and peanut butter pickles for two weeks straight.

sanji got sick at one point and suffered from quite a bad fever. during his bedrest he became delirious and started to crave drinking zoro's milk straight out of his breasts. he cried and throwed up after zoro said no i can't breastfeed you because my breasts can't produce any milk. zoro then said you technically can drink YOUR own milk after you give birth later, but sanji only cried harder because his milk is for the baby & he doesn't want to steal their baby's food. zoro ended up buying him carton milk and he recovered quickly after that.

sanji's misadventure of weird pregnancy cuisine marks the first time luffy got humbled after pestering sanji for food and ended up being served a food combination that even he can't fathom. you know it's bad when luffy doesn't want to eat your food.

[haropla]

the thing about hatsune miku is that she is quite literally a product you can buy. she and the other vocaloids (actual tm) are all voice synthesis software with some art attached for the sake of packaging and (at first) rudimentary marketing and anyone that has bought her can make her say/sing anything. and normally she’d be left at just that like the vocaloids preceding her like MEIKO, KAITO, LEON, LOLA, among others.

today she gets cameos, collaborations, and sometimes voiced lines in anime and games, actual rhythm games featuring her and the other piapro 6, she’s the face of GoodSmile racing (and was very temporarily the face of Domino’s Pizza in America, even), dozens of figures are made for her every year, there’s how her songs have been the foundation for multiple multi-media franchises and IPs like Black Rock Shooter and KagePro, and she among other virtual singers get to hold actual physical concerts people attend to see her “live.”

but the way she spread and has become an online cultural fixture is almost entirely dependent on genuine effort from online communities and what I can’t help but describe as love. all this couldn’t have been possible without online producers like ryo of supercell and EGOIST fame, cosMo, OSTER project, and kz simply putting their songs on niconico where everyone can watch and listen to the music videos for free, without the huge help of the marketing that miku gets today.

songs like “Melt” from ryo and “Packaged” from kz were posted just because these producers wanted to share what they created with the world. and that music was shared more and more because people just really liked listening to them. these songs convinced and inspired other producers down the line that there was a way for their music to spread without being singers themselves and that using Vocaloids was entirely viable. producers like Mitchie-M and wowaka used miku in new, striking ways that were huge departures from the likes of supercell and kz. and this isnt even going into the fanartists and animators who drew and animated because they loved miku and her songs just that much.

all the figures and concerts and rhythm games would not have happened without companies realizing she’s gotten all that love and attention even without a huge official push for her for her first couple years. so even as miku gets more and more attention as the years go by, and people eventually forget or just don’t recognize that she’s just software you can buy, the fact remains that everyone recognizes her now because of love. and that makes me so incredibly happy every time I stop to think about her.

[bellaxgiornata]

The Devil at Your Window |1: Snowed In|

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word count: 8k

Warnings/Tags: 18+; fluff, flirting, sexual tension, light angst, pining, eventual smut, identity reveal, and lots of black suit Matty

Series summary: In the middle of a New York City blizzard, the Devil of Hell's Kitchen accidentally lands himself on your fire escape–quite literally. When he accepts your invitation to warm up inside your apartment, you're surprised at how well the conversation flows all night with the curious and attractive masked vigilante. He's intriguing, though what you find even more intriguing is his unexpected returns to your window after that night–and his flirting. But when it seems like you're not the only one beginning to develop real feelings, he pulls back and you're left wondering two things: Why did he disappear and who really is the mysterious Devil that you've inevitably fallen for?

a/n: Just a short collection of one shots that I'll update whenever the ideas strike. It'll be told in a style like Falling for the Devil but it won't get nearly as long (unless y'all end up loving it, too). I just couldn't deny giving us all the fantasy of black suit Matt reappearing at your apartment window and all the flirting, sexual tension, feelings, and naughty things that might ensue... The installment list for this little series can be found here and feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @danzer8705 @darkened-writer

Picking up the steaming mug of tea you’d just finished making from off the kitchen counter, you cradled your other hand around the warmth of the ceramic and drew it towards your chest as you turned and headed back towards your living room. The small spot of heat against the front of your sweatshirt caused a shiver to run down your spine as your sock-clad feet padded along the cold hardwood floor and back towards your couch. 

It was freezing inside your apartment tonight and the blustering snow storm raging outside in Hell’s Kitchen wasn't helping. Thankfully your office had already announced its closure for tomorrow before you'd finished work earlier this evening. The snow had already started to dump from the sky before you’d even left the office, falling heavy and wild as it accumulated in a cover of white that blanketed everything in the city. It would have been beautiful if you hadn’t needed to walk home afterwards in the frigid mess–especially with the way the large clumps of snowflakes pelted and battered you in the face over and over, the cold stinging at your skin. 

The city was expected to get a whopping eighteen inches of snowfall minimum over the next twenty-four hours, so you were grateful that your boss wanted as little to do with making it into work tomorrow as you did, especially because you couldn’t afford to do anything but walk to the office. The last thing you wanted to do was trudge through all of that mess and slip on a patch of ice, inevitably falling in a massive pile of snow and leaving you stuck in damp dress clothes all day. 

No, you'd rather stay dry and cozy at home enjoying a lazy day off of work.

You were just hoping the power in your apartment building remained intact throughout the fury of the winter storm. You didn’t want to think about losing the heat in your building in the middle of all of this. Another shiver ran through you as you pushed the thought away–hopefully not something you’d need to worry about tonight. 

But since you didn’t have work first thing in the morning, you had every intention of enjoying your night. You’d immediately come home and thrown off your dress clothes before settling on something comfortable–soft sweatpants and a cozy sweatshirt sans bra underneath. Then you’d made dinner and cleaned it up fast before claiming your ‘spot’ for the evening on your couch. Which consisted of both of your blankets and the television remote while you binged a guilty pleasure show that you hadn’t had time to catch up on for the past few weeks. Tonight you were intending to stay up a bit late, cozy up beneath your blankets, drink some hot tea, and lose yourself in the plot and romance of the show before eventually dragging your tired ass to bed in the hopes of sleeping in tomorrow to make up for staying up late. 

Eyes focused on the paused television screen as you moved, you rounded the side of your couch while drawing your steaming mug up to your lips. You sipped at the warm liquid, reveling in it for a moment before you swallowed it down. You could feel it heat you from the inside out as a pleasant sensation washed over you. Your eyes closed briefly for a moment–it was the first time you’d actually felt warm today. 

Opening your eyes, you continued towards the couch and began to lower yourself down onto the cushions while trying not to spill any of your tea from the mug. Just as you were about to sit back down on the couch and cocoon yourself in both of your blankets, ready to settle in for more of your show, something outside the window to your right caught your attention. Your head spun in the direction just as a flash of black dashed past the window and a loud bang reverberated through your apartment. 

A frightened yelp slipped out of you at the sound and you clutched your mug tight to your chest, your heart thudding heavily in terror. Whatever had just literally dropped onto your fire escape had been large, especially with the sound of that impact. Sucking in a breath, you held it as you stared transfixed at the window, almost ridiculously terrified it would be some sort of wild animal–like a bear or a wolf–on your fire escape. 

Though, more realistically considering you were in New York City, you knew it was probably a burglar. Who else would be traversing fire escapes late at night? Especially dressed in all dark clothes? Except…that also seemed a little ridiculous, too. There was a literal blizzard happening outside, meaning everyone would be home. In their apartments. Making it impossible for a burglar to break into anyone’s place unseen. Plus, it was insane outside, what criminal would risk dealing with that right now?

So what the hell had just fallen onto your fire escape?

Another thought struck you soon after and your lips parted in shock at the idea as you blew out the breath you’d been holding. With trembling hands, you very slowly reached out, carefully placing your mug of tea onto the coffee table before you without taking your eyes off of your window. Gradually, almost nervously, you rose to your feet before taking hesitant step after hesitant step forward. Another sharp, surprised gasp flew out of you when you saw the dark figure sit upright on your fire escape, bent in half as if they were in pain. Which made sense, considering the fall they’d just taken.

But your body froze up instantly at the sight of the man dressed in all black bent in half and dusted in white patches of snow. He wasn’t a burglar at all. With the black cloth tied over his head and the form fitting shirt he was wearing, there was absolutely no mistaking who he was. You'd certainly seen enough images of him plastered across the media. 

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen had just fallen onto your fire escape.

Eyes widening in shock at the infamous vigilante attempting to pull himself up to his feet, one of his gloved hands holding onto the metal railing of your fire escape, you were suddenly overcome with the urge to check on him. To make sure he wasn’t seriously injured from that fall. 

Without thinking your actions through, you crossed the last few steps to the window and unlatched the locks before pushing it up. The masked figure immediately spun towards you at the sound as a bitter gust of wind burst its way into your apartment, chilling you instantly while those thick snowflakes once again assailed your face. For a moment you locked eyes with him–or at least, it seemed like you did despite the fabric covering half of his face–as your mouth hung open. You suddenly found yourself at a loss of what to say in the moment. And considering the way his lips thinned out along his face and the way he remained silent, he clearly wasn’t going to strike up a conversation with you, either.

Eyes darting down, you saw he had one gloved hand clutching at his right side as if it hurt him. His shoulders were hunched in on himself as his back faced the violent winds blowing snow relentlessly. Seeing him in person for the first time ever–something you’d never expected in your life considering how elusive the media made him out to be–you realized just how thin and unprotective his clothes really were. Especially tonight considering the cold weather. He had to be freezing.

An icy wind whistled loudly, another flurry of heavy snowflakes pelting you right in the face and breaking you from your thoughts. Blinking the snow from your lashes, you finally found your voice. 

“Are you alright?” you asked hesitantly, unsure how one should approach the masked man. “I just–just saw you fall. It looked like it hurt.”

He gave a curt shake of his head, wincing before he turned more towards the railing. “I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” he replied.

Something warm flooded your veins at the gravelly tone of his voice. It suited him somehow, even if it sounded fake. Like he was pitching his voice lower to sound like someone else in order to hide his identity. Not that you'd probably have recognized him anyway. 

With his back partially to you now, especially this close when there was barely a few feet of space between the pair of you, you could see just how incredibly muscular this man was. His black shirt clung to him like a second skin, the toned abdominal muscles on his upper body clearly visible even from just his profile. Even the pectoral muscles of his chest were well defined and visible beneath the sheen of black. His arms were thick–far too big for just one of your hands to wrap around. And as your gaze lingered lower, you fought back the thoughts that entered your mind at the sight of how large his thighs were in those tight pants–and how pleasant a profile his ass also had. You wondered briefly if he'd gained all that from working out or if it had more to do with his nightly activities.

Though when you saw him grab onto the metal railing of your fire escape with both of his gloved hands, the movement drawing your attention away from observing him as he attempted to swing himself over it, you nearly screamed as you lurched forward. You lived on the fifth floor, was this man really about to fling himself off of the fire escape from all the way up here? 

But the scream died in your throat the moment he cried out in pain, his feet slipping from off of the railing as he fell back onto your fire escape. He let out a hiss of pain as he clutched at his clearly injured side.

“Holy shit,” you breathed out, shoving the window open wider despite the cold and snow and leaning further forward. “You’re clearly not okay. Do you need something? An ambulance or something? Is there someone I can call? Or–or something I can do to help?”

The man rolled off his injured side and onto his back, gradually turning towards you as he lay on the fire escape. You hadn’t expected the amused and pained chuckle he emitted while the snow accumulated on the entire front of him, lightly covering the thin layer of his black shirt. Which you’d noticed had ridden up, revealing a small sliver of skin just above the dark, form fitting pants he was wearing. You tried hard to not keep glancing back at that patch of skin as it slowly rose higher and higher, unsure why you were so distracted by it.

The sound of his amusement soon drew you back to the moment and you cringed. Why the hell was he laughing?

“Are you alright? Did you…hit your head?” you asked him cautiously. “Maybe you have a concussion…”

Another amused sound slipped out of him, but that was quickly followed by a pained groan as he tried to once again rise up onto his feet. “I don’t have a concussion,” he assured you.

“You sure?” you asked, an eyebrow arching onto your forehead as you crossed your arms over your chest to stay warm when you began to shiver from the cold. “Because this doesn’t seem like a funny situation to me.”

“Well,” he grunted out, wincing as he drew back up to his full height, “normally I’m the one offering assistance, not the other way around. So yeah,” he continued with a faint shrug, your eyes once again catching the way he was holding his side, “it’s kind of amusing. In an…irritating sort of way.”

Your heart sank to your stomach at his words. “Oh, sorry,” you muttered, heat rushing up to your face instantly. “I didn’t mean to be annoying. I was just concerned–”

He took a half step forward, cutting you off as he waved a hand between the pair of you. He shook his head, letting out a slight huff of laughter. “No, I didn’t mean you were irritating. Just…this situation. The–the snow and the falling part.” In a quieter voice he added, “And having an audience for it.”

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you stood there studying him for a moment. He was injured and wearing barely anything at all in the middle of a blizzard. He looked like he needed help even if he seemed like the type not to ask for it.

“Do you want to come inside?” you blurted, unable to stop yourself. “I mean, to get warm and maybe sit down for a moment? I could call an ambulance or–or a taxi or something to bring you to a hospital.”

Another amused huff of laughter slipped out of him as he shook his head. “No hospitals, please. I’ll be alright. But…if you’re offering, I wouldn’t mind a moment to warm up.” His gloved hand lowered, pinching a bit of fabric from his shirt as he glanced down at it. “Admittedly this doesn’t offer much protection from the elements.”

You eyed the thin material between his gloves doubtfully. “Doesn’t look like it offers much protection from anything,” you told him.

A surprised bark of laughter peeled out of him, the sound drawing a smile onto your face. You’d made the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen laugh. Now that was something you weren’t going to forget anytime soon. He didn’t seem like the type to break character easily.

“You wouldn’t be wrong,” he agreed, his laughter subsiding.

Taking a step back from the window, you waved a hand towards him, gesturing for him to come inside. “How about you come in so I can close this window and we both can stop freezing?” you suggested, surprised at how bold you sounded considering who it was you were speaking with. “I’m shivering already so I can only imagine how cold you must be.”

You watched as his lips curled up into a charming grin at the corners, just beneath the black fabric of his mask. It was impossible to deny that he had a handsome face–at least, from what you could see of it. You imagined the rest of it to be just as attractive beneath that cloth and a sudden intense curiosity to know what the rest of it looked like overtook you as you watched him carefully climb through your opened window. He moved slowly, wincing in pain as he made his way inside. Despite his tough act, that fall must’ve really hurt his side and you frowned, wishing he’d accept your offer to help. There was no way he was as fine as he claimed to be, surely he needed medical attention.

“Takes a special kind of person to just invite me into their home so readily,” the Devil’s rough tone came out as he turned his back to you, shutting the window after himself. “Normally people prefer to avoid me.”

“You’re not dangerous,” you replied almost instantly.

The window closed with a sharp clack before his masked face turned over his snow-dusted shoulder, his attention fixed on you. “Oh?” he asked curiously, a smirk growing over his lips. “I’m not?”

Your eyes were drawn to his mouth, though it wasn’t like there was anywhere else to look when you spoke to him with that mask covering most of his face. The smirk appeared teasing, and for some reason that had the hair on the back of your neck bristling. You suddenly became very aware of the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra beneath your loose sweatshirt and it was now cold in your apartment. Quickly your arms wrapped over your chest, hugging yourself tight. His lips almost seemed to curl ever higher in response.

“I mean, you are ,” you amended, “but to, you know, criminals.” 

You swallowed hard when he remained still, gazing at you over his shoulder wordlessly.There was something almost predatory in the way he was studying you. It was easy to see how this lone man terrified the criminals on the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, striking fear into them. He certainly had a presence. Goosebumps rippled beneath the sleeves of your sweatshirt at his continued silent stare.

“Right?” you asked tentatively, voice softer.

His smirk vanished as the other corner of his mouth curled upwards into what felt like a warm smile despite you being unable to see if it reached his eyes. He nodded gently, turning slowly back towards you as he did. 

“That's correct,” he agreed, brushing the snow from his broad shoulders. “I’m only dangerous to criminals. So unless you’re hiding any dead bodies or have some outstanding charges…?”

You laughed, though abruptly you snatched your bottom lip between your teeth in an attempt to quiet the noise instantly. He was witty and funny. You weren’t anticipating that. Or the way your reaction to his quips seemed to please him, like he was trying to charm you. Which seemed even more curious, considering who he was and what he spent his nights doing. 

“Can't say that I do,” you said. “I'm probably the most boring person in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Well now,” he replied teasingly, “don't sell yourself short. I'm sure you're not taking that title  all by yourself.” 

That charming smile was back on his face and it had your stomach fluttering. Tearing your eyes away from him, you noticed the television was still paused on your show. Paused on a scene where the two actors on screen were clearly about to kiss. Cheeks burning, you hurried over and grabbed the remote from the couch and turned it off. 

“You can make yourself comfortable if you want,” you told him, trying to keep the embarrassment out of your tone. “I've got a couple of blankets you can use to help warm you up.”

His heavy boots thudded with each of his steps as he crossed the room and made his way to the couch. You bent over, grabbing both blankets from your place on the couch where you'd previously been curled up as he passed behind you. The moment one of his cold gloves brushed against your back, you froze.

“Sorry,” he whispered. 

“No it's–it's fine,” you replied. 

He passed behind you before settling onto the opposite end of the couch from where you had clearly taken residence. You forced a smile onto your face as you turned and leaned over, holding out the blankets towards him. 

Pull yourself together , you internally chastised yourself. Just because it's been a while since you've had a man here doesn't mean you need to react to every little thing. That's not what this is, obviously. 

“Thank you,” he said, accepting the blankets from your outstretched hand. 

You nodded before sitting back down on the opposite end of the couch, keeping space between you and him. Curling your legs up under yourself, you watched as the Devil wasted no time throwing both blankets around himself, beginning to visibly shiver beneath them as he tried to warm up.

“Are you sure you don't want me to call anyone?” you asked him.

“No one to call,” he answered. “And a hospital would defeat the purpose of trying to remain anonymous.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” you muttered, glancing away and spotting the forgotten tea on your coffee table. “Would you like something to drink at least? Some water or some hot tea, maybe?”

His masked head tilted curiously to the side at your question, a grin returning to his plush lips. “Playing hostess?” he asked. 

“Well I'm sure you've got to be thirsty running around Hell’s Kitchen and fighting criminals all the time,” you explained. “I always sort of wondered if you stashed water bottles around the city or stopped for water breaks somewhere–not where you live, I imagine. Since you're trying to keep your identity hidden.” Your eyes narrowed as you added, “Or do you just let yourself get dehydrated every time you're out? Because that's not good for you, you know.”

The Devil's grin grew wider as he shifted on the couch, facing you even more from his place on the cushions. “Oh?” he asked, curiosity in his tone. “You've thought about me before, have you?”

Eyes dropping down to your lap, you smiled sheepishly as you shrugged. “I mean, I've had some theories circulating about you ever since you kept reappearing in the news,” you admitted awkwardly. “Sort of hard not to.”

“Well now you have to indulge me,” he teased. “Enlighten me on some of these theories of yours.”

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you continued to avoid his covered stare. “I mean, they're not that interesting…”

“Oh come on,” he tried again. “It's not like we don't have the time. And maybe I can confirm or deny some of them for you. Besides, I admit I’m curious to know what you think of me. Especially being so willing to offer help like you did.”

Chewing your bottom lip, you glanced up at him from beneath your lashes. He looked far less intimidating beneath your blush pink blanket now. What would it hurt if you told him a few of your ideas about the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen? Maybe he might laugh at them, but would hearing that sound again be all that bad? And it truly would be interesting to learn more about the mysterious vigilante, something you'd probably never have the opportunity to do again. 

“Okay,” you agreed with a nod. Straightening up on the couch, you turned to face him more fully. “So I've always thought with the way that you fight that you were trained by some sort of secret ninja assassin organization.”

A hearty chuckle filled your living room at your first theory. The pleasant and resonant noise left you grinning as your stomach fluttered in response. You briefly wondered how often the Devil actually laughed when he was out. 

“I cannot confirm nor deny that,” he responded. 

The playful smile that kept appearing on his face was beginning to further disarm you. You found yourself enjoying his company, soon becoming used to the way half his face was hidden from sight with that ridiculous fabric. And for some reason your unexplainable attraction to him was only growing. 

“Next theory,” he prodded, the smile on his face apparent even in his voice. 

“You're not wealthy,” you stated, leaning forward and grabbing your tea from the coffee table.

“Oh, ow,” he joked, playfully recoiling back from you on the couch. “What makes you say that?”

You waved a hand at him across from you as you settled back into the cushions, mug in hand. “Because you wear clothing that is obviously not meant to protect you very well in a fight,” you answered. “I imagine if you had money you'd have something…nicer. Meant for what you do. And,” you continued, pausing long enough to drink down some of your now barely warm tea, aware of him focused on you, “you protect Hell’s Kitchen. Only Hell’s Kitchen. This part of the city isn't exactly filled with the wealthiest people. And with how dedicated you are to everyone here, I assume it's because you probably grew up here yourself. Most likely still reside here, too.”

The Devil hummed appreciatively when you'd quieted, his masked gaze still on you. You swore you could feel it as you drank down more of your tea.

“You're observant,” he mused. “Maybe I need to watch myself around you.”

A surge of pride swelled in your chest; you hadn't expected his praise. Or the way it would make you feel. And apparently, you'd guessed something right about him. 

“You're also not married or in a serious relationship,” you blurted before you could help yourself, wondering what more you could learn about him.

“Poor and unlovable?” the Devil asked with a surprised laugh. “That's what you think of me?”

“No,” you disagreed, laughing a little with him as you shook your head. “No, but I mean, I imagine you don't have time for someone else. And I figure most people wouldn’t like their partner going out and doing what you do. Putting yourself in danger.”

“Mmm,” he hummed out, shifting on the couch and making himself more comfortable. “A partner would certainly be…a distraction. A liability. One I couldn't really afford to have. So no, you're not wrong, I don't have one.”

You glanced down at your lap, your fingers fidgeting with the mug in your hands. Half of you was hoping to hear that he wasn't with anyone–though you refused to admit to yourself why that mattered–but the other half of you had heard the way he'd said that a partner would be a distracting liability and you’d felt a sad pang hit you in the chest. Considering how much he seemed to be enjoying your company when he didn't even know you had you guessing that the Devil was a lonely man deep down. 

But that wasn't a theory you felt comfortable sharing. 

“Any others?” he asked, breaking through your thoughts.

Clearing your throat, you focused back on him across the couch from you. His smile had disappeared, his lips now downturned at the corners just a bit. His posture had changed in your silence, the same as his mood, as if he'd picked up on the subtle change in yours somehow. 

Strange.

“I imagine you're the kind of guy who's fridge is always empty,” you answered.

A ghost of a smile reappeared on his face as he huffed out an amused breath. You couldn't fight the smile returning to your own lips at the sight of his again. 

“Well hey now,” he countered lightly, “there's usually beer. Sometimes orange juice and eggs.”

You giggled, unable to stop yourself. “Who'd have guessed the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is just your average bachelor?” 

“Average?” he repeated in mock offense, his head tilting to the side. “I'm just average now?”

Quirking a brow at him in a challenging manner, your own head cocked to the side. “Maybe tell me more about yourself and I could say otherwise,” you boldly teased back. 

“Well obviously,” he began, grinning at you in a way that had your body heating, “I can't exactly do that now can I? Defeats the purpose–

“Of remaining anonymous,” you finished for him. “I've picked up on the importance of that.” 

A silence soon settled between the pair of you, one that slowly began to cause your nerves to grow with the way he kept smiling at you. Once again you desperately found yourself wanting to see the rest of his face, curious to know just how handsome he really was under that black mask. Though you settled for studying what you could see, your eyes tracing the soft curves of his pink lips, noticing the way they very minutely twitched under your scrutiny. Eventually your gaze dropped down, following the hard lines of his stubbled jaw. As your eyes trailed further down, they lingered on the part of his neck that wasn't covered by the blankets he’d wrapped around himself for warmth. A heat burned in you as the urge to reach out and just touch him, just to see if he was real, suddenly grew within you. It didn't help that it almost felt like you could feel the weight of his own eyes fixed on you beneath the mask, once again making you very aware of your lack of bra beneath your sweatshirt.

Catching your lip between your teeth, you noticed the way his throat bobbed with a hard swallow. Had he been having similar thoughts? Observing you, too? 

Inhaling a sharp breath through your nose at the idea, you knew you needed to stop this line of thinking and stop it fast. There was absolutely no way the Devil would be interested in you. Certainly not like that. That was absurd.

“Would you like something to eat?” you asked, trying to calm your pulse. “If your fridge is empty all the time I'm guessing you could use something to eat.”

“I mean, I suppose if you’re–”

He stopped short the exact moment that the lights died, throwing the pair of you into almost complete darkness. You sucked in a breath, turning to look out the window just to your right. It was eerily dark outside, a sight that was rare in the city. Even the buildings across the street had been thrown into darkness. There was nothing but the howling wind and snow outside.

“Guess it was too much to hope the power wouldn’t go out in this mess,” you breathed out.

“I suppose so,” he replied, his tone just as soft.

Reaching blindly forward, you set your almost empty mug onto the coffee table before you. For a moment you reached around on the surface until your fingers brushed against your phone. You picked it up and unlocked the screen, grateful for the bit of light it shed in the dark as you turned on the flashlight function.

“So I can’t offer you a nice cooked meal without power,” you told him, rising to your feet, “but I can get you an apple and a couple of protein bars? If you’d…like?”

“You don’t have to, but I’d appreciate it,” he said.

“It’s the least I can do for the man who does so much for the rest of us,” you told him, maneuvering around the couch and navigating your way to the kitchen by the light of your phone. “I’d feel awful leaving you hungry and dehydrated.”

Wrapping one arm around your chest to try to fight the chill that had been steadily creeping into you, you headed towards a cabinet near the sink. Reaching up, you grabbed a glass from out of it before taking a moment to fill it beneath the faucet before setting it along the countertop. Then you plucked an apple out of a fruit bowl on your counter, taking a moment to rinse it off first. The moment you’d turned off the faucet you heard his voice from across the apartment.

“You’re cold.”

For a moment you found it odd how his words hadn’t come out as a question but more of an observation, though you quickly shrugged the strangeness of that aside. You set the apple down on the counter beside the glass of water before sliding a step to your right and opening up another cabinet.

“It’s alright, I’m fine,” you answered, trying to shine the light from your phone into the cabinet to read the labels on the boxes. “I wasn’t the one out in that snowstorm wearing barely anything at all.”

“You say that like I was out there naked.”

His voice had unexpectedly come from just behind you this time and it jolted your heart in your chest instantly. His sudden proximity mixed with his word choice had you startling on the spot. Your hand that had been about to pull the box of protein bars out of the cabinet accidentally bumped it instead, causing the entire box to slip off of the shelf. But before it could tumble to the floor and spill its contents, a black gloved hand darted out beside your face, catching it before it had barely fallen six inches. 

You stood there rooted to the spot, his hand just brushing your arm as his held the box of protein bars. The hair on the back of your neck had risen, aware that he was standing barely a foot behind you now. Slowly, you turned over your shoulder to look at him. Your pulse quickened further at how close his face was to yours. He was looking at you, too. Or at least, he was facing you. Eyes dropping down, you couldn’t help but notice that mouth of his again. 

“I apologize,” he said, your eyes watching as his lips moved. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Sometimes I forget how quiet I can be. I just wanted to give you one of the blankets. No sense in me using both when you’re cold.”

“Oh,” you whispered, unable to form any other response.

With his attention still on you, he reached up and slid the box back onto the shelf. Then he seemed to take a purposeful step back from you, his lips set in a straight line. You wondered what was going on in his mind right now, because you were sure there had to be something. Had he felt the tension you’d just felt? Or were you just ridiculous and overly hopeful?

And why did it even matter? You were never going to see this man again after tonight anyway.

Blinking a few times, you returned your attention to the shelf. Reaching up, you slid your hand into the box that had nearly taken a nosedive to your kitchen floor and pulled out two protein bars. Keeping your eyes actively focused away from the Devil nearby, you closed the cabinet and slid a step back to your left, grabbing the glass of water in your hand with your phone and the apple in the same hand as the bars. Though before you could turn around, you felt something gently drape over your shoulders. Looking down, you noticed it was the pink blanket he’d been wearing.

“Like I said,” he repeated, “there’s no sense in me using both.”

“Right,” you whispered, pulse pounding in your throat.

Turning on your heel, you stepped past him and made your way back to the living room by the light of your phone. This time you heard the heavy steps of him following after you. You assumed that was intentional.

“So why were you out in this blizzard tonight anyway?” you asked him, making your way around the couch. You hoped having something to talk about would distract you from whatever it was he kept stirring inside of you. “Surely there aren’t a lot of crimes being committed in this weather?”

The Devil let out a light laugh as he accepted the offered glass of water and food from you. One of your brows quirked curiously onto your forehead at his reaction as you sat back down in your original spot on the couch. Though you noticed as he took a large drink from the cup while lowering himself onto the cushions that he’d sat closer to you than before. You watched as he ripped open a protein bar and tore off a large bite next, but he didn't answer until a moment later when he’d swallowed the bite down. Internally you noted he must’ve been hungrier than he let on with the way he was devouring that bar and you’d wished you’d had more food to offer him with the power out.

“You’d be correct,” he told you. “And yet I still stupidly made my way out into this storm tonight in the hopes of catching a lead on something. Instead all I got was my ass frozen and my side bruised.” 

You watched as he took another large bite of the protein bar, chewing it almost contemplatively as his head canted to the side. You could still see him in the beam of light from your phone which you were still clutching in your hand. Somehow this lighting made him even more appealing as it cast sharp shadows along his jaw.

“Though I suppose unexpectedly meeting you was a highlight,” he added, causing your cheeks to flush. “But you know, you never did give me your name.”

“Well you never exactly gave me yours,” you immediately quipped back.

Those beautiful lips of his curved upwards yet again as he chewed the last bite of the first protein bar. What you wouldn’t give to see if that smile had reached his eyes.

“Alright, point taken,” he replied. 

Tearing your gaze away from him, you focused on your phone. If you kept the flashlight running the battery would die in no time. And who knew how long the power might be out for, you might need it later. You supposed you didn't need it on just for a conversation.

“I’m going to turn the flashlight off on my phone for now, if that's alright?” you told him, fingers darting across the screen to do just that. “Might need the battery on this later.”

“That’s alright,” he replied, sounding as if he was chewing another bite of food. “I don’t need it.”

He’d made the comment just as you’d leaned forward to set your phone back onto the coffee table, but you’d paused as the words processed in your mind. Your eyes narrowed again as your mind raced. Something about the way he’d said that sounded as if it had another meaning to it. But before you could put too much thought into it, he’d changed the topic.

“You’re still cold,” he pointed out. “That blanket alone isn't helping.”

Brows furrowing together as you slowly sat back, you wondered how he could possibly know that. The pair of you were in almost pitch black again with your phone flashlight off. It wasn't like he could see you and you hadn't been shivering, though there were definitely goosebumps dotting your skin. How could he possibly know? 

“I’m fine,” you said, pulling the blanket you had on tighter around yourself. “It’s bound to get colder here with the power out now.”

“And with how long you had your window open earlier,” he added. “The temperature is going to drop in here faster than it would have if you hadn’t helped me.”

You sighed, frowning in his general direction. “So much for being able to help you warm up,” you muttered. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” he assured you.

It felt as if he was shifting on the couch nearby. Your brows knitted further together as you tried to make out what he was doing through the dark. All you could see was a faint mass of black that seemed darker than the rest of the blackness. Then moments later you felt a blanket being draped over your lap. 

“No, uh uh,” you said, shaking your head and immediately grabbing the blanket. “There’s two blankets, we can clearly share.”

“You’re freezing,” he countered. 

“And you’re not cold?” you shot back.

“Doesn’t matter, you’ve already been far kinder than I deserved this evening,” he replied.

You grabbed the blanket in your hands and stubbornly tossed it back in his general direction. An audible sigh sounded through the darkness to your left.

“You know I can just leave, right?” he told you. “Which would leave you with no reason to not use both blankets.”

Your eyes narrowed in the direction of the sound of his voice. “But then you’d be allowing more cold air into my apartment, which would only make the temperature drop faster in here,” you argued back. “Then I'd really be cold.”

He breathed out a laugh and you imagined the smile on his lips at the sound. You smiled triumphantly back at the dark shape of him because you knew you had a good point. Even though really, you could just layer on more clothes.

“Okay,” he relented. “That’s true. So how about…we share?”

The smile on your face quickly disappeared at his suggestion. Mouth dropping open, you felt your heart skip a beat in your chest. It took you a few seconds to regain the ability to respond.

“Share?” you asked.

“Body heat would certainly keep us both warmer,” he answered. “So would sharing two blankets instead of using only one.”

“Oh, uh, well,” you stammered, your mind racing at the thought of your body pressed up against his. “I–I–”

His deep laugh rumbled towards you through the darkness, the sound causing your lips to clamp shut. 

“I’m not suggesting anything immoral,” he assured you. “Simply a possible solution to the very real problem of us freezing in here. Unless, of course, you’d prefer me to leave?”

“No!” you exclaimed.

Immediately your eyes widened in horror at how quickly you’d responded to that. And judging by his chuckle, he’d also noticed, too. Your face scrunched up as you mentally scolded yourself for sounding so eager to keep him here in your apartment.

“Well in that case, we could share the blankets and our body heat,” he suggested again. “Because the temperature has definitely dropped a few degrees already and it's only going to continue if the power stays out.”

Nervously your tongue slid out, licking your lips. You were trying hard to control the racing of your heart, positive he could hear it with how hard it was beating now. Of course you weren’t going to pass up a chance to basically cuddle the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen for warmth during a snowstorm. You just needed to find a way to not sound so eager to accept his offer first.

“I suppose you…have a point there,” you said slowly, trying to keep your voice even. “That’s–that’s usually what people do in survival situations. Use their body heat to keep warm.”

An amused huff came from him and you realized he’d scooted even closer to you on the couch. Your breath caught in your throat the moment you felt his thigh bump against yours.

“So are we in agreement with sharing both blankets, then?” he asked.

“That–that appears to be the most logical solution to the problem,” you answered. “So yeah, I guess we…share the blankets.”

Despite the lack of light, the Devil seemed to move with ease and fluidity through the darkness, something you were paying close attention to as he gently sidled his way up against the side of you, managing to wrap both blankets around the pair of you. All the while you’d sat pin straight on the couch, aware that he was flush to your side from your shoulder all the way down to your knee. You clasped your hands in your lap, unsure of where else to place them. Truthfully, you had to admit you were already much warmer like this, with his body heat enveloping you beneath both blankets.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asked, his tone far gentler than it had been all evening. “Because that's not my intention.”

“No,” you answered with a light shake of your head. “You're not.”

He chuckled softly, his body shaking yours slightly with the movement. Your head turned towards him and you wished you could see at least the part of his face that was visible right now.

“Then why are you so tense?” he questioned. 

“I'm not tense!” you lied.

He laughed again, this time louder. The movement jostled you somehow further into his side, though your hand flew out and landed flat on his very solid chest as you tried to stop yourself from falling further into him. Your eyes widened in horror yet again, but before you could push yourself away you felt his arm wrapping around your shoulders and allowing you to sink even more into him. Heat was very much creeping up your neck and reaching your cheeks now in embarrassment. 

“You're very tense actually,” he teased. “If you're uncomfortable I can move, but we aren't going to be sharing much body heat if you don't actually sit next to me.”

Slowly you removed your hand from his chest, lowering it to your lap. Though with the way you were sitting facing partially towards him now, your knuckles were brushing against his thigh. 

“I am not tense,” you grumbled. “And you aren't making me uncomfortable. This is just…awkward. I barely know you and you don't know me.”

“Okay,” he conceded. “How about since you've guessed a few things about me, I think it's only fair you tell me a few things about yourself now.”

“I told you I'm not very interesting,” you reminded him.

“Ah, well,” he replied with a shrug, “I think I'd like to decide that for myself.”

Biting your lip, you turned your burning face and buried it into his shoulder, glad he couldn't see how nervous he'd suddenly made you. It was hard to tell if he was flirting with you or if that was just his vigilante persona–when he wasn't beating people, of course. 

With your nose pressed against the fabric of his shirt, you noticed he smelled surprisingly good. There was the hint of his sweat, but there was also a faint clean detergent scent. You closed your eyes and tried to relax, inhaling a deep breath in. Even though he was still a stranger and a vigilante, he seemed kind and safe so far. And he also hadn't thrown you off of himself for getting even closer to him, either. Maybe you should just do what he seemed to be doing: relax and enjoy the unexpected cuddles tonight with an unexpected acquaintance. 

“Alright, what do you want to know?” you whispered, eyes still closed as you focused on his scent.

Eyes fluttering open, you felt yourself waking from a deep, comfortable sleep. Though your eyes instantly snapped closed against the bright light that immediately assaulted them. Slowly you blinked them back open, trying to adjust to the surprising sunshine pouring through your living room window. Gradually you began to push yourself upright, realizing you were laying with your head on a couch pillow, both of your blankets snuggly wrapped around you. For a moment your face twisted into a look of confusion as you hesitated, staring down at the two blankets. Why had you been asleep on your couch?

But then flashes of last night came back to you. The masked man falling onto your fire escape. The joking and constant banter between the pair of you. Darkness when the power went out and the feel of his warm, muscular body wrapped around yours as he tried to keep you warm. The scent of clean detergent and his sweat. The feel of his spandex shirt against your fingertips and your cheek as you rested your head against his shoulder.

Had that all really happened? Or had you just fallen asleep on your couch and dreamt it?

Your attention shifted towards your coffee table and your sluggish brain processed the sight of your almost empty mug of tea, left abandoned all night, and an empty glass of water. Pushing yourself the rest of the way upright on the couch, your head turned over your shoulder. The lock on your living room window was undone.

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen really had been in your apartment last night. Which meant the pair of you really had cuddled together for warmth when your power had gone out. And you really did meet him. At least, somewhat.

“Oh my God,” you breathed out in awe. “He was really here.”

But just as the rush of excitement at meeting someone you’d always secretly admired filled you, it quickly vanished. Because you must have fallen asleep on him sometime last night when the pair of you were talking, and then he must’ve slipped out of your apartment before the sun came up, probably when the power had come back on. Which made sense, considering he wouldn’t want to be seen sneaking back to his own apartment in such a conspicuous outfit. 

But what was upsetting you was the growing realization that it wasn’t just the first time you’d met him, but it would most likely be the last. And you’d gone and fallen asleep through part of that meeting.

Stupid stupid stupid.

[lovemouche]

lovesick all over my bed ౨ৎ

satoru x fem reader

18+ / mdni

It was never meant to end up like this.

Satoru had stated the boundary of no strings attached prior to entangling himself with you — metaphorically and, quite literally too. The relationship was meant to start and end with physicality only. That was the one rule he made sure to implement for himself. That was where he drew the line. 

"Y-yes. right there. Please."

And yet, these days, he's been finding himself caught in the cavern of a predicament, worn down to the point where he can't think of much, besides tangled limbs and open mouthed kisses, hot and wet as he'd breathe heavily against your form. Worn down to the point where he can't think of anything else besides you. 

Even now, as you lay underneath him, needy and bare, shaped like a deity, challenging the outline of divinity, he's still thinking of you. Always.

And it's driving him crazy, consuming every waking thought of his. Because he just doesn't know how it all led up to this. Satoru can't fathom how an inkling of affection he dismissed as nothing more than a momentary impulse burgeoned into something more profound. Into something so alarming. Into—

No. 

No. No. No.

No. He doesn't want to name the emotion just yet. He can't. Labelling it just solidifies his fear into truth, and the prospect that the feeling blossoming inside his chest aligns with what he’d dreaded feeling the most crosses every boundary he had set for himself. 

Love, the most twisted curse of all. 

"Ah, Satoru—"

The call of his name drags him out of his reverie. It's whispered softly against his skin, flushed as he clings to you desperately, secure enough to hold you in place, but never too much to hurt you. 

"Yeah?" he asks tentatively, his movements being put to a pause. After loosening his grip around your body, he shifts the bend of legs on the mattress to keep his weight from overwhelming you. "You okay, princess?" 

His hand travels from the curve of your waist to trace the outline of your jaw, carefully and, much too lovingly for someone who's only meant to use you for emotional release. "Does anything hurt?" he asks, thumbing the apple of your cheek with gentle strokes, noticing how you shiver under the touch. 

You shake your head, but it's not enough to convince him otherwise; the lack of a verbal response only has his mind flooding with concern even more, especially because you've never stopped him mid-sex. Not once in the entire seven months of your arrangement. 

"Talk to me," he encourages. 

Instinctively, you lay your hand on top of the one toying with your cheek, your fingertips lightly rubbing at his knuckles in an attempt to calm him down. Satoru feels his chest constrict. It's not a big gesture, he knows. But it feels so intimate—so sweet. 

Anyone would assume he would've gotten used to it by now, but even with familiarity and time, everything you do only seems to make his heart race even more. 

He's grateful the dim lights don't manage to catch the flush beginning to spread throughout his features, but he's certain you can feel the way his cock hardens inside you, even if you don't comment on it—which he's also grateful for.

God, he's hopeless. 

The control you have over him is dangerous, he realizes. Part of him wants to pull away before any damage can be done. But the other, bigger part welcomes the peril with open arms. 

"It's just..." you trail off, letting out a sigh of frustration as you try to find the right words. 

"Should I pull out?" 

"No," you huff, tone authoritative. Out of reflex, your legs tighten around him, thighs caging his waist to keep him in place—because you definitely don't want him to pull out. Not with how good he's filling you up right now. "Just... shut up for now." 

Satoru acquiesces to your request. Despite his reservations, he nods, albeit a bit reluctantly, and makes a testament to his obedience by pretending to zip his mouth up with pinched fingers. 

"You just... seem a little out of it nowadays, like you're distracted. So I wanted to know if you were okay."

You take a brief pause. Satoru waits with bated breath. 

"We're friends too, you know? You can talk to me about these things. It doesn't always have to be sex," you add softly, probing gently to gauge the situation while making sure to leave enough room for him to make the decision to open up. Because really, he doesn't owe you any explanation. 

He doesn't owe you anything at all.

Satoru feels his heart swell, pressing up against his sternum, too big for his chest—everything he feels for you is too much for him to carry. 

I know, he thinks bitterly to himself. That's the problem. I don't want to be your friend anymore. 

But he doesn't want to lose you either, and he knows that if he let the dam break, if he let loose every emotion he's been struggling to keep at bay, he'd only ruin everything. 

He'd lose you. And he'd lose himself in the process.

So Satoru parries your question with ease, because honesty isn't his forte—both towards you and himself. 

"Nothing's wrong," he insists, raising an arm to pin your hand up against the bedsheet, intertwining your fingers with his. "Don't worry." 

Resting his forehead on top of your sweat kissed one, he resumes his movements languidly. "Just...just focus on how good I'm making you feel, o—oh—okay?" 

He trips on his words at the sensation of being sucked in and out of your sweet cunt, and he prays—god, he prays—that the feeling of being inside you is enough to compensate for not having you entirely, even if just for a moment. 

But it's not enough, and Satoru can't help but feel that it never will be. 

He slides in and out of you, his desire heavy. And you moan in response, chest rising from the laboured breaths that follow each sinful thrust, hips gyrating automatically to match his pace. 

And it feels good. It feels so fucking good. But the pleasure isn't enough to cloud his senses and dispel his anxiety. Because he's looking at you and his heart is already tugging at its seams. And Satoru feels helpless. 

And he's not sure what it is—if it's the high that ensues being wrapped around your tight walls, or the way you fit so perfectly against him, as if you were made to be held by him, as if he was made just to hold you—but something about tonight has him desperate for more than just late night messages that lead to loveless fucking. 

Something about tonight has him desperate for all of you. Mind and body, heart and soul. 

The notion is heady, and the revelation steals his breath. It roots itself inside his chest and demands his attention, aching to be acknowledged. 

He's so caught up in his head, so lost in thought that he doesn't even register the fact that his movements have been put to a halt and his cock has stilled inside you. Not until you press a shaky palm to his chest in worry.

"Hey," you breathe out. "What's wrong?"

Satoru has to bite his tongue to refrain from telling you that: everything is. There are so many things he wants to tell you, but he's scared it'll poison every next moment. He's scared he'll lose you in the only way he knows he can have you. 

Everything is wrong, he wants to say.

Instead, he stays quiet. 

There an ugly feeling gathering in the pit of his stomach. He wants, so badly, to say something—anything. But he can't. The only reaction he can offer you is the widening of eyes, and his mouth parting in shock before his lips purse into a disappointed frown.

Being in... fuck he'll name it. Being in love shouldn't indemnify him from acting like an idiot, but love has a way of blurring all reason, all rationality. 

He waits for you to speak again, unwilling to break the silence himself—too afraid of what might follow, too afraid that you've already seen right through him.

And he feels pathetic, of course, for being reduced to such a scattered mess, because he's supposed to be the strongest. And for the most part, he is. He really is. But when it comes to you, he can't seem to live up to that title. When it comes to you, he can't seem to be anything else but yours. 

The yearning—to mean something more to you, to be everything to you—settles in his bones. It's draining his soul. He's standing on the edge of a cliff, left to teeter somewhere in between unbridled emotion and self restraint. It's a precarious position to be placed in, and he's hanging by a mere thread. 

Seconds stretch into what feels like an eternity. The air feels like it's heavy with impending demise, and the silence engulfs him like black tar. It's suffocating, to say the least. Satoru isn't sure if he wants to prolong the moment or get it over with. He feels his heart pound against his chest—that treacherous thing.

So when you finally say something, he breaks.

"Satoru, what's wrong?" 

He falls apart. 

"I'm sorry," he chokes out, voice timid and exceptionally apologetic, head hanging low in refusal to meet your eyes. The sight of him is pitiful; you can't, for the life of you, understand why.

It's strange seeing Satoru in such a vulnerable state. Not because you don't assume he doesn't have his own baggage to carry, but because you never thought he'd be willing to expose this side of himself to you.

It's everything out of the ordinary, like witnessing god crumble at your feet, or having an executioner beg to be pardoned for all his killings.

"I'm sorry," he repeats. Only this time, it feels more resigned, like he's admitting defeat. It almost feels like he's apologising to you. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

But how could that be? and why would it ever be?

"What? Sat—ah."

Satoru falls slack on top of you, pressing the weight of his body against yours. He buries his head into the crook of your neck, chin moving to rest on your shoulder as he evades your gaze. You feel his hands travel south as he continues whispering a mantra of apologies into your skin.

It's a vain endeavour, trying to lift yourself up to get him to talk to you properly. The grip on your hip keeps you anchored, leaving you no room for anything other than compliance; it's as if he's scared you'll leave if he lets go even for a second.

And honestly, he is. 

"Satoru. Don't be like this please."

"I'm sorry," is all he says. 

"Satoru, look at—"

"No."

"Look at me." 

"I'm an idiot."

"No," you interject. "You are not."

"But I am." It's muffled, his voice. A Little shaky too. "I know I'm an idiot, so don't," he pleads. "Don't look at me. I don't want you to see me right now. I can't." 

"You need to tell me what's wrong."

"You're going to hate me. I'm going to ruin everything."

"How?" 

"I'm sorry."

"Satoru."

"I'm sorry," he repeats, his grip on you tightening, fingernails digging soft crescents into your skin. "I'm sorry; I got too greedy." 

Your eyebrows pinch. 

Satoru can practically feel your confusion, and he wants to die, because you don't get it. You just don't get it. Not at all. Not one bit. Not until he whispers five words that knock all the air out of your lungs:

I love you. I'm sorry.

There's a pregnant pause, hesitant, unsure. And then:

"Wha—what? No. You—you're lying." 

Satoru shakes his head in disagreement, vehemently refusing your claim. 

Lying? How could he ever lie about such a thing? He could feign indifference at most, try to brush past it and let the feeling linger until it subsides. But he can't, and it hasn't, and he's tired of pretending that he doesn't love you anymore. Because he does. He loves you too much to push those feelings away. 

"It's true," he admits. "I—I tried not to... you know? I tried not to—fuck, I'm sorry." 

The confession should have lifted the burden, or at the very least, eased it. But his lips struggle to form words, and his heart ricochets against his ribcage. 

"Look at me," you implore.

"No."

He's certain you must hate him now. That by tomorrow, or tonight even, he'll leave the place—the person—he's associated with home as nothing more than a stranger. 

Even worse, a mistake. 

"Please?" 

But your arms crawl to wrap around his torso, and your legs squeeze around his own in silent reassurance, like you're trying to convey to him that you're not going anywhere. And if that isn't enough to convince him to listen, Satoru doesn't know what is. 

When he finally raises his head, your eyes linger on the contours of his face, studying his crestfallen expression. He's anguished, that's for sure. You just can't wrap your head around the fact that it's probably you who's causing his misery. 

Because Satoru is... well, Satoru—he's the strongest.

So who are you to be able to wreck him this much?

"Do you..." you swallow, still unconvinced, words quieting down to a whisper. "Do you really love me?" 

Without looking at you, Satoru nods. it's not enough of an answer, though. 

"Tell me, please." 

He lets out a slow, shuddering exhale, chest stuttering on his next breath. He's silent for a few seconds, thinking. Until finally, with a slight crack to his voice, he says. "I do." very tremulously. "I love you." 

Which is painful to admit, because he doesn't even know what to do now that it's been said. Satoru's not sure how he can give you something he's never been shown. He's not even sure if he deserves it, or if you'll even want his affection. 

But there's so much of it, so much love growing in his chest that he fears it'll crack his ribs. So he's willing to try, even if it might ruin him in the process, 

He's willing to do anything, so long as it's for you. 

It's as simple as that, really. 

"You're lying. I—you can't be serious."

Well, maybe not really.

"I am." Satoru nods pathetically, like a wounded puppy, like his heart is in tatters because you can't believe him even after he's laid himself so embarrassingly bare like this. "I love you." 

"But you said—"

"I know," Satoru interrupts, and his lips are bowed. "I know. I'm a hypocrite. I got too selfish. But I can't help it anymore, I'm sorry. I love you too much to push these feelings away." 

Satoru feels every muscle in your body go stiff at the admission. You're rendered speechless, once again; hesitant in your words, even more so in your actions. And he feels like he's made a grave mistake, that right then and there, he's ruined everything—he's lost you.

But then the right corner of your mouth quirks, hinting at the faintest of smiles, and an obtrusive feeling of hope sparks within him, fizzling out his nerves like cheap soda. 

"Why would you be sorry?" you scold, flicking his forehead. "The only thing you should be sorry about is worrying me. Do you know how scared I was seeing you go MIA while you were still inside me?"

"I'm still inside," he reminds you. 

You groan. "this is not the time." 

"I know." He frowns, but the tension from earlier is nowhere to be found, and Satoru feels even more at ease now that you've begun playing with his hair, twirling the strands between your fingers. "I'm sorry. I don't really know what else to say." 

"You don't need to say anything else."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"You aren't upset or anything?"

"Why would I be?"

"I don't know." He lowers his head to rest on top of your chest, all watery and emotional, pressing his cheek just above where your heart lies to find solace in the rhythmic pitter patter of beats. "I just expected you'd be mad or... disappointed, you know?" 

"Well I'm not, so don't worry about anything, okay?"

"Okay," he hums.

You don't say anything after that. Neither does he. It's quiet for a while, and you take the time to think while basking in the afterglow of such a raw moment. 

It's all still so surreal. 

You feel like the universe is playing a prank on you, like Satoru's orchestrating a sick, cruel joke to mess with your system. But you're cradling his head in your hand, lovingly tracing arbitrary shapes on his scalp, and you swear you can hear how fast his heart is racing. 

It's in tandem with yours.

And perhaps, that's all that matters. 

Maybe you were an idiot not to have realised it sooner. Maybe you were just in denial too. But it's as clear as day now, and you really can't deny the fact that it has always felt like you and Satoru were made for each other. Because when you take his hand into yours, and it feels like the spaces between your fingers were shaped just to hold him like this, you're certain that it's always been more than just sex. 

"Satoru?"

"Yeah?"

"Me too."

He gives you a quizzical look. You smile.

"I love you too."