#scorpion doesn’t have the heart to tell him he knows already

[bb-ants]

Mortal Kombat Short | Smoke Detektor

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1 #mk1 #smoke #scorpion #sub zero #bi han #tomas vrbada #my art #kuai liang #this was literally the first thing that came to mind when I had my smoke detector replaced #smoke is me learning about the lore fr #scorpion doesn’t have the heart to tell him he knows already #next doodle hint: pull my finger / got your nose

[medusapelagia]

The scorpion and the frog - Harringrove Love Fest 11th February

written for @harringrovelovefest

Rating: Teen and Up Relationship: Steve Harrington/Billy Hargrove Prompt: You give love a bad name TW: angst with happy ending

Steve sighs in his dressing room while getting ready to shot, Robin, his personal assistant, got everything ready for him: his favorite snacks, some mango-flavored water, and even his lucky charm, but Steve knew that this movie was going to be the hardest he ever shot.

His reflection looks back at him, mocking him, and he brushes his hair with his fingers trying to fight the anxiety: he looks good, he knows he does, but inside he feels raw. Gulping some flavored water he takes a last glimpse at the script, it’s the first day of shooting so it’s just a sort of warm-up for everyone, still, he wants this to be over as soon as possible.

He takes a pair of Ray-ban and goes outside where the producer is waiting for him.

“Good morning, everyone. Sorry for the delay. I had a phone call…” He starts, but the producer shakes his head.

“Don’t worry, we are still waiting for him.”

Him.

William fucking Hargrove.

“Oh. Is he late?”

“Are you surprised? He is always late.” Max, Billy's assistant, complains “You could start by shooting your scene if you want to.” She suggests while she keeps calling the other actor with her mobile phone; Steve turns toward the producer who is yelling something at the phone with someone else and shrugs, he can’t play an entire scene on his own, he needs at least some direction.

“Are you feeling lost, pretty boy?” 

Steve doesn’t turn to greet Hargrove “You are late.”

“Am I?” The actor asks, shaking his blond mane like a lion.

“You know you are, dick head, now get ready, everyone was waiting for you!” Max scolds him, but Billy ignores her and throws his jacket to one of the assistants.

“I’m ready.”

“You haven’t even taken a look at the script!” Max yells and the boy turns annoyed.

“I don’t need to, Maxine,” he replies and the girl glares at him for using her complete name “I know the script by heart, tell me which scene we are going to shoot and I will be fine.” Then he turns toward a blond girl “Can you fix my makeup, sugar?”

“Chrissy. The name is Chrissy!” Another blond-haired boy replies and Billy turns toward him.

“I don’t give a fuck about what her name is, is that clear? I just care that she does her fucking job. Do you have something to say about that?” Hargrove growls, and the other boy is ready to snarl something back but the girl puts a hand on his arm.

“It’s fine Jason, we are already late. Mr. Hargrove, please follow me.” She says pointing toward the trailer where she has everything ready.

“What a piece of shit.” Robin whispers when Hargrove disappears inside the trailer “I don’t know why Murray chose him as a protagonist.”

Steve sighs, he knows perfectly well why he did: Hargrove is a rising star, every movie has taken at least 50 million at the box office, and he is a safe bet, not like Steve who used to be a baby star and now is working hard to make the leap and finally became a serious actor, not the boy that used to play the kid in that television series years ago.

The ex-child prodigy was so happy at the table read when he first met Hargrove: their chemistry was undeniable and Murray immediately decided to add even more scenes between the two of them, which sounded like a dream at the time, but now Steve is deeply regretting it because more scene together lead to more time spent together and…

“Still daydreaming, pretty boy?”

Steve bites his tongue and smiles back, feeling the sour taste of bile in the back of his mouth “I’m ready when you are Mr. Hargrove.” He replies avoiding the piercing blue eyes.

“Mr. Hargrove is my father.” The blond actor replies offended “Never call me like that again.” Then he lifts Steve’s chin with a finger “I thought we were on first name base, Stevie.” 

If first name base means getting fucked out of his mind in the back of Billy’s Camaro, yeah, they were, but Billy made it clear that he didn’t want any commitment and Steve accepted, not knowing that the damage was already done, that his stupid heart was already in love with the famous actor.

“We were, Billy.” Steve replies, moving away from Billy’s grip and turning toward the set “Are you ready or what?” And Steve should have known better than to reply like that because the innocent smile Billy gives him breaks him even harder.

“Such a hard worker.” Billy says out loud, but when he gets closer to Steve he whispers “Good boys get prizes, did you know that?”

Steve swallows, and curses when he feels something twitching in his pants, but keeps himslef focused: they have a job to do and he can’t fuck this up. If he plays his card well he might even get a Golden Globe nomination.

***

Billy can be an asshole outside the set, but when they are working he is very professional: he never asks for a moment of rest and it’s always eager to hear the director’s opinion on his performance, ready to redo the same scene even fifty times until everyone is satisfied, which today means that Billy grinds against Steve almost all day. One time he is cocky, one time he is sweet, another is angry, and all that Steve has to do is say his line, get a chair, and sits with his legs spread, waiting to find out if Billy will crawl at his feet, or stomping toward him and yank him by his collar, but every single time the scene ends with a passionate kiss between the two of them.

Well, not really the two of them, more like… their characters.

Because Steve is not Andrew and Billy is not Thomas, as Steve keeps repeating to himself every time that Billy’s lips find his and they kiss.

Such a perfect chemistry. 

That’s what Murray said the first time that they read the script together and he wasn’t wrong, only for Billy is just acting while Steve has feelings that have been hurt more than once during the time they have spent together.

Steve pretended to be ok every time Billy drove him home after they met in some seedy motel where nobody asked for their IDs and they could hide in the shadow, away from the public eye, but now that they are so close to each other there is nowhere to run and Steve knows that he is falling for the beautiful actor again, and again, and again and he can read in Robin’s expression that she knows it and she doesn’t like it. At all.

“You must learn how to protect yourself, Steve.” She says while he is resting in his trailer waiting to shoot his next scene “That boy uses you like a toy and you always let him.” She gently scolds him and Steve knows that she is right and he is trying very hard to fight his feelings for Hargrove, but the angel’s face boy promised him Heaven… only to put him through Hell.

“I know that you are right, and I’m doing my best.” He replies, getting out to smoke a cigarette while Robin complains that he will smell like an ashtray for hours.

Steve leans against the trailer, one leg bent against the big wheel and a cigarette in his hands complaining in a soft voice about his stupid love life. If only Billy wasn’t so fucking nice when he brushes Steve’s hair away from his face; if only he didn’t praise him and his work on any occasion, if only… but Hargrove is like that, he likes to play with him like a cat with a mouse.

“He is more of a scorpion kind of guy.” Max says and Steve startles.

“I didn’t see you!” Steve murmurs, and the girl smirks but doesn’t reply, pointing at Steve’s cigarette pack and taking one that she lights with a familiar Zippo, the one he bought in a gas station weeks ago.

“It’s Billy’s.” She confirms “I took it weeks ago and he is still complaining about it.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, surely Hargrove has enough money to buy another one if he wants to.

“Wouldn’t have the same emotional value.” She replies and Steve blushes. It’s not special but it has a skull smoking a cigarette that resembles the one on Billy’s biceps.

“Listen, Billy is an asshole, I know that, but you must understand where he comes from.” Max says, stomping the cigarette's butt to the ground “His father… his father was not a good person, ok? And I know because he married my mom. After a couple of years of marriage and many trips to the ER later, my mom left him and she took Billy with her. He was always good-looking, you know? Everyone wanted a piece of him and he was clever enough to take advantage of that and become one of the most famous actors of the moment: always ready to give just enough of himself to get what he wanted but not enough to get them too close.” She turns toward Steve “With you things are different. He cares about you but he doesn’t know how to prove it to you. He is still his old asshole self. It's like the story of the scorpion and the frog. When the scorpion stings the frog, dooming them both, the frog asks the scorpion why it stung him, and he replies…”

“I am sorry, but I couldn't resist, it's my character.” Steve concludes for her, still holding the filter of the long-gone cigarette “So what you are saying is that I'm the frog and I'm destined to get stung by him because he can't avoid it?”

Max shrugs “Just wanted you to know that you are different from him, but for him changing is hard, even for you. Just... don't let him go. Yet.”

“Yet?” Steve asks, confused, and the girl gives him the Zippo.

“Yet.” She confirms leaving Steve even more confused.

***

On the last day of shooting the director and the producer invite everyone to a big party to celebrate, and Robin somehow convinces Steve to join “We are celebrating and everyone else will be there! You are the co-protagonist, you can’t miss it!” She insists, but the idea of seeing Billy flirting with everyone is killing him. Steve does his best to come up with an excuse, but when the girl comes to his hotel’s room with a smoking he is out of excuses. They are late to the party, everyone is already half drunk on champagne. Steve gives a nod of denial to the waiter who offers him a glass of bubbles and does his best to avoid everyone, even if Robin told him more than once that if he really wants to be taken as a serious actor he should get better at public relations.

He is staring out of the window when he smells it: Billy’s cologne.

“Nice evening, huh?” The blond actor says, getting closer and Steve nods, turning toward the window and staring at their reflections that now are so close.

“Yeah. Congratulations, I heard that even if the movie is not even ready you are already on the list for the Oscar.”

“Are you jealous, pretty boy?” Billy asks with a smirk.

Steve gives him a self-deprecating smile “I already knew you were a good actor. Great even.”

“What does it mean?” Billy growls, stepping toward Steve and almost trapping him between his body and the big window.

“Stop it. Someone could see us.” Steve complains trying to free himself.

“Is that the problem? You don’t want to be seen with me?”

“I’m tired of your lies!” Steve growls, turning abruptly toward Billy “I don’t give a fuck if you are a scorpion or whatever! I don’t want to be your fucking frog! I deserve better!” He sobs, feeling the tears falling from his eyes.

Billy’s smile gets softer “You do.”He whispers on his lips and bends a little until, waiting for Steve to say no, and when he doesn't their lips collide.

Steve is too surprised and confused to stop him, so he lets Billy kiss him and somehow it feels like the first real kiss they ever shared.

“Tell, me what do you want, Steve?” Billy whispers, his long eyelashes fluttering so sensually.

“Wanna be yours…” Steve replies, hating himself for being always so honest “But I don’t want to end up like the frog in the story.

Billy nods, wiping Steve’s tears with his thumb “I’m not good for you. We both know that.” He says “But you are like a fucking magnet to me. This stupid movie wouldn’t even be worth the ticket price if it wasn’t for you. You are great Steve. A great actor, a great person. I’m not like that. I use people for my own purposes and…”

“Can’t you just… trying to stop doing that? For me?” Steve asks, and maybe is the warmth of Billy’s hand on his cheek or maybe Steve is just too stupid and too honest, but the words come out of his mouth before he really thinks about them.

“What if I can’t? What if I’m just a silly scorpion?”

Steve doesn’t want to be the frog, he really doesn’t, but he can’t avoid replying “Then we’ll drown together in the river.”

Billy smiles at him, the soft secret smile that he gave him just a couple of times, the one that feels real, the one that feels warm like a soft blanket, and Steve doesn’t know if he just condemned himself, but when they leave the party, hand to hand, and Billy drives him to his rented house and not to a motel, he feels that this is something new.

Something worth it.

#harringrovelovefest2024 #harringrove love fest #harringrove #billy x steve #steve harrington #billy hargrove #stranger things fanfiction #medusapelagia #medusapelagia fanfic #my fanfic #Billy Hargrove #Steve Harrington #Harringrove #Billy x Steve #Stranger Things Fanfiction #Harringrove fic

[90363462]

Who Is Drake’s Son and Why Did He Keep Him a Secret?

Maya KhamalaJuly 5, 2022

Drake has too many titles to fit on a regular business card: rapper, actor, philanthropist, fashion influencer, and wildly popular Instagrammer. But there was one new title that shocked his fans and media alike, when he added “father” to the list.

The Canadian superstar nearly caused an Instagram riot in March 2020 when he posted pictures of his then three-year-old son, Adonis Graham, for the first time. The adorable pics sent hungry fans into a veritable meltdown.

RELATED: Drake Surprises 11-Year-Old Girl Awaiting Heart Transplant, Inspires Us to Be More Compassionate

While Adonis was born in the fall of 2017, it took nearly a year for Drake to reference his new son. Up until 2018, Drake and his baby mama, French artist Sophie Brussaux, decided to keep their parenthood a secret, in part due to paternity questions but also to protect their child from the media.

Who Is Drake’s Son, Adonis?

Adonis Graham was born on October 11th, 2017. His middle name is “Mahbed,” which some fans speculate is a reference to Drake’s hit “God’s Plan,” since his name sounds like the lyrics: “I only love my bed and my mama.”

Brussaux became pregnant with Adonis almost immediately after she was spotted with the Certified Lover Boy rapper in January 2017. This means that as of June 2022, Drake’s son is already 4 years old — going on five! And already he has a reputation as a “Young Stunna.” 

As many fans have pointed out, Adonis doesn’t look much like either of his dark-haired parents. With his gorgeous curly blond locks and blue eyes, he takes more after Drake’s mother, Sandi Graham. 

Drake Took A Paternity Test Before Going Public

Drake was initially surprised when Brussaux broke the news of her pregnancy and asked for a paternity test. But things became tricky. In an interview with Rap Radar, Drake shares that he wasn’t sure he was Adonis’ father for quite some time, especially since the first DNA test results were “ruined in transit.”

At the time, Drake’s rep commented, “If it is, in fact, Drake’s child, which he does not believe, he would do the right thing by the child.”

The 35-year-old rapper recalled, “I was in a really weird pending situation where I didn’t want to go tell the world that that was my son and it wasn’t.”

To make sure, Drake took a second DNA test, explaining, “He’s a stunning child you know, with the brightest blue eyes and at the time I was like ‘I don’t know.’”

RELATED: Drake Goes on Six-Figure Good-Deed Spree, Gives Strangers the Surprise of a Lifetime

At the time, Drake’s reps suspected Brussaux of using Drake to get into the US. “She’s one of many women claiming he got them pregnant,” they said. 

A second DNA test finally confirmed, however, that Drake was indeed the father to young Adonis. Drake stepped up and took his new dad role on with ease, even dedicating his notable Artist of the Decade Billboard Music Award in 2021 to his son. 

Though Drake is often seen courtside with Adonis, the young boy currently lives with his mother Sophie Brussaux in Paris, France. 

Drake, 35, splits his time between his properties in Toronto and California, and judging from the numerous video posts of him and his son together, the two share lots of father and son time.

Drake Songs Referencing His Son, Adonis

Drake, who finally received confirmation of his paternity not long before the release of his 2018 album, Scorpion, has mentioned his son in numerous songs.

Reports of Drake’s son didn’t surface until 2018 when rival rapper, Pusha T, called Drake out for his secret son on his track, “The Story of Adidon.” 

In his track “Emotionless,” Drake replies, “I wasn’t hiding my kid from the world/ I was hiding the world from my kid/ From empty souls who just wake up and looked to debate/ Until you starin’ at your seed, you can never relate.”

RELATED:  Taylor Swift Reveals the Equally Inspiring and Heart-Wrenching Songs She Listens to After a Breakup

Additionally, he mentions having a son in the lyrics of another track off the same album, titled “March 14” about the complex yet joyful day he found out he was a dad.

“Yesterday morning was crazy / I had to come to terms with the fact that it’s not a maybe / That s**t is in stone, sealed and signed / She not my lover like Billie Jean, but the kid is mine,” he rapped.

Who Is Sophie Brussaux, The Mother of Drake’s Son?

Image via Arts Help

Artist Sophie Brussaux is a 32-year-old retired adult film star formerly known as Rosée Divine. She was born and raised in France and now paints full-time. Her work has been exhibited in New York, Milan, and London, among others, under the name Sophie B. 

She was first spotted with Canadian rapper Drake in January 2017. Drake and Sophie’s son was born just nine months after the two were first seen together. 

RELATED: 17 Best Chance the Rapper Quotes to Inspire You

Drake even references Brussaux in his songs. The most obvious mention is on “When To Say When,” off of his Dark Lane Demo Tapes,when he rapped, “Baby mama fluke, but I love her for who she is.” 

He also seemingly references her on his 2020 track, “Greece.” Drake raps, “Speedboats, baby, in Nikki Beach,” about Nikki Beach Worldwide, a luxury beach club brand that has locations around the world, including in Greece. Nikki Beach just happens to be a frequent spot for Sophie Brussaux. Think what you will.

As for how Drake and Sophie Brussaux met, they reportedly crossed paths while the rapper was on his Boy Meets World tour in 2017. During a stop in Amsterdam, he was spotted having dinner with Sophie and a group of other friends. 

The pair were never in a relationship, and during a 2018 appearance on HBO’s The Shop, Drake confessed that Brussaux had “never met” his mother before she became pregnant.

In spite of all the drama involving DNA tests, Drake has expressed a desire to be good co-parents.

Drake And Sophie Brussaux Can Finally Co-Parent

(Photo Credit: Instagram) 

After the initial rockiness following the pregnancy announcement, Drake and Brussaux are finally in a place where they can smoothly co-parent Adonis.

By October 2019, Drake was helping host Adonis’ second birthday party. And based on the star’s most recent social media posts bragging about his son, it appears that this modern yet beautiful family is finally on positive terms.

Drake and Sophie Brussaux are not together, nor have they ever been a couple — though, unsurprisingly, there have been rumors. 

RELATED: The Truth Behind Drake And Sophie Brussaux’s Co-Parenting Will Change The Way You Look At Them

Of their relationship, Drake has said, “I’m still learning to communicate with a woman who, you know, we’ve had our moments.” 

“I do want to be able to explain to my son what happened,” he continued, “But I don’t have any desire for him to not love his mother. I don’t ever want the world to be angry at his mother. We have found ourselves in a situation and we are both equally responsible. Now, I’m just really excited to be a great father.” 

He added that, no matter what, he has “unconditional love” for the mother of his child.

What Is Drake’s Love Life Like Today?

Rihanna hosts the 2017 Diamond Ball to raise money for health and education initiatives in Malawi and the Caribbean. / Image credit: Taylor Hill/FilmMagic

The “Started From the Bottom” star, who is well known for his on-and-off-again relationship with Rihanna from 2009 to 2016, has referenced their epic Drake and Rihannalove story in every one of his studio albums. When presenting Rihanna with the Michael Jackson Video Vanguard Award in 2016, he said, “she’s a woman I’ve been in love with since I was 22 years old.” 

Speaking of memorable Drake quotes, he has elaborated on his relationship with Rihanna often.

RELATED: The Powerful Reason Why Rihanna and Drake Had To Stay Apart

“As life takes shape and teaches you your own lessons,” he said, “I end up in this situation where I don’t have the fairy tale [of] ‘Drake started a family with Rihanna, [it’s] so perfect.’ It looks so good on paper [and] I wanted it too at one time.”

Drake is now past seeking his perfect family narrative, and as far as anyone knows, he is currently single. His main focus is his music, and, of course, Adonis.

How Is Drake’s Relationship With His Son?

Adonis has been making a splash on Drake’s Instagram over the years. And the bilingual boy has been working on his dad’s French skills. Avid basketball fans, the pair occasionally hit the basketball court together. In May 2022, the Canadian star praised his son’s skill after he managed to score four out of five shots.

“Yo, where’d you learn to shoot like that?” Drake asked. “I don’t know,” Adonis replied, shrugging adorably.

RELATED: Here’s Why Tupac’s “Dear Mama” Will Teach You To Love Your Family Unconditionally

“I want to be able to go places with my son and share memories with my son,” Drake told Young Money Radio With Lil Wayne in 2021. 

“I don’t want to feel like just because of a life choice I made to be, you know, a ‘celebrity’ that I gotta like, you know, make everybody live under this blanket.”

KEEP READING:

Drake Pays Off Man’s Debt And Doubles His Savings To Encourage Him To Reach His Goals

[nevermore-ocs]

                               -[𝐻𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝒸𝓊𝒹𝒹𝓁𝑒]

(Headcanon list featuring Villanos dudes of mine that I don’t really talk about too much!)

𝓝𝓲𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓬-

-90 percent of the time y’all are spending time with one another, he instigates a cuddling sesh -He has ADHD bless him so be prepared to do so much with him at first before immediately cuddling cause he has the attention span of a Goldfish swimming laps through a bowlful of GFuel -SUPER PLAYFUL DURING IT, cause you just make him incredibly happy and excited even more than he naturally is -Ticklefights, pillows immediately going right to you and him expecting return fire the second you hold one of them, but he usually snags you down to his level against the bed before you can really do anything -And that’s usually when he gets incredibly sappy with you, just having you close summons that side out of him -Muffled whispers against your skin about how he doesn’t even deserve a second of your time but he’s so thankful that you chose him out of everyone else out there in the world -It’s odd sounding with the subtle voice masker embedded in the headpiece he wears and he understands that it can be quite jarring that he wears it all of the time, however it further cements just how lucky he is in his head about how you’re barely bothered by it

𝓢𝓮𝓽𝓱

-Already, he knows that he doesn’t come off as the, cuddliest guy in the world -But -He honestly probably is like ONE OF THE SNUGGLIEST ONES OUT THERE -9.9 times out of 10, the very second that you’re like, back against the bed, immediately, an arm is hooking around your front and tugging you as far as you can be in his embrace AND STILL BE ABLE TO BREATHE -He’s not the chattiest guy out there, to be truthful, and during sensitive moments like this, that doesn’t change too drastically either -Softened murmurs about how much he loves you with fleeting compliments about your scent and how sweet it is -And if he’s not audibly telling you, his scorpion tail is his biggest giveaway as pleasantly delighted chitters will rattle through the blue appendage, and you can swear you can see the faintest blush on his cheeks each time you coo about how cute it is

𝓜𝓪𝓸

-HEY YEAH CAN YOU SAY TOUCH STARVED -LIKE AN OBSCENE AMOUNT -Mao went a detrimental like, 85 percent of his life without really any affectionate like ANYTHING, and this stems even as far from like his childhood as his dad was the most perfect descendant of Macaque (AND THAT’S NOT A GREAT THING) and a monumental ASSHOLE, and his mom pretty much dipped the moment he was born -So it was a miracle that he even opened his heart up enough to even consider a date, let alone like just, time spent with one another when the two of you first met -Naturally standoffish and a brisk speaker, when you opted in doing something simple as just cuddling, he didn’t exactly turn it down as to please you over himself and the guard that he had with physical affection -And then the two of you hugged like that, AND THAT BLOCKADE THAT HE  BUILT FOR HIMSELF CRUMBLED SO FAST -It went from like, just regular cuddling where the two of you would be entwined with one another underneath a blanket on a bed, to him, like, laying his form on you and just giving himself that permission to just relax and relish this sensation that he has longed for -It was incredibly easy to notice that he just craved this, these times where he would just go slack in your embrace and have you pet his head, massage the back of his neck, the top of his back, and even tickle those six ears he had, it broke your heart, honestly, to witness such a strong, imposing, harbinger of one of the darkest divinities of China, crumble into such a state in your hands, it just made you want to be there for him even more

#I HAVE #SO MANY OTHER DUDES BUT #WE START WITH THREE NOW #AND GO BIGGER IN THE NEXT ONE YES??? #YES MMKAY GOOD WE ALL AGREE #oc #my oc #villanos #villainous #villanos oc #villainous oc #nitric #*IHAVEN'TPOSTEDPICSOFHIMYETBUTIWILL* #seth #seth sark #the blue scorpion #mao #the six eared macaque #oc headcanons #headcanon stuff #ALSO #WANTED TO MAKE THE LISTS LOOK #**LITTLE BIT BETTER** #ADDED SOME NEW TEXT THINGS AND FOUND A TEXT POST BORDER THING FOR THE TOP

[samstree]

Hi Jin, 39. Lingering glances and soft expression only brought out by crush for the pining prompts?

Thanks for the prompt my dear! <3<3

How about a delirious Geralt who's only soft when he sees Jaskier! ;)

(geraskier, hurt/comfort, injuries, Geralt is high and Lambert is confused, 1.4k, pre-relationship)

Read on ao3

---

“I can’t deal with Geralt like this,” Lambert growls before he slams the bedroom door shut, all the while balancing the bowl of stew in his hand. “Let him starve. Maybe he’ll learn to behave.”

Jaskier’s pacing comes to a dead stop.

“What? You can’t just leave him! He was stranded in that cave for days. He needs the food!” the bard chews on his lower lip again, the skin there already burning from days of worry. “Look, Lambert, I appreciate you appearing out of nowhere to get him out. I really do. But can’t you just try harder? Please?”

The younger witcher lets out a grunt that sounds too similar to his wolf brother. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Look, bard. It’s not that I don’t want to.” The irritation in Lambert’s voice is palpable, but Jaskier can tell the hidden concern under all the gruffness. When it comes down to it, the rest of them are not that hard to read. “The scorpion’s venom is making him hallucinate. It’s putting him in a dreamlike state, because that’s how the creature keeps its victims subdued long enough to feed on them.”

“More the reason we shouldn’t leave him—”

“He is high as a kite and can’t even recognize me. He’s not himself!” Lambert sighs. “And he won’t stop… pawing at me.”

Jaskier stares at him incredulously, resting his hands on his hips.

“And what? You’re scared because your brother keeps touching you?” the bard huffs. “I’ll do it then!”

“Not just that,” Lambert snarls. “Geralt may be living some ridiculous dream in his head, but he’s still strong as fuck. Urgh, don’t ever tell him this, but he tried to tackle me just now and almost broke my arm. He certainly would have if it weren’t for his injury.”

Behind the thin wall, Jaskier can still hear Geralt murmuring incoherent nonsense. Perhaps he would have been able to deal with the worry that’s been churning in his stomach for days, if it weren’t for the next hoarse cry that penetrates the door and pierces right through his heart.

“…Where is he? Where…" Geralt slurs loudly, his voice sounding so lost, so lonely all of a sudden.

“That’s it. I’m going in.” Jaskier charges into the room, passing a Lambert who’s too slow to stop him because of the stew he’s holding.

At the back of his mind, he still registers the colorful curses the younger witcher lets out, but all he can focus on once he pushes open the door is Geralt. He’s sitting against the headboard in a position that can’t be comfortable. His shirt is nowhere to be found. The only thing that covers his torso is the bandage that roughly wraps around his shoulder, with specks of blood seeping out.

Oh, and his eyes. Honey gold keeps searching blindly but somehow is dimming by the moment. He looks as if he’s lost something important. Jaskier’s heart twists and he can’t help but reach for Geralt when those golden eyes fall on him. Those furrowed brows relax, just a smidge.

“Hey, it’s alright.” The bard’s palm falls on Geralt’s bicep, feeling the heat of his clammy skin. A relieved sigh heaves out of the witcher’s chest. “You are safe now, Geralt. Lambert got you out.”

Jaskier continues to brush back the stray hair at Geralt’s temple, tucking it away. Maybe his own distress is letting him see things that aren’t there, but he swears Geralt is leaning into his touch, even nuzzling his palm a little.

Oh, he’s so out of it.

“You don’t need to be scared anymore.” Jaskier puts as much reassurance in his voice as possible, although he’s not sure who he’s trying to convince. He takes Geralt’s wrist when Lambert calls out.

“No, bard! He’ll snap you like a—”

But Geralt only catches his hand gently, threading their fingers together. The witcher looks down at their interlocked hands and frowns, like his mind can’t process the image.

“Jaskier?” he whispers carefully before looking up at the bard, his eyes focusing with clarity for the first time.

“Yes, I’m here,” Jaskier chuckles tightly. “There you are, finally.”

“Am I dreaming?”

“No, this is as real as it gets.”

At those words, Geralt immediately springs up to wrap his arms around the bard, but it’s clear that he’s reining in the raw strength in his body, making the embrace tight but not crushing. Jaskier gasps in surprise but can only return the hug in equal measure.

It’s not that Geralt never shows affection, but it’s usually a lot less… direct like this. Or physical, like this. Although, the pawing is nice, especially when the pent-up worry in Jaskier’s chest is on the verge of breaking like a dam.

“You are okay. You are okay…” Geralt murmurs into Jaskier’s ear, clinging tightly to keep him close. “I couldn’t find you for so long. Jask, where did you go…”

“Oh.” It must be the dream that’s making the witcher behave out of the ordinary. The bard lets out a sigh, whether in relief or disappointment he can’t really tell. “I’m here now, don’t you worry, my dear. Although I do need you to do something for me.”

“Anything.”

Geralt pulls back to meet his gaze in earnest, his expression unbearably soft. Jaskier’s breath hitches. He’ll never see the same look again once Geralt gets down from the high, the bard laments silently.

“I need you to eat something. You haven’t had any food in days,” Jaskier explains patiently. “I can even help you, okay?”

Receiving a small nod from Geralt, the bard looks to Lambert, who’s leaning against the door frame with an exasperated look on his face. He shakes his head but complies with the silent request and retrieves the food.

All the while, Geralt is still fixing his eyes on Jaskier’s every movement as the bard arranges the pillows behind his back and helps him lean on them more comfortably.

“So he canbe nice,” Lambert snorts, shoving the bowl into Jaskier’s hands.

“The charms of not looking angry all the time. You should try it, Lambert.” Jaskier thanks him and begins helping Geralt down the stew. The witcher is still weak from the ordeal, so he has to also steady the bowl while Geralt scoops up the chunks of meat.

When Geralt is finished, Jaskier can’t help but flash out a grin, feeling quite proud of himself. Just when he gets up, a hand comes up to grab him urgently.

“Will you be gone again?” the witcher sounds haunted, his eyes glistening like a sad puppy.

“No, of course not. I promise.” Jaskier can only set down the now-empty bowl on the nightstand. Honey eyes still trail after his hands, and travel up to his face. “I know it’s hard to believe what you’re seeing. Your mind must feel like a mess right now,” he coos. “Maybe it’ll be better if you take a nap.”

“But you—”

“I’ll be here when you wake up.” A smile tugs at the corners of Jaskier’s lips as the witcher grins lazily in return. He untangles Geralt’s long hair as he shifts down on the bed, so it’s more comfortable when his head is pillowed nicely. The pad of his thumb brushes across Geralt’s forehead, tracing the shape of an eyebrow repeatedly.

Soft honey eyes flutter heavily, but still struggling to linger with a stubbornness that is typically Geralt.

“I’ll be here,” he whispers again.

Finally, the witcher drifts off under his ministration. When Jaskier turns to look at Lambert, the younger witcher is watching him intently, instead of his injured brother. Golden eyes that are more piercing than the bard is used to these days are fixed on him curiously, studying him like a puzzle.

“What?” Jaskier asks, confused at the attention.

But Lambert only shrugs, opens his mouth, and closes it. The sound of Geralt’s even breathing fills the silence.

“You—" Lambert finally says quietly. “He never… Urgh, never mind.” The other witcher waves his hand dismissively and turns to leave.

This one is even more confusing, Jaskier thinks as he ignores Lambert’s unsaid words, and returns to his vigil.

Somehow, with some occasional touches and murmured words, Geralt doesn’t seem to have any more distressing dreams in his slumber.

#geraskier #gereaskier fic #soft geralt #soft jaskier #hurt geralt #geralt whump #:(( #pining #prompt fill

[shangsclaws]

A and G for Scorpion and Fujin pls? If you’re still doing the alphabet

yes i’m still doing the alphabet! ur actually one of the first ppl to ask anon | (• ◡•)|

Hanzo Hasashi/Scorpion

A - Attention: How would they try to catch someone's romantic attention?

When it comes to matters of the heart, Hanzo is quiet, slow, but persistent. The grandmaster is subtle at first, like losing the furrow in his brow when he sees them, or grinning just a little bit wider after they greet him. They might never notice, but it’s more for him to get used to bearing his heart to someone again. Being upfront about something like this is not his forte.

But it will come soon enough. After lots of consideration, his actions start to become more extravagant. To anyone else it might seem like he’s doing these things as if he doesn’t realize he’s being obvious, but training alone with them more often, or taking the effort to see them at least once everyday, is all a part of his little plan. And eventually, he knows, they’ll get the picture.

G - Green: What are they like when they're jealous?

Silent. But not in any way that’s obvious. If Hanzo hadn’t already confessed to this person, then they might never know he feels envious in the first place. It’ll be like nothing’s happened.

If he’s already in a relationship with his s/o, he won’t outright give them the cold shoulder, but they shouldn’t expect him to be too fussy about it either. Hanzo will tell his partner upfront how he doesn’t like what’s going on, but beyond that, he won’t like to reveal much else. He thinks it should be enough to know that he’s jealous, and nothing more.

Is it because he’s prideful? Yes. But is it more because his feelings are hurt? Yes indeed.

Fujin

A - Attention: How would they try to catch someone's romantic attention?

Fujin is unafraid to be bold about his romantic intentions. He isn’t really one to flirt, but is instead keen on showing that he’s got a very clear favourite. Got into a battle? This special person will be the first one he’ll ask if they’re alright. Unsure about Earthrealm customs? He’ll trust this special person’s word above anyone else’s. Fujin wants them to know he values them first before anything serious.

There’s also going the extra mile whenever they’re around. Again, he doesn’t outright flirt, he feels actions are louder than words, and so the person he’s trying to impress should expect him to pull all these fancy tricks whilst in battle. Or maybe seem extra preppy on random days. Anything to make him look all handsome and happy.

G - Green: What are they like when they're jealous?

When not in a relationship, but still trying to pursue someone, Fujin gets a bit fussy. He will be very good at keeping it under wraps from the person he’s pursuing, and the same goes for the person he’s jealous of, but in his head, he really does not like the other person. Although instead of acting out unkindly to them, the kind wind god will see it more as an incentive to work harder and do better, all so that the special person will only have eyes for him.

It would be very rare for Fujin to get jealous whilst in a relationship — he trusts that his partner is already loving and loyal to him. When he does get jealous, poor Fujin will mistake it for an overreaction, and only when it really bothers him will he mention it to his s/o. And when he does speak of it, it’s mentioned very lightly, as if it doesn’t actually bother him like it truly does. He doesn’t want them to think that he’s insecure, or worse yet, that he doubts their love.

masterlist

alphabet prompt list

want to make a normal request?

#NO i would never make these guys jealous they’re too precious 🥺 #mortal kombat #reader insert #headcanons #imagines #mortal kombat x reader #fujin #fujin x reader #scorpion #scorpion x reader #hanzo hasashi #hanzo hasashi x reader #alphabet request

[mollymawkwrites]

Eskel/Jaskier: AU where Jaskier met Eskel instead of Geralt and wrote Toss a Coin for him instead - scar kissing/appreciation - "guess love is a response/of the body it haunts"

This took me longer to write than I would have wanted, so thank you for waiting! This is... pure fluff. Hope it’s worth the wait, thank you for the lovely prompt!

CW: mildly horny towards the end, but otherwise it’s only fluff!

"I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood."

Eskel raises his head from where he’s been staring at his spit flavoured ale to meet a pair of twinkling blue eyes.

The bardling can't be more than eighteen, fresh-faced and smelling of arousal as he looks at the Witcher appraisingly. Eskel expects him to recoil at the sight of his scars in the low tavern light, but the bard's eyes only widen with interest, and he slides into the opposite empty seat, leaning his lute against the table.

"Oooh, you're a Witcher, aren't you?" He asks with barely restrained excitement. "I could tell from the other side of the room you were filled with stories. How about I buy you an ale, and you tell me some of them?"

Eskel snorts. "And how are you planning to pay for that ale? Stale bread?" He nods towards the bulges where the bard stuffed the food thrown at him after his less than appreciated performance.

"Well, no," the man deflates, but not for long, his carefree smile returning along a flirty wink, "but I'm sure we can find an arrangement."

The Witcher rises from his seat, leaving his untouched ale and a couple of coins on the table. "I do not bed teenagers."

That earns him an offended splutter from the bard, who doesn't take the hint and follows him through the tavern. "I'm not… I can assure you that I am a man. An adult man." His voice breaks a little on the last syllable and Eskel smirks.

"Want to try that again?" He asks, but before the bard has a chance to reply, a man interrupts them. There is fear in his voice when he asks for Eskel's help with a so-called devil haunting his fields, and the way his eyes keep going back to the Witcher's scars shouldn't make Eskel so uncomfortable, but it does. He still accepts the job.

*

After the whole debacle with the elves, Jaskier follows Eskel back to the inn, strumming his lute with a spring in his step despite the bruise on his forehead and the tears in his doublet. Eskel informs the man who hired him of his deal with the elves, collects his meagre pay, and immediately spends half of it for a warm meal. He sits in the same corner as this morning, and forgets all about the whole ordeal for the time it takes to fill his stomach.

His peace is temporary, as Jaskier takes back his place in the middle of the room, undeterred by his earlier flop, and starts strumming the same melody he’s been composing on their way back to Posada. And then he starts singing.

The song is… embarrassing. Jaskier doesn’t pay attention to the first hollers and insults from the patrons who recognize him, his eyes rarely leaving Eskel, who sits still, mortified, as he discovers the lyrics at the same time as everyone else.

By the end, the complaints have turned to cheers and stomping, and Jaskier’s cheeks are ruddy with exertion. He accepts to play the song a second time, then follows with popular jigs and bawdy tales that have the drunks singing and the others getting drunker. His attention strays from Eskel, though he still spares him smiles and winks when he happens to pass by his table.

Eskel should leave, he knows. The sun will go down soon, and he still has to find a place to set up camp. But he’s stuck to the bench, people throwing coins at him, clapping him in the back. The bartender even slides a free ale in front of him, with a grateful though reluctant nod. It doesn’t even smell of spit.

A warmth spreads in his chest that has nothing to do with the alcohol, and it only flares brighter every time Jaskier sends a smile his way. It takes him a while to identify this emotion, practised as he is at ignoring them. It’s gratefulness. Not for the people thanking him for ridding them of the elves, though that is a nice change. No, he is the one being grateful for the bard who met an old, grumpy Witcher and decided to see a hero worthy of ballads instead.

Eskel knows the bard benefits from it too, his pockets clinking with coin, knows the friendliness of the villagers will only last as long as alcohol fogs their stereotypes and superstitions, but he can’t help but revel in it, hoarding warmth and comfort as much as he can before he goes back to the cold loneliness of the Path.

Just after the sun sets, but long before the impromptu party is over, Eskel slinks outside, stomach full, a little tipsy on ale and joy. He doesn’t want to wait until alcohol makes the mean ones meaner and pushes them to try starting a fight with him. The bard has earned his success, Eskel won’t be the one to ruin it. He meets Scorpion on the outskirts of the city, caresses his velvety nose as the horse sniffs at his pockets for some treats.

“That was a good day, boy,” the Witcher tells his horse. “We shouldn’t get used to it, though. That’s how you get disappointed.”

Traveling with a human is a change Eskel struggles to adapt to, though it is admittedly nice. The boy is a smart one, cultured and quick-witted, but he doesn't know anything about life. His noble upbringing quickly becomes obvious to Eskel, the lack of basic knowledge like making a fire or cooking food revealing themselves on the first evening of their acquaintance. Eskel doesn't mind teaching the boy. It seems like the thing to do to thank the bard for the song, and for the company. 

Before he finds himself maudlin longer, Eskel swings a leg over the saddle, and directs Scorpion to the South. Rapid footsteps echo behind him, and he turns to find the bard running in his direction, lute banging on his back and pockets heavy with the night’s earnings. The warmth that had bloomed in Eskel’s chest in the tavern buries itself deeper.

*

He doesn't expect the boy to stay long, maybe a week or two, until he's tired of sore feets and sleeping on hard ground, or he finds another "muse*, like he insists on calling Eskel.

But he stays, following Eskel everywhere, unless the Witcher insists he stays back at camp while he goes on a dangerous hunt, or he finds something of interest in a town they go through and decides to stay a couple more days. He always catches up, though, finding Eskel in whatever clearing he's set up camp and sitting at his side like they've never parted. It's nice, Eskel admits to himself. To have someone to talk to, about everything from music and art to monsters and magic. He finds himself brooding less and less, his mind focused on the colourful bard chatting next to him rather than on his own dark thoughts.

It comes slowly, he thinks, it buries itself under his skin, filling his every crevice without him noticing, but it's like falling from the edge of a cliff when he finally realises: he's happy.

He's been happy for a while. Since the ridiculous, optimistic, flirty bard entered his life.

He thinks about running, leaving Jaskier behind, before the inevitable happens and Eskel is left with a heart emptier than it was before. He could survive the loneliness when he had nothing else to compare it to; he's not sure he can go back to it now.

But he's not like his brothers, running from his feelings or translating all of them into anger. He takes the time to think about it, and decides that he'll take the risk. Jaskier doesn't look or smell like he has any intention of leaving Eskel's side for the moment, and Eskel has no intention of letting anything happen to the bard.

So he stays, and gets used to the company. It's surprisingly easy.

*

Winter is close, and Eskel finds himself feeling maudlin. Soon, Jaskier will head towards Oxenfurt to spend the season in warm lodgings, between some pretty girl's thighs, and wait for the sun to come back. Eskel will depart for Kaer Morhen, if he wants to get to the pass before it gets snowed in.

They've talked about it, and agreed to meet in the spring, but it doesn't keep Eskel from wishing they could stay together. He won't keep Jaskier from his plans, though, the bard sounding happy every time he mentions the friends he has at the Academy and his favourite inns to play at, where everyone, even the lowest drunkard, knows how to appreciate good music and poetry. 

He shouldn't ask for more, he knows. The bard already gives him so much; his friendship and his songs and his smiles.

The day before they part, they pay for a room in an inn close to the crossroad where they’ll have to say goodbye to each other, and Eskel spends the afternoon knees deep in murky water to rid the local pond of a particularly aggressive bloedzuiger. It’s not dangerous, just long and damp, and his already foul mood sours even more. Back at the inn, Eskel leaves muddy puddles on the way to their room.

Jaskier hasn’t moved from the bed, where he is writing down his latest composition in the leather bound notebook that never leaves his side, along with his lute. He raises his eyes as Eskel enters the room, nose scrunching up at the Witcher’s state.

“I asked for a bath,” Eskel grumbles, unbuckling his armour and putting it close to the crackling fireplace to dry.

“Oh, good,” Jaskier chuckles. “Everything suits you, my dear, but I can’t say I like the smell of dead fish on you.”

Eskel snorts, but doesn’t reply, as the innkeeper’s daughter knocks on the door and sets to filling a modest tub with tepid water. He thanks her, and waits for her to close the door behind herself before undressing completely and stepping into the bath. It’s not Kaer Morhen’s hot springs, but it does soothe the ache in his bones that always settles when it gets cold. He sighs, relaxing after the frustrating contract, and doesn’t notice Jaskier has moved until he’s right behind him.

It should unsettle him that the bard can sneak up on his Witcher senses, but it has become a recurring occurrence, and Eskel doesn’t mind it so much. He likes being able to lower his guard with someone who’s not his brothers or Vesemir.

Nimble fingers thread in his hair, and he suppresses a shudder at the pleasant sensation. “What are you doing?” he asks without opening his eyes.

“Helping you clean that mess,” Jaskier replies in a low voice, almost a murmur.

Eskel hums, not seeing a reason to refuse the offer. The bard’s fingers on his scalp feel divine, and a purr builds in his chest as he slowly melts into a puddle. “That feels nice.”

Jaskier doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t stop either, even when he’s done with Eskel’s hair. His hands trail down to the Witcher’s neck and shoulders, digging into the muscles there with both strength and care. Eskel’s hard prick bobs in the water, but he doesn’t do anything about it. He knows the bard would accept enthusiastically if Eskel were to proposition him; he hasn’t stopped smelling of lust and ogling Eskel even after all these months, but that’s not what the Witcher wants at the moment.

The hands on his shoulders have traded their massage for featherlight caresses, trailing down old scar tissue and up again, teasing and tickling the sensitive skin. Touch purely for touch’s sake. Eskel hums again and Jaskier chuckles, a puff of air brushing the damp skin of Eskel’s neck. “What are you thinking about?”

“Come with me to Kaer Morhen,” the Witcher says before he has time to talk himself out of it.

The silence that follows is short but Eskel has the time to regret everything that has led him to that moment, until a pair of soft lips caresses the curve of his shoulder, where a werewolf bit out a chunk of flesh thirty years ago and left only a jagged silver scar. Jaskier follows it from one end of the half-moon to the other, then breathes against Eskel’s skin, “I’d be honoured.”

And the warmth in Eskel’s chest makes itself a home there.

#prompt fill #jaskel #jaskier #eskel #fic #the witcher

[fanimesenseiwrites]

For Lucifer and Mammon and Beel how about: 1 moment that they assist MC when it comes to adjusting to Devildom or understanding something about it and 1 moment where MC does the same for them when they are in the human realm

Oh my god, this is such a great ask! Thank you for gracing my inbox with this! Unfortunately I could only think of stuff for in the Devildom so that's what I'm going to post, otherwise this will just sit in my drafts forever lol. If I ever come up with ideas for the human realm I'll write and post those too.

The brothers help MC out in the Devildom:

Lucifer:

"So... Diavolo's the only actual royalty, right?" MC asked, curiously.

"It's Lord Diavolo" Lucifer corrected them. "But yes. He is the only heir to the throne."

"Right, right, my bad. So where's the king?"

"He's asleep."

"Where?"

Lucifer sighed. "Why do you need to know?" He was already tired of all the questions, and he had a sneaking suspicion that MC had plenty more lined up.

"I'm just curious. Everything is new and strange to me."

"Well must you ask me all these questions?"

"I mean, I guess I don't have to ask you... I just thought you were the smartest out of all your brothers."

Lucifer allowed himself a small smirk at that stroke of his ego. "... what else do you want to know?"

MC grinned at him. "So I've heard you and your brothers be referred to as "rulers of hell" and sometimes "princes of hell" but if you aren't royalty...?"

Lucifer hummed as he thought about the best way to explain it. "Think of us as... nobility. Just as the British Monarchy up in the mortal realm gives noble titles to their heirs who would not take the throne, we have been awarded such titles by the king based on our strength."

MC nodded. "I see... I think I get it now. Thanks for answering my questions."

"You're welcome. Just be sure that your curiosity doesn't get you into trouble. You know what they say, "curiosity killed the cat," Lucifer's voice was just a little more threatening than it had previously been.

"But satisfaction brought it back," MC finished the quote, either not hearing the change in his tone or not caring.

Lucifer watched MC as they left his presence, and he just knew they were going to be a thorn in his side for the remainder of their stay.

Mammon:

MC was walking back to the House of Lamentation after extra study hours. They hadn't done so well on their last history test and they really needed to study so they could do better on the next one.

As MC walked home, they noticed a crow watching them and following them, but cautiously keeping their distance too.

MC smiled at the crow, then stopped and rummaged around in their backpack for something.

The crow watched them curiously.

MC pulled out a pack of crackers from their bag and broke a couple of them up and laid them on the ground before looking back at the crow.

"Those are for you."

The crow watched them cautiously as it slowly made its way to the crackers.

MC crouched down and watched the crow with a grin.

The crow ate some of the cracker and chittered happily.

"You're so cute," MC told the crow.

"Look at the loser human talking to a crow!" A passerby demon told his friend.

The crow squawked and flew away when the two new demons appeared.

MC sighed and stood up. "You didn't have to scare it."

"I wasn't trying to scare the crow."

The emphasis the demon put on crow scared MC, but they tried not to show it.

"Right... well, you two have a good night." MC started walking toward the house again.

The two demons jogged to catch up with MC and walked along either side of them.

"So where are you going all by yourself?" The demon who had scared the crow asked.

"I'm going to meet a friend, they're waiting for me a couple blocks up," MC lied, hoping their words would deter the pair of demons from doing anything to them.

The demon clucked their tongue. "You know, demons can tell when you're lying. I just heard your heart rate increase when you lied just now."

"And you absolutely reek of fear," the second demon spoke.

MC glanced between the two demons, now truly afraid for their life.

MC tried to run but the demons were far too quick for them.

They each grabbed one of MC's arms and the first one covered MC's mouth with his hand before they could scream. They dragged MC away from the road and into a secluded alley, before pinning them against a wall.

"Ya know, human flesh is a fun treat but the soul is where its at," the first demon spoke to the second.

"I agree, I guess we'll just have to share it," the second replied while grinning deviously at MC.

MC was so scared that they were shaking and tears were streaming from their eyes.

Suddenly, MC's attackers were pulled away from them and slammed into the wall opposite of them.

MC felt immediate relief at seeing that their rescuer had white hair.

Mammon growled harshly at the two demons, making sure they were well intimidated before asking, "What'dya think you're doing? Did ya really think the human exchange student was just walking around with no protection?"

"W-what are you going to do to us?" One of the demons asked.

Mammon hummed before tossing them to the ground. "Not shit."

"Really?" One of them asked as they got back to their feet.

"Yeah, I'ma just report ya to Lucifer and Lord Diavolo. They'll get more of a kick out of punishing ya than I will," Mammon told them as he rest his hands on his hips.

The pair of demons stared at him in horror.

Mammon fake lunged at them just to scare them. "Get outta here!"

The demons quickly ran away.

Mammon rolled his eyes and looked at MC. "Hey, are ya o-"

MC practically threw themself at Mammon, wrapping their arms around him in the process. "Thank you so much! I was so scared!" They sobbed.

"'Kay..." Mammon rubbed their back. "Calm down, everything's fine."

MC looked up at him. "How did you know I was in trouble?"

Mammon grinned before putting two fingers in his mouth and whistling loudly.

A crow flew down and landed on Mammon's shoulder.

"The crow!" MC cried happily.

Mammon reached up to pet its neck. "Yeah, they're my familiars. So that means I've always got an eye on ya!"

MC chuckled. "Well I guess that's a good thing."

"Yeah, but that don't mean you can be out walkin' around by yourself! Don't ever do that again! You call me to come get you next time, got it?!"

MC nodded.

"Good." Mammon grabbed their bookbag and threw it over his shoulder, the crow flew off when he did that. "C'mon, let's go home."

MC smiled slightly. "Okay."

They headed back to the House of Lamentation together, walking as close together as was comfortable.

Beelzebub:

MC sat in the cafeteria at RAD, and despite feeling hungry, they couldn't find the appetite they needed to eat the food in front of them.

Beel walked over and sat down next to them with his own tray of food.

MC looked up at him. "Hey Beel, do you want my lunch?"

Beel instantly perked up at the prospect of more food but frowned when they looked at MC's tray. "But you didn't even touch your food."

"Yeah, I'm not really hungry."

"... are you sick?" Beel tried to fathom the possibility of not being hungry.

"No... I just... I don't feel like I can eat this food. It's all so weird."

"Is it weird or just different?" Beel challenged.

"No, it's weird," MC told him flatly. "I mean half of the food has poison in the name and cheeses are aged for longer than I'll be alive and the scorpions are as big as lobsters! Also, who would eat a scorpion?!"

Beel frowned and almost pouted.

MC looked at him. "Oh shit, that was rude. I'm sorry..."

"... have you even tried a scorpion yet?" Beel asked tentatively.

"... no," MC admitted sheepishly.

"Well why don't you try it?"

"Can I eat it? Or will it kill me?"

Beel shook his head with a small grin. "Lord Diavolo adjusted the menu so nothing served here will kill humans."

MC nodded. "Well that's one less thing to worry about... but how do you eat the scorpion?"

"Some people like to eat exoskeleton, like me, but for those who don't they eat it like this." He snapped the tail off and sucked the meat out of it.

"Oh... that reminds me of eating a crawfish."

Beel nodded then cracked open the abdomen and pulled out the meat inside using a fork.

"Ya know, that actually makes a lot of sense."

"Now you try," Beel coaxed.

MC nodded and looked down at the scorpion on their plate, still feeling a little intimidated.

"You don't have to like it, just try it," Beel told them.

MC nodded and took a deep breath before snapping the tail off and sucking out the meat. "Hm... this is actually good."

Beel grinned. "I'm glad you think so."

With some encouragement and explanation from Beel, MC finished eating their lunch for the first time since they had arrived in the Devildom.

"Hey Beel?" MC asked as they walked to class after lunch was over.

"Hm?" Beel looked down at them.

"Could we go out after school today? I want to try more Devildom food with you."

Beel smiled at them. "I'd like that."

MC smiled back at him. "It's a date!"

#A WHAT??? #Mammon somewhere in the background #I enjoyed this prompt #I wish I could've thought of more #but I think this was good #obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me scenarios #obey me mc #obey me lucifer #obey me Mammon #obey me Beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me fanfic #fanimesensei answers

[apparentlyaswarmofbees]

The Obey Me Brothers and Undatables vs An Insect/Arachnid Loving MC

I find it amazing how many people find it disturbing that I just love some insects and arachnids (not more than birds but still, insects can be both cute and cool even when they manage to terrify me so I can't help but love them lmao).

It's so cool how insects are actually the most dominant species in the world even before humanity existed and will most likely still be even after humanity ceases to exist, of course some of them actualy spread disease and such but it's not all of them and the mosquitoes that do spread it are females and they are just sucking your blood to feed their babies and the males like flowers over your blood, I actually don't like all spiders but I love tarantulas with all my heart although I can't say the same for wasps, they are evil but they can be so cool I have so many mixed feelings and cockroaches can be so adorable specially the forest/wild ones, have you ever seen them eat fruits??? They are so cute! And don't even get me started on how a d o r a b l e beetles are-

.

Lucifer vs Ladybug

Taking strolls in the Castle's garden when you are accompaning Lucifer in his work are very common.

Just taking a fresh breath of the Devildom's air in between breaks with you by his side powers him up like crazy.

Now that being said, he doesn't really appreciate losing your attention to a little, colorful, bug crawling on one of the flowers in said garden.

"Lucifer, look! It's a ladybug! It's so different from the human world!"

That is true, ladybugs in hell were brighter in color and had a toxin in their bodies that- Oh wait

"Don't touch it!" Lucifer grabbed your hand in realization "haven't you learned anything about bright colors in nature? The toxin in their bodies can melt your skin off!"

He really didn't expect your eyes to get even more shiny.

"Ladybugs in Devildom are both bright and dangerous??!! I'm so jealous!"

With that, he became both exasperated and more in love with you.

Does this have a relation to the fact that you love him and his brothers even thought they are demons?

He is definetelly giving you a brooch in the shape of a ladybug later

.

Mammon vs Cockroach

If you think this man didn't scream like a plate being scratched with a fork when he saw a cockroach in your bedroom, you are wrong.

I mean, okay, he was on the floor and the thing just decided to crawl up to his head out of nowhere.

He jumped over the table so fast it probably has beaten a world record.

"Aw! It's a baby cockroach!"

It's true, it was very small compared to adult ones, but Mammon didn't care.

"STOP FAWNIN' OVER THOSE CREATURES FOR ONCE AND KILL IT ALREADY!!"

And of course instead of killing it you just raise your eyebrown at him while scooping the thing up with a paper.

And of course you needed to bring it really close to him just to watch him squirm before you decide throw it out of your bedroom's window.

He definetelly will ask you to wash your hands before comforting him even if you didn't even touch the cockroach directly.

.

Leviathan vs Dragonfly

You cannot tell me dragonflies in Devildom are actually very few and actually have the size of a small dragon.

It all happened on the day you and Levi got lost in the forest searching for a raven that stole his just purchased phone charm of a game that he was currently addicted to.

Both of you were looking for a way out when you heard an extremelly loud buzzing noise from somewhere in the woods.

Of course both of you followed the sound because first, you just know that must be one big ass insect since it sounded almost like a helicopter and you had to see it, and second, Levi suddenly forgot all about the charm (and being lost) and started rambling about how 'it couldn't be! Is it really-!'

And that is how you guys found his new Henry.

A giant, navy blue, shiny dragonfly, that was currently eating the Raven you and Levi were searching for.

Let's just say Levi got his charm back and both of you got a free ride to the House of Lamentation.

.

Satan vs Spiders

Where there are old books, there are spider webs, and where there are spider webs, there's at least a 50% chance there are spiders in there.

So you can say Satan was quite familiar with the eight legged creatures, although he never really paid them much attention.

That is until he found they were of your interest.

You will never see someone start to give spider names, treat them with courtesy and have small talks with them faster than with this man.

Getting a book from the House of Lamentation's library and there's a web in the way along with a resident spider? "Excuse me, I will have to disturb you a little, I hope you don't mind a bit of damage to your home"

He is reading and suddenly sees a spider dangling down from a web string right besides him? He is definetelly letting it land on his hand just so that he can show it to you.

One day he even choses to read a book in his berdoom that a tiny spider was standing on. The sight of the tiny thing crawling around the pages as he reads it and explains some things out loud is so precious to see.

.

Asmodeus vs Scorpions

Of course, what would suit the Lust Demon better than his own patron?

That is until you teach him that there are more than just one type of scorpion, and there is one type that has really big claws and a thinner tail that are usually pretty big in size.

Why would learning that be a bad thing, you ask? Instead of stinging its food, it actually grabs it like a crab.

So yes, the day Asmo held one and didn't use his charms, it pinched him.

Needless to say, it was chaotic.

Leaving the fact he is never approaching those kinds of scorpions ever again, he coos a lot at you while you coo at the small scorpions.

If you tell him the fact that they are his patron just makes you love him more, he will be so happy he will be squealing for the next 5 minutes.

He has definetelly taken a few dozens, of pictures for you while holding one or more scorpions.

His followers in the devilgram were surprised at how even while holding that thing, Asmo still looked amazing.

Scorpions definetelly became sensation in Devildom after that.

.

Beelzebub vs Flies

Again, nothing better than his own patron.

If he didn't have to swat them off his food that is.

He has definetelly eaten some accidently.

"Look! I managed to make it crawl up to my finger without scaring it!" you say.

"That is cool. But you should probably wash your hand." He replies.

He's right, wash your hands if you ever grab onto flies.

He finds it really cute that you like insects, and it makes him tingly on the inside when he remembers that his symbolic creature is an insect itself.

Don't hold back on asking him to change into his demon form more often, he is very happy to do it.

He starts paying more attention to insects and flies in general after he finds out how much you love them.

How big their are, their color, where he saw them, what were they doing, if they tasted good.

And then he proceeds to tell you all about it.

He is very cute.

.

Belphegor vs Butterflies

It's not that he attracts butterflies, no. But he actually likes them, finds them cool even.

Did you know some butterflies disguise as another type butterfly because that type is actually not very tasty to eat so the animals stay away from them?

And how many of them have patterns on their wings that look a lot like Owls and again, it makes animals stay away from them?

And the whole symbolism of life, death and rebirth around them? And the fact that the larvae eating everything around them reminds him a lot of Beel?

Belphie definetelly likes butterflies and you cannot tell me otherwise.

So when he finds out you love insects? Oh he is definetelly taking you to the best butterfly watching spot either in the Devildom or the Human World.

It's specially cute when he falls asleep and one lands on his face.

He definetelly had a minor heart attack when he woke up to the sight its wings but he will never admit it.

Also definetelly grabs it and puts it on you instead.

It's counterproductive as you end up looking too cute for him to handle.

.

Solomon vs Beetles

I mean beetle fights.

You thought you liked insects, just wait until you see this man cheering on a beetle like an excited kid.

Also finds it hilarious when one just yeets the other away.

And because now you are there to feed more into his love for beetles, one day he casts a spell on two of them to make them big enough to ride and just showed up outside your window like:

"No time to explain, get in the beetle"

Because of safety measures, no, you guys didn't have a giant beetle fight.

But you did ride them around the Devildom forest at 2am.

You thought it would be an insane ride with lots of adventures

But you guys just ended up star gazing while laying on them.

He forgot to turn them back to their original size and they scared a few of the residents of Devildom.

.

Simeon vs Mantis

Warning: it's a big goreish

When you introduced the praying mantis specifically to Simeon, he was immediatelly in awe.

And then you proceeded to show him how they can have many shapes and forms, be it as leafs, tree branches, and others.

And he was so intrigued!

But then you gave him the more, specific details.

Like how they can feast on their prey while they are still alive.

And how it actually can attack small birds such as humming birds, eating their brain tissue through their eyes.

And how the females practice a cannibalism ritual, feasting on their partners after mating.

That's when his writer self came to light.

What I mean is, he was now both horrified and extremelly inspired.

Simeon can be scary sometimes.

.

Diavolo vs Ants

If you can find ants in every nook and crany around the world, you cannot tell me you can't find them in hell.

If they are able to travel the sea just by being taken along with baggage on accident, they have definetelly come to hell the same way, specially black crazy ants.

So honestly, I wouldn't find it surprising that Diavolo would have at least one big colony of ants he takes care of.

But he didn't have it until you pointed out why ants were awesome to him.

"They don't eat the leafs, they are farmers and what they eat is the other tiny creatures that decompose the leafs" "they can go to extreme lenghts to find their food and they have a real good teamwork, often they don't eat right away but instead bring the food back to the colony to feed the young" "Some ants that live in tropical weather that rains a lot, such as the amazon, can swim! And they do it together in big, ant, nests!"

Needless to say, he was intrigued.

Such tiny creatures are able to eat other insects much bigger than them? And they love sweets?

They actually like their homes clean and throw their trash into the very corner of their enclosure? Their bite can actually hurt a lot even to creatures gigantic copared to their size such as humans??

He had his own personal colony the very next day.

.

Barbatos vs Bees

This man definetelly has his own share of appreciation for bees even before you told him you like insects.

They are very good helpers in the garden, their honey can be used on a extremelly big variety of both food and health products along with their wax, and honestly, they're just so fuzzy and cute.

If you want to get a rare laugh or chuckle out of him, make bee movie references.

He will just stop in his tracks and cover his mouth as he tries not to laugh.

You could almost make him spit his drink if you do it while he is drinking something.

And you can't tell me this man can't make bee related puns with a straight face. It's unbeeliveable

Aight, imma head out

.

(This was basically an insect/arachnid appreciation post and I have no regrets)

#Obey Me #Obey Me! #Obey Me! Shall We Date? #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me scenarios #Obey Me Lucifer #Obey Me Mammon #Obey Me Leviathan #Obey Me Satan #Obey Me Asmodeus #Obey Me Beelzebub #Obey Me Belphegor #Obey Me Solomon #Obey Me Simeon #Obey Me Diavolo #Obey Me Barbatos

[thephantomessoftheopera]

Notes on Gaston Leroux‘s „The Phantom of the Opera“ - Chapter 27: „End of the Ghost‘s Love Story“

Artwork by @flaviamarquesart

<< Previous chapter

“End of the Ghost’s Love Story” is the most powerful chapter in the novel, because it reveals the full extent of Erik’s love for Christine. It is also the one that makes the story truly extraordinary, because it redeems his character and lifts him above the level of a gothic villain, who is usually defeated and punished in the end. This is why he is generally considered a “Byronic Hero” (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Byronic_hero). The Byronic hero is a complex, often tragic form of romantic anti-hero who is generally more villain than traditional hero, but who has at least one redeeming quality (usually connected to love) which makes him a sympathetic figure despite his flaws and/or crimes. The character type was created by the English poet Lord Byron in his works such as “The Corsair” and “Don Juan”, and became extremely popular in the 19th century. Except for his looks, Erik fits that classic character type in almost all other aspects (highly intelligent, tortured, violent, ruthless, manipulative and driven by an all-consuming passion).

The chapter’s title also makes it clear that the whole thing is a love story at its core - everything in the novel happened because Erik fell in love with Christine. It is, and has always been, the story of Erik’s love - he is the one character we follow up until the end.

The final chapter is narrated by Leroux again, but it draws on what the Persian supposedly told him when he went to visit him in his flat in the rue de Rivoli. When the Persian wakes up after losing consciousness in the water, he and Raoul are resting in the Louis-Philippe room, and Erik and Christine are taking care of them. Raoul has already woken up before the Persian, and is now asleep again.

The room itself astounds the Persian in how ordinary and old-fashioned it looks, and how much it contrasts with Erik’s general appearance (remember that the Persian had never been in Erik’s house before). Erik explains to him that the furniture once belonged to his mother, which explains why the style is so different from his bedroom, which is decidedly more „Erik“. The Persian also wonders why Christine, who is moving silently through the room and then sitting down beside the fireplace, ignores both Raoul and himself when tries to call her. The Persian believes that Christine is reading “The Imitation of Christ”, which is significant and which I will come back to a little later. The “opposites” theme is also present in this scene again, describing Erik’s figure as black and a demon, and Christine’s as white and an angel. The Persian finally falls asleep again.

When he wakes for the second time, Erik has already delivered him back to his flat according to the promise he made to “his wife”. The Persian immediately sends to find out what happened to Raoul, and learns that Raoul has disappeared and that Philippe’s body has been found on the shore of the lake under the opera house. The Persian has no doubt that Philippe was drowned by Erik (or “the siren”), and decides to denounce him to the police. However, his testimony is ridiculed, and he - like Raoul - is taken for a lunatic. The Persian then decides to write everything down and later hands his manuscript to Leroux (which is what we’ve been reading in these last chapters).

When he has finished writing his account down, Erik comes to visit him. He is clearly unwell and described as weak, leaning against the wall and “pale as a sheet”. The Persian accuses him of murdering Philippe and wants to know what happened to Raoul and Christine, whether they are dead or alive. Erik denies murdering Philippe, but the Persian doesn’t believe him. We don’t really know the truth though, so the “murder mystery” has no definite resolution and turns into more of a side note.

Erik tells the Persian that he is about to “die of love” for Christine. As I’ve mentioned before, I believe that the most likely physical cause of his death would really be the gunshot that Raoul fired at him, and a possible infection following that injury which would lead to his precarious state of health as seen in this chapter. This could metaphorically also be described as “dying of love” (because he wouldn’t have caught that bullet if he hadn’t been in love).

After turning the scorpion, Christine begged him to save Raoul, and she had already offered before to accept his proposal if he gave her the key to the torture chamber, but Erik did not care then, because he did not believe her. But when she swears to him that she will become his “living wife”, it‘s different as he finally sees in her eyes what he has been hoping to see - Christine’s genuine commitment. She means to go through with her promise and is accepting him as her husband at that moment - and this is why her commitment is powerful enough to break through to him.

According to their agreement, Erik takes the Persian aboveground, but since Raoul probably wouldn’t agree to leave, Erik drugs him and locks him up in the dungeon beneath the fifth cellar. Then he returns to Christine, who stands calmly waiting for him. Erik suddenly feels “shyer than a little child” as he approaches Christine, but she does not back away from him. He tenderly kisses her forehead and is overwhelmed with how good it feels to kiss her, as no woman has ever allowed him to, not even his mother. Christine even leans into his touch a little, and remains close to him after the kiss, „as if it were perfectly natural“.

Fear and disgust are very powerful, primal emotions, but Christine‘s feelings for Erik are strong enough to overcome both. Considering that no one, not even the Persian, was able to even look at Erik’s face without horror, I feel that Christine must have cared very deeply for him, as she allows his kiss without fear and without recoiling from him at all, even after everything he has put her through.

He falls at her feet and starts crying of happiness, and seeing his tears, Christine starts to cry as well. Erik tears off his mask so that he won’t lose any of her tears on his skin, and still Christine shows no sign of horror or disgust. And she doesn’t only allow him to touch her, but she also touches him of her own free will and takes his hand, saying “poor, unhappy Erik”. I feel that this is the moment when the full expanse of his life’s tragedy truly hits her. She is not only the first woman, but the first person in his entire life to treat him with tenderness and acceptance.

Gratitude and love for her overwhelm him and make him realize that he has forced her choice. He puts the gold wedding ring into her hand, setting her free and telling her that he knows she loves Raoul and that she is free to go and marry him whenever she pleases. He „calmly cuts his heart to pieces“ and puts her happiness before his own in this final expression of true love and sacrifice. For as damaged as he was, the ending proves that Erik truly loved Christine because his love is ultimately selfless. There is also no bitterness in his feelings towards Christine after she leaves - he has always loved her, and still continues to love her. He still feels protective of her: “I’d better not hear that anyone has touched a single hair on her head!” Christine gave him “all the happiness in the world”, and he is grateful to her for this gift. His love for her redeems him as a character and proves to be his moral compass - before, he considered himself “outside the human race” and therefore not bound by common moral values.

In the previous chapter, Christine is shown reading what the Persian believes to be “The Imitation of Christ”. I don’t think that is a coincidence, and I also believe that the name “Christine” was perhaps even chosen for her on purpose (she was originally named Pauline, according to Leroux’s manuscript). Christine becomes a “Christ figure” here in two ways: through her sacrifice, she saves the lives of Raoul, the Persian and everyone in the Opera. But she also offers acceptance and love to a sinner, an outcast who has been shunned by society - and this is an extremely powerful gesture. She possessed the strength necessary to see Erik as a human being, and that is what sets her apart from everyone else. Her love here transcends the realm of romantic love and becomes almost divine - all-encompassing, forgiving, healing.

Christine may superficially fit the traditional image of a “damsel in distress”, but the would-be hero who was coming to rescue her didn’t get very far, nor could he do anything to save her. The only hero who saved Christine was Christine herself - and she also saved everyone else: Raoul, the Persian, everyone in the Opera, and Erik. Both Christine and Erik show incredible bravery in this chapter: Christine‘s bravery shows in her truly accepting Erik as a man and in saving Raoul, and Erik‘s bravery consists in letting her go, relinquishing his one chance in his life of having everything he has ever dreamed of.

Erik then goes to free Raoul and brings him to Christine, where Raoul and Christine kiss. Christine swears to Erik that she will come back to bury him with the ring, and then she finally kisses him before they leave.

Seeing Erik weeping and overcome with emotion, the Persian no longer doubts him. Erik tells the Persian that when he feels he is close to dying, he will send the letters that Christine had left with him and a few of her personal objects to him, and that this would be the cue for the Persian to put an obituary notice in the newspaper so that Christine and Raoul would know. Interestingly, that entire arrangement hinged on Erik himself announcing his death without anyone confirming it, because he could only mail things to the Persian if he was still alive. This leaves a lot of blank space for the reader’s imagination, because who knows if he really died…? The Persian, at least, never saw him again, but announced three weeks later that “Erik is dead”.

Next chapter >>

#phantom of the opera #lerouxreadingguide #leroux erik #leroux phantom #gaston leroux #le fantôme de l'opéra #erik in love #erik x christine #give erik a hug #the ghost‘s love story #the phantom #the phantom of the opera #erik the phantom #christine daae #byronic hero #gothic romance #classic literature #the persian #raoul shoots erik

[vincememes]

banana fish starters

WARNINGS: IMPLIED SA, VIOLENCE MENT, DRUGS MENT spoiler warning .    to make it less long, the rest is under a cut.

feel free to adjust pronouns / names as needed !

ASH LYNX

❛   even if i did know something, what good would it do?  ❜  

❛   even a stupid street punk like me knows that  ❜  

❛   i envy you … being able to jump like that.  ❜  

❛   what could be more relaxing than three days away from these guys?  ❜  

❛   i wish i could hate you. i need someone to hate.  ❜  

❛   someone is dead. not that you’d give a damn one way or the other.  ❜  

❛   treating him like you’re giving the pope a bath isn’t going to help.  ❜  

❛   aren’t there any decent parents in this world?  ❜  

❛   that guy always regarded me as a human being with a real heart, not some sort of tool.  ❜  

❛   this little act of charity, you’re going to regret this.  ❜  

❛   i tried to forget.  ❜  

❛   stay with me... i won’t ask "forever". just for now.  ❜  

❛   well, i already know you’re a sick man.  ❜  

❛   ready to lose your life over a pizza?  ❜  

❛   my name... has become the signal for a massacre.  ❜  

❛   what on earth... have i become?  ❜  

❛   what do you think i am...? i’m a murderer... okay?  ❜  

❛   i told you before. i kill people.  ❜

❛   they paid the price for their decisions— that’s all.  ❜  

❛   what the hell do you know?!  ❜  

❛   let‘s say i am ‘exceptional’. the problem is, i never, ever, my whole life wanted to be.  ❜  

❛   you said i am not like ordinary people.  ❜  

❛   there’ve been countless times in my life when i thought i’d be better off dead.  ❜  

❛   that nothing could be worse than what was happening to me right then.  ❜  

❛   at times like that...death looks sweet and peaceful, and unbearably enticing.  ❜  

❛   war is always good business for those in power.  ❜  

❛   sorry to destroy your youthful innocence.  ❜  

❛   you have any idea what those guys made us do?  ❜  

❛   don’t tell me you still believe the pen is mightier than the sword.  ❜  

❛   if you ask me, the white house can go screw itself.  ❜  

❛   i wonder if i’m dying somewhere.  ❜  

❛   i wasn’t expecting the law to protect me.  ❜  

❛   i’ve ignored it all my life... i sure as hell don’t plan on hiding behind it now.  ❜  

❛   just keep them away from me— please!  ❜

❛   this town’s my backyard, remember?  ❜  

❛   sunrise and sunset are about the only times this junkyard of a city looks good.  ❜  

❛   even if i said no, you wouldn’t go back anyway.  ❜  

❛   if you went home i’d probably worry if something happened to you.  ❜  

❛   so it’s better you’re right here, where i can keep an eye on you  ❜  

❛   some people never change.  ❜  

❛   vulture got together with the viper. you make a great pair.  ❜  

❛   why now after all this time— does it have to be you, of all people...?  ❜  

❛   i don’t stand a chance. i’m dust against him.  ❜  

❛   over my dead body. if anybody hurts you... it’ll be over my dead body—  ❜  

❛   i don’t care who it is. i am not letting anybody hurt you.  ❜  

❛   do i scare you?  ❜  

❛   dont give me your stupid advice.  ❜  

❛   i’m happy, goddammit!    ❜  

❛   i know there’s at least one person in this world who cares about me. who doesn’t want anything from me.  ❜  

❛   do you have any idea what that’s like? i never did... not once in my entire life—until now.  ❜  

❛   and that’s worth more to me than anything else.  ❜  

❛   go back home! don’t look at me!  ❜  

❛   i don’t want you seeing me like this!  ❜  

❛   my hands are dirty with other people's blood.  ❜  

❛   i don't even know how many people i've killed.  ❜  

❛   i'm bad news.  ❜  

❛   i wish i could’ve been like you.  ❜  

❛   it’s just that… i always picture the worst-case scenario, that’s all.  ❜  

❛   guess it’s because i’m a coward.  ❜  

❛   i just can’t relax. it’s turned into a habit.  ❜  

❛   i was so scared i couldn’t speak, i couldn’t cry, and i screamed in my head, but... nothing came out.   ❜

EIJI OKUMURA

❛   if i ever lose you too... i'll go crazy.  ❜  

❛   come back safely. i'll be waiting for you, forever.  ❜  

❛   if you feel responsible, the same goes for me.  ❜  

❛  my words might not mean anything now, but just remember one thing.  ❜  

❛   even if the world turns on you, i'll always be on your side.  ❜  

❛   humans can change their destiny.  ❜  

❛   if i'm going to die anyways, at least i'll die trying!  ❜  

❛   don't apologize. that's something for people like me to do.  ❜  

❛   i'd do anything for you.  ❜  

❛   i know we'll meet again, no matter how far apart we are.  ❜  

❛   you're the greatest friend i'll ever have.  ❜  

❛   you're not alone. i'm by your side. my soul is always with you.  ❜  

❛   you asked me over and over if you scared me. but i never feared you. not once.  ❜  

❛   i'm really glad i came here.  ❜  

❛   i met lots of people. and more than anything, i met you.  ❜  

❛   that’s when i decided. i would always believe in you, no matter what.  ❜  

❛   no matter what happened, he would always have at least one person...  ❜

❛   i am very worried because i haven’t seen you and i don’t know if you are okay.  ❜  

❛   but so what? we are friends. isn’t that enough? what else do we need?  ❜  

❛   actually, i always felt that you are hurt, much more than me - that your spirit is wounded.  ❜  

❛   i know you are much smarter than me, and bigger, and stronger - but even so.. i always wanted to protect you.  ❜  

❛   but what did i want to protect you from?  ❜  

❛    i think i wanted to protect you from your future.  ❜  

❛   because your fate was sweeping you away, like a flood.  ❜  

❛   but i’m not saying “goodbye” to you... because this isn’t goodbye.  ❜

❛   are you going off on your own again?  ❜

❛   somewhere far away.. without a word?  ❜

❛   i want to see you. i wish i was with you right now.  ❜ 

YUT-LUNG

❛   a bloody history is inevitable when you are the one ruling.  ❜  

❛   what's wrong? you hated him, right? guess what? so do i.  ❜  

❛   no need to glare. i won't eat you up.  ❜  

❛   there's nothing you can do to help.  ❜  

❛   and what can you do to help?  ❜  

❛   you really irritate me.  ❜  

❛   you make people want to protect you or make them want to tear you apart and crush you.  ❜  

❛   so, what to do with you now.  ❜  

❛   i heard you tried to escape again. you have some spunk.  ❜  

❛   we have hired him, his target is your friend.  ❜  

❛   i have other things for you to do for me.  ❜  

❛   we still have two more scorpions.  ❜  

❛   i am a monster, too.  ❜  

❛   i'm not hearing any good news.  ❜  

❛   you become all tame when you’re around them.  ❜  

❛   you’ve degraded from a lone lynx to a content pet cat.  ❜  

❛   depending on your answer, i may not forgive you.  ❜

OTHER CHARACTERS (shorter, max, sing, shunichi, etc.)

❛   his face when he laughed was cute, and childlike, and totally angelic.  ❜  

❛   it's my problem too! if you go alone, you'll just be killed.  ❜  

❛   you'll die for nothing!  ❜  

❛   i won't let you go alone.  ❜  

❛   i'm sorry, but believe me when i say this: i'll die before i let them lay a finger on you.  ❜  

❛   i can't anymore. set me free. i'm in so much pain.  ❜

 ❛   we need to stay apart so at least one of us survives  ❜   

❛   if the former boss gets hit then it's the duty of the new boss to make the drop.  ❜   

❛   if we don't fight back now, we'll forever be expendable tools. ❜  

❛   you asked me to look after them.  ❜  

❛   yes, honey.    ❜  

❛   that’s for you to decide for yourself..  ❜  

❛   what’s wrong? you can’t punch me from that far back.  ❜  

❛   this will be the last time i give you a word of advice.  ❜  

❛   time is an ironic thing. for us, it means to age. but for people like him, it means to grow.  ❜  

❛   i love all women. they're beautiful and strong. like life itself.  ❜  

❛   it would only be making another one of us. ❜  

❛   one more wretched being, unloved and unloving, whose only sustenance is hatred and nihilism.  ❜  

❛   don’t fight your memories, cuz you’re never going to win.  ❜  

❛   i guess home isn’t something you want to remember if you ran away from it.  ❜  

❛   in one second i knew he could read everything on my mind.  ❜  

❛   i wondered when this boy had started to watch out for his soul, then i knew how much he had suffered.  ❜  

❛   you are the most beautiful and the most dangerous, of all the beasts i have ever known.  ❜  

❛   rather than hate and be triumphant, you chose to love and be destroyed.  ❜  

❛   i staked my life on that choice. please try to accept it.  ❜  

❛   one who does not love cannot be loved, either.  ❜  

❛   you at the very least knows what it is to love.  ❜  

❛   how can you expect someone who suffered so much to have any respect for authority? ❜  

❛   fine line between offender and victim it’s hard to know where to draw it.  ❜  

❛   there’s something about you that i just can’t hate.  ❜  

❛   'cause you’re hurt your soul’s bleeding-even now.  ❜  

❛   you’re just like me that way.  ❜

#rp starters #rp starter meme #s;; banana fish #banana fish rp meme #inbox starters #ask meme #rp ask meme #ask prompt #prompt starters #meme prompt #askbox meme #rp meme #i may have missed some good quotes i'm sorry

[guqin-and-flute]

[I am once again giving you an unrelated fanfic. Have some Modern married Xiyao.

Potential CW: poor anger coping skills?, very brief mention of suicidal ideation in internal dialogue. It's an errant thought and he doesn't actually mean it]

Jin Guangyao is upset. What's more upsetting is that he doesn't know why he's upset--this lack of information rankles him more than the feeling. He's used to feeling badly. That's how life is. But without a name, there is nowhere to file it away neatly. It is easier to ignore the sharp sting of a newly noticed cut than this fucking awful malaise that has apparently decided to settle over him with no rhyme or reason like he's some stupid idiot in an artsy French film, slowly choking down filtered cigarettes on some rusty balcony against a sunset or something.

That's not what he does. He is efficient. He is useful. And when he is like this, he is not.

And he still doesn't know why. And the fact that he cannot categorize and escape this has the ennui sliding slowly into a slow boil of tooth grinding fury.

Had it been the morning traffic? The fact that the library had emailed to inform him of a delay on his inter-library loan? The fact that his overpriced coffee was just a tiny bit burnt? The fact that Zixuan had taken a sick day today and so had not brought the soup his wife had promised Jin Guangyao for lunch? It shouldn't be, because these are all so horrifyingly trivial.

He has a tension headache beginning to string itself along his temples. He hates that the receptionist has a perky goodbye ready. He hates that the sun is shining so brightly. Then, he hates that the shadows of the clouds when they pass make things look grungy and dull. He hates that there is a flap of leather from his steering wheel that has peeled up in the back from his picking and he can feel it rubbing against his index finger as he stares, white knuckled and unblinking into the brake lights ahead of him as this bubbling pique crescendos as slowly as one of Xichen's beloved classical music pieces.

In fact, one is playing on the radio, softly, just within hearing range. The quiet, shrill edge of violins makes him want to kill something. Maybe himself. There's a bridge coming up in half a mile. He, very sanely, presses the button on the dash that turns it off instead of doing any of those things. The thought of Xichen has a voice of reason suggesting that he might meditate, while trapped here, 10 minutes from home.

Instead, he jabs a button on his fancy, stupid steering wheel with this thumb. An attentive computer noise beeps. The sudden noise in the relative silence of the car makes him dig his nails into the leather. "Text A-Huan," he snaps.

"Okay! What would you like the message to be?"

Jin Guangyao is going to find whoever programmed this faux-friendly robot voice and make them watch him drown their entire family in a toilet. "I. Hate. Everything."

Beep. "Okay! Your message reads; 'I hate everything'. Send?"

"Yes, send," he seethes before it can fully finish.

There is no plan to this. None at all. He just needs something real to sink his metaphorical teeth into. A reasonable anchor to reality to tell him whether or not he's being stupid and terrible for no reason at all.

Even though he already knows that he is.

The response returns in 43 seconds. Jin Guangyao had been counting. The cheery beep sounds just as the very stale green light turns yellow ahead. He presses the gas. "One message from A-Huan."

The light blinks red while he is only 1/4th of the way through the intersection. The lead car of the adjacent left turners beeps and he bares his teeth at her because he isn't fucking invisible, he's in a high profile gold Lexus and she had definitely seen him fucking coming. He stabs the button that makes the car read him the message.

"'Oh no. Bad day? Want to call? Blue heart emoji'," the female robot voice chirps in a butchery of his husbands words and no, no, he does not, because, at this point, it would simply be a minute long sustained scream of rage over literally nothing at all. He should have kept it to himself and found a quiet place to throw rocks at a wall or something until he wasn't such a repellant time bomb.

He does not reply because if he hears that robot voice again, he's going to commit vehicular homicide. And being arrested would not calm him down.

Finally, traffic parts and he pulls into his driveway--he notices how the bush on the side of the house's branches are creeping up to scrape the window of the kitchen and makes a mental note to send a curt text to the landscaper about his pruning habits. Why are they paying him several hundred dollars a month to let a stupid bush get unruly enough to damage the paint on his window trim?

When he slams his door shut, he hears a loud CLACK that announces that he has just closed his seatbelt in the door and lost the last tenuous thread of his temper. Heaving the door back, he plants his other hand up on the black plastic next to the window and smashes it shut again with all of his strength. Repeatedly. CLACK CLACK CLACK CLACK--Chunk.

Breath hissing between his teeth, he jerks his suit jacket straight, loosens his tie and stalks to the house. The garage door groans to life behind him. Xichen had been watching.

Perfect.

He's nowhere to be seen when Jin Guangyao slams through the backdoor like a vicious thundercloud, which is good and probably intentional, because it allows him to wrestle off his shoes, jacket, and tie in privacy. This does nothing to release any pressure, because it must be intentional wrestling--controlled and confined so he doesn't pop off a button or rip a seam or scuff the shining black leather. Now he's seething in their immaculate, state of the art kitchen, hating how the cold tile feels against his black dress socks and the fact that it smells like tea. Which is stupid. Because he likes tea. But not right now.

Stop being a piece of shit, he snarls at himself. You've already probably fucked up the car and Xichen doesn't deserve this. He balls up his fists so tightly that the bright pain from his nails sinking into his palms leaks up his arms. Be better.

He has no idea how to do that because he has no idea what is wrong.

Reason says to steer clear of Xichen until he can get a hold of himself and behave like a fucking adult. And in the early days of their relationship, he would have. He had. Whenever he got like this, he would shut down or not have inflicted himself on Xichen at all with a smooth lie, and no amount of prying would get anything useful out of him because he would not be a bother. There had been Talks. Long, extensive Talks about trust and love and wanting to take care of him. He had even believed some of them. That's how they can be married, now, years later--Xichen knowing just how close he is to this at all times. How thin his veneer of manners and pleasantries actually is. (He can't truly know, though, can he. If he knew how much none of it makes sense, there is no possible way someone as kind and intelligent as him would choose to stay.)

Xichen would purse his lips if he said this out loud; somewhere between exasperation and sad fondness. Jin Guangyao doesn't tell him, anymore. Most of the time because he doesn't actually think this.

This is not most of the time.

Yes, reason says that he should suck it up and become a human being before burdening Xichen.

But his husband has long, cool hands and soft eyes and a brilliant mind that can solve any problem just by holding it and maybe he just wants to be small and angry and ugly and pathetic and selfish in the comfort of his own home while someone reminds him that there have been, in fact, good things that have happened in his life and he had been, at one time, happy--believe it or not.

And if nothing else, it compounds his streak of bad decisions.

The smell of tea intensifies when he reaches their room. The curtains are drawn. It renders the deep, dusty blues of the bed spread and the armchair black and the aged gold accent pieces muted, except for where the warm light pouring from their open bathroom door paints them bright again. Xichen sits on the edge of their bed in the soft, expensive loungewear Jin Guangyao got him for his birthday last year, one ankle on his knee, watching him with eyes just as soft as he had been expecting. A mug of tea is tucked into his hand and a plate with round, lumpy shapes sits by his hip. Beside that lays spread out the absurdly oversized and absurdly soft heather gray shirt that Nie Huaisang had gifted to him as a joke but was, in fact, one of Jin Guangyao's guilty pleasure sleep shirts.

With his perfect voice and his perfect logic and his perfect way of being the only good thing on this entire, worthless planet, his husband says, "I think you need to scream into this pillow."

'This pillow' is, in fact, one of theirs, dark blue with a thread count that was higher than any savings he ever had in college, perched on a bundle of blankets that is the perfect size to throw himself upon like a sulking romance heroine. He hates it. Hates that this is known, that this might help.

So he fucking does it. He deliberately stalks around the bed, climbs up, smashes his face into the pillow and screams as loudly as he can. With every single ounce of rage in his body, curling him up like the shriveling of a raisin in fast forward, like the curling of a scorpion tail, like throwing up, wringing every last scant molecule of oxygen out of his lungs.

When the sound peters out and he has to drag in another breath, he curls tighter, the claws of his hands reaching over the top of the pillow to fist in his hair. It presses the plush of it firmer over his face and bites it until his teeth ring with dull pain, and his jaw aches and his head throbs and his eyes sting. His scalp burns from the pull on his hair and his throat is raw and tight.

Tearing himself away, finally, he gasps in a gulp of cooler air. Xichen has turned so he is now cross-legged at the foot of the bed, watching him with a mix of calm and understanding sympathy. "Lay down?"

There is a ragged, hollow hole in him that still has scraps of rage clinging to it like disgusting lichen--but the visceral, all consuming hate seems to have been absorbed by his pillow. So he lets himself roll sideways, eyes closing. Xichen gets off the bed--Jin Guangyao assumes, wearily, that he's putting down the tea mug and hopes that he uses a coaster--and then returns by knee walking up the bed to his side. Then, those cool hands he had been hoping for pick open the tiny hard buttons of his shirt. Each pop releases a a tension across his skin and he feels that he can breathe easier with every one.

Jin Guangyao can hear him breathing, slow and measured, through his nose and thinks that it's probably the most comforting sound that he's ever heard in his entire life--now that he's willing to be comforted. Able to be. The reminder of Xichen's continued existence is the only sound he will ever need to be calm again.

The button up is abandoned in favor of undoing his belt--breath, more of it, infiltrating him deeper and deeper--popping the button on his slacks, tugging them down his legs in a warm slide. The quiet clink of it being tossed somewhere. A closing quiet as Xichen leans in and presses his smooth lips to his forehead. Then the corner of his eyebrow. Then the bridge of his nose. Different points and planes of his face like he is unlocking a combination that will open him up and allow him to purge the rest of the awfulness that lingers.

What it mostly is is exhaustion, now. "A-Huan," he groans--whines. Ugh.

Before disgust at himself can settle in, his husband takes this as the invitation for what it is and kisses his mouth, gentle and slow. Jin Guangyao moves his mouth back, halfheartedly, mostly parting his lips to allow him access to do whatever. But all he does is kiss him chastely. Lovingly. He tastes like green tea. Then, Xichen murmurs against his lips, "Would you like a bath?"

He vents a negating grunt, lolling his head back and forth. Baths are so much work. Even when Xichen offered to wash his hair or read to him or even join him, you still had to keep it hot, you had to endure cold when you left, get yourself dry. Too much change, too much sensation and movement.

He should be shaking himself awake. He should be apologizing for his terrible, pointless mood. He should be trying to kiss him back, love him back, pay him back. Thank him.

Xichen merely lifts his hands and presses the heels of his palms into the hinges at Jin Guangyao's jaw, inexorably grinding the tension out of them. Jin Guangyao allows himself to melt. When those cool fingertips slide into his hair, he lets them tug him upright, so Xichen can slide off his button up and slip him out of his undershirt. He shivers against the chill of the bedroom air, but he doesn't feel a surge of utter hatred for the sensations so, well, that's something. In no time, Xichen has coaxed him into the oversized shirt, removed his socks and bundled him up against the padded headboard, tucked into Xichen's side.

Jin Guangyao allows this. He allows himself to allow the blanket to be tugged up over his bare legs, Xichen to tuck the warm mug of steaming mint tea into his hands, and wind his fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes and takes in a deep, shuddering breath before sighing it all out. Xichen's fingers rub soothing circles across his sore scalp.

"Open?"

He cracks one eye to see a cookie hovering at mouth level. It's too dim in the room to properly tell what kind it is, but because Xichen has been perfect in literally every other way, he simply obeys and bites down. Browned butter and sea salt and semi-sweet chocolate ooze across his tongue and the instant spike of sugar satisfaction warms his chest. Jin Guangyao chews with utter contentment, swallows, and opens his mouth again.

"Good?" Xichen's amused voice vibrates warmly through his chest as he indulgently feeds him another bite.

"Mm. Very. Did you make them?"

"I did, earlier today. I just got lucky with the timing." His nails scrape oh so gently across his scalp. "How are you doing?"

Instead of answering, Jin Guangyao blinks up at him and his sweet, kind, ridiculously gorgeous face that is graced by a light smile and a gold edge light from the bathroom.

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"Being terrible."

"You're never terrible."

"I was today. I think I fucked up the car."

Xichen chuckles, smile crimping to a knowing press. "I saw. It won't be a big deal. We'll deal with it later."

"...Thank you."

"Of course, A-Yao. Do you still hate everything?"

"Mm-nn." He snuggles down deeper against his ribs, looping an arm around Xichen's warm waist. He has the best husband in his arms, his dark-sweet scent is in his nose, chocolate on his tongue, and 1000 count sheets against his skin.

What is there to hate?

#I was in an exceptionally bad mood #so therefore I projected it onto JGY and made Xichen make it better #because that's what writers DO #There is no plot at all except my own journey of being in a better mood. I am now. But it is also 4:20 am. Oh well. You do what you can. #my stuff #my fic #xiyao #lxc #jgy #text #xiyao fanfic #completely unedited because that's how it goes #it's an errant thought and he doesn't mean it #brief suicide mention

[fabricated-misslieness]

Miles Morales x artistic!villain!male reader

Alright, this might not be the typical villain reader fic you’re expecting. It will probably not be. I would love to write an exposition of this, like starting to date, but I really love this prompt and I find it funny.

Pre-established relationship

Reader is a traditional artist and enjoys classical music. His whole villain thing is acting like a 19th century british gentleman.

Requested: Yes

Word Count: 819

Warnings: suggestive kisses

Miles shifted in your arms to look up at you.

You raised an eyebrow in confusion, as he seemed to be sleeping before. While you didn’t hear his usual obnoxiously loud snoring, you assumed it was muffled by your chest. “Weren’t you sleeping?”

“No, I was thinking.” Miles replied. Something seemed to be off. He didn’t have much of a smile on his face and his eyebrows were knitted together.

You close your book and put it aside so you can focus on him. “Something--”

You’re interrupted by Miles, who grins brightly, “..about that one time you were laughing maniacally and then I knocked you out with one kick!”

You groan at the trick he’d pulled on you, and also the memory. “Really, Miles?” To be fair, he got bitten by a radioactive spider that gave him super-strength. That seems a bit unfair, doesn’t it?

“I’m sorry!” Miles laughs, “It was just so funny!” He wipes a joyful tear from his eye. “I hit you once and you--”

“Nuh-uh, Miles.” You stop him before he can embarrass you with that story further, but there are plenty more stories that would embarrass you, which Miles uses often.

“Do you remember that one time where you thought you were being real sneaky and--”

“Miles…” You only say his name, but you say it like a threat, telling him that if he continues there will be consequences.

However, these are consequences Miles is willing to take because what’s funnier than the stories is how embarrassed you get. “.. and I snuck up behind you and scared you.” He’d really scared the crap out of you in that moment. Your heart was already racing and then you just suddenly heard a sound.

Before you can say anything, he continues on with another one. “Oh! And that one time Scorpion was dragging you by the ear!”

It’s not your fault his super-powers also include super-strength. “I hate working for those six whatever guys.” You groan.

“Lemme guess, you prefer riding solo?” You roll your eyes at Miles’s comment.

“Yes,” As much as you wanted to deny it because of the way he phrased it, he was right. “now can you leave me in peace? This book isn’t finishing itself.” You gesture towards the coffee table.

“So you want me to leave?” Miles raises a playful eyebrow.

“No,” He laughs when he feels your arms tighten around him. “Just, stop talking or something.”

“You just told your beloved to shut up.” He expects you to either deny it or apologize, but it seems he’d dug into your nerves.

“I told you to shut up politely.”

“Like ‘stop talking’ is polite. Tell you what, I’ll shut up if you give me music control.” Up until then, your music had been playing. Who had control of the music switched every now and then. You’d developed a turn system over the months since your styles were very different.

He liked hip-hop, pop, all that stuff that never comes to your mind. You, on the other hand, liked classical pieces and old records you could slow dance to like cheesy old married couples. You think back to the first time you’d ever slow danced together. It was in your bedroom, the very first time he’d visited your house.

He sucked, it was as if he had two left feet.

You shake the memory off. “You expect me to read to hip hop?”

Miles shrugs, “You can’t?”

“I mean, I might be able to..” You pretend to think, tapping the top of your head. “What if you sweeten the deal?” You trail your hand up and down his side. The rhythmic movement sends shivers down his spine.

“Hmm, trying to barter with me?” He pretends to think as well. “I don’t know, what do you have in mind?”

“Free kiss pass, no matter where you are? Graffiti dedicated to me? I don’t know, darling.” You stroke his hair as you think, genuinely this time. “Hmm, I think I got something. How about you finally let me paint a portrait of you?”

“What? No… maybe. Maybe yes, maybe no. Who knows?” At first, he denied it only because he’d be embarrassed at the thought of you having a portrait of him. Over time he thought it was fine, but he decided to keep denying it as an inside joke.

“Plead all you want, but I won’t--” You cut him off with a kiss on the lips.

“C’mon darling.” You coax him with your seductive voice. He couldn’t resist it, it always helped you get something from him, apart from the portrait, of course.

It’s rough, which makes him let out an embarrassing moan from the surprise.

“Will that persuade you?”

He stares up at you with a cheeky grin, “I dunno, maybe another kiss will help?”

Needless to say, the deal was sealed and Miles got his favorite music genre to play.

#miles morales x reader #miles morales x male reader #spider-man x reader #spider-man x male reader #spider-verse x reader #spider-verse x male reader #fluff #spider-verse fanfiction #craving fic

[basicjetsetter]

The Rise of Deus

♡ Pairing: Mob!Peter Parker x BlackFemale!Reader

♧ Setting: The Terrace Room in The Plaza Hotel, New York

♤ Warnings: Language, Adult Themes, Violence, +18 Smut (If you are under age, please do not read this).

♢ Word Count: 7.2k

☆ A/N: Okay, so I got a little carried away. This is such an indulgent mess, I love it to pieces. If you haven’t read The Fall yet, I suggest you read it before you get to this part. It takes a while to setup, but I promise it’ll be worth it.  Please hit like if you enjoy it, leave me a lil’ comment and a reblog if you love it. Happy reading! (P.S. I like these two characters so much, I might just write some more moments for them).

The game is in your hands. Exactly as planned.

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

You’re not a great poker player.

In fact, compared to Peter and even Rumlow, your skills are subpar at best. The idea of betting everything on chance rankled the very fibers of your being, and you never could quite remember which hands beat which. But you were excellent at reading people.

It’s how you became New York’s best attorney. That, and because you were sharper than most people assumed you were.

Exhibit A: Rumlow.

You have to give it to him, though. He was initially difficult to read.

Earlier in the game, you tried to gauge his tells as he demolished Peter. Everyone reacts when they have a good or bad hand, whether they’re aware of it or not. As an attorney, you study your clients, plaintiffs, and sometimes the theoretically impartial jury for their tells—how they react to damning information, or rather, how they choose not to react.

The truth is in their eyes. The way they hunch their shoulders. Touch their face. Purse their lips. Breathe. Everything is a tell.

Rumlow’s whole personality screams dominant knowing, and he strategizes that way. Like he’s seen your hand before you even pick up the cards.

He plays too smart. And when he’s drunk, it becomes all the more apparent.

The way he rubbed his bottom lip before bargaining the final bet, slow and methodical, sealed the game against him. It’s not much to go off of for some, but for you, it’s more than enough. It’s a nervous habit—the movement confirming that his hand isn’t crap, but it isn’t the best, either.

You glimpsed down at your hand, then back up to Rumlow with a pleasant expression.

No, you aren’t a good poker player. But Peter is.

“Save your time, sweetheart. Let’s just get this over with,” said Rumlow, leaning back in his chair. It creaked under his muscular weight. “Fold.”

You arched an eyebrow, then crossed one leg over the other, causing the hem of your dress to ride up and show a decent amount of skin. “Don’t I get to place a bet of my own? You know, just in case my hand is better.”

Rumlow’s eyes predictably feasted on your exposed skin before he dragged them back up to your face. “What makes you think your hand is gonna be better than mine?”

“Indulge me, Brock,” you nearly purred, internally gagging as Rumlow’s breathing became labored. “If you know your hand is better, then you have absolutely nothing to worry about. I just want to have a little fun.” 

Part of you is grateful that Peter is handcuffed in the back of a police car, not here to witness your attempt at seduction. You needed to do it while Rumlow is still drunk enough to fall for it.

Rumlow contemplated your words for a split second, eyes dipping down once more to relish the sight of your skin while his thumb repeatedly ran over the top of his cards. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

He finally said, “Alright, I’ll bite. What’d you have in mind?”

Saccharine venom oozed into your words as you held a charming smile. “When I win, you’re going to give me $20 million, all of your inventory and routes to Peter, and I want your promise that the Scorpions will no longer operate in New York. You can go be someone else’s problem.”

The smug light fizzled out of Rumlow’s eyes, and his mouth hardened into a flat line. “Not going to happen.”

“And why not?” you asked innocently. You’re having way too much fun with messing with Rumlow’s head. “What’s so different about my demand from yours?”

“You don’t think you’re asking for too much?”

You leaned forward, letting your eyes slowly roam over his face before settling on his dark eyes, loving the way it made him uneasy, then said matter-of-factly, “Not at all. If you want everything from Peter, then I want everything from you. Only seems fair. That is, of course, if you want to renegotiate your previous proposal…?”

Rumlow sat up in his chair, staring too hard into your face. Searching for a crack in your armor. He wasn’t going to find anything that wasn’t already there. You’re sincere and know next to nothing about manipulating a game of luck, and it showed all over your face, clear as day. He’s got nothing on you.

“What is this?” He looked around the room as if there were hidden cameras on the walls, looked at the clueless faces of people spectating the game.

Tony muttered, “Well, this was supposed to be a party, but I’d say we’re miles away from that—ouch!” He groaned as Pepper elbowed him in the ribs.

“What do you think this is?” you questioned him back using the same inflection.

Rumlow’s head snapped back to face you, his eyes practically pitch-black. “A fucking setup.”

“It’s just a game, Brock. That’s all it is.” You’re surprised at how serene you sound because your heart is leaping around in your chest, about ready to burst free and fly away from the excitement of it all, but you’re conscious enough to keep the surprise off your poker face. “Do we have a deal or not?”

He filled his lungs with a ragged breath, expelling it out of flared nostrils. Pinched the bridge of his nose. Strategized. “$25 million. Everything else stays the same. His routes. His connections. You.”

You nod once. “And you accept my wager?”

Rumlow begrudgingly nodded. His knuckles turned white from clenching his cards.

“On three, we show our hands,” you said and waited, giving him one last chance to object. He doesn’t; he just keeps his hawk-like stare trained on you.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

You both turn your cards over at the same time.

Rumlow’s hand shows a Three, Four, Five, Six, and Seven, all clubs. Straight Flush.

Peter’s hand shows a King, Queen, Jack, Ten, and an Ace, all hearts. Royal Flush.

“Bullshit!”

Rumlow shot up from his chair, threw his cards to the floor, and snatched the gun from one of his men, aiming it at you.

Gasps filled the room, and you’re certain you heard Tony shout your name in alarm. Just as they’d done with Peter, the venue's guards raised their weapons at Rumlow and his men. 

You broke out into a fit of giggles. There were uncontrollable, bubbling from your lips and almost doubling you over. Maybe it was your nerves finally getting the best of you, or perhaps it was the dumbfounded shock on Rumlow’s face as he pulled a gun on you. Either way, you didn’t have a hope of taming them.

Rage intensified the crimson flush on Rumlow’s face. He barked out, “Why the fuck are you laughing?”

You struggled to pull it together. “Di-Did you honestly think you could beat Peter at poker, of all things? Seriously? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I knew you were dense, but geez.”

“He cheated. Ain’t no way he got that hand. Ain’t no fucking way.”

“Oh, come on,” you said, trying hard to stifle the giggles. “You said it yourself. Peter's a lucky son of a bitch.”

Rumlow took a minute to process the loss, eyes spacing out while the gun remained pointed at you. Your giggles died down as you sat patiently, drumming your fingers against your thigh and staring right back at the gun, uninterested. He wouldn’t shoot you. Not if he valued his life.

If Peter were here, you knew he’d be proud. Furious, yet proud.

At last, the arrogance returned to Rumlow’s smile, and he scoffed, “Congratulations, I guess. But um, I don’t really have to give you anything, you know. All bets have been word of mouth, nothing written down.”

Your smile never faltered. “Don’t do that, Brock. That isn’t how this works, and you know it. You were fully expecting Peter to hand me over to you with a nice, shiny gift bow taped to my ass and $25 million. Right? Or are you pointing a gun at me just because you feel like it?”

Rumlow shrugged with one shoulder. A hint of his anger traced his features before it faded back into an impassive mask.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not giving you shit.”

You sighed dramatically. “Okay, fine. Be that way. But this is how it’s going to play out, regardless. You have three choices.” You ticked them off on your fingers. “One: You give me what I won and leave New York. Two: I sue your ass until you have nothing. Three: You get to deal with Peter. That last one won’t bode out too well for you.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, snickering. “And what you gonna sue me for, sweetheart? Gambling?”

Your eyes firmed into a severe gaze as you spoke. “I had a nice little chat with Miss Shuri Udaku earlier.”

The dark look passed over his eyes again. A thick mask of indifference tried to hide his culpability before you could spot it, but you didn’t even need to see it in his face. The guilt in his tightened shoulder blared like a blinking neon sign.

Bullseye.

You forged on. “Now, if what Shuri told me is true, which, guessing by the look on your face, it must be, you’re in deep shit. And I’ll take an educated guess and presume she isn’t the only one you’ve…spoken with.”

You paused for him to defy your assumption. He remained silent, his jaw grinding.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” you inquired with a faux mask of concern. “Did I hit a nerve?”

Rumlow’s eye twitched as he lowered the gun. Defeat heavy in his furrowed brows. “I’m gonna make you pay for this. You and him.”

“Just be sure to run me my money, first,” you said. A sly smirk curled up the corner of your mouth. “I want the whole amount by tomorrow, and I want you out of this state by the end of the week, got it?”

A snarl rumbled in his chest. “Got it.”

“Good,” you smiled brilliantly. “Now get your ass out of here. And take the Dynamic Duo with you.”

Everyone lowered their weapons as Rumlow and his two shadows stomped out of the Terrace Room. You watched their backs until they were no longer in your eyesight. It’s over. You won. A rise of applause swelled after the threat ultimately left the room, catching you off guard as you moved to retrieve Peter’s cards from the ground. You curtsied for them and offered a humbled grin.

A rush of adrenaline is humming through your veins, and it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. You’re positive you could scale the Empire State Building without so much as a harness, just running on pure pent up energy. Maybe you should do this kind of stuff more often.

Steve was the first to come up to you, confusion laced in his blue eyes. “We’re letting him go? Just like that?”

“Yes.”

“He pointed a gun at you!”

You brusquely scanned your unscathed body. “No harm, no foul, Lieutenant Rogers.”

“Jesus, you and that kid are a match made in Heaven,” Steve mumbled, shaking his head in shock.

“Wouldn’t be marrying him if we weren’t. And thank you for reminding me…” You trailed off, heading in the direction of Tony and Pepper.

You had to tell Tony the truth about you and Peter before your nerve wore off, or else you’d never find the courage to ever say it straight to his face. Even as you trudged over to him, a leaden ball of anxiety smothered your chest.

Shuri sprang at you without warning, tightly hugging you and jumping up and down as she squealed, “That was so awesome! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“It was nothing,” you said mirthfully.

“It was everything! That man’s been breathing down my neck for months about those weapons. I couldn’t turn a corner without seeing him. I can’t thank you enough.” As you broke apart, she handed you an embossed card. “If Peter is interested, I would love to have a meeting with him. Maybe we could all catch lunch.”

“He is definitely interested. I’ll be sure he calls you,” you assured, beaming her a friendly smile.

She nodded in agreement then waved her goodbyes, walking away to find her companions.

Everything always falls right into place for Peter.

You shook your head in awe as you made your way over to Tony and Pepper again, this time scanning your surroundings to ensure no one else ambushed you. Once you were close enough, they both threw their arms around your shoulders and pulled you into a protective embrace. 

“We’re so glad you’re okay, sweetie,” said Pepper as she rubbed a comforting hand up and down your back.

“Don’t you ever pull something like that again, you hear me?” Tony chastised, his tangible relief choking up your throat. He pulled away to look into your eyes thoroughly. “I almost had a heart attack watching that. How could you just stare at the guy as he held a gun to you? You didn’t flinch or anything. I swear you’re turning into a different person right before my—”

You blurted out, “I’m marrying Peter.”

Tony blinked and opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, the floodgates bursting open as you spilled everything.

“He proposed three months ago, and I said yes because I am in love with him, Tony. I am in love with Peter Parker, and I know you hate his guts because of what he does, but I don’t care. And…” you stopped, sucking in a deep breath to steady your trembling words. “And I don’t care if me loving him means you hating me. You’re like a father to me, and I respect you, but I won’t continue to let you badger me about being with Peter.”

Tony interjected, “Woah, woah, woah, pump the brakes. Where did you get the idea that I’d ever hate you for being with Parker?”

Both you and Pepper raised an eyebrow at Tony, a universal look that easily translated to Your words said it all.

“Alright, sure, I never really liked the kid. He’s this devious little mastermind who circumvents the law to get what he wants and somehow even got you. But I can hate him and still love you, hon.”

You coughed up a laugh partly because of your relief and partly because of how ridiculous Tony was. “I want you to tolerate him at least. That means no more bringing up the fact that I am his Personal Attorney, no more threats of arrest, and no more nicknames.”

Tony sighed and said, “Okay to the first two, but I can’t make any promises for the nicknames. Baby-faced Criminal has a nice ring to it.”

Your smile brightened. “Deal.” You stepped back into his hug, pressing your face against his shoulder and exhaling. Finally, having the truth out in the open felt like releasing a breath you held in for three long months.

You heard Tony add, “ ‘Sides, I already knew you were engaged.”

“What?” you screeched, stepping back. “What do you mean you already knew?!”

“First of all, ouch,” Tony groused as he rubbed at the ear you accidentally screamed in. “Second of all, Pepper is not really that great at hiding wedding preparations as she thinks she is. And Parker came to me about four months ago.”

You’re so shocked you forgot to breathe, involuntarily pulling in a long drag of air as it dawned on you that your tormented lungs screamed for oxygen. “What—what do you mean Peter came to you?”

“Your young man thought it proper to ask me for my blessing before popping the big question, and I may have expressly told him to go swim in the Bermuda Triangle.” At your expression, he quickly added. “Well, he didn’t!”

“It’s just—He never told me that he asked.” You omitted the part where Peter held your refusal to tell Tony about the engagement against you. Tony wouldn’t understand Peter’s motives any more than you could. But you were going to make him explain himself. 

A brief impression of chagrin flashed in Tony’s eyes. “I admit I wasn’t that forthcoming about it. He probably thought it’d be better to keep it to himself than tell you I said no.”

That’s not what it was, but you hummed in agreement anyway.

“Welp, my party mood’s long gone,” Tony stated, unbuttoning his jacket and loosening his tie. “Anybody else up for some Shawarma?”

| Next Morning  |

Today wasn’t unlike any other day. Phillips told you your client's location, even though you both knew the area by heart. Third floor. Cell Block E. Number 7. Always Number 7. Lucky Number 7.

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

One of the guards, a new hire with a tag reading Lang, shadowed you as you walked out of the detention center’s lobby and into the bustling dayroom, then up to Peter’s cell. An untrained eye wouldn’t notice the guard’s careful proximity, and an untrained ear wouldn’t hear his trepid footsteps. You knew better. 

Your fiancé is many things, and cautious just happens to be a large part of his make-up. None of the inmates lounging around the dayroom dared to glance your way, not because of the authoritative figure trailing behind you, but because of Peter and his imposing rap-sheet. 

While Lang’s presence was somewhat reassuring on your way around the crowded cells, you didn’t need the security detail. You weren’t afraid of anyone in this facility. The moment you propositioned to be his attorney, he should’ve known you weren’t one to be easily rattled.

When you stood in front of Peter’s cell door, Officer Lang moved up close enough to smack the door twice, then placed the key in the lock. As the heavy metal door swung open, you weren’t sure what you might see. 

He’s been away from the action, holed up in here all night. A tiny part of you expected Peter to be pacing the floor, running his hands through his hair and wringing them together in distress, beads of sweat trickling down his neck as he counted the seconds to your arrival. You wondered what it would be like to witness God panicking.

What you saw made you smile. Peter, sitting on his squalid mattress with his body propped up against the wall, his eyes closed and mouth slightly ajar, is sound asleep. Some of his brown curls are slightly lying over his forehead, giving him the perfect air of innocence.

Lang took a half step through the door, poked his head in the room, and loudly sang, “Wakey, wakey, Parker! You’re sprung.”

Peter jolted up from his position, looking around as if he forgot his bearings. The moment his eyes landed on yours, a sly smirk slid onto his lips, and the air of innocence vanished.

“Took you long enough.”

He got up from his bed with a low groan, stretching out the kinks in his neck. His dress shirt from last night is has a few more buttons open, exposing his black undershirt, and his shoes are in the corner of the room. The guards didn’t bother giving him a change of clothes because they knew he’d be out in less than 24 hours.

“I could always leave you in here, Mr. Parker,” you said, a small, teasing smile playing at your lips.

Peter grinned back at you, then retrieved his shoes. Lang stood against the wall like a statue, head forward and hands crossed in front of him. 

When he was out of the cell, and Lang locked the door behind him, Peter addressed Lang. “She can take it from here, Scott.”

And just like that, Lang’s stoic face melted into a rueful grin as he mockingly saluted Peter and walked off, leaving the two of you alone. 

Your mouth gaped for approximately two seconds before you caught on. “You hired him to play pretend-cop?”

“Oh no, Scott works here.” Peter slipped his shoes on and unbuttoned the rest of his dress shirt’s buttons. “He just also happens to work for me while working here.”

You wanted to ask how many Scotts he had in this facility but thought against it, deciding to quietly lead him out of the dayroom and into the lobby. No one acknowledged your departure. Every single one kept their heads down and tended to business as usual. 

Peter’s driver, Flash, leaned against the car, smoking a cigarette. Once he saw you both approach, he stamped it out and immediately opened the back seat door for you and Peter.

“Good morning, sir,” he said, always overly cheerful.

Peter clapped Flash on the shoulder and said, “Hey, man. How you doing?”

“Good, sir. Thank you for asking.”

“Dude, we talked about this. Stop calling me ‘sir’ so much. It’s getting weird.”

Flash automatically nodded, saying, “Right, sorry about that,” before closing the door behind Peter. He’d call Peter ‘sir’ again by tomorrow.

Peter groaned in instant satisfaction as he sank into the leather seat. It’s a low and throaty sound, and you felt its vibrations all the way to your core, leaving a flustered mess for longer than you’re proud to say. Two years you’ve been with this man, and the lust hasn’t dimmed.

Peter got right to the point. “So, how’d it go?”

You smirked contentedly, flattening your hands across the lap of your pencil skirt. “You are $20 million richer. And you have the Scorpions’ trading routes and connections, along with a guarantee eviction by the end of the week.”

“20 million… Damn, baby, I knew you were a hustler, but that’s in-fucking-sane!” Peter whooped, turning in his seat to face you fully. His face radiated with excitement. “I bet Rumlow’s pissed.”

“Oh, yeah. He was pissed, alright. He tried renegotiating, then tried to worm out of it. It was fun to watch him squirm.” You’d never mention the part where Rumlow pulled a gun on you to Peter. Not because you cared for Rumlow’s safety in any way, but because you’ve seen how Peter reacts when someone threatens his loved ones, and you never want him to go down that dark tunnel again.

Peter leaned his head against the headrest and wistfully said, “Wish I could’ve been there. Stark didn’t give you a hard time for gambling, did he?”

The topic shift smacked you with the remembrance of what happened last night, what Tony had said. It shouldn’t have kept you up all night, but you tossed and turned with the nagging fact that Peter both hid his confrontation with Tony and had the nerve to pester you about not telling Tony something that he already knew.

For a while, you stayed up wondering why Peter even brought it up at dinner. What was his purpose? Why act cold towards you if there wasn’t a reason? Or was it even an act? Did he genuinely resent you that much for being anxious about telling Tony? Would you ever see that side of Peter again? So indifferent, so cruel. So quick to discard you.

The rest of the night, you replayed over and over how he ignored you, how he minimized you. That wasn’t part of the plan. Most of what happened before the cards got into your hands played out unexpectedly, and you understood why that had to be at some degree, but the ambiguity of it all ticked you off. Did he not trust you?

When he dismissed you, you actually thought about leaving him there alone. Was that not real?

That ache in your chest was real.

“Babe?” Peter waved his hand in front of your face. “Babygirl? What’s wrong? What’d I say?”

You couldn’t bring your eyes up to meet his. They strayed to your lap, refusing to move even as Peter hesitantly took hold of your chin with his thumb and index finger. He emphatically called your name a few times, worry intensifying more and more as an unspecified amount of time passed. Peter never dropped his hand. His thumb caressed your chin while he waited for you to speak, knowing you would.

The desire to verbalize took longer than you expected. There just didn’t seem to be a right way to say what was weighing on your mind. Outright confronting him with only inference to go off of felt childish, but so did beating around the bush. You ultimately chose to address the subject of your silence.

In a tense voice, you said, “Tony told me that you asked for his permission to marry me.”

About thirty seconds ticked away. Peter sighed, “Are you upset that I didn’t tell you?”

You nibbled on your lower lip, then brought your eyes up to meet his. Mild concern drowns his warm brown eyes, somehow increasing their depth, and frown lines creased his forehead. If this were one of your typical squabbles and he stared at you with those damn eyes, you’d have been a goner.

“No.” You shook your head to clear the effect of his gaze. “I’m upset that you asked Tony and then proceeded to act like I had an obligation to tell him something you already told him. And then you got so mad about it last night…” you trailed off in a whisper, recalling his restrained animosity, something you never thought you’d experience with him.

“I wasn’t actually mad,” he rushed.

“So you were pretending?” You asked lamely, feeling the ghost of last night’s ache lash around in your chest. “All that wasn’t real? Ignoring me? Snatching your arm away from me? Dismissing me?”

He insistently shook his head, brown curls swaying across his forehead. “None of it.” 

To you, the truth is almost as bad as the lie.

“It felt real to me.” Your voice sounds so small, it’s humiliating. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, severing the eye contact again. “The fact that you couldn’t just tell me that that’s what you were doing beforehand makes me feel like… like you don’t trust me. Like you’re willing to sacrifice my feelings for some stupid game. Like I’m a pawn.”

“Fuck,” Peter cursed, running a swift hand through tousled his hair. “No, baby, that’s not it. Come ‘ere.” 

Peter reached over the divider and pulled you into his lap despite your attempt to scoot away. You didn’t want him holding you, consoling you because even if you tried your hardest to resist him, an irrational part of your brain would immediately relent to his closeness.

You stiffened at the touch of his hand rubbing small circles on your lower back, then loudly to clear your throat. “What is it, then?” You spoke to him as if he were one of your clients. Professional. Distanced. But you couldn’t look into those eyes.

“I was giving you an alibi,” he confessed, not fazed by your tone. “In case anything went wrong. We needed to look distant so Rumlow wouldn’t catch on to how coordinated everything was.”

Okay, that’s nowhere near the answer you were expecting. Because, of course Peter would come up with a convoluted explanation that only made sense to him. Irritation rose in you like a brewing storm as you peered straight into his eyes, ignoring the visceral pull as they locked on you.

“Did it ever occur to you that I’m a grown-ass woman who can handle shit by herself? I didn’t need a fucking alibi, Peter,” you said, indignation souring your tone. “What, did you think I was going to fuck up that bad?”

“No,” said Peter firmly. When you scoff, he persists. “I mean it. I was just—I was just trying to look out for you.” He held your chin again, applying a slight amount of pressure to keep your eyes on him. “I’m sorry. You’re right, you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself, and I love that about you. Sometimes, though, I want to be there for you as much as you’re there for me, if not more.”

You stubbornly held your tongue. You’re not going to cave with a simple apology… no matter how sincere it sounded.

Peter leaned in closer, poorly hiding his smirk as he heard your breath hitch while his lips skimmed up your neck. “I’m sorry, baby,” he murmured against your skin. “I apologize for not considering your feelings.” He placed a tiny kiss on the crook of your neck, trailing the tip of his nose against your jawline. “I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark.”

An undeniable heat flickered to life within you, building as Peter’s actions grew enticingly bold. The pads of his fingers glide up and down your stocking-clad thighs, and each motion brought his hands down further and further until his whole, warm palms flattened down to massage your calves and thighs. Unknowingly, you inclined your neck to allow him to access a larger expanse of your skin.

Any resolve you cemented against Peter crumbled as a pair of lips outlined the shell of your ear. His voice comes out hoarse when he speaks, hoarse and deliberate. “I trust you with everything I have. You know that, don’t you?” His lips hover dangerously near yours.

You exhaled out a breathy, “Yes.” You do know that. He wouldn’t trust anyone else to hold those cards but you, wouldn’t trust anyone else bargaining with his assets but you.

Peter held your lowered gaze steady as he hooked his hands under your thighs and hoisted you up so you fully straddled him, your pencil skirt elastic enough to permit marginal movement. A low whine emitted from your throat as he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, then pulled away to stare at you, using the full force of his immorally brown eyes.

“Can you forgive me?”

It’d be as simple as sin to whimper out a pathetic affirmative and let him off scot-free. Excruciatingly simple. You knew he meant every word, and you were glad he let you express your anger before apologizing. You wanted to forgive him. But your mind currently wasn’t on the same circuit as your mouth, refusing to utter a single word, wondering where that would get you.

“Hmm,” Peter hummed pensively, contemplating while a predatory grin crept onto his lips. “Guess I gotta work for it, then.”

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

Your back arched up off the bed, and you toss your head back as you gutturally cried out Peter’s name for the fourth time.

The moment you two entered the house, Peter was on you, guiding you to the bedroom with his lips attached to yours and his hands groping your backside. His hands never left your body, and once they did, it was only to tear off his clothes. You weren’t sure what you signed up for, but something glinting in Peter’s eyes, an erotic passion you’ve encountered several times in your relationship, bespoke of an intense afternoon headed your way.

Before you could even guess what that might entail, you were lying on your back in the middle of the bed, and Peter was parting your legs open.

Currently, his grip on your bucking hips remains vice-like as he keeps his face planted between your quaking thighs, still lapping up the rest of your orgasm and staring you dead in the eyes with wicked lust.

Each time he made you cum, he’d huskily ask, “You forgive me?” The first time, you were cheeky, shaking your head with a tiny pout on your lips and eagerly wiggling your hips and tugging on the silky strands of his hair for more. The second time, your body ached wonderfully, and you lazily nodded your acceptance of his apology, but he didn’t stop, tightening his hold on the swells of your hips and delving his tongue through your silken folds. By the third time, you were religiously chanting, “I forgive you,” grasping the sheets for dear life as Peter solely sucked on your clit and salaciously groaned into your core.

On the fourth orgasm, your whole body is aflame, your fingers are desperately clutching Peter’s wrists, and you’re a blissed-out, gibbering mess with tears of ecstasy streaming out the corners of your eyes.

“You forgive me?” Peter rasped, his breath fanning against your sensitive skin. He alternately kissed your inner thighs, sometimes gently sucking the skin until he left stinging love bites.

Knowing words were well beyond your reach, your jerkily bobbed your head up and down, gulping in air to calm your heaving chest.

A whine of relief breaks free when Peter finally lets go of your hips and leads a sloppy trail of kisses up your abdomen, between the valley of your breasts, along your neck, your jawline, until he claims your lips in a sensually slow kiss, one that stole away your regained breath. You mewled into it, wrapping your arms around his neck and threading your fingers through his hair. He lowered his body on top of yours, deliciously suffocating you with his body heat and his scent—an intoxicating aroma of smoky spice you only associate with Peter.

Your brain treads on a fine line near oblivion. All your mind can comprehend is Peter. His soft little grunts in your mouth, his toned chest brushing against yours, his hardened cock against your stomach as he ruts into you.

“I want you,” you panted, wanton need thick in your voice. You’re entirely spent, but you couldn’t help but crave more of Peter, couldn’t help but want him to thoroughly build you up only to tear you down all over again. 

Peter teasingly nipped at your lips, mumbling, “Where do you want me?”

You let out an impatient, low-pitched groan. “Inside me, baby. Please, Peter.” Your hips angled up on their own accord, grinding your dripping core against his cock. “Please, fuck me.”

His eyes rolled back, mouth slightly agape, and his face pinched in pleasure—what a pretty sight. Your eyes drank him all in. You loved the way he squinches up his eyes, almost as if all the sensations are too much to process. You loved how the flush creeping up his neck turned his skin a lovely scarlet. You loved watching him try to be attentive to you while being so engrossed in his own bliss.

Unhurried, Peter took himself in his hand, then slid his length through your folds before guiding his tip to your entrance. He always liked to draw this moment so he could hear the desperate noises you’d make for him. Your whole body sang out for him, from the broken moans spilling from your lips to the constant, stuttering pitch in your hips. 

At an agonizingly slow pace, Peter slid inside of you, hissing out a drawn-out Fuck. You jumped and gasped at the slight sting as he stretched you out, gripping onto his biceps and clenching around him as the sting built up to a toe-curling burn of ecstasy. 

He stroked into you with painstaking emphasis, hitting a deep spot within you that brought stars to your vision while capturing your lips in a blistering kiss. Your hands held his face as the kiss deepened, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths in carnal abandon. Yeah, it definitely tops the sex you had on the night he proposed.

Peter broke the kiss to dip his head down and favor the skin on your neck. His voice is a low murmur when he speaks, barely louder than your gasping breaths. “You forgive me?”

You practically sob out, “Yes! Yes, baby, I forgive you.” The flames are multiplying, licking up from your lower region and engulfing you as his strokes rock steadily. 

“You know you’re my everything,” he grunted, sucking down hard on your skin and laving it with his tongue after you yelp his name.

Your heart flutters as you moan, “Yes.”

“Say it, baby,” Peter mumbled, an undercurrent of firmness in his voice. “I wanna hear you say it.”

“I’m your everything.” The things this man does to you…

“Good girl.” Peter’s hand wedged between your entwined bodies, reaching down to rub your overstimulated clit, watching the tremors shaking through your body as your mouth hung open in a silent moan. “I want you to remember that,” he ordered. “You’re my everything, and I’m sorry I”—grunt—“Fuck, I’m sorry I hurt you.”

He carefully collects you in his arms before rolling over and putting you on top, wrapping his arms around your back so your bodies remain pressed together. Some of your twists cascade on either side of Peter’s face, but he doesn’t mind, keeping his head buried in the crook of your shoulder as he pumped up his hips, deeply thrusting into you. 

“You feel so good, babygirl,” Peter said roughly, his hips picking up into a bruising speed. “So wet for me.” His hands slide down your back and squeeze your ass. “Always take me so well.”

All you could manage were needy, shameless whimpers in response as his dirty words, his scorching touch, his soft lips, his slick body against yours all sent you reeling towards a rapturous release. Every stroke brings you closer to the edge, and you know Peter isn’t far behind.

With some effort, you drag yourself up to sit on Peter’s cock and brace your hands on his chest, lolling your head back as the new angle allowed him to hit a deeper spot within you.

Peter admired you through half-lidded eyes. “So fucking beautiful.”

You mustered up a beaming smile for Peter, then set your focus on riding him with the little energy you had left, slowly bouncing up and down on his thick length and loving the quick hitch in Peter’s breath as you took control. You wanted to see him writhe underneath you as he came inside you, wanted to see his pretty lips part as he called out your name. You’re so close, it’s maddening, but you’re waiting for Peter to fall off the edge with you. 

As soon as Peter’s hips began to chase yours in a broken pattern and a repeated mixture of your name and fucks streamed out of his mouth, your climax slammed into you, slightly choking you up as you came with a high-pitched, quivering gasp and cried out, “Peter!”

Peter’s crashed down on him with the same force. His hips stalled for an instant before jerking up into you one last time, your name tumbling from his lips in a hoarse groan as he filled you with his hot, sticky cum. It feels as if you’re riding the wave of your orgasm for hours, and you blissfully drown in it. Savor it. Bask in the absolute pride of knowing that this man is yours and yours alone even though you have yet to seal it with the promise of ‘for as long as you both shall live.’

The comedown is a sluggish process, like trying to swim the length of a 10-foot pool of honey. Your heart rate is the first to slow down into a stable rhythm, then the raucous hum singing in your body simmers down to a delicious buzz whose sole purpose is to remind you of the five breathtaking orgasms Peter drew out of you. Every part of your body aches when you merely think about moving, so you cave and slump onto Peter’s torso, eliciting an amused oomph from Peter as he wraps an arm around your waist. When he pulls out of you, his cum smears a sticky trail in between your thighs.

Peter brushes away some of your twists from your face to press a gentle kiss to your perspired forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you echo back, leaning up a little to peck his jawline. You snuggle up closer so your head rested on his shoulder. “And I really do forgive you. Your intentions were pure, and I know you were just trying to protect me.” You reach up and grab his chin, making him look into your eyes. “But I want your complete trust, Peter. Trust that I can handle things on my own.”

“From this point on, you have my whole trust,” Peter promised. He took hold of your hand, entwined your fingers together, and then put your hands over his heart. Its slow thud matched yours. “You have my word. No more alibis.”

You laughed tiredly. “Thank you.”

For a while, you two just stayed in each other’s embrace, your eyes falling as Peter’s finger lazily traced an infinity sign around your knuckles. You’re still buzzing, and you know you should roll out of bed to wash up, but you try to save these soft moments in your memory, to help remind you of the kind man who can be, at times, too cruel for words. That’s when he’s Deus. Right now, he’s your Peter.

Seconds away from succumbing to sleep, a thought occurs to you, and you quietly ask, “Hey, babe?”

Peter sounds wide awake. “Yeah?”

“Did Tony literally tell you to go swim in the Bermuda Triangle when you asked him for his approval?”

He snickered. “I believe his exact words were, ‘Go to hell, Parker. Better yet, why don’t you do us all a favor and take a swim in the Bermuda Triangle, and become a cold case?’”

Geez, Tony. You bit your lip. “And you still asked me to marry you anyway, even though he didn’t approve?”

“I was going to, regardless,” Peter murmured, and you could hear a smile in his words. “I just wanted to try and, you know, see if I could make you a little happier. Me and Stark bump heads a lot, and I saw how it upset you, so I thought asking him for his permission would get us on the right track to some sort of civility. Wanted it to be a surprise if he did say yes.”

Unexpected tears gathered in your eyes, and your chin wobbled. He tried for you. Had been trying for you. He even noticed how his and Tony’s bouts caused you to be anxious about your future together and tried to mend the stupid rift between them, for your sake. You aren’t going to lie and say that you’re glad Tony refused. You wished with your whole heart that he could clearly see how much you loved Peter. But, from now on, you’re no longer going to be scared of what Tony thinks of Peter. You love him, and he most certainly loves you, and that’s all that matters.

You scooch up a little more and capture his lips in a deep, passionate kiss. He’s only caught off guard for a second before kissing back, wrapping both of his arms around your waist. When Peter felt the wet tear tracks on your cheeks, he brought up his hands and wordlessly wiped them away.

As you pulled apart, you rested your forehead against his and said, “I can’t wait to marry you, Mr. Parker.”

Peter lightly rubbed the tip of your nose with his, replying, “I’m already yours, Mrs. Parker.”

#peter parker #peter parker au #mob!peter parker #mob!peter #peter parker x black!reader #black!reader #tom holland #peter parker smut #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fanfic #the fall and rise of deus #the rise of deus #peter parker x black reader #peter parker x reader #black reader

[plush-rabbit]

Blushing and Bleeding

Warnings: Noncon, Loss of Virginity

Word Count: 2.8K

A/N: as a fellow taurus, it was my duty to do this for him (i love perverse scenarios dear lord) (adding more of a demon look to Asmo because ya know;^))

The candles are arranged in a circle, the white wax melting onto the golden platter, the flame flickering ever so slightly. Your hand bleeds, aching and throbbing, a sharp pain that shoots up to your elbow and starts to fade past. Blood trickles into the intricate summoning circle, the dark red splattering against the white chalk, tainting the circle. Sweat builds on your upper lip, your eyes filled with fresh tears as you lower the dagger. 

You open your mouth, the first word cracking making you clear your throat and begin anew. Your eyes flicker to a flame that swishes to the side, making your words come to a slow stop. You start again, conviction higher as you continue to speak, the soft, orange flames turning into a pale pink, slowly darkening until they match your blood. Your voice hitches, your mouth drying and stomach twisting, the scent of jasmine and rose are heavy in the air, your chest heavy and heart lowering into an uncomfortable pace. You can feel something against your body. Limbless hands that ghost over you, touching and prodding, your words coming to a slow stop. You lower yourself to your knees, the concrete painful against your bare knees.

The room is silent, the sound of your beating heart pounding in your ears. You raise the dagger once more, edging it closer to your palm, swallowing tightly. The tip of the blade presses against the wound and with shaky hands, you bring the dagger deeper into your palm, blood pooling out into your cupped hand, spilling past and dripping to the floor. The flame flickers out, and you gasp. You are still, your muscles tight and eyes wide. A part of you wants to pray for forgiveness, to bring the holy water closer to you. The blood is warm in your hand, thin and heavy, hand aching impossibly so. Without removing your gaze from the circle that remains ruined with blood, your other hands reaches blindly to the bandages beside you, and only when you touch it, do the flames spark again, flickering as if nothing has happened, the jasmine and rose, now hinted with peony and sandalwood. You look at the candles and only then when your gaze is broken, do you hear laughter- it’s sweet, flirtatious and cute and there’s a soft light that blinds your eyes, filling them with stars. When you look back to the middle, a man stands there. 

His hair is a soft blonde, hints of pink that swirl around at the tips, a scorpion tail that lowers to the floor, the tip of it curled and flushed red, almost looking as if it were throbbing, pulsing with life inside of the appendage. Four wings adorn the demon’s back, a set that is lower is heavier, larger and still, the set that rests higher above flutters ever so slightly, the hair that adorns flows, curling and twisted with soft pinks. Teeth are pointed, canines are branching out, a tongue peeks out, licking at the lips, the tongue a dark red, ridges looking almost like petals. When you meet his eyes, they are soft, pastel in color, a blue that gradually melts into a soft pink, reminding you of cotton candy. You are memorized by them, your mouth agape, all thoughts leaving your head. The eyes push upwards, the demon no doubt smiling at your amazed look.  

“Well, well.” His voice is seductive, echoing in your ears and you are broken from your spell, gasping for breath that you did not know you were holding. “I have to say you certainly are cute. I mean not the cutest that I’ve seen of course-” your frown, your face aflame- “oh, don’t give me that look. I’ve been around for ages, dear. I’m bound to see something more but really. Being called cute by me is a compliment.” He- from what you presume- smiles widely, the teeth stretched far. “Well, you have my attention, now what can the most beautiful being in all of three realms do for you?”

“I-” your voice squeaks and you clear your throat, ignoring the scoffing- “I have summoned you for protection, demon-”

The demon barks in laughter, condescending and doubling over in laughter. “Oh! No one really ever asks for protection from me but I’m not one to deny someone of their preferences.”

Your eyes narrow, your hand coming to fix your hair, trying to secretly wipe the sweat from your brow. “I- Aren’t you a protection type of demon? I- I’ve summoned you to make a pact. A- I was told by others that you accept most if not all offers.” You watch as the demon waves a hand- not ignoring the way that the claws glimmer in the flames, pinks and blues, silver and flowers threaded into the hands. 

“Oh my.” The demon places a hand over their chest in an almost mocking way. “A cute face but no brains, eh?” The scents grow stronger in the room and the demon takes a small step towards you. “I’m afraid to tell you, my dear that you’ve been tricked. I’m no demon of protection, but rather the Avatar of Lust.” Your eyes widen, your heart sinking. “Asmodeus, at your service.”

“I-” your eyes glance to the bottle of holy water and you reach for it quickly, holding it tight in your palm. “I don’t need your services. Please, go away.”

He clicks his tongue, taking a step further to you. “Oh honey-” Asmodeus smiles and shakes his head- “it doesn’t work that way. You’ve taken me away from a very important meeting. You wanted my attention- summoned me and gave me your blood- which might I add, is very sweet. Virgin, I presume? Well, you have my attention and for denying me so quickly, I must remind you, I don’t take kindly to being ignored.”

You don’t waste a second, removing the lid to the bottle, quickly splashing the demon, chanting an incantation under your tongue. The demon yowls in pain, doubling over and falling to their knees, gagging and slamming a hand to the floor, claw marks left in its wake as the hand closes into a fist. You smile triumphantly, repeating the incantation, stopping when the yowling turns into maniacal laughter. 

“Ha! Oh my, I can’t believe you actually fell for that.” The demon rises to their full height, walking towards you, every step taken met with one that you take backwards. “Sweetheart, I am the Avatar of Lust. A teensy bottle of holy water- diluted might I add- and a dumb little prayer isn’t going to work. Well, I’m here and so are you and I’ll certainly be hearing it when I go back, so why not help me ease a bit of my worries?” His voice is seductive, lust dripping off with every word, slick spilling between your lips. Your gaze is pulled to their eyes, the cloudy, iris-less gaze making you lose your words. “Come now, give in to me, huh?”

Your back meets the wall, your hands scratching softly at the stone. You stutter your words, declining his invasion, his gaze capturing yours and you are unable to look away, your stomach tightening painfully, arousal making your knees weak. Your breaths come out in puffs, sweat sticking to your back, your mouth salivating, drool spilling past your lips.

“How cute, already drooling for me.” A thick claw curls under your chin, forcing you to look further at him. “See, I don’t take kindly to no. You’re lucky enough I can feel your arousal slip.” His hands are against your body, pulling off your clothes despite your words. His hand slips to your sex, cupping it, fire burns against your skin, clamping your legs together, trapping his hand there. “Already so desperate, hm?” His index dances closely to your clit, making you tense, the sharp point of it pushing against the bundle of nerves and your hands cover your mouth, eyes watering as you can feel a climax approaching. He lowers his face, his breath against yours, his breath like honey and tobacco. “So close, already?” His lips ghost over yours, eyes wide and seeing into your heavy lidded ones. “Cute.” 

His lips are on yours, the kiss better than any type of sex. His tongue petal like, stuffed into your mouth, slender and slimy, your face flush and body heat rising- in your mind, the faint words of aphrodisiac are murmured. You cling to him, whining and crying, humping your sex against his hand, squealing as you climax from the simple kiss. Your hands dig into the exposed skin, your lungs burning for air, so desperate to keep your lips interlocked. 

Asmodeus pulls away, a smile on their lips. His hand slips away from your sex, a thick strand of arousal clinging from his finger rests heavy on his finger, dripping to floor, heavy and sweet like honey. He sucks on the finger, pulling it out with a hum. 

“You really are a virgin.” He puts the finger on your mouth and you suck on it greedily, tasting a mix of yourself and him. “This is certainly going to be fun.” He lifts you until you meet his height, your head pressed against the stone. “Tell me, were you saving yourself for someone special?” You nod your head, eyes filling with tears. “Not a demon, I presume?” You remain still. His finger slips from your mouth and he cups your heat, rubbing tantalizing slow against your clit. “How would it feel like losing it to a demon?” 

You shake your head, pleading for the demon to let you go. “No, no, please.” You cry, tears falling and curving down your face. “No, no, no. Just- Just go, please,” you stutter, your hands against his breasts, pushing against the muscle, trying to create some distance between the two of you despite the wall pressed against your back. “I’ll offer you anything else- just-”

His words cut you off, his words musing and thoughtful, hands coming to hold you, the tail swishing side to side, rising slowly, until the telson teases against your nipple, pushing the bud upwards. “It’s not often that I get to have a virgin.” His head tilts in fascination. “Well- it’s a good thing you’ve already orgasmed.” You can feel something thick and pulsating against your inner thigh. “I hope it isn’t too painful for you.” His smile shows his lie, wide and merciless, pushing his cockhead against your entrance despite your pleas. 

His cock is hugged by your velvety walls, thick petals ridge from the cock, expanding and pushing against your virgin walls, your sobs muffled by his lips the deeper he goes in, each inch pushed inward and deeper into you a struggle that he meets with staggered breath. Each fold edges further out, softening into a curve, bulging out towards the end meeting his knot. Fully inside of you, bare and pulsing, he wastes no time, thrusting into you roughly, a sharp pinch of both pain and pleasure shooting throughout your body like electricity. He telson presses into your skin, your body tensing as blood peeks out and slips onto him.

Asmodeus pulls his cock out, watching your flushed face, once defiant now perverse, mouth agape, your eyes heavy with lust, tongue out as he pinches it roughly, your only response is a dazed moan. He laughs, the muscle weak and squishy under his claws. You look so lewd, so perverted and already out of your mind even though he hasn’t reached an orgasm. It’s so easy to mess with humans- such simple creatures.

Caring for himself, he presses his hilt close to you, his petals fluttering inside of you, his tongue filling your mouth, your moans so sweet to him. The scent of blood is heavy in the air, an aphrodisiac to Lust themselves, as he pushes further into your, pressing against your cervix, the tip leaking with sex, making you unable to mumble anything other than his name and even then, it’s a mockery of his name, sullied by a human who came after protection and received him. You ruin his beautiful name and as compensation, he pushes into you, thrusting and thrusting, hoping you to whine in pain, to bleed. The telson carefully wraps around your neck and your face is quick to darken it’s shade. Survival takes over, your body spasming over his cock as your hands claw at his tail. Once you grow faint in your movements, he releases, having you gasp for breath, seeking for his kiss. 

You squirm and wither above him, your innocence and virginity lost. You cry and moan, pulling him close to you, riding him yourself. Your movements are sloppy, so fucked out of your mind, that the only thing left is lust. He is the only left that you can think about. You cling to him, shaking and overworked, leaking upon him, each thrust becoming easier to push into you. His cock is perfect for you, curving and bulging where needed, secreting lubricant with every thrust. 

He releases quickly. Hot and heavy seed that spills past, your mouth latching to his breast, desperate to have something occupying your mouth. For a brief moment, he wonders how long a human can go without air before dying. His movements don’t slow, never deviating from the movement. He is everything you are not- perfect, steady and the most coveted thing in all of the realms. He spills inside of you, continuing until you leak and splatter onto the floor. If there is one thing he loves about humans, it’s their softness, their squishy insides that seem to mold to whatever shape is in them. He kisses you, holding you close, arousal so heavy in the air he’s amazed that his little fans haven’t seeped into the realm to watch him, to have a chance to glance at his gorgeous, rose colored cock.

You are sweet like honey, heavy and sticky, clinging to him like a virgin. You hold him close, mumbling nonsense under your tongue, wanting him to stay. “I- I feel so full.”  Your voice is nothing but a mumble. “Mu- Mu- More, Asmodeus, please.” Your cunt clings to him tightly, desperate to milk him. “I want your seed, I want you to fuck me until I can’t think.” He laughs, taking a step back with your cunt still latched onto him, your back sliding against the stone until your stomach makes a curve, your stomach folding together. You moan, your head raised to the heavens, singing his name as if it’s the most important thing and quite frankly, it really is.

He doesn’t speak. Only grunt, and moan, a hiss between his teeth as he pants heavily above you. His telson holds your face tightly, he words heavy above you. “Nothing but a slut who spread themselves for a fucking demon.” His eyes narrow, his gaze returning to something more controlled. “You humans are so cute and pathetic. You should consider yourself luck that I’ve decided to even touch something as lowly as you- to have your tight, little pussy on me.” Spit collects in his mouth and he grabs your tongue, spitting onto you, the glob heavy and sweet as you swallow it without a second thought. “Honestly, so giving and cute.” His lips ghost above yours. “Nothing but a slut.”

So desperate to push further into you, to have you lubricate him, but he stops when you howl in pain, so loud that he glances to the door, surprised when no one barges in. Not that it would have stopped him- another hole or another meal. He uses your body, moving you above him, feeling every soft hug on your leaking cunt, your gummy walls that squish against him, that mold against his petaled cock. His movements never slow, they remain steady, even after he fills you countless times. 

Asmodeus leaves you on the floor, your cunt leaking with semen and your own arousal, sticky and hot, heavy cream that is mixed with your virgin blood. You lay on the concrete ground, too weak to rise, too fucked out of your mind to do anything but look as he walks back to the circle calmly. When he turns around he smiles at you and he is gorgeous and hideous all at once. A god that stands near you, standing so close and yet so far. A demon that has ruined you, used you as nothing more than a simple stress fuck. “You know, for a virgin, you weren’t half bad. I’ve had worse fucks. Anyways, I’ll see you later for more.” 

The flames flicker out and once they are lit, they have returned to their orange flame, the scent of jasmine and rose, now gone, replaced by nothing. You lie on the floor, your cunt weeping with semen and blood, eyes closing as your mind finally returns to you.

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me asmo x mc #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me swd #om asmodeus #asmodeus avatar of lust #asmodeus x reader #tw: noncon #sorry its late #motivation has been really lacking #um #yeah #i hope you enjoy!! #i wanted this for his brithday #but #ahhh #asmo dear #im so sorry #at least he got on tho

[shangsclaws]

shang, fujin, and scorpion with an s/o that experiences chronic pain? like bad enough to not be able to walk on a bad day?

oh i hope ur ok anon (つ .•́ _ʖ •̀.)つ

Fujin

While the part-human (is he part human?? idk lol) side of Fujin feels pain, he is ultimately a god — it’s not all that significant to him when all is said and done, as he can recover quickly. Fujin will be apprehensive to the fact that he can’t fully empathize with his lover, feeling underprepared to care for them as best he can.

And in this case, it doesn’t help when all he really does is control the wind. What does that do to help soothe any pain, let alone a paper cut? He knows he isn’t useless, there are other ways to help, but he feels it would at least be nice to be the god of something else in these moments.

But even if he thinks this way, Fujin will still be a big sweetheart. The wind god will not shy away from asking as many questions as he can to help accommodate for his lovers needs, and then going far above and beyond expectation after they have been met. It’s the god in him that makes him so good at tending to his lover, but the love and worry he has for his s/o that ultimately drives him to do so.

Hanzo Hasashi/Scorpion

Hanzo is no stranger to pains. If injuries did not come from overtraining himself as he taught his clan, then it would have surely been from his past as a wraith. While not magically inclined, he still has countless remedies that might work wonders on his s/o, or in the very least soothe them with his earnest attempts at comfort.

Hanzo’s hardened exterior, which is softened already in the presence of his lover, is made even more tender on days like these. The grandmaster tries his best to provide for their needs first before the clan, and he will stay by their side even if they insist that they’re fine or don’t want to interrupt their duties. He loves his people just as he loves them, but they can wait.

Hasashi also takes the opportunity to do things he doesn’t have the time for on normal days. Among his favourite activities are telling stories to his s/o while they rest up, especially cuddled up before bed. Of all the things he can do to help, this is where his heart lies in the most.

Shang Tsung

When worse comes to worst and Shang is surviving on his last few souls, the pain of old age gets to him. He has thus become quite familiar with chronic pain over the years, and feels for his s/o dearly when he sees that they’re hurting.

The thorough man that he is, Shang Tsung will ensure that his lover never needs to lift a finger on their worst days, becoming a doting mother hen. His empire and priceless possessions are some of many things he must take care of, but on days like these, his matters cease to exist for a bit.

There is no question that he’ll have a few tricks up his sleeve to help relieve the pain. This comes from the many times he might not have had enough souls to sustain himself, resorting to countless other methods of survival. But of course, there’s always the option to sieve from his well of souls if they so choose. Anything for them.

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#hope this made u feel better anon ♡´･ᴗ･`♡ #mortal kombat #headcanons #reader insert #imagines #mortal kombat x reader #fujin #fujin x reader #shang tsung #shang tsung x reader #scorpion #scorpion x reader #hanzo hasashi #hanzo hasashi x reader