#weapon's refrain

[faragonart]

WEAPONS REFRAIN ULTIMATE:

And clear we did.

Edit: Someone asked this, and yes. We cleared on the very next pull.

(ft. my lovely buddies @jolsondraws , @siphroseflame , @launindigo , @curbananimation , @kyle273 , @pali-himbo and @indra-lhove )

[serxei]

daddy's out of uwu prog hell. >:)

I'm so happy though holy shit. Party Finder is hell but I love The Weapon's Refrain honestly I can't wait for more reclears!!

[sweeneydino]

And WOH! April.

Did this while my hand was crampin.

[shamefulzombie]

Drew my virus that i made in Plague Inc [They/Them]

Yes, Plague Inc.

[asterlae]

May i offer some genderbend?

i have to say that i have not even finished the first tgaa since i want to finish aj first, but it will not stop me of hitting them with the yuri beam

A lot of these are inspired by this fanfic and this fanart, pls read ther fanfic, its called spring tides and im loving it

there's more kazuma sketches bellow if you are interested

with a katana

and with a naginata since she reminede me to onna-musha

can you tell i have a favoritism?

[bullseyelover]

i want to talk about this scene briefly, it’s such a short scene only being about two minutes in length but this scene here is what sets dex completely on the path to becoming bullseye. no matter what, dex was going to become bullseye. nothing would’ve changed that. but this scene he completely falls into fisk’s grasp and manipulations, which sets him on a path he cannot turn back from.

the scene after when matt and ray break into his apartment, the first thing dex does is burn his therapy tapes. the therapy tapes are something that were vital to dex the majority of his life, he always kept them at arms reach to keep him in line. they were his emotional coping mechanism. so him burning them here is another crucial moment into his descent into bullseye, a destruction of his past life and coping strategies and another thing that makes the primal scream scene with fisk being something dex gives into so easily because he has nothing else. the one friend he thought he had, ray, had just lied to his face about being there for him and broken into his apartment and stolen his therapy tapes (even though matt stole them, dex didn’t know that.) matt and ray breaking into his apartment shattered the remaining sense of self he had left, in his eyes they completely violated his sense of self. his gun safe was the “real” him he kept from the world, but was something he cherished because they defined him. they had his coping mechanisms within them, the tapes being his emotional support and his weapons being his physical control. so matt and ray just breaking into his space, defiling it by listening to his therapy tapes without him knowing and then stealing them was a breaking point for him.

and fisk picks up these shattered pieces, and quite literally picking dex up from the ground in this scene and pulls him into his arms, are said pieces that will eventually build dex into the bullseye persona that he is in the comics. because that’s all he has left. dex already had these parts of bullseye within him, but he was also capable of genuine kindess and other good traits, and fisk made sure when picking up the pieces of dex to pick up the ones that would benefit only fisk, and leave out the potential goodness dex had within him. everything that fisk leaves him with by the end of the season are his negative traits and negative thoughts, which will make his volatility and instability as bullseye on another level. it’s just masterful writing i could go on and on for hours but i’ll stop myself here lol.

[faunandfloraas]

"you cannot send live animals, weapons, fruit, radio transmitters, poisons or vegetables" well fuck. there goes my idea of sending a koala with a poison dart gun.

[xyzzymancy]

Meet The Diffuser

BLU version + info:

Hailing from Canada, the Diffuser is a sardonic and rebellious misfit with an aptitude for trouble. He specializes disrupting enemies and assisting teammates in favor of dealing direct damage, separating enemy groups and obscuring visuals to give his allies the upper hand.

CLASS DETAILS

Type: Support

Primary Weapon: Upon a successful hit, grapples an enemy and pulls them towards him. It can also be used to traverse the battlefield at a greater speed by latching onto surfaces and pulling him towards it. Deals minimal damage to enemies.

Secondary Weapon: Obscures enemy visuals by creating a small smoke cloud, best used at choke points to disrupt pushes by the enemy team. Allies are able to see silhouettes of enemies within the cloud's active range. It does not impact sentries.

Melee Weapon: Generally used as a last resort of self-defense, often in tandem with primary weapon use to close the gap between him and the enemy.

BIO

Name: Loren Ipson (Original name unknown)

Location of Origin: Naujaat, Nunavut, Canada

Job: Chaos Agent

Motto: "Don't tell me what to do."

Emblems:

Description: Fueled by delight in seeing others' frustrations, the Diffuser is well-versed in the art of causing problems. While he's inclined to focus his efforts on his enemies, even his closest friends aren't immune to his antics. His reasoning is simple; it makes for good entertainment.

[wherenymphsroam]

do NOT think about leon struggling with identity issues. because he totally doesn’t. noooo way.

[sirensongsea]

guess what i did today

[desertdragon]

Deathbringer ugly but DB Ultima so beautiful 😭

[naive-petals]

“…Uwu? Do they mean Umu?” Confused kitsune houses.

[surgepricing]

I think about Azula shooters often and their common refrain of "if Azula hadn't had a mental breakdown, she would've won" and I'm here to tell you that no, she wouldn't have.

There is no universe in which Azula was winning that fight with Zuko (or Katara, for that matter).

Azula spent so much of Book 2 being built up as this deadly terrifying force against whom the heroes are badly outmatched that it can be difficult to catch exactly how quickly Zuko is advancing.

Back up a bit to Book One. For the fearsome exiled crown prince of the Fire Nation, Zuko's not that impressive a firebender. He's not bad by any stretch, and he's able to lay the untrained Sokka and Katara flat pretty easily. Then he gets in the ring with Aang, who is an airbending master, and the difference between a regular bender and a master becomes apparent when Aang literally puts his ass to bed:

People have attributed this to the fact that no one's fought an airbender in 100 years, but I think it's also worth noting that Aang (a 12 year old from a pacifist nation) has probably never fought anyone before. Like, ever. And yet the second Aang thinks "okay, I'll attack back", the fight's over.

Zuko's got the same genetic predisposition for firebending talent that Azula does, yet it never seems to manifest because of his mental blocks. At the beginning of the series, he's already so beat down that all he really has is conviction, pride, and anger, so even with training from Iroh (the firebending master, thank you very much), he struggles. Yet throughout Book 2, when he has no time to train because he's on the run, he actually seems to advance faster. The fact that his bending is literally tied to his character arc (as his morals become tangled and he has to fight off aforementioned mental blocks) is pretty brilliant. Like, by the time of the Crossroads of Destiny, Zuko getting his ass handed to him by Aang is a pretty consistent feature of the show--he just can't match wits with him.

Hell, at the beginning of the series, he and Iroh (again: the actual firebending master) launch a combined power surface-to-air attack...which Aang casually swats away into a nearby ice wall. Come the Crossroads of Destiny, however, and Zuko by himself launches this bigass fireball that blows through Aang's defenses.

Zuko advances so quickly that it's scary. That prodigious talent is in him even if it doesn't come through as cleanly as with Azula. Who, by the way, was busy about to get flattened by Katara some few dozen feet away, until Zuko took over and then effectively stalemated her himself.

All of this in retrospect makes it abundantly clear why Zuko's firebending seemed to skyrocket so much when he learned true firebending from the Sun Warriors: it was really the only thing left. He's hard a hard road learning how to fight waterbenders, earthbenders, and airbenders, and even if unconsciously, he's applying the philosophy Iroh taught him about augmenting his bending style with aspects of other styles (see also, the waterbending-like fire whips he uses in the above gif). Once he actually understands fire and how it works, he's got it mastered. Hence why any gap between him and Azula effectively disappears as soon as their next fight--before her friends have betrayed her and her stability goes out the window. There's no real sense of urgency to their fight at the Boiling Rock prison. True, Sokka's presence with the sword helps, but Zuko doesn't look remotely worried and he counters Azula's every attack perfectly.

All her life, Azula only ever learned fire. She was taught by the best people the fire nation can employ, so she knows all the cool tricks, but she's still poisoned by the corrupted firebending practiced in the modern ATLA timeline. Unlike Zuko, who managed to get the basics if nothing else from Iroh (fire comes from the breath, and can be used to survive as much as to kill), Azula has always used fire as a weapon and a means to hurt others. She has no true knowledge of the craft, meaning she's got the same weaknesses as Zhao, she's just better disciplined to the point she can make up for it.

Zuko's victory was a given considering Azula's complete loss of control by the time of Sozin's comet, but even had she been in a perfect mental state, she'd have lost, because in many ways Zuko is simply the better firebender.

And that's the truth of it.

[zhelin-thames]

Part 2 Wayne Family Group Chat

Tim: okay everyone just… act normal tonight please PLEASE

Dick: Define “normal”

Jason: What did you do

Cass: 👀 Tim: nothing!! nothing illegal!!! just. just dinner. simple. civilized. family dinner. 🧍‍♂️

Damian: If you’re acting suspicious, I’m bringing a weapon.

Bruce: No weapons at the dinner table.

Damian: Too late.

Alfred: The food will be served at 7:30 sharp. Please refrain from traumatizing each other until dessert.

[7:32 PM – Wayne Manor Dining Room]

Everyone is seated. Food is passed. Tension is suspiciously low. Then…

Dick (whispering to Jason): yo who’s the guy next to Tim? 👀

Jason: Idk but Tim’s looking at him like he hangs the stars

Cass: 👁️👄👁️ they’re holding hands under the table

Bruce (barely hiding surprise): Tim. Who is your… guest?

Tim (sweating bullets): This is Danny! My boyfriend! Of 2 years, 3 months, 3 weeks, and 5 days! …Surprise 😅

Danny: Hey. :) Nice mashed potatoes, by the way.

Cue stunned silence. Until—

Damian (squinting intensely at Danny): “…Out of 8 billion people… you chose HIM? You couldn’t find anyone better—BROTHER?”

Tim (scandalized): “HEY!! Leave him alone! I love him!”

Damian (deadpan): “I was talking to MY brother, Timothy.”

[Entire table goes silent. Fork clatters. Jason chokes. Dick drops his wine. Cass looks delighted.]

Bruce (visibly malfunctioning): You have a brother?

Tim: I’m sorry, WHAT??

Danny (shrugging, sipping water): Yeah. Hi. I’m Danyal al Ghul. Heir to the Demon. Escaped at ten. Been vibing ever since.

Damian: This is an insult. You didn’t even ask for permission to court my brother Drake (oops we r back to last names). My actual brother. Biological. Blood-related.

Jason: Tim’s dating a former assassin prince. Who is B's son, blood son. That’s SO on brand for you.

Dick: This is better than Netflix

Cass: 💚 new brother 💚

Bruce (massaging temples): I need a drink.

Alfred (bringing wine): Already poured, sir. read tags!!

[bruhstories]

touch-starved

summary: dante is touch-starved, and he thinks the only way for him to feel something is to get punched by you

pairing: dante x afab!reader | based on the netflix version but definitely canon divergent

warnings: dry humping, unprotected p in v, creampie, degradation kink, very light choking, lots of swearing, kind of soft dom dante and light pain kink if you squint, idiots in love, friends to lovers, bit of praise, fem bodied reader

w/c: ~3.2k

a/n: this is definitely not my best work but it's a warm up ig. lol anyway i absolutely loved the dmc netflix version, and i'm considering getting the games

"Punch me."

Not a question, but an indisputable demand coming from the demon hunter, which made you do a double take, place the barrel of your M4 carbine on the table, and flat-out refuse.

"No."

He snarled, yes, snarled at you, slamming his pistol against the table with a loud bang. You looked up from your own weapon, taken aback by Dante's reaction, concern written all over your face. Was he high??

"Come on, Y/N, just do it. Just one punch, one tiny little punch. I know you want to." His cocky grin did numbers on your nerves, but you still refrained from giving him the satisfaction of hitting him. It’s been years since you met Dante, by this point you were used to his shenanigans.

"Why, though?" You decided to focus on cleaning your weapon, the sharp smell of isopropyl alcohol filling the room.

"Because," Dante groaned, snatching the bottle of liquid from you, causing you to glare daggers at him, "I'm touch starved."

You blinked once, twice, trying your hardest to process both his honesty, and the logistics of his request.

"Why not ask for a hug, then? Or, I don't know, go to therapy?"

"Hah! I'm sure my therapist is gonna have a field day with me! So, my dad, a demon, disappeared without a trace, then my mother and twin brother died, but actually my brother is alive somewhere. My therapist is gonna need a therapist."

"Okay, okay, you made your point. Still, you could just rephrase it. Maybe leave out the demon bit." You wiped the barrel clean before setting it aside.

"I'd rather get punched. Now, please."

"Dante, a punch isn’t gonna solve it. Are you sure you don’t want a hug? I could cook you something. Or we could grab a few beers and watch a movie, or talk about your feelings." You shrugged.

Both of you had done this before — went out for drinks, danced, cooked together, fell asleep together — it was so intimate, almost like you were a couple. But the reality was that you weren’t. Not by a long shot. Unfortunately for you, Dante was protective of you in the way an older brother was. You thought that, perhaps, he missed Vergil so much that you were the closest thing he had to a sibling in years.

"A punch would be less time consuming. Cooome on, babe, just hit me!"

You hated when he called you babe. He called other girls babe, girls that were hot, pretty, girls that were his type, and it was the nickname that made you clench your jaw and purse your lips.

"Ugh, fine!" You sat up, rotated your wrist and flexed your fingers. "Are you sure this is going to help in any way?"

"Positive. Right here." Dante pointed at his cheek.

"What, in your face?"

"You're stalling."

Without a single ounce of hesitation you swung your arm, hitting the demon hunter square in his face, but it caused you more pain than it did him, and you stumbled back, holding your fist in your other hand.

"Son of a fucking bitch!" You cried out in pain, knowing damn well that would happen. Still, you couldn't say no to him. Ever.

"Are you okay?" Dante was visibly concerned — a rare sight since he was always cool and edgy, even when his own life was in danger.

"Fuck no! Feels like I punched a brick wall!" You practically growled at him, gaze quickly softening when you saw the pure look of terror in his eyes. "But hey, nothing a little ice can't fix, right?"

"Right." He nodded and got up, making a beeline for the freezer.

There was no ice in it, but there was a pack of frozen peas somewhere at the bottom of a drawer, which Dante picked up and brought to you. When you reached for it, he, instead, took your sore hand in his, gently pressing the cold legumes onto your knuckles. You winced, instinctively trying to retract your hand, but he held it in place, his fingers wrapped around your wrist to stop you from backing away.

The pain wasn't gone, but it was becoming bearable, and a relieved murmur escaped past your lips, one that sounded closer to a moan than a sigh. Dante's cheeks burned, tinted red with embarrassment and arousal because you were yet another girl in his life who just didn't want to be involved romantically with him. Not that he tried anything with you, because he always thought you deserved better. Sure, he was cocky and flirtatious, but he wasn't a dick. If no one reciprocated the flirting, he didn't push his luck. It was simple. And he wasn’t the type who did one-night stands, despite the rumours. Dante enjoyed having a connection to the people he took to bed, he became sexually attracted to those he knew on a deeper emotional level. But sometimes, when he was really, truly desperate, he would download Tinder and hook up with random girls.

And he reeked of desperation.

"Dante, you can let go of my hand now."  You told him, part of you hoping he wouldn't.

Who could blame you? He was an objectively attractive man, with a charming smile and a body sculpted by the gods themselves. Why would he ever want to get involved with you? Dante was your opposite — he talked, he sang, he danced, he was obnoxious. You were quiet, most of the time, and shy. In fact, when he first met you, he thought you had some form of speech impediment, with your nose in Boccaccio’s The Decameron, a book you stole from the public library because you were much too young to read. That’s when knew you were trouble, just like him.

"Yeah, of course." Dante stepped back. "How's your hand?"

"Better. How are you feeling?"

"Me? Why are you asking?"

"Hello?" You scrunched your nose and frowned. "You wanted me to punch you because you were touch-starved. Did it help?"

"I'll be honest, it felt more like a tickle than anything." He shrugged. "Are you sure you didn't pull your punch?"

There it was, the one thing that turned you from an introvert to a bat-shit crazy bitch — his stupid little mouth that he opened without ever thinking.

"Are you fucking kidding me? You're telling me I risked breaking my bones so you could feel better, only for you to not feel anything? I swear to fucking God, Dante, this is the last time I'm doing anything nice for you."

"Nice? You punched me!" He threw his hands up in exasperation, while your blood boiled inside of you, sending you into a blind rage.

"You asked me to punch you, you maniac! You should've fucked me instead!"

Your eyes widened at the sentence that came out of your mouth without a single thought, mortified at your own stupidity.

"Hugged. I meant hugged. Shit."

"No, no, hold up, you didn't say hugged." Dante tilted his head, one hand rubbing his chin. "Isn't that called a Freudian slip?"

"I- well- how the fuck do you even know what a Freudian slip is?" You tried changing the subject but he didn't bite.

"Google." He closed the gap between the two of you, and for the first time you felt intimidated by him. "Do you want me to fuck you?"

The bluntness of his question, coupled with the sudden change in the pitch of his voice made you feel like a cornered prey. There was no possible way he was serious. But he wasn't wrong — the nature of your jobs made it impossible for either of you to have partners, and besides, you've known each other for years. It was only natural that some form of physical attraction would have developed between you two, right? But why you? Why now? And the worst of all your questions, why not?

You didn’t want to think about how this would ruin almost a decade of friendship. All you could think about was the look of pure lust in his eyes as he held your gaze, and how months upon months of sexual frustrations accumulated inside of you, bubbling and boiling and exploding when you dropped the pack of peas on the floor.

"Yes. I want you to fuck me."

Without a sliver of hesitation, you felt him pick you up with ease, hands roaming up and down his back as he slammed you down onto the table, desperately pushing away all the guns and knives. How thoughtful of him. Your hands slithered under his blood red coat while he tugged at your t-shirt, pulling it over your head to expose your bare breasts to him.

"No bra? Kinky." Dante stopped to take a better look at you.

"Stop talking." You firmly told him, but the chuckle that erupted from your throat betrayed you.

He was the one person you felt most comfortable around, so much so that you didn't feel weirded out by him pressing his lips onto your neck, or his fingertips bruising the plush of your hips, or his tongue flicking over your sensitive nipples. No, it felt natural, too natural, like your skin was made to be touched by him.

With his coat on the floor, you tackled his shirt, effectively tearing it off of him because you were just as desperate as he was, and Dante pulled your body closer to his, your clothed cunt accidentally rubbing against the bulge in his trousers. You were aching from the lack of sex, and you uncontrollably moaned at the tiny bit of friction before mumbling a weak 'sorry.'

"Fuck, don't be. That's actually kind of hot." He shamelessly admitted, and you rose a brow.

"Yeah? Then you wouldn't mind me doing it again?" You chewed on your lower lip, but he could see past the fake innocence when you rolled your hips, frantically and feverishly rubbing your clit through the layers of fabric. "Shit, I could come just from this."

For a split second, Dante wondered if this was all real. What happened to your shyness? How was it possible that his best friend, the quiet, nerdy girl he'd known for such a long time, was worse than any demon he'd ever encountered? Not that he was a saint. Far from it, because when you threw your head back, desperate to climax, his is eyes darkened, black seeping into his sclera. It should've made you afraid, but it had the opposite effect. The thought that he could activate his Devil Trigger and quite literally snap you like a twig turned you on.

"Do it, then." Dante's hand snaked behind the back of your neck, forcing you to look at him. "Show me just how needy you are."

Beads of sweat trickled down your forehead as you fucked yourself on the half-demon, fog settling in your brain with each breath, each movement, each beating of your heart. Faster. Harder. Faster. Harder. Faster.

"Oh-" Any sentence you tried to utter stopped in your throat, replaced by a string of whimpers and curses. Whatever you were trying to babble was reduced to incoherent words.

"Well shit, I didn't know you were such a filthy little slut."

"Just- oh- shut up-"

"Hmm, I don't think you really want me to shut up." Dante sneered when you picked up the pace. "I think you like it when I talk like this."

"N-not true!" You yelped as he pinched your nipple, barely doing anything and yet you were a mess already.

"So, you don't want me to call you a fucktoy, then? Bet you're dripping right now. Bet you want me balls deep inside of you."

"Fuck, I'm gonna come!" You proved his point when your entire body quivered under his, mind blank and vision blurry.

"There, there." Dante pressed his lips onto your forehead. "I got you."

The noise of his belt unbuckling made you snap your eyes open, filling you with newfound desire and guilt — poor Dante, his cock was probably aching by now while you had the time of your life. He stepped back, letting his trousers pool at his feet, and you lifted your skirt to peel your panties off. You caught him staring at you, taking the sight in, and what a sight it was — locks of hair fell out of your bun, sticking to your sweaty temples, your legs still shaking from the orgasm, and your cunt dripping wet.

"I'd love to eat you out, babe, but my balls are genuinely gonna explode." He confessed, earning a giggle from you. Even with his eyes pitch black and his Devil Trigger on the verge of activating, Dante was still Dante. And you loved that about him.

"Hurry up and fuck me, then."

"Are you that desperate that you forgot your manners?" He dug his fingertips into the plush of your hips, violently pulling you closer to him.

"Please hurry up and fuck me?" You pouted.

"Good girl, that's better." Dante pushed your leg to the side with his elbow, dragging his cock up and down your slit.

You didn't get the chance to take a look at it, but the tip felt huge, so much so that you gasped, propping yourself on your elbows to see better, and you were not disappointed. In fact, you were concerned. You could not take it.

"Dante, it's not gonna fit."

He shook his head with a half-smile, finding your concern quite cute.

"I'll make it fit."

It was both a promise and a threat, but you trusted him. God, you trusted him with your life. He slowly and gently pushed the tip, your slick more than enough to lubricate his cock, but he stopped every time you looked uncomfortable to make sure you were okay.

"Tell me if it's too much."

"No, you can- it's fine, keep going." You closed your eyes, the discomfort causing you to clench around him instead of relaxing, which made Dande forget how to breathe or think.

But the worst came to a halt when he was fully in, stopping briefly to allow you to accommodate to the size. Your breathing went back to normal soon enough, and the last ounce of pain in your body was swiftly replaced by a surge of electricity when Dante moved, slowly and softly rolling his hips, unable to abstain any longer. And you didn't want him to when his cock filled you up so good, reaching places you didn't even know existed inside of your body. Your fingernails dug into his back, clawing at his skin with desperation and impatience, like you needed more than what he was already giving you.

"See? I told you I’ll make it fit. And you take me so well." Dante said, dragging his mouth over your neck, your scent overloading his senses.

But it just wasn't enough. No matter how painful, you wanted it-

"Harder."

Assertive, demanding, you wrapped your legs around his waist, and he pulled back to look at you, as if not believing your request.

"A minute ago, you were wriggling in pain, now you want it harder?"

"Yes." There was no hesitation. "I want it harder, faster, please-"

You were shushed by two digits forcing open your mouth, and you instinctively wrapped your lips around them, sucking obediently.

"You talk too much." He gave you a taste of your own medicine. "Should've known you were just a dumb little cocksleeve."

The degrading words caused you to moan and drool around his fingers, tears welling up in your eyes. Each thrust had you clench tighter, the tip of his ridiculously large cock punishing your cervix. Pain and pleasure bubbled inside of you, sparking through your body as Dante practically ripped his fingers from your mouth, only to wrap them around your throat. He was a hungry man, and you were dinner — arching your back to get closer, deeper, you fucked yourself on his cock with his name spilling from your lips like a prayer, and he revelled in your worship.

"Shit, you like it when it hurts, don't you?" He whispered, squeezing harder while you nodded eagerly. "Of course you do."

Of course you did. How could you not when he fucked you so good that your dignity and modesty were long forgotten? When Dante stripped you of your decency to bring out the worst in you? You felt your second orgasm build up, causing you to twitch under him, eyes rolling back as you slipped your hands under his arms, holding on for dear life.

"Again- gonna come again, Dante! Fuck!"

"Atta girl." He held your quivering body, his own hips stuttering, brutally thrusting into you with raw, animalistic passion.

You came undone on his cock, fingers carding through his hair, pushing away white locks to look at his pretty eyes while his arm slithered under your lower back to both support you and bring you closer to him. Dante was close, his throbbing cock still stretching your sore cunt out. He bucked his hips, splitting you open while you latched your arms around his neck, tits pressed against his chest and your lips ghosting over his earlobe.

"Almost there, babe." Dante promised. "You're doing so well." He pulled back, nearly on edge, but you squeezed your legs tighter around his waist.

"Don't pull out." You demanded, and that was enough to help him reach enlightenment.

He filled you up, and when he did pull out, watching his cum slowly leak out of you, you could've sworn he whispered 'marry me' under his breath. Surely it was just the brain fog, or the post-orgasm high. Your whole body was numb, and you stumbled into Dante's arms when you tried to get down from the table, muscles sore and aching.

"You wanna get pizza?" He nonchalantly asked, as if he didn't just fuck his best friend.

"I- shouldn't we talk about this?" You avoided looking into his eyes, opting to stare at the floor instead.

"About what?"

God, he was either insufferably oblivious or remarkably good at pretending.

"Us." You sighed.

"What's there to talk about?" Dante's fingers found your chin, and he gently lifted it up, forcing you to look at him.

"Don't make this harder for me, please. You know things won’t be the same now. We’re not in a relationship and-"

"I don't follow." Confusion was written all over his face. "Do you not want to be my girlfriend?"

"Girl- I- hold up, what? Do you want me to be your girlfriend?" You tilted your head, baffled by his question, because of course you wanted to. You just never had the guts to admit that you like him. It was even more shocking that he liked you back. Wasn’t this all just a one-time thing?

"I mean, I thought it was pretty obvious when I fucked you. What, you thought I nut and dip? That I shoot a load and go back on the road? That I cum n go?"

"Wow, please never use those euphemisms ever again." You cringed at his words, trying your best to hide the smile that crept on your lips.

"Christ, babe, you know I don't do one-night stands unless I’m really desperate. And here I thought you were my best friend. Guess I was wrong." Dante gasped, dramatically feigning offence by placing a hand on his chest.

"I’m not your best friend anymore." You said, voice serious and cold, and his charade was quickly replaced by actual worry and offence. "I'm your girlfriend now. And your best friend."

"Okay, I was genuinely concerned. Fuck you." He flipped you off and you sneered.

"You already did."

"Wait, that's my line!"

"Skill issue."