#im so excited to draw his hair for real. so many strands and fluffiness...

[petricorah]

so excited to see you draw all of the spiderverse characters!!! not sure if u are only going to be posting sketches but all of the designs are so colourful and i think they are going to look so good in your style!!!

Ahhh thank you so much!!! I'll be trying to post full illustrations, but will be doing some sketches first to get likenesses down. But i'm excited and im glad you think the designs will look good in my style!! 🥹🥹💗 [id in alt]

[alloveroliver]

Beelzebub x MC "Questions"

Rating: FLUFF, v soft

Summary: Dating Beelzebub has been amazing, but now he's got some important questions for you. Featuring wonderful kisses ❤

Obey Me! Fanfic

"Can I kiss you?" Words tumbled quickly from Beelzebub's lips.

The sentence was jarring after such a long stretch of silence. He hadn't risen his voice but it was audibly louder than the movie playing on the screen infront of you. The TV was on a low setting since you last yawned. Beel turned it down and said it was just incase you wanted to fall asleep. The question hung in the air, sparking tension where there hadn't been.

His right arm was wrapped around your waist, hand resting on your hip, while your legs tangled together. You two shared one blanket as you relaxed against fluffy pillows on his bed. It was the most comfortable place to sit for an extended period of time in his room, so you caved and soon ended up cuddling the gentle demon.

This wasn't the first date Beelzebub had taken you on. It was one in many he'd been asking you on lately. You didn't know why he was suddenly enamored with you or what made him want to get even closer to you, but you found yourself enjoying every second with him. Dates with him were always sweet and relaxed. He even brought up ice breaker questions here and there to get to know you making your heart sing even louder for him to be in your life. You developed a deep crush that quickly turned into a genuine liking of him.

"Are you asleep?" He touched your forhead pushing hair away from your eyes so he could check of they were closed. You were staring wide eyed at the TV screen with reddend cheeks, still caught up in the whirlwind of his question. Seeing you were still awake he cleared his throat. "I should have waited until I walked you back to your room to ask..." Beelzebub fumbled his words lowering his head with pinched eyebrows.

You cleared your throat when you realized you hadn't answered him yet. Your breath trembled as you turned your head toward him.

"Sorry! I hadn't realized I didn't say anything. It's just, my stomach filled with butterflies and I got nervous..." You met his gentle gaze. He sat as still as one could and held his breath. "What I'm saying is... Yes. Yes you can kiss me." Your voice wavered so much you wished to redo the moment, but it was too late.

Beelzebub cupped your face and brought his face down to yours. "R-right now?"

His nervous studder made your heart sore. He kept showing signs of truly falling for you and you couldn't help but fall right there with him.

"Yes, right now." You smiled kindly at him. His red strands fell forward over his brow as he neared.

His lips lightly parted over yours. The kiss was the gentlest peck you'd ever imagined. He lingered close, nose bumping yours before he pressed another delicate kiss to your lips.

Your hear rate sped exponentially as did his. The next gentle peck lasted a moment longer than the rest. Your lips hummed like electricity buzzed over the surface. Beel kissed you again and again making each one last just a fraction of a second longer. The butterflies in your stomach stirred and suddenly the blanket was too hot to have covering your blushing skin.

Your heart blossomed with every new kiss. The white light from the TV flashed into the dark room. It highlighted Beelzebub's handsome features and washed his hair out to a strawberry blond.

His fingertips slid slowly into your hair. His other hand rested on your lower back drawing circles with his thumb along your spine. He angled his head the opposite way and pressed even more adorning kisses to your buzzing lips. It was exhilarating to say the least.

He paused and peered up through his tousled bangs at you. "May I ask one more question?"

"Yes" You breathed out, chest falling on the exhale.

Beelzebub smiled wide and took a deep, thoughtful breath. "Will you be my girlfriend?" His brows moved upward with his question, pinching slightly in a hopeful expression.

It all came rushing towards you at once. The realization as to why he'd been wanting all these dates with you. He was serious about you. He wanted to be in a real committed relationship.

Your smile couldn't be contained. You pulled on his collar in excitement. "Yes, Beelzebub! Yes of course I will. I'd love to be in a relationship with you."

Signing in relief, he laughed, and pulled you into a hug. "That's a great thing to hear." His chest rumbled with happines.

He tugged at your lower back while he relaxed back onto the pillows, his eyes glittering up at you. As you hovered over top of him, your hair hung down covering your vison on one side. Neither of you could stop smiling or get over the giddy giggles for a long moment.

He lightly held the back of your head and angled you down to meet his lips once more. Your arms quickly wrapped around his neck while your lips lay claim to his.

This would be your best adventure in Devildom yet, watching your relationship with the avatar of gluttony himself blossom as time pressed on.

.

.

.

I typed this on my phone, prob not the best for my wrists 😬👌

Thank you for reading!!! Reblog of you enjoyed the fic!

Im slowly getting back into things but it's fun having inspiration now!

Masterlist is at the top of my blog~

[deviant-hunter-rk800]

Break

—Someone’s broken in. Connor is the first person you think to call. But what will he choose?—

A/N: IM BACK!! So this has been on my mind forever now, and I’m so excited it’s finally done!! Please let me know what you think of it!

Warnings: kinda fluffy Connor, swearing, blood, fighting, angsty

“Goddamnit, Kyle!” You rake a hand through your hair, sighing through gritted teeth. “You’re kidding, right? There’s no damn way-”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he says tiredly, “there’s nothing I can do.”

Clenching your jaw, you hang up, nearly throwing your phone across the room. You shake your head, wanting very badly to hit something. A headache quickly forms as you mutter curses.

“Thought you were an officer, not a sailor,” Gavin taunts, laughing as he props his feet up on his desk.

“Fuck off, Reed,” you snarl, “or so help me I will shut you up myself.”

He rocks back, laughing even harder at your sour mood. Without warning, you grab the nearest object which happens to be a pencil. He jumps as you bring it down towards his shin, barely missing your mark as he crashes to the floor.

“Crazy bitch,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his head. He slowly stands up, backing away from you. He’s a good ten yards away before he turns towards the door.

“Don’t get me wrong,” someone says. Turning, you recognize Hank and Connor walking towards you, the older man smiling. “Seeing Gavin nearly get shanked brings me great joy,” he sits on your desk, taking the pencil from your clenched fist, “but you could’ve at least used a pen.”

You sigh, picking at your desk. “Don’t judge,” you mutter, “could’ve gotten lead in his blood. Made ‘im real sick.”

“She does have a point,” Connor agrees. Your lips twitch at his pun. Looking up at him, a timid smile pulls at his lips. “I thought it would help your mood.”

“But you’re just gonna ignore she tried to stab Reed?” Hank shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “Oh. Okay.”

Connor blinks, head tilting to the side. “I assumed her actions were a side effect of her fever.”

“Fever?” You and Hank say simultaneously. You don’t break eye contact with Connor as you lean towards the older man. “Jinx. You owe me a coffee.”

Hank’s head turns fast, scowling at the side of your face accusingly. You smile innocently at Connor despite the two holes being bore into your head. His brows furrow at your actions.

“You never get sick,” Hank says, the frown tipping into concern, “and now you’ve got a fever?”

“It’s not severe, Lieutenant,” Connor interrupts, “her body temperature is only at ninety nine point-”

“But you don’t get sick,” he repeats.

“Long story short,” you sigh, leaning back in your chair, “I’ll be staying at a motel for a month or so cause the pipes in my apartment building froze.”

Both Hank and Connor’s brows raise. “Holy shit, kid.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, resting your head in your hand. “Kyle — the shitty landlord? — says he can’t get anybody to come look at it for a couple weeks.”

“Why not ditch the motel?” Hank places a hand on your shoulder. “Stay with us till the shit gets fixed.”

“Hank-“

He rolls his eyes, cutting you off with a wave of his hand. “Oh c’mon, Y/L/N. I’ll even make pancakes.”

You chew your lip, considering his offer. Bunk with an old cop, his dog, and a cute android? It wasn’t the worst idea. It definitely beat getting some disease from mysterious stains in a broke down motel.

“Alright,” you say finally.

Hank smiles, a dimple pressing into his cheek. He ruffles your hair. “Alright.”

The squeal of brakes from a train echoes distantly accompanied by three solid knocks on the door. Sumo pick his head up off your lap, giving a soft woof. Setting your book down on the nightstand, you scratch his ears, earning a couple whumps of his tail against the bed.

“It’s okay, buddy,” you coo sweetly. You manage to free your legs of the blankets as the saint bernard settles again. Using your foot to swing the door open, you tie up your hair, quietly padding down the hallway.

You’ve just rounded the corner when the handle jostles. You hesitate, holding your breath as muffled curses make their way through the door. Goosebumps rise on your skin. A thousand thoughts flood your mind, the scariest one being, That’s not Hank.

The lock clicks. “Fuck,” you snap, your voice a whisper.

The door swings open, it’s handle denting the drywall as two men push through. You lock eyes with the first man, the two of you standing shell shocked for half a breath. The second, the younger looking with a heavy bruise on his cheekbone, slaps the first.

“Fuckin grab her!” He shouts, slamming the door shut. And just like that, the standoff comes to a jagged end, the first guy lunging at you, his cigarette stained teeth bared.

Grabbing his wrist, you twist his arm to the side, driving the heel of your palm into his nose. Losing his balance, he topples backwards. The second man reaches out, but with a rush of fur blurring by, Sumo latches his teeth into his arm.

“Sumo!” Cigarette Teeth seizes your moment of distraction and get you in a headlock, his forearm held tightly against your throat. Bruise punches the dog in his ribs before throwing him off. “No!”

He adrenaline coursing through you hinders rather than help, turning your motions frantic as you scratch and scream; your fingernails leave angry, red welts across his skin. Bruise moves forward. You bring your knees to your chest, a savage growl pushing through gritted teeth as you kick him in his stomach. The loss of his footing sends him to the floor, his face meeting the wood with a loud thump!

“Jesus, fuck,” the man holding you grunts, an undertone of fear taking over his words.

The slamming of your heel on the arch of his foot paired with the whip of your head against his already bleeding nose earns a well deserved howl of pain.

Finally able to slip from his grasp, you kick Cigarette Teeth in his knee, watching him drop to the floor with a loud cry. You grab the nearest object — a book off one of the many shelves — and bring its spine down across his temple. With a groan, he crumples to the ground.

“Sumo,” you murmur hoarsely, chest heaving. You quickly fall to your knees, gingerly running your hands across his fur, turning his head towards you. “Are you okay? Fuck.”

His tail wags lightly, letting out a small whine. You whip your head to see Bruise pushing himself up with a groan. Quickly looking at your options, you stand up.

“C’mon, boy,” you urge, helping the large dog limp towards the bedroom. “Good boy! Just a little more! C’mon!”

Slamming the door, you rip the chair from the desk, lodging it beneath the door’s handle. You grab your phone from the nightstand, your book long forgotten. Sumo growls.

“I know, buddy,” you say weakly, scrolling hurriedly through your contacts. 1-800-CYBERLIFE comes into view and you hit dial. “C’mon, Connor. Pick up! Pick up!”

A rumble from the other side of the door. Sumo, crouching low, bares his teeth. You back away.

Click.

“Connor?!”

“Why is it,” Hank says dully, “that every time we gotta go chase some fuckin dead end, it’s always at some creepy, abandoned, probably haunted building?”

“If it’s any consolation, the likelihood that this building is haunted is very low.” Hank turns slow at Connor’s remark, glaring at the android with a dangerous look in his eye. Connor tilts his head. “Would you prefer rat infested?”

Hank narrows his eyes, grimacing nonetheless. “I fuckin hate you.”

Connor can’t help the faintest shadow of a smile that tugs at his lips. With a shake of his head, Hank’s attention returns to the warehouse, the rusted sign worn beyond recognition. At least to the human eye; there was still enough residue from the paint for the RK800 to confirm the location, despite the many years.

“I know you do, lieutenant.”

A middle finger is thrown over the older mans shoulder. His free hand taking hold of the door handle, he draws his weapon. Dust kicks up at their feet, the squeal of the hinges echoing off the graffitied walls.

Quiet steps are placed carefully amongst broken glass. Hank pulls one hand from the grip of his gun, his pointer finger aimed at the ceiling, drawing a circle into the air. Connor follows the order, scanning the small room with a flick of his eyes. The disturbance of dirt trailing through the door on the opposite wall is highlighted.

“There,” he says quietly, jutting his chin. Anderson takes the lead.

With the ceiling half collapsed on itself, rusted cross beams hang dangerously low, the sunken roof giving way to a darkened sky. The moonlight — one drag from an old cigar away from hazy — makes the room glow. Hank’s hand lays flat, making a sweeping motion towards the right side of the warehouse. Silently, Connor tips his head.

Parting from one another, each officer carefully makes their way through the building, scanning and searching for leads. Connor ducks beneath a shelving unit, one hand resting on the wall as he maneuvers quietly. He’s sure to miss the rebar haphazardly sticking out from the floor. He stands, but not before the remnants of a bloodstain is highlighted by his sensors.

Walsh, Chris

3 days old

Suspect is injured.

His record is littered with aggravated assault, theft, multiple drug charges, and battery. Violence is nothing new to Walsh, and from previous statements, he finds a certain appeal to the chaos. Got caught more than once, but was often let out on good behavior. There’s a soft curse from the other side of the building, Hank’s flashlight piercing the veiled darkness.

Scanners highlighting an otherwise dark corner, Connor finds himself standing in something akin to a home; a rat’s nest composed of unwanted trash, the bed nothing more than stained cardboard with a tattered and worn sweatshirt acting as a blanket. The android — clean and tidy in every sense of the word, with only a few strands of hair out of place — is so very juxtaposed to his surroundings. Crouching, Connor tilts his head left, eyes darting about for a trace of the suspect. There, on a soda can tipped on its side, it’s contents half spilt onto the floor, are smudges of fingerprints.

Walsh, Chris

7 hours old

“He’s been here, lieutenant,” he calls out. But the answer doesn’t come.

Looking over his shoulder, he stands slowly, carefully awaiting a smart comment or a grumble of disapproval, but there’s only the wind, a distant siren from somewhere in the city, and the tremble of a loaded gun.

“Lieutenant?”

Connor listens, sensors heightened to a degree, he isolates Hank’s heartbeat. It’s slow, steady, and it’s not the only one. The second pulse is wild, barely tamed by ragged breathing. Straightening, the android begins to move.

“Chris Walsh.” His voice is loud in the hollow building, smooth and demanding; dangerous on a calculated level. “Detroit Police, show yourself.”

Keeping the wall to his right, Connor silently makes his way towards Anderson, finding him on his side. The android drops, assessing the remnants of ketamine in an abandoned syringe, a needle mark in the man’s arm. A bruise begins to blossom on his neck, the ugly shade of purple dark against the silvery beard.

Connor grits his teeth, a half contained, “Shit,” escaping him. He radios in to the precinct.

Code 243, 11-41. Officer down.

A frustrated howl rips through the air, the ring of a gunshot piercing. “Where the fuck are you?!”

11-99. 1083 Wilson Avenue. Repeat: 11-99.

Ducking away from the unconscious officer, Connor finds the suspect standing in the spotlight of the broken roof, his eyes darting frantically. Given the levels of chemicals in the man’s system, Connor estimates Hank will wake up in two minutes and forty seven seconds. The android is several paces away before speaking.

“Chris-“ the suspect’s eyes find a spot in the darkness, gun pointed at the yellow — now red — ring of light “-put the gun down.”

“I could- I could kill you! Right now!”

The light touches Connor’s skin, and Walsh jumps. The shadows peel back with every slow step. “No,” the android says flatly, “you can’t.”

“I’m the one with a gun!” Connor nods, not furthering his agreement.  The suspect’s hand shakes, a tremor wracking his entire being. “There’s laws! Androids they-“ a shake of his head “-they can’t have weapons!”

“You’re right.” Hesitation. A smooth step closer. “There are laws. Plenty of which you’ve broken.”

Walsh bares his teeth. Knuckles pale against the black steel, he adjusts his grip, uncomfortable with its weight. Connor begins to circle him. Walsh turns in his place, frantic eyes never leaving the android.

Connor, as calm as he is efficient, watches the suspect, easily filing away every flaw. He’s dissecting him from five yards away. The bandage haphazardly wrapped around his bicep, the bloodstain dark, is most noticeable. Chris is ramabling by now — a desperate attempt at  justifying his actions.

“I’m- I’m sorry, okay? I never wanted- he owed me!” His pleas go unheard. “I didn’t have- have a choice!”

Estimated time of awakening for Lt. Anderson: fifty three seconds.

Reinforcements estimated time of arrival: three minutes and fourteen seconds.

Attack: 86% chance of success

Without further thought, Connor lunges forward. The gun goes off, missing it’s mark by inches and with a dramatic clatter, it skids across the floor. Programming takes over his movements; a dog, trained to be unforgivingly vicious. And Chris – poor, poor Chris – was the cat.

A whir of mechanisms within the android urge his movements, ducking beneath a wid swing. In turn, a knee is brought to the fugitive’s stomach, folding him over with a grunt of pain. Locking his jaw, a determined look settles on his face. He wraps his arms around Connor, lifting him off the ground and tackling him into a nearby shelving unit.

The pressure on his biocomponents is unwelcome and earns a groan. Walsh takes hold of the android’s shoulders, spinning him, and driving his head into the corner of the shelf. Blue blood easily spills. Before another blow can befall him, Connor braces himself, pushing back against Walsh’s hold. But he still has his momentum and slams his own nose into the android’s elbow.

He cradles his now broken nose, blood quickly flowing between his fingers. Connor turns. LED still a blaring red, thirium drips from his left brow, the liquid following the shape of his eye socket before rolling over his cheekbone and dripping off his jaw. If he needed to breathe, his chest would be heaving. He makes no effort to fix his crumpled (and now stained) shirt nor straighten his tie. Disheveled but nowhere near distraught, he suddenly fits his surroundings.

Incoming call: Detective Y/L/N.

He answers, hesitating when he hears a hushed yet frantic, “Connor?!”

“Detective?” His mouth doesn’t move, but his voice rings through all the same. You let out a choked breath. “I thought you-“

“I need your help,” you cut him off.

He can’t see you flinch at the pounding of the door, but he can hear the fear in your voice. Hank, from the other side of the room, groans.

“Now may not be the best time, Detective.”

His answer is cold, but Walsh is eyes the door behind him, feet shifting.

“Please! Please!” A fleeting thought occurs to him that’s he’s never seen, let alone heard, you cry. “Two guys broke in, Con. They’re twice-“ your voice cracks “-twice my size and I don’t think I can hold them off.”

Sirens close in around the building. Had the call not been directly wired into his head, he would’ve missed the way your voice died at the end. Walsh’s finger wrap deftly around an iron rod. Raising it above his head, he takes a swing which Connor narrowly misses.

“What is it they want?”

“I don’t know!” Venom taints your tone. “Lemme ask em real quick!”

Chris recovers, bringing the rod over Connor’s throat, forcing him to bend backwards if only slightly.

“Think, Y/N.” The android brings his elbow to the man’s rib cage, but his grip is firm. “How do you get out of this?”

There’s true terror in your voice now. “I don’t know! Connor, please! I need-“

You’re cut off by your own yelp, the door finally giving way, splinters flying. Sumo barks wildly. There’s a thud, the scuffle of feet, and the sounds of a fight.

“Detective?”

Now he’s worried. Hell, he’s scared. Flashlights flood the room and Walsh’s head snaps to the source. Panicking, he drops the rod all together, taking off towards the back corner.

“Y/N?!”

He says it out loud this time, but there’s no response. There’s a loud crack within his own head, followed by a sickening thump of something heavy hitting the carpet.

Time slows – no, it feels like it slows. Damn near coming to a halt as the sight of Walsh’s back, his feet carrying him towards freedom. But there’s also the silence that he so desperately wishes would leave him; an ache to hear your laugh, saying it was all a joke. It doesn’t come, and with one of Sumo’s cries cut short, he knows something is terribly wrong.

And yet, he hesitates.

[X] SAVE HER

[O] CHASE SUSPECT

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