#I don't like dungeon crawls

[vodika-vibes]

I'm thinking about 501st DND nights.

Ahsoka is the DM. The books originally belonged to Obi-Wan, but he and his friends no longer have time to play, plus they have digital copies of the books. (Obi-Wan used DND to help Anakin learn how to read Basic when he first arrived at the temple and it was startlingly effective.)

When Ahsoka first mentioned the game to Skyguy, he said that she could, but only one night a week, and then he begged out, claiming that he had other things to do.

Rex also begged out, citing how busy he was all the time. But he directed her to some of the vod'e who would like to play.

Fives and Echo are the first full-time players. They bicker over what characters they're going to make but eventually come to a consensus. They make a pair of identical twins, one a wizard (Echo) and the other a Warlock (Fives).

The next full-time player is Kix, who makes a gunslinger and only shows up to every other session.

Jesse shows up to the first couple of sessions and then has to pull out, but Hardcase is happy to take his place, with a sword and board Paladin.

Tup is invited to join the game when he joins the 501st, and he hems and haws over it, but ends up joining the game and making a bard who accidentally keeps encouraging NPCs to form unions and rebel against the government. (Ahsoka finds it hilarious and leans into it).

Dogma is the last person invited to join. He considers it for a day and then borrows the Player's Handbook and the DMG, and he reads both cover to cover. When he comes to his first session, he comes with his fully made character, a rogue.

Everyone thought that Dogma would be a rules lawyer, and in a way he is. The problem is Dogma learned the rules so well that he knows exactly what to do to go around the rules.

As a result, Ahsoka has to come up with a contingency for any possible solution that Dogma comes up with. She's the most prepared DM who's ever DMed.

[alicenpai]

BABES WAKE UP. DUNGEON MESHI TRAILER DROPPED

come talk to me at anime north tomorrow about dungeon meshi im all caught up 🥹🫶

seeing this tankobon obi from a while back with the anime announcement on it feels so nostalgic now!!!

edit: Lines in Motion is so real for this one. love their video essays

[mementoasts]

jonathan sims head archivist of the magnus institute london

[equalseleventhirds]

been playing a little bit with a game design (mostly during my commute bcos. no other time.) and while i've considered other options, it does seem that the best core mechanic for the Themes is gonna be a slight redesign of never stop blowing up.

not a straightforward hack tho bcos i am incapable of straightforward hacks. i must modify to live. also bcos nsbu is simply no good for long-term play. like it mostly worked for the show bcos short, but u gotta allow a d20 to degrade to a lower dice size or everyone gets so powerful so fast. anyway.

[asexual-levia-tan]

two things i do enjoy about the manhwa include:

getting into the heads of the other characters every once in a while (that becomes a bit more common later on in the novel, but it takes a while)

in the novel we don't see what happened (though we can imagine) to make riette (and everyone else) be like "hey. be nicer to your brother." but in the manhwa we get to see yoohyun screaming and crying while dragging his barely functioning body to the dungeon yoojin was taken into. nice.

[muntitled]

Tic-Tac-Toe

Pairing: The Salesman x Fem!reader

Summary: Every Wednesday your schedule consisted of attending classes during the day, and satisfying the needs of a sadist through the night.

Warning: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Violence, Kidnapping, Isolation, SociallyAnxious!Reader, Blindfolds, Stalking, Knives, Blood, Gore, Stockholm Syndrome, Smut (+18) mdni, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Insertion, Fingering, Rough Sex, Erotophonophilia, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Dacryphillia, Sadomasochism, Gunplay, Deepthroating, Breeding Kink, Unprotected sex

A/N: Hell is empty

4k Words

You're strapped in a chair, like always, and you are blindfolded because he doesn't trust easily.

It's terribly annoying.

At any point of during and after your little 'arrangement' you could have called the cops. Doesn't he understand that?

Every Wednesday, you're taken from the warmth of your apartment, and you're delivered right back at 00:00 on the dot, every Thursday with barely an inch of life left in your bones. You'd either always come back wet, with semen sliding between your thighs, or with mysterious marks- old and new- crawling underneath your sweater. Whatever mood he was in, he'd always leave you feeling sore.

It should have bothered you.

The thought of seeing this large, domineering shadow-in-a-suit every Wednesday should not overwhelm you with all these feelings of excitement. Instead, you should do like all the mentally ill girls do and just get some fucking help.

But you want him to trust you, for some reason.

Which was utterly ridiculous considering the fact that to him, you were something akin to a porcelain wind up toy for his amusement. You had no business requesting he remove the blindfold aspect but still, you asked anyway. Toy's couldn't be trusted, could they?

"I'd really appreciate it if I didn't have to wear one of these everytime I visit your place." He removes the blindfold, and in a second, your vision is filled with nothing but him. One moment you were in the cozy warmth of your dorm room. Curled up on the couch while your roommate spends her youth effectively- out with boyfriends and friends and everything you didn't have. You answered the front door when you heard his special knock, like you always do. You walked with him to the cab. You let him put on the blindfold. You said 'I'm fine’ when the taxi driver got a little too nosy and you let him lead you away from your boring life.

If only for a few hours.

You'd let him do whatever he wanted for those few hours because such surrender was almost sacred. You forfeited your safety in his hands, to do with it whatever he pleased and in that, you found rest. Whatever happens, happens.

Forget this room- what was essentially his personal dungeon, windowless, red and boasting various torture objects- your eyes are only on him.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't feel the need to kidnap me anymore? We do this every Wednesday," You become more childish around him and he lets you. Like you forgot you are a fully autonomous university student. There was power in that too. "Surely we've established some sort of trust?” He doesn't respond to you immediately. You crane your head up at him, hungry to lock eyes with his cold, empty slits that enchanted you body and soul.

You are in love with him, perhaps.

That's a logical response isn't it?

You laugh almost.

Listening to yourself try to rationalize your fondness for such a horrible man.

Said horrible man is silent. All you hear is the clicking of his dress shoes as he moves to the leather seat directly across from yours. Your eyes scan over all his movements.

The right corner of his lip quirks up. A small coffee table creates the only distance between you and he bends over to pour you both a generous glass of Brandy on the rocks. You don't drink it. Ever since he's been bringing you here, you never do. He knows this, yet still he pours.

"This relationship isn't about trust." He says finally. Something inside you, that is perhaps a little broken, actually purrs at the sound of his voice. You're hyperaware of your thighs squeezing together on the leather seat. They're spilling out of the sundress you purposely wore today.

Lots of your clothes were for the function of comfort. Your body was full and curvy and not always something to be advertised, unless you wished it to. Tonight, you wanted to show off as much as possible.

A thick leather band is keeping both your wrists locked to the armrests, while he sits back, free and so irrevocably in charge it should scare you. It should. But the sick and incredibly deranged thing is that it doesn't.

Outside, the rain is beating down on whatever building you're in, casting a thick veneer of grey all across the city.

But inside this velvet room... your heart is hammering inside its cage as you watch him undo the buttons of his crisp suit. A black one today. Jet black like his hair.

Although-

"You've got more grey in your hair than last week." You can't help but say.

He tilts his head in inquisition. "Are you insulting me or complimenting me?"

"I'll leave that up to you to decide," you shrug your shoulders as much as you can under these limited restraints. At least he hasn't restrained your ankles this time. Progress. "In here, you're the boss. Right?"

He takes a sip of his drink until finally, you've finally locked eyes. Your bare toes curl and your back arches slightly as you sit a bit straighter in your seat. Like you're in a lecture hall, although he is far more interesting than any of your professors.

"I'm not as young as I used to be," he finally says as he takes one more sip of his drink before bringing his briefcase onto the coffee table. Its presence is ominous and so horribly loud for an inanimate object. It kickstarts all your dormant nerves, revving up all the rest of your senses that have yet to catch up to the fact that you were facing the man of both your desires and nightmares once again.

"Who have you told about our arrangement?" The question causes you to roll your eyes. He watches the petulant movement with that same, silent smile and blank eyes. He unclicks the briefcase. Your stomach lurches and your thighs squeeze together. Pavlov's dog.

"Every time you ask me-" an object clinks onto the table. A butcher knife.

You try to pull your eyes away from the objects he's placing on the table, one by one. "Everytime you ask me if I've told anyone about our arrangement-" another object. A wooden spoon beside the knife. "Everytime I tell you the same thing."

Your throat closes when he uncovers a dildo. Bright pink and fucking menacing. "Carry on talking." He says, snapping your gaze away from the objects lining the table.

"I don't have any friends." Your voice is wobblier. You try to deny the sight of the rabbit vibrator, "It's the reason you picked me." You clear your throat as you hoped to clear all the nerves beginning to fog your mind. "Someone could've followed me here. B-But I don't really know anyone enough to care." The final object that clunks onto the glass coffee table and this time, you're unable to look away.

"Are we ready to begin?"

The metal revolver laying quiet and undisturbed beside the rabbit vibrator makes everything else on the table look like children's toys. Even the butcher knife.

You pull at the restraints, your legs quivering slightly as you shift and writhe in the seat. He studies you as closely as you were once studying him. You can see the excitement begin to flood his eyes at the physical manifestation of your discomfort.

"Now you're getting it." He nods sardonically, taking another sip from his glass before placing the briefcase on the floor beside him. "You were a little too happy to see me," he joked, letting out an airy exhale of laughter.

"You wanna hazard a guess as to what we'll be playing today?" He's smiling, genuinely. With that look in his eyes you can tell he's hovering in the clouds. Meanwhile you've begun to feel real fear. No matter how regular these visits might become you'd never get used to him. It's impossible. Not when he found new and daring ways to torture and pleasure you every single week. You couldn't get used to something as brash and unconventional as him. Like the conditions of a child in a broken home, he kept his tactics inconsistent so that every week is a new hell or perhaps- depending on his mood- heaven.

"If I guess wrong?" You swallow thickly and something dark in him settles. He spreads his legs more, there's a twitch inside his lips before he smiles again.

"Well, guessing isn't the game, so you'll be fine."

You nod your head... assessing the objects. There's menacing objects and household objects. Even just looking at them you can tell what they all have in common.

"Am I going to have to insert-"

"You're not guessing." His voice booms. He rests his elbow on the armrests, his hands corded with veins seem itching to do something, you're not sure what. "I said guess." He commands.

"Hide and seek?"

He snickers, "A favourite-"

"More like your favourite." You snip back, "I couldn't sit down the whole week." You frown at the memory. That week he'd brought you to an abandoned warehouse, letting you run the entire perimeter full.

"It's in your best interest to keep coming to our sessions-" he reminds you, snapping you back into the present.

"You're paying my university fees, I'm not complaining." You nod, before plastering a thin smile on your face, "All I have to do every week is prostitute myself to a literal sadist-"

"Have you given up on guessing today's game?" He didn't like you making him hyper aware of the fact that this dynamic, whatever it is, is considered objectively bad. And so you're not surprised when he swiftly moves past the topic.

He leans forward. His large hand disappears under his chair before uncovering a small whiteboard. Four lines- 2 horizontals are running across 2 verticals, creating 9 blocks. He stands up, while your eye is still focusing on the board. From your point of view it sits underneath the row of objects on the table. You don't even realize your right wrist strap is being untied.

"Colour?" He asks, pushing a crate of whiteboard markers towards you. With your now free hand you pick the pink one.

He snickers. "Predictable." He whispers before placing a large, domineering hand on your head. He presses down your braids, patting you like a stray he's rescued from the cold. You stare aimlessly ahead, fearing you won't be able to contain everything you've begun to feel for him if you lock eyes now.

"We're playing tic-tac-toe," he relents. His hand lingers on your head a bit longer before he's stepping away.

"With a twist, I presume?"

"Clever girl," he nods, walking back to his seat. "So you're aware of the objects."

"Place a gun in front of a girl and she's going to notice."

"Paranoid girl." He tsks before leaning forward.

"You want to start or should I?"

"Wait-" you swallow, "What happens if I win?"

He smiles that dazzling, debonair smile.

"You pick which one goes inside you."

Lightning cracks across the sky. A chorus of thunder roars all at once like some kind of phenomenon and your lips stutter open.

"Th-That's insane I-"

"I shouldn't have to remind you that you came here out of your own volition. "

"What happens if you win?"

"Then I choose." He says.

Your eyes skate over the object. It doesn't take an ivy league graduate to hazard a guess as to which of the objects he's itching to stick inside you.

"There's a fucking knife here-" You're trembling. Tears are pooling in your eyes. It doesn't even matter that you're a somewhat decent tic tac toe player. It doesn't matter that you're confident in this game. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters.

"And there's also a spoon," he nods, neutrally, "And a vibrator, and a dildo. Etcetera. Etcetera." He leans forward, unclicking his whiteboard pen, "your words are just words, Darling. You're just listing things. Start," he says, with a deadly lilt in his voice. "Or I will."

You scramble to uncap your marker with one hand, all while he watches with dead and black eyes. You knew that whoever starts the game was placed at a big advantage and so you're nearly scrambling to place that dignified X in the center block.

"Clever girl." He says once again, drawing his blue 'O' directly beside your pink 'X'. You aim for the block above him. He blocks it. You aim for the block beside the center. He blocks that too.

Your victory comes too quickly. You barely feel it as you strike a line vertically through the blocks. 3 X's.

Relief washes over you but it's overcast with doubt. Like you're celebrating in trepidation as you watch him stand up.

"Congratulations! Which do you choose?"

"I can pick anything?" You ask, staring up at him, bright eyes wild with the adrenaline that comes with wanting to preserve your organs.

"Anything you want, my little winner."

You begin to lean over. His eyebrows quirk up when you wrap a small hand around his wrist.

"I pick that." You say breathlessly. Your eyes zeroed in on his hands at his side. And you watch as he walks towards you, as if compelled by an unforeseen force. His palms are calloused underneath yours and you blow out several unstable breaths as he stands above you. So imposing it's breathtaking.

"You sure?" It's the way he asks it that has you second guessing. And perhaps he sees the caution seeping into your eyes because there's excitement lurking in his. Before you're even able to formulate a response, his hand is locked tightly around your esophagus, vacuuming all pathways shut until you're writhing for air.

"A fine, fine choice," He's becoming more and more riled up the more you writhe in your seat, trying to scrounge for a single breath of air. He doesn't let you. Instead he moves behind you, before leaning down.

If you could breathe, you would shiver at the feeling of his lips behind your ear. "Here we go-" he whispers, before reaching around your torso with his free hand before forcing your legs open. The second he lets his three digits stab into your cunt, he uncurls the grip on your throat as you make a horrid sound somewhere between a moan, a scream, and a haggard gasp. "FUCK- Sl-Slowdown-" you knew better than to request something like that. All you hear is a snicker from behind you as pain blossoms all across your nether regions. He's not gentle. He's not kind. He doesn't allow you to adjust to his fingers before he's scissoring them inside you, causing a blood-curdling scream to rip itself out of your throat. Your back is arched and you're trying to get away from him but the fucking persists.

"You've been wet like this for me the entire time?" He sounds absolutely demented, behind you, "You wanted this didn't you?" He bites at your ear as the first tears begin to pool at your eyes, "My little winner."

"P-Please stop-" His fingers are restless inside you. Curling and uncurling. Scissoring and stabbing as if wanting to open you up and split you all the way in half.

"What a pretty little pussy, huh? Look at what a mess you're making."

"When-" you can't form words. "When- Stop?" It's all you're able to say as your nails dig into the material of his suit.

"The sooner you cum the sooner it stops."

You doubted your ability to cum under these circumstances. He's setting an ungodly pace and it's all so hurried and in a frenzy, it's like your brain does not have time to understand if you even like what's currently being done to you.

"What- Do you want you want my help?" you begin to shake your head. "I'll help you, baby-"

His other hand reaches over and pinches your clit.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your orgasm is quite literally forced out of you. Your hips writhe and your ass tries to leave the seat as the first feelings of pleasure rip through you by force. "That's it, Clever girl," he coos, still curling his fingers inside you, "That's my Clever girl." He says once more before stilling his movements. For a second you just sit there, trying to collect your breath while he's still inside you. All at once, his hands are removed from your body.

He grabs a handkerchief from his breast pocket and you watch him clinically wipe his hands before erasing the marks on the board with the same cloth. A very clear boner pushes against his black slacks yet still his face is calm.

"Alright, My turn to start-"

"WHAT!? B-But I won." You scream, absolutely seething with desperation.

"You know everyone who plays 'X' has a significantly higher chance at winning-" You say with your eyes narrowed. He nods.

"And you know that too, which means we each should be granted alternating times to play ‘X’. Regardless if you won or not." You slump in your seat, suddenly far too aware that your bare cunt is exposed.

"Don't mope." He says, "It's not cute." Before drawing his 'X' in the center.

You close your legs, sitting upright with a new zeal of self preservation as you grab ahold of your marker.

You draw your pink 'O' underneath his.

You both play many more rounds. All ending in ties. This is how you play- with a frazzled grip and closed legs. A shiver every now and then overcomes you with the gravity of your aftershocks. His snickers bring your eyes up to his. He speaks as he makes his move.

"You're so focused on blocking," he sighs, "You're not even trying to win anymore-"

"I'm not letting you stick a knife in my cunt." You nod in finality before blocking another move.

"Not even if I say please?" He asks, making a faux pout.

"Fuck off."

"In that case, I have to win."

Your heart kickstarts as he pushes his pen to the board. Images flash across your mind. Blood splattered across his gorgeous face. Your blood as he fucks the sharp end of a knife inside you. You nearly vomit while he speaks. “Easy as-" you block him.

"Tic-" you block him again.

"Tac-" you block him some more

"Toe- I Win."

A victory that somehow escaped your vision. He strikes a line diagonally through the squares and your stomach sinks. He stares at you from across the room. His eyes so deeply satisfied you can feel it radiating off of him in waves.

You lower your teeth to the other restraint, violently trying to free your left wrist from its oppressive hold. And you watch as the devil slowly rises.

Your heart aches. Your brain is sent into complete alarm as your flight or fight kicks in and your sympathetic nervous system fires.

"Now, which one would look pretty inside you?" He drags his fingers along the objects, undoubtedly an act of taunting. You stomp your feet on the ground. You try to push the chair underneath you but it's plastered to the floor.

"Please!" Tears are running thickly. They cloud your vision. You don't even see the way his smile falls enough for him to rub over the bulge in his slacks.

"Fuck," he says gravelly as he relents and picks up the gun. "You're so fucking pretty when you're scared out of your fucking mind. You know that?"

You shake your head as he nears, wondering if this might really be the end. Has your body become too worn out by his games? Has the time for him to discard his toy finally dawned on you both? Is he all grown up with no need for such things as toys?

"PLEASE-NO-"

"Open your mouth." He's standing in front of you, your head directly in front of his raging bulge.

You shake your head, trying to move away but he rips your face towards him. "Listening to me is the only choice you have to make it out alive, Baby. You wanna live, don't you?" He's nothing but a tall figure, with the overhead lights shining around his head like a halo. Your face right by his bulge.

"Little girl needs to go to school." He nods, eyes fluttering shut, "She needs to complete her studies and get a good job so she wouldn't have to meet with scary men like me- Fuck-" it riled him up to no end to have you scared of him. You suppose it triggered a part of him that craved attention. He needed to feel like he existed and if that was reeped from fear then so be it.

"Stick the barrel in your mouth," the bottom of his hand coaxed open your jaw, and, as if on autopilot, you listen. Perhaps there is a way out of this. Perhaps you should just listen.

"That's it... Fuck," he brings your free hand up to rub his erection "That's it, Baby, stick it inside your mouth." Cold metal hits your lower teeth, "Stick it in like you would a cock." He says, looking down at you intently as your tongue unfurls and you suck the barrel in. "Shit-" he places his other hand on the back of your head before forcing you to take the gun deeper down your throat. He's trembling. Far too badly. And so is his finger on the trigger.

"Fuck, you're such a fucking whore, you know that?"

You're gagging and flailing around the barrel, saliva slides down.

So desperate to please him.

In your hast you don't even realize your left hand that had been restrained is now free. Your eyes are closed.

Please him.

Just please him and you'll live.

"That's my brainless girl..." he praises and that rouses something in you. It has your hips bucking against nothing.

"Such a stupid girl..." he continues, "You're gonna ride me, aren't you? You're gonna fuck me so good-" You're not about to tell him that sex wasn't supposed to be apart of this game. You're not stupid.

You faintly hear the sound of a belt unlooping. A zipper siding down. "You're making me so happy, baby." He admits before effortlessly lifting you from the chair until you're straddling him.

You're free.

When did that happen?

"F-Fuck, I need you to ride me." His head is leaning back against the chair. His tie hangs messily from his shirt that has two buttons undone.

You're free.

"Don't try anything," he warns, as he lifts you enough to pull his cock out of his pants. "Matter of fact. Keep it in your mouth while you ride me-" He slams you down onto his cock the very second those words leave his mouth. He's fucking into you with recklessness and fury and violence. His hair falls in his face but the gun is too heavy, without a hand there, it nearly slips from your mouth.

He's careful to catch it, forcing the barrel back in your mouth as he places a hand on your ass, controlling how your ass bounces on his lap. The gun offers motivation like no other. It has you arching your back and swirling your hips as you tighten your cunt around him.

He sticks the gun down too far and you gag. "You trying to get me to cum, huh? You little slut-" you nod, the tears still spilling as pleasure begins to stream through your brain. It has you excited by the prospect of being held at gunpoint. You realize with grave certainty that you've arrived at the point of no return.

"What a good girl- fuck-" he's ramming up into you, his hand on the gun twitching like his cock does. "I'm gonna fucking cum- FUCK-" he does and your orgasm immediately barrels into you at the exact same time. You try to ride him, to milk it as much as you can, to continue to make him happy.

"Such a stupid fucking slut-" he whispers, eyes hooded as his hips still spurt cum into you.

Your ears perk. You see his finger on the trigger move. You squeeze your eyes shut as you hear a click.

"Such a silly girl." You hear him say. "Don't worry, Baby, it isn't loaded." You're still in your body. You're still alive, on his lap, your sundress unfurling around you both.

"Not yet anyway."

© to @muntitled on tumblr; do not repost

[translucio]

idk how they did it but cult of the lamb is just so hard to put down. i think it's the incredibly juicy feedback for literally everything (particles! cute funny sounds! filled up the meter now it's empty again! lizard brain go brrr) + how extremely short the gameplay loops are (5-15min runs, 8 min days, most minigames are like 10-30sec with the exception of knucklebones which is like 1-2mins) + how despite having limited content they really stretch the replayability and give you tons of unlockable stuff as rewards. it's TIGHT and very impressive

[moe-broey]

I am...... getting A Little nostalgic for Stardew Valley........ but I know it is SUCH a commitment like if I get back into that shit I'm blacking out for a month. I Cannot Allow It

[nilesmoon]

oh I haven't done a infinite wealth update here. I am at chapter 6 and let me tell you. I am doing everything but the main story (I am also 30+ hours in)

[multimask]

You know your next dnd session is gonna be a Fun one when the DM asks you if you want to run a mock convo ahead of time

[hifi-walkman]

Also Dungeon Meshi is like... One licensing deal away from being literally set in B/X D&D. Down to the names and abilities of the classes, race as class, infra-vision, and like... everything other than the spellcasting system (honestly I do not expect Vancian magic to get adapted to television ever, not even the watered down version in stuff like modern D&D).

If you enjoy dungeon meshi and decide you want to play it, B/X is about $30 total on drivethru RPG (but the BECMI compatible rules cyclopedia is just $10, and very similar to B/X, and OSE is a re-write of B/X rules that has a free quickstart rulest basically covering the same stuff as Holmes' Basic, and BFRPG isn't quite the same as B/X but is completely free, and would be pretty easy to hack back to a more B/X-ish state), and though most properly "mega" dungeons you can buy as modules are around $35-100 (which is honestly too much for a module...), building your own is easy and fun!

I've spent the last couple weeks working on my own MegaDungeon called Maurdnathn, and if you're someone who likes the creative writing and game design of making D&D, MegaDungeons are a great exercise in creating sandbox environments, and I fully reccomend making one yourself.

"it's a DM issue" is a very silly defence of the limitations of D&D when it comes to genre, not only because it puts a lot of extra pressure on the DM to bend the game into a format that the players will find more acceptable (with little consideration made as to whether the experience provided by the game as written might actually have merit), but also because "choosing to run a conventional heroic fantasy narrative in the dungeon crawler engine" is also very much a DM issue

[snail-day]

You got this, Nerdjo!

Part One // Next Part // Masterlist

Gojo Satoru was not stalking you. He just happened to be standing in the board games aisle of the popular bookstore near campus. At the same time you were. For the third time this week. Total coincidence. Really. He was just hear for an expansion pack. For Dice. Okay maybe he is here for you. He's been thinking about you since the moment he saw you checking out the Gundam section last week. Really. He wanted to give you his opinion but...he didn't want to seem like a total dick. A mansplainer of sorts.

Oh god, there you are again. Picking up a game. Oh you look so focused. So beautiful. So smart. Wait, is that - oh no. Not that one.

You were reaching for a notoriously convoluted board game, one even Redditors have many complaints about, and before he could stop himself, his feet were moving. Mouth was moving. Everything was moving except his common sense.

Okay, Satoru. Tap the shoulder. Speak. Be your usual charming self. It's just a girl. A very pretty girl. Say something. Be normal.

He tapped your shoulder. Lightly. You turned to look at him with the kind of expression one might give to a stranger who had absolutely no business tapping them in a bookstore. Which, honestly, he didn't have the business to do. Then cleared his throat - loudly, awkwardly - and blurted out:

"Ireallydontthinkyoushouldpickupthatgametherulesaredifficultactuallytherulesdon'tevenmakesenseImeanwhoevencameupwiththem - "

Oh my god. Oh my god. Did I just say that out loud? What did I just say?

First, your brows knit together slowly as you blinked, turning towards him with a touch of confusion and offense on your face.

“You don’t think I can understand… the rules?”

Shitshitshit

His heart dropped straight to his ass.

Going to throw up. Going to throw up. Going to throw up.

How am I fumbling this bad?

He could practically see the social bar above his head draining to zero. As your very pretty, bright eyes stared up at him. He wondered just where did you get those eyes from? His future mother-in-law or father-in-law? Wait no don't be fucking weird.

“No, oh god no! I didn’t mean - uh, that’s not - I think you could totally get it! I mean, you probably solve logic puzzles for fun! You look like you’re really good at thinking! Wait, not that you look like a nerd, but - uh - like, in a hot way - shit, no, I mean - "

End me. Just smite me down right here between Settlers of Catan and Uno.

Waving his hands now, panicking in real time. You, somehow composed, just turned the game box over and calmly read the back, letting him spiral like a dying Beyblade.

“I just meant - it’s a bad game,” he added weakly. “Like, the win condition is unclear and the rulebook has typos and there’s no official errata - it's just, um… bad design.”

You finally looked back up at him. “So what game would you recommend?”

For a second, Gojo just stood there.

You're still talking to me. Oh god. Oh no. You, beautiful and stunning, want my opinion. My professional opinion. I can’t screw this up

“S-Splendor,” Satoru blurted, voice cracking at the edges. “Or maybe Wingspan? No wait. Cascadia? Or - do you like deck-building mechanics? I could make a whole list. I actually have a spreadsheet. A whole reddit. ”

You absolute loser.

But you were… smiling. Just a little. And nodding like you were genuinely interested.

Gojo, poor nerd Gojo, practically short-circuited on the spot.

You ended up leaving the store with a board game you didn’t plan on buying. Not because of the game, really. But because the tall, twitchy, white-haired guy with far too much enthusiasm had somehow roped you into a monologue about probability mechanics, game balance, and “that one time my friend Nanami rage quit a co-op dungeon crawl.”

He was… weird. But kind of charming. In a feral raccoon digging through your trash for affection kind of way.

“So, uh,” he said, hovering beside you outside the store, practically bouncing on his heels, “if you ever want to, y’know, play a game or something - like, totally casually, not like, a date, unless you want it to be, which - no pressure - uh - I just thought maybe you’d be into - um…”

He trailed off. Heart thundering. Couldn't even ask Reddit for Advice You stared. He swallowed. Blinking rapidly, those pretty-blues darted anywhere but you.

“…I run a D&D campaign,” Satoru said suddenly. “Every Friday night. Very low-commitment! Very chill! High-level story arcs. I made all the NPCs. I do voices. I - it’s cool. I swear.”

What are you doing what are you DOING you weren’t supposed to tell them about the campaign yet they’ll think you’re weird this is why you don’t have a girlfriend Satoru you idiot -

But you smiled. Then handed him your phone - little charm dangling off the case. Something cute. You probably picked out without a second thought. God, he’d kill to have matching phone charms with you.

“…Add your number,” you said. “Text me the details.”

He blinked at the phone, questioning how he is worthy enough to text you. Then promptly fumbled it, typed his name with three emojis, deleted them, re-added one, panicked, backspaced everything, and tried again.

You mentioned you had class.

Right. You're busy. That's fine. Yes. He has your number. Oh god why is his heart pounding so loud. Can you hear it? Could you feel it when his hand brushed against yours?

Satoru nodded too fast. Rushed words as you trailed away with a wave. He was left there wondering what your major was. Who you knew. If you'd actually show up next Friday. If he’d just imagined all of this.

When he finally texted you later, it read:

Hey it’s Gojo from the bookstore 🧠 I asked my party and there’s a spot open in the campaign 👀 you’d be perfect. Unless you hate fun. Then we can just play Wingspan lol anyway let me know!! pls 🥺

And before you could even respond, another message came in.

also pls ignore any typos i'm at the gym 💪getting ready for all those monsters we're going to be slayin ⚔️

Friday night. Gojo’s apartment. He had cleaned. Like, deep cleaned. Scrubbed corners no one would ever look at. Decorated the bathroom. Lit a candle that smelled like vanilla and cedar. (He may or may not have spent an hour on Reddit reading forums titled “What candle scents make girls fall in love with you?” and this one had the best upvotes.)

He had set the scene. Maps unfurled like ancient scrolls of destiny. Dice sets lined up in a neat little rainbow offering to the gods of chance. Snacks meticulously arranged in what was supposed to be a dragon shape, though now it looked like a pile with tiny wings. Still. It was the thought that counted.

Everything was ready.

You're coming. Oh god. You're really coming. You're gonna sit here. With me. Maybe next to me. Or maybe not. No - no, no, you can sit next to Shoko. Or Nanami. Shit. What if you like Nanami? Oh my god, what if you like Nanami and not me? He’s got that broody thing.

He paced.

Screw it. Just play my campaign. Laugh at my jokes. Please. Just - please think I’m cool. Just once. Please don’t see through how desperate I am.

He adjusted his glasses. Then adjusted them again. Re-checked his rulebooks even though he wrote half the notes inside them himself. He’d already rehearsed your character’s intro fifteen times. But he did it again.

“…and as the tavern door creaks open, a figure steps through the mist. Cloaked in shadows, yet - no. No, too dramatic. They’ll think I’m trying too hard. Which I am, but like, subtle. Okay. Again - ”

His voice cracked mid-practice. He flopped down into his DM chair, then stood up again two seconds later, muttering, “Nope, can’t sit. Gonna combust.”

They’re gonna be here soon. They’re gonna walk through that door and I’m gonna die. Literally die. Headlines: Local Dungeon Master Dies When Pretty Person Shows Up.

The doorbell buzzed. Satoru physically jolted. Then stood there frozen in front of the door, hands out like he was about to catch a falling star. Or a live grenade.

Okay. Okay. It’s fine. Just breathe. Be normal. Don’t say anything weird. Don't tell them about the custom soundtrack you made for their backstory. Don't confess anything emotionally compromising in the first five minutes.

He opened the door. A stupid smile formed on his face.

Is he blushing? Please don't be blushing. Oh no. They’re even cuter than I remembered. I’m so screwed.

Wearing the coziest hoodie. Carrying a dice bag. Smiling. Beside you - because of course - was Geto Suguru. Satoru’s longtime friend. Fellow player. Tall. Cool. Calm. Hair tied back in a lazy bun that somehow made him hotter. That bastard. Satoru barely had time to panic before you laughed at something Geto said. A soft, amused laugh that curled around Gojo’s ribs and squeezed.

Then it happened. You looked at Geto. Blushed. Just the faintest pink brushing your cheeks. Just a second too long of eye contact. Just enough to punch Satoru square in his already fragile, overly romantic, nerdy heart.

You don’t like him. Right? No. It’s just warm. It’s almost summer. The hallway’s probably stuffy. Your hoodie’s too thick. That’s it. That’s all it is.

“Hey,” you greeted, blissfully unaware of his internal collapse.

“H-Hey!” Satoru yelped, voice cracking at a completely unnecessary octave. “You made it! That’s so cool. That’s - you look. Uh. Dice. You brought dice. Awesome. Good job.”

What the hell are you saying? Shut up.

Geto smiled at him. That smug, easy smile that Satoru had seen melt hearts and start trouble since freshman year.

“You didn’t tell me your new player was cute,” he said, tone maddeningly casual. You blinked. Satoru stopped breathing.

“Oh,” you said, voice softening, eyes flicking away. A little flustered. “Um. Thanks.”

You’re just being polite. That’s not real. That wasn’t real. Right?

Satoru forced a smile that came out more like a grimace. His brain was melting. His heart was clawing against his ribs.

“Haha! Yeah. So anyway! Let’s, uh. Go. Sit. Down. And have a drink. Or a seat. Or both. Whatever people do. When they enter rooms. With other people.”

Oh my god, please shut up. Please shut up. You’re going to die here and your ghost will be a virgin forever.

a/n: if you see any mistakes...no you don't totally not editing this while getting ready for wicked...totally not

[darkbluekies]

In the dungeon

yandere!king oc x fem!reader

Summary: after disrespecting him, you've found yourself in his dungeon. Edmund comes to visit you because he has heard that you haven't eaten in three days

Warnings: self starvation, punishment, toxic relationship,

Word count: 1.1k

He doesn't like it, but what choice does he have? If people found out that he doesn't punish his own wife, what would they think of him? That he's not a well respected leader because he can't even punish his own wife? No, he can't have that. He has to do it. But by doing it, he also feels pain, so it's a punishment for both of you. That's how he explained it.

You had disrespected him, belittled him and his masculinity. And now you're here. Easier said than done. Saying the words to him was easier than doing the time for them.

Your head hangs low as footsteps echo down the spiral stone stairs. You don't look up to see who it is, don't care who it is. Another guard to switch swift.

“Oh, my love …”

You look up. Edmund is standing on the other side of the metallic bars, wearing his clean, colorful clothes made out of the finest satin. He places a plate with a silver cloche on the bench beside him. You pull yourself up from the floor slowly, back sore from resting against the stone wall for eternity and stomach empty. Edmund's ice blue eyes follow your every step. It's not often that they contain any type of emotion, but seeing you like this brings out a deep worry that seems to make his eyes glow.

You drag yourself over to the door, which is nothing more than metallic bars. You hold onto one of the cold metal rods. Edmund places his hand over yours.

“The guards have told me that you haven't eaten in three days”, he says softly, as if you could break if he raised his voice even a decibel louder. “You can't do that, Y/N. You can't worry me like this.”

As if he would have eaten that stale bread and drink that moldy water, you think.

“Can I come up now?” you whisper. “I want to get out of here”, you cry weakly. “Edmund, please …”

Edmund shakes his head carefully.

“No, not yet”, he answers with a heavy sigh. “It's going to be okay, darling”, he reassures you softly, kissing the hand he's holding. “Soon, you'll be back with me, okay? Believe me, I want nothing more than to let you back upstairs and have you in my arms, but they would think I was incompetent in my role.”

He wipes one of your tears apologetically.

“Do you care more about your power than you do me?” you whisper.

He looks taken aback, unable to know what to answer.

“Don't be like that”, he says. “You know I love you more than anything else.”

But not enough, apparently, you think and sniffle.

He looks behind you, around the cell.

“I brought some food from the kitchen”, he says. “I want to see you eat it before I leave.”

He gestures for the guard to unlock the door as he bends down to pick up the plate. You back away from the door, finding your safe spot on the floor by the opposite wall. Edmund walks over, checking the floor before hesitantly sitting down.

“Do you have to sit on the dirty floor?” he mumbles dislikingly.

“I like it”, you reply.

“Alright, alright.”

Despite grimacing and dusting of his satin clothes, he makes himself comfortable on the hard, dirty floor and opens the cloche. The smell of boiled potatoes and marinated meat meets your nose, and the sight is even more exquisite. He takes out a silver fork from his pocket, stabs one of the potatoes and holds it to your lips. You open your mouth, letting him feed you. It tastes better than you remember it to. It has only been a week since you got locked down in the dungeon, but without anything to do, without necessities and comfort, the hours creep by. For all you could care, a month could have gone by. The only form of company you've had have been the rats crawling around on the floor, just big enough to squeeze through the metal bars. They bite.

“Tasty?” Edmund asks.

You nod. Anything that the kitchen prepares is delicious — or at least a thousand times better than the rock hard bread and dusty water.

“Good”, the young king says, pleased, feeding you another fork full of meat. “It makes me feel better to see you eat.”

Eating the food he has brought for you reminds you of how badly you want to vet out of here … and how much your comfort relies on Edmund.

Edmund wipes away a sauce smudge on the corner of your lips and sticks it between his lips to lick it off. You doubt he would do that to anyone else. Ever. He has certain liberties with you which he has with no one else. He can hug you, touch you, smile at you, joke with you. You give him life in a way no one can.

“You should see how restless my hours without you are”, he sighs and rolls his eyes. “I'm a walking bomb without you. I almost feel bad for my secretary.”

“Then let me back up …”, you whisper, a last attempt to try to plead with him. “Please.”

“I can't. Not yet. I've already given you special treatment and advantages no one else has gotten. If I let you back upstairs before an appropriate time my authority will be questioned.”

“I'm sorry, Edmund.”

Your voice is barely audible. His hand stops dead in its track on its way to your mouth. A drop of sauce falls down on the floor. You can see that it hit him right in his heart, shattering it.

“Oh, I know”, he reassures you and feeds you the piece of meat. “I know, darling. I believe you.”

You chew slowly, swallow slowly. The food seems to get stuck in your throat.

“Good girl”, Edmund praises. “You can hold out a little while longer, can't you? Just a few more days?”

You nod in defeat. What other choice do you have now that your pleading didn't work?

Edmund stands up. You follow him panicked, quickly reaching out and grabbing his hand.

“No!” you shriek. “Dont leave me. I don't want to be alone!”

“It's getting late”, Edmund answers. “I thought that I would let you get some rest.”

“No … not alone … please. Please stay. Just a little while longer.”

He thinks for a second. “Okay.”

You breathe out in relief. He sits down with his back against the wall, letting you fall asleep against him, wrapped in his warm, strong arms. Leaving him alone with his thoughts — his conflicting, torturing thoughts.

When you wake up the following morning by the sun shining through the little window pane you're alone, lying on the floor, covered by a colorful cape made out of the finest satin.

[imsobadatnicknames2]

I mean that approach to dungeon crawling is all fun and games until the adventure grinds to a halt because everyone failed to read the DM's mind to find the secret door to the next room.

Leaving aside that I still think "reading the DM's mind" is an incredibly bad faith way to describe it. If there's something that makes your adventure completely dysfunctional if the players fail to find it, why are you making it secret in the first place????

Like by virtue of making something hidden or secret, you're introducing the possibility that the players will fail to find it. So the first thing you should ask yourself before you put a secret in is "am I okay with my players not finding this? does the adventure still work if they don't find it?" and then if the answer is "no" then you. just don't make it secret. Easy as that.

Like personally I think if at any point your dungeon has only one available way for the party to make progress you probably already fucked up a little bit. But if you decide to make their one way to move forward *secret* you're kinda just actively shooting yourself in the foot, regardless of whether you're using perception mechanics or not. Because with perception mechanics the same situation can just as easily turn into "the adventure grinds to a halt because everyone failed their Mother May I Use My Fucking Eyes To See What's In Front Of Me check to find the secret door"

[bogleech]

Actually my CURRENT completely serious personal list of animals I'd add to our current world and specifically local to where I live is as follows. I have shared some of these before but my list is always evolving:

1) A big tarantula sized lousefly because I think they look awesome, would be like vampire bats in that they can bite anything but don't naturally mess with humans. Everyone would find these scary, I would keep one as a pet.

2) a freshwater amphibious barnacle. Larva would have to crawl out of the water and start growing in dirt or mud with long roots. Would smell bad to attract and catch flies when it's exposed to air. In water could catch things like ostracods. I would raise these in pots of dirty scummy water on my balcony. Pokemon would make a poison type Barbacle form out of them.

3) a big huge 12-15 foot long predatory amphibian that looks like specifically this toy of Crassigyrinus. Basically just like a crocodile in size, niche and danger level but slimy and would like cold northern rivers so I can go see them and feed them raw chicken off our fishing docks.

4) a creature exactly like this idiot looking prehistoric lamprey reconstruction, but with a horrible mouth that can bite you like the cookie cutter shark/cookie cutter animals I was hypothesizing. These would live wherever #3 lives so they could have a good food source (#3 should regenerate really well like an axolotl) and so I could catch them and keep them in aquariums

5) a predatory spiny katydid like this guy but as huge as a New Zealand Weta and maybe camouflaged like a clump of lichens

6) a species of glow worm gnats that are maybe just modestly twice as big and just about everywhere in the world in trees and stuff

7) a giant python size freshwater ribbon worm, just like the marine ones with paralyzing venom that swallow whole big fish. Just want one that lives closer. It should be able to come on land, too. I just want the mongolian death worm to be real.

8) a single freshwater cephalopod and I nominate a flapjack octopus big enough to eat a man. I just want the cuero to be real.

9) basket star that hangs from trees and catches birds and stuff. I know echinoderms use seawater as blood but maybe it could fill itself with salty mucus? Maybe it should also protect itself by stinging all over. I'm tired of getting stung by boring nettles in the woods, I wanna get stung instead by spiny tree tentacles.

10) a single surviving pterosaur that evolved to be vampiric and should look as close as possible to the stirge from Dungeons and Dragons

just to clarify that's this one, the one that looks like a miserable piece of shit

[ghoulishhx]

✦ babygirl, i love you

part 1 - please don't go ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ part 2 - acceptance

aaaa part 3!! finally omg im sorry it took me too long. one more part will be coming after this and hint hint, it WILL be smutty. but thank you for all the love on the previous chapters.

My Masterlist!

──── ୨୧ ────

Pairing: Frank Castle x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: hurt/comfort to a T, reader is going through it in the beginning, soft frankie, fluff fluff fluff

Tags: @dungeons-bat mwah

Wordcount: 1.7k

──── ୨୧ ────

You couldn’t sleep for the life of you that night, Frank’s apology running rampant through your head. It was mere hours ago he was in your home, asking for your forgiveness, but you chose to just push him away. It was easier that way, you believed. He had made it pretty clear he wasn’t ready for more than a hookup with you and you just had to get over that. Tossing and turning, replaying the entire conversation in your mind once more, one particular thing stuck out, 

“Baby girl, I lo-”

But you cut him off before he could finish his sentence. What was he going to say? What would’ve happened if you didn’t let your emotions control you in that moment? The result must’ve been better than this, crying into one of his shirts he left over at your house a while back, his faint musk fading away. It could’ve been different, and you can’t help but blame yourself. Despite everything, it was your fault in your mind. You don’t know when, but you fell asleep, tears soaking into the material bunched up under your face, drifting off into slumber with his scent filling your nose. 

Waking up the next morning, you felt like you were hungover. Your head pounding, sinuses stuffy. Your heart dropped at the realisation that what happened last night wasn’t a nightmare. Nevertheless, you still crawled out of bed, got dressed and began your day. Walking around your apartment like a zombie, you were on autopilot. “Baby girl, I lo-” repeated in your head all day, like a metronome. A constant reminder of what could’ve been. You could fill in the blanks, you knew that word could only end in one way. It’s too late now, you pushed him away. 

You don’t know how, but you made it through the day. Back at home, lying in your bed once again with his shirt. The scent of him still clinging to the fabric. You thought if you could just keep it there, he was still with you. Just hold onto the shirt, hold onto him, his smell, and you weren’t alone, and everything was just a nightmare.

Weeks passed in a flash, the days repeated themselves. You wake up, go to work, get in bed with his shirt, breathe in his smell and it would drift you off to sleep. One night, you began your routine, cosying up with the shirt and that’s when you realised.

It had gone, he had gone.

“No.. no.. please..” you scramble with the fabric, twisting it and maneuvering it in hopes you’ll catch another glimpse of him. But it was no use, 

You were alone.

In your anger you toss the garment across the room and sit up cross legged, head in hands. You had never felt more pathetic, your entire existence lied solely on his damn shirt, the last thing of his you could call yours. But just like he did, the scent of him left.

There was no use even trying to sleep now, it was impossible. You decide to do what you used to do, before him. When you couldn’t sleep, you’d put on your robe and climb your fire escape to the roof and sit up there and watch the stars. So that’s what you did, mug in hand you climb to your roof. You hadn’t been up there since you started and stopped seeing Frank, there was no need for it anymore. Those sleepless nights were replaced by him holding you, or with you holding onto any remnant of him.

The cool air of the night hits your face, flushing your cheeks instantly. You sigh as you sit in your usual spot, you can’t fight the tears anymore. They fall like rain, dripping all over your lap as you weep, mourning what could have been. The last time you were up here was the first time the two of you had met, his battered self basking in the moonlight, injured and alone, just like you were. You found solace in his company that night and allowed yourself to fall in love. 

“Damn you, Frank Castle.” you softly whisper, wiping your tears with the back of your hand as you stare up at the stars. 

You feel a warm hand on your shoulder, the touch sickeningly recognisable. You turn your head to the side in a flash, heart beating out of your chest. You believe you’re hallucinating, believing you somehow conjured him out of thin air after speaking his name. But no, he was real, his touch was real.

You stare at one another for a few moments, studying his face. He allowed his facial hair to grow out, his hair was considerably longer than before. His eyes were dark, bags under them heavy. But it was him, it was the man who broke your heart.

“Hi sweetheart.” he whispers, breaking the silence, rubbing his thumb along your collarbone.

“Frank.. Wha- what are you doing here?” you mumble, your mind still hazy from seeing him for the first time after months, blinking away the tears in your eyes as you sniffle.

“I.. I just wanted to check if you were okay.. Shit I’ve been comin’ up here every night, hopin’ to see ya.. Make sure you’re alright..” your jaw drops at his admission, after all this time he’d been sat up on the roof like clockwork. 

“I didn’ wanna startle ya or nothin’, you told me ya didn’t want me around anymore.. But I just couldn’t bring m’self to stay away.” he looks away, the words flowing out of him before he could even stop himself.

You’re genuinely stunned, not expecting him to be back here, with you. Why was he here? What did he want? Your mind races trying to grasp onto the situation, not once did you see this moment as a possibility amongst all of your thoughts, fully convincing yourself it was over between the two of you and you’d have to spend the rest of your life wondering what could’ve been.

“Frank, what were you going to say the last time we spoke, before I cut you off?” you blurt out, eyes quizzically darting around his face, the question that had been on repeat in your mind all this time was about to be answered, hoping it would give you the closure to move on. 

“Huh?” he raises his gaze back to yours, eyebrows following suit. The question surprises him, half expecting you to throw punches and tell him to fuck off. 

“You said babygirl I lo- and then I cut you off. Please. I need to know what you were going to say.” you’re whispering now, tears welling once more and your heart rapidly beating, you worry the muscle will break through your skin at the sheer pace.

He flexes his jaw, looking at your lips and then back at your eyes. He takes his hand from your shoulder and places it tentatively on your cheek, resuming the circles he was rubbing on your collarbone on your cheek. He exhales deeply, preparing himself for what comes next.

“Babygirl, I love you. That’s what I was gonna sa-”

You interrupt his words with a kiss, a bruising desperate kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck as you continue to cry. You cry and cry, but you don’t know the reasoning anymore. Relief? Anger? It doesn’t matter. Your lips were on his once more, and it felt right. Your whole body shudders, the darkness was over. The world around you disappeared, nothing existed anymore but you and Frank in this moment.

You pull away, wrapping your fingers in the collar of his jacket.

“Do you mean it, Frankie? Really? You love me?”

He chuckles, wiping the tears from your eyes, placing kisses across your face while he speaks.

“I do sweet girl, with every fibre of m’ being.” he kisses your forehead “I love ya.” then another on your cheek. “I love ya so fuckin’ much.” and then the opposite cheek. “And ‘m sorry. So fuckin’ sorry” he rests his forehead on yours, hands finding their way to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. “‘M not goin’ anywhere ever again, ya hear me?”

You hiccup another choked sob, nodding your head frantically. 

“Shh doll, no reason to cry nomore. I’m here, ‘ve got ya.” he kisses you once more, passionately exploring your mouth with his tongue as he tangles his fingers in your hair with one hand and gripping your waist with the other. You rub your hands along his shoulders, taking in the feeling of him again after so long. You hum into the kiss as you feel him smirk against your mouth. 

“I’m sorry Frankie, I shouldn't have left you up here all those nights. Should’ve just let you speak last time, instead of kicking you out.” you sigh in between kisses, addicted to his taste, the feeling of him on your lips once more.

“You’ve got no reason to be sorry doll, ‘m here now. That’s all over, ya here me?” he says, pulling away briefly. His heart warms at the sight before him, you smiling. He had gone too long without seeing that damn smile.

“Okay.” you whisper, wiping your tears away once more. “I’ve missed you Frankie.”

“I’ve missed ya more, my sweet girl. Let’s get you inside, fuckin’ freezin’ up here.” he kisses your cheek, pulling you to your feet, guiding you to your apartment. You can’t help but smile to yourself, he came back. He’s yours.

“I love you Frank.” you grab his hand, and he spins back around to you.

“I love you too sweetheart.” fuck did it sound good coming from his lips. “Now c’mon, lemme make up for all the lost time without each other.” he winks, tapping your ass, sending you in front of him. You giggle and for the first time in what felt like forever, you were fully at ease.

──── ୨୧ ────

a/n: i have no self control and i had to stop punishing myself and just make them make the fuck UP. like i said tho its gonna get freaky in the next part so enjoy xo

my inbox is open!