#it’s sufficient for the Hulk

[daydreamerdrew]

Marvel Team-Up (1972) Annual #3

[highfunctioningfleshrule63]

2 hrs in and i have watched this man lose his mind in real time. wager a guess that for more than half of that time he didnt have the belt. but has not n will not give up calling himself champ. mind over matter (aka hes delusional and hysterical)

[madhattervanessa]

Crush

Summary: Your hot neighbor, Simon Riley, has returned from abroad again and this time, you decide to be brave and confess your feelings to him.

Warnings: Porn WITH Plot I guess lmao, some spanking, hair pulling, but nothing actually heavy, mutual masturbation, nipple play, fingering, p in v, creampie

Words: 3698

Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist

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-

It’s absolutely stupid.

You twiddle your thumbs before planting both hands on the counter again.

Stupid.

Crushing on your neighbor? Forgivable.

Crushing on a hulking man like that, with those soft brown eyes, his stupidly beautiful blonde lashes around them, his deep baritone, his strong hands-

Totally forgivable.

Crushing on a military man who is barely home and barely talks to you?

That should be where the line starts.

Still.

Your cheeks warm immediately when you hear the familiar heavy footsteps coming down the hall towards your door.

Maybe the note had been stupid.

Oh god.

What if he thought it was stupid?

The knock on your door doesn’t leave you much room to think.

You do know him. So this shouldn’t be too awkward.

It’s just Simon.

So, you open the door, chin already tilted up to adjust to his height.

“Hello, love.”

“Hi”, you breathe out, already nervous.

“You mind if I come in?”

You step aside for him, eyes never leaving him as he gets inside.

He mutters a thanks, slowly making his way inside. When you shut the apartment door, he is already turning towards you.

“I-”, he starts and you look down to the scar splitting his lip when he licks over it. “-I didn’t know you uh-” he furrows his brows before starting over. “I like you like that as well.” He scratches the back of his neck and meets your eyes again. “Bloody childish way to say that, huh?”

You smile at him, suddenly feeling very warm and gooey inside, at the sight of this intimidating man looking like a boy talking to his school crush.

“I did leave a note so- I guess we’re kinda even on that.”

“Right.” He sighs.

“So… Coffee?”

“Yeah, that would be nice, I- I brought those croissants you like.”

“So you were coming to confess anyways?”, you tease. You win a little chuckle.

“Just a thank you for keeping the landlord off my ass, love.”

You hum and watch as he opens the door again.

“You comin’, then?”

“Yeah, just, one second. I got a new roast at the shop that you will like.”

“Alright. I’ll leave the door open.”

“Okay.”

-

He is looming over you as you switch out the beans in his grinder before you pull the espresso shots for your coffees.

“You alright?”, you murmur, not looking up as you fill the metal pitcher with milk.

“Yeah. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“I know you can handle a broken bone with a smile, Simon. The bar is in hell.”

He huffs. You glance at him to find him leaning against the corner of the kitchen counter, still watching you intently.

“So it is.”

You steam the milk for his latte in comfortable silence.

“Why me?”

You smile and set the pitcher down, briefly knocking some air out of the foam before you continue assembling your drinks.

You can hear the rest of the question he has in his head.

It’s not that Simon is a particularly nice man, nor was he in town for long since he had moved into the building 2 years ago.

“I’m pretty self-sufficient, you know.”

You’re met with silence again. He is watching your hands as you pour pretty patterns into the coffee.

“I like spending time with you when you’re here. I miss you when you leave.” You shrug, keeping your question of, is that not enough? to yourself.

“You know I’m not…” A good man. Enough. Loveable. Able to love anyone.

You’d heard the line often, especially on the veteran’s evenings in the small community you had amassed.

You just hum and turn around. You blow over the hot coffee in your hands and take a first sip.

Your eyes meet his again and just like with the grumpy, scared cat in the alley a street over, you blink slowly, trying to communicate that this is enough, it’s okay.

He pushes off the counter and carefully takes the cup out of your hands. He holds onto one of them as he sets the cup down on the counter behind you.

You are holding your breath, startled and hopeful as he stares down at you.

You don’t dare blink as he leans in closer, and just barely tilt your chin up to his. His hand feels clammy as it holds onto yours.

Your eyes close and you wait, your heartbeat quick in your chest as you feel his breath on your mouth.

Soft, dry lips meet yours in a peck, a shy press of lips against lips.

You inhale shakily through your nose and grip his hand harder as you pull back a little. 

You wet your lips and carefully sneak another look.

Simon’s eyes are still closed and you watch, transfixed, as he rolls his lips, as if to taste you again, before he opens his eyes, too.

You grab his shirt and tug, silently demanding another.

He hums and dips his head for another kiss, this one more insistent.

You let your tongue lick over his lip. It makes him grunt and pull at you, forcing you on your tiptoes as you keep kissing, slowly working each other’s mouths open in an unhurried exchange.

When you part, you can feel your heart in your throat.

He’s pretty. 

His thin lips are slick and shiny with your combined spit, his brows slightly furrowed as he looks at you.

“Can we fuck?”

You bite your lip at him, waiting for his answer as you watch the words wash over him. There’s just a minimal pulse of his pupils and a barely-there intake of breath.

“Thought I was going to take you out a few times, first.”

“I think the brunches and buying me coffee counts.”

“Tha’s different, love.”

“Is it?”

You fiddle with the hem of his shirt, still looking at him.

He doesn’t answer, just keeps looking.

“So, that’s a definite no?”, you murmur. He takes a deep breath.

“Let me ease into it.”

You smile at him and nod.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

His gaze lowers to your lips. 

You stop yourself from leaning up towards him, simply tilting your chin up a little. 

You wait for him to close the gap.

You don’t have to wait long.

He bumps into your chest with his, his head tilted as he kisses you again, carefully pecking at your lips with his, once, twice, then three times, before he licks your bottom lip.

The pressure makes you walk back a little until you bump against the kitchen counter.

His hand that has been holding yours moves to hold on to your hip instead. His other is moving your face to his liking. You let yourself be guided, losing yourself in the sensual kiss you share, the movement of your tongues against each other.

You let the hand that was holding on to his shirt wander up, over his hard stomach to his chest, until you reach his neck. You gently hold on to him, struggling to breathe before he finally pulls back again.

You’re panting slightly as you open your eyes again.

He groans, closing his eyes again and pushing his forehead to rest against yours.

“Fuck”, he murmurs, his nose nudging against yours, lips brushing slightly before he puts a little distance between the two of you.

“Why’d you stop?”

“Feels like you’re testing me.”

“I’m not. Just… letting you go as far as you like. I just-” You exhale shakily, looking at him, again. “I just want to be close to you, Simon.”

He nods and bends towards you to kiss you again. His hands wander down to your thighs. You gasp into his mouth as he lifts you onto the counter.

He steps forward, between your legs, before pulling you flush to him. You can feel him straining against his jeans, his hard cock pressing offensively against your sweatpant-covered center.

“Close ‘nough?”, he murmurs against your lips and you hum out a soft sound. You let your feet tangle behind his legs, urging him closer until he presses up hard against your clit.

“Mhm”, you moan. He looks at you, his breath stopped, before kissing you again- this time he’s rougher and the way his hips move up against you has you moaning into his mouth.

“I want you”, he groans, grinding his cock into you a little harder. “Want to do right by you.”

“Shut-”

He kisses you, again, silencing your protests. His hands are holding your hips, helping him grind against you. You are fisting the collar of his shirt, tugging him towards you as you nip at his bottom lip with your teeth.

He grunts and there’s an aborted moan that slips from his mouth into yours.

You grin and go to do it again but he holds you back by your throat, a gentle but warning touch. It makes you look up at him, mouth still open with a smile stretching your cheeks.

“Careful.”

“Or what?”

“You don’t want to get into a game of escalation with me, lovie”, he rumbles, his hand dropping. His thumb rasps over the seam of your pants and you gasp into his mouth.

“Don’t want to escalate just- mhn- just want you to stop treating me like glass, Simon.”

He hums and presses another short kiss to your lips before pushing his thumb down against your clit. 

“‘m treating you like something precious, love, not like glass.” He watches, eyelids low as you strain against him, already dizzy with the pleasure shooting up your spine from watching him rut against your thigh while he slowly pleasures you through your thin sweatpants. 

“I know you’re a tough birdie. Don’t ‘ave to prove it to me.”

“Don’t have to prove anything to me, either”, you challenge. 

He grunts wordlessly before pulling you forward again, your ass almost slipping off of the counter. You hold on to his shoulders in shock as the room spins around you. 

“Bedroom”, he just murmurs and you nod before cradling his head, and kissing him.

He only drops you when you have finally arrived in his bedroom.

It’s an awkward scramble once he has set you down. 

You’ve just flung your panties off when he is on you again, his stubbled face rubbing against your chest. He scratches his teeth over your skin, following it up with a lick over it. He is smearing the width of his tongue up over your breast until he reaches your jaw. The filthy gesture makes you gasp.

He tastes the sound with his mouth, leaning down into you, his hands on the headboard behind you. You have to hook your legs over his thighs to make room for the hulking man.

He blocks out the window behind him and you can’t help but stare at him as he licks his lips before spitting in his hand. You follow his hand down to his cock and swallow hard as you watch him stroke himself, coating himself with spit.

“Want you to touch yourself”, he whispers, so quiet, yoou almost don’t hear him.

He tugs your hand down to his mouth. He doesn’t look away from your eyes as he pushes two of your fingers inside his mouth, then guides them down to lay atop your pussy.

“Show me what you like.”

Your gaze drops down to his cock and you start rubbing your clit without a single thought. He watches intently and you see his hand squeeze a little tighter around his cock.

“Simon.” 

“Yeah?”

“I want you to play with my tits”, you breathe out.

“Fuck.” He stops stroking himself, immediately. “You want me to suck on your pretty tits, love? Yeah?”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t hesitate. He leans in and licks at your nipple, his other, still slick hand, roughly grabs the other to let your nipple roll under his thumb. Your eyes roll back at the feeling.

It’s perfect. 

You slide two of your fingers inside of your pussy and Simon does something magnificent with his tongue on your breast. It makes you cum- quick and easy. Simon stays right where he is, continuing to lick and suck at your nipples as you whine and ride out your orgasm.

You jump when one of his broad thumbs nudges against your clit.

“Simon-!”

“I want to see you cum again”, he groans. You barely lift your hand away from your pussy when he speaks up again. “Put your fingers back inside your wet little pussy.”

“Si-”

He groans and there’s that glint in his eye, like the one you saw when you bit his lip in the kitchen.

“Simon, I want you to fuck me, please.”

He lifts his thumb to his mouth, sucking your slick off of it.

You reach out to stroke his cock and he makes a small sound as you stroke him with your slick hand.

He presses closer. You guide his cock until the tip of it nudges your pussy.

“Wait, are you- don't we need a condom?”

“I have an IUD and I got tested last month, it’s fine”, you whisper.

You know Simon doesn’t fool around when he is away but he says it anyway.

“I want you to fuck me bare, Simon. Want you to come inside of me”, you add, your hand still stroking him.

He groans again and his hips rock forward. You gasp as he leans forward, covering you with his body. He moves you, angling your hips up before he pushes another inch inside. 

His lips swallow your moan.

He is big- you saw, but now that he is pushing his hard cock inside of you, you feel like he is splitting you apart. 

He stops halfway and you release a breath into the small space between your mouths. He gently strokes your hip and nudges his nose against yours before pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Alright?”

“Yeah.”

He rocks his hips back and forth, slowly pushing another few inches into you. It makes you gasp into his ear- the sound results in a strong thrust that rocks you up the mattress.

“Fuck, Simon-”

You look down to where he is fucking into you, hypnotized as he stops about halfway, every time.

He sits back, his eyes trained on you as he fucks into you a little harder. His hands wander over the sides of your body until he stops at your hips. He pulls you into his thrusts, fucking you hard but slow. It makes you mewl and you blush at the unfamiliar sound escaping you.

“Simon”, you whimper and he furrows his brow. “Come here”, you sigh.

He wraps his body around you, using his other arm to pull you closer. It pushes your tits up into reach for his mouth. You whimper and arch into him more as he greedily licks at your nipple again, repeating what he had done earlier.

He folds you up further until your thighs are completely resting on his waist, his legs basically underneath your ass. It makes him stroke against something delicious inside of you. You don’t even get to say anything before you’re already coming again.

And then, he starts to fuck you. It’s a chaotic shift, the way he suddenly starts using his grip on your hips as a counterweight to thrust into you, mercilessly giving you the rest of his cock.

You can hear how wet your pussy is and the way it parts for Simon as he fucks into you. The wet, rhythmic squelch seems embarrassingly loud in the room.

“Fuck, love- feel so good-”

You hear the sounds coming from your mouth as if they weren’t your own- hoarse, high-pitched mewls, breathy uh-uh-uh’s, as he ruts into you. When you clamp down on the meat of his shoulders with your nails, you hear him groan.

“That’s it-”

You’re overstimulated at this point but the friction is making you see stars in the best way. When Simon slows down, you sob with relief.

“Made a right mess, didn’t you, love”, he breathes, his own breathing barely stunted while yours is ragged. When he leans back, you open your eyes only to find your legs shaking without his waist to cling onto.

He ushers you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you.

You grumble, barely any strength in your body left to keep it tensed enough to follow him.

You sigh and rest your head on his shoulder, your nose pressed into his neck.

“You need to come-”, you slur.

“‘m letting you catch your breath first. Y’alright?”

“Yeah. Great, actually.”

He hums, obviously not believing you, and the suspicious sound makes you giggle.

You let your hands wander, admiring the broad plane of his chest, the scars crossing it.

He tilts your chin up to his again. His kiss is gentle, barely making your lips part. You can feel one of his hands stroking down your back until he can grasp one of your asscheeks in his hand, kneading the soft skin as he keeps kissing you. You gasp and bite at his bottom lip, smiling as you wait for his reaction- only for a loud smack to reverberate through the room. Your ass burns from his hand and you groan, pushing your forehead against his as you grind your cunt against his cock.

“You like that?”

“Yeah”, you breathe, chest already heaving from the excitement of making Simon use his strength against you. “, do it again.”

He growls and kisses you, his broad palm rubbing over your reddened ass cheek before smacking it again. You gasp into his mouth and lean in closer, rubbing your tits against his chest. Your whole body suddenly feels restless, your cunt rubbing up against his cock while your hands roam over his body, feeling up his arms, his shoulders, his chest.

Simon bodily hauls you up and pushes his cock inside you again. Your legs shake as you try to control how quickly you sink down on him. 

Another smack to your skin makes you whimper and collapse onto him, his cock bottoming out inside of you. He grabs your thighs and you barely manage to lift yourself enough to start to ride his cock.

The sound Simon whimpers into your mouth as you roll your hips is worth ignoring the growing soreness in your muscles. 

“Fuck, that feels good”, he groans. It makes liquid heat shoot through you and you double your efforts, folding your legs over his thighs. Your eyes snap open as he rests his forehead against your collarbone, his hands losing their tight grip on you.

You reach up to cup the back of his head, fisting his hair as you try to concentrate on setting a good rhythm for him. But the way his cock fills you out is starting to make you quiver, the pleasure already mounting up to being overstimulating again.

You’re gasping into each other’s open mouths as you ride him. 

You can feel him tightening his grip on you before he starts to meet your thrusts, effectively bouncing you up and down in his lap. It makes you shake, the angle hitting something disastrous. 

“Fuck, Simon- I can’t- I’m going to cum- a-again”, you whimper. It makes him moan into your mouth and you stutter in your motion as you feel him get even harder, his thrusts short, aborted. You mewl at the feeling and dig your nails into his scalp and his shoulder.

He growls and sinks his teeth into the skin of your breast as he cums. You clench around them and feel a few tears slip over your cheeks as the last few thrusts make you cum one final time.

You collapse into each other and you let your lips brush over his temple before resting your head on his shoulder again.

He is gently stroking your back, not even minding the sweat clinging to your skin.

When he wraps his other arm around your hip and lifts the two of you, you just sigh into his skin. He gently lays you down on his bed.

“Going to be right back, love,” he murmurs before pressing a kiss against your temple. You just sigh and nod.

As soon as he isn’t covering your body anymore, you can feel yourself shivering from the sudden cold. You huff before grabbing the comforter to cover yourself. The faint sound of a window cracking open makes you bury even deeper into the blankets.

“Hey. Eyes open for me”, he grumbles and you startle awake with a confused “huh?”. 

Simon is sitting on the bed, holding out a glass.

“Drink something.”

You groan and bat at his hand but he just wraps it around the cool bottle of water.

“Brat”, he murmurs and you open one eye to glare at him before popping the lid open and gulping down some water. After handing him the leftovers, you watch as he immediately downs it all in one go. He sets the bottle down on the nightstand and just looks at you for a moment.

“Come on. Gotta go shower.”

You close your eye again.

“I’m cold.”

“I’ll keep you warm. Come on. Up.”

You go willingly into his arms.

He is still naked, still warm, and you sigh as you get up into his warm embrace. You stumble towards the shower together. He makes you check the temperature and adjusts it until it’s boiling hot and just to your liking.

When you return from your shower, the afternoon sun bathes the bedroom in warm light.

“You still want your coffee and croissant? Or d’you want to take a nap first, princess?”

You grab the shirt he'd discarded and throw it on before turning towards him.

“Maybe we can… do coffee and croissants on your couch?”

“Yeah, alright. You mind if we catch up on some shows I've missed out on?”

“I’ll probably fall asleep.”

“Alright love”, he murmurs, before pressing another kiss to your temple and wrapping his arm around your waist to lead you towards the couch. Halfway there, he just picks you up bridal style, letting your snuggle into his shoulder while he presses another kiss to your forehead.

-

Thanks for reading!

Requests are open and always appreciated

[the-fluffy-folio]

Book Wyrm – Huge monstrosity, neutral

There are tales of book wurms growing to such an impressive size that no well-stocked library is sufficiently large and no long-forgotten archive secret enough to be able to hide it. Yet, they remain unseen. Buried under countless tomes and covered by a myriad of scrolls, the book wyrm slumbers. Undetected, it raises its brood of living sheets to flood each and every corner where paper is made, read, written on, stored or gathers dust. It isn’t a hostile creature and in no way easily disturbed. However, threatening its kin – deliberately or not – easily wakes not only the book wyrm itself but with it its wrath…

Looking for whimsical boss monsters such as a giant Chromunculus, the Hug Hulk, a dragon shaped from melting wax or this wyrm made of papers & sheets? I got a bunch of these over at my Patreon Page in case you want to check them out<3

[meguwumibear]

nsfw togame warm up: fingering and finger sucking

Togame has such wonderful hands; you hold them whenever you can, tracing your short nails idly up and down his long, thick fingers, marveling at how soft the skin is despite a few callouses that have formed on his palms.

Nights he lets you dote on him, you moisturize them for him, making off handed quips about what they say about boys with big hands. They dwarf your own when he grasps them, when he interlocks your fingers in a grip you couldn't break even if you wanted to. He laughs but indulges you whenever you ask to compare the difference in your sizes, palm to palm, flesh to flesh.

A finger or two is crooked. Broken in some fight he picked in his younger years. Healed but not the same. Bent and tilted, but they move as if they've never known violence. They curve so deliciously against your walls, finding places you never could on your own as they sink slowly inside you.

Slowly. Always slowly. Togame is never in a rush. Not even in bed.

"Atta girl," he coos as you spasm around him. Always in pleasure, never pain. It doesn't hurt when Toageme fingers you. He's always careful to ensure you're sufficiently wet before he'll even attempt to slip one, let alone two fingers inside.

It's for his benefit just as much as yours. Togame loves, wet, messy sex, loves watching your pretty little pussy grow slick as he traces lazy circles around your sensitive clit with his fingertips. First his index. The crooked one. Then his thumb.

Togame won't even whip out his cock, which is every bit as long and thick and curved as his fingers, until he's easily able to sink three of his fingers deep, deep, and deeper inside you. There's never any resistance. You hardly feel the stretch.

You never protest when he inevitably cups your flushed cheek in his soiled and soaked fingers. Gossamer threads web them together. Get stuck on your skin. You lean into the touch all the same, breathing in the sent of milk and honey, the soap he washes his hands in before starting, and salt.

He likes to look you in the eyes when he fucks you. The position matters not. Tonight, you're beneath his hulking form, staring lovingly up into his unbelievably green eyes. You make sure to hold their gaze as you suck his thumb into your warm, wet mouth, lavishing the digit with your tongue, feeling the texture of its unique print.

"Fuck," he moans and you can feel warmth flood you as he loses control and cums. You continue to suck on his thumb as he finishes, fucking himself through the orgasm in tandem with the rhythm of your mouth, and then on his index finger when he eagerly brings that to your lips as well.

He watches you work each and every finger with rapt attention. Doesn't let you up until you've polished all ten with your spit and tongue, and even then he's only letting you up so he can ease you back and further down the sofa, drenched fingers entering you once more.

Afterall, it would be such a shame, or so he says, to let all your hard work go to waste.

[thefrogdalorian]

Candles

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: Even though Din insists he doesn't want you to make a fuss over his birthday, you cannot resist spoiling him in your own special way. Although your perfect day does not go entirely to plan, you are determined to make the best of it...

Word Count:  3.8k ✯ Rating: Teen ✯ Content Warnings: A few suggestive lines, mentions of grief/mourning parents. Other than that, pure fluff! ✯ Author's Note: Thank you @decembermidnight for betaing this one, I always appreciate your help! Since we don't know Din's canonical birthday I thought May the Fourth was a good excuse to celebrate... but you get it on Revenge of the Fifth instead! ☺︎ I saw a post from someone (can't remember who) that said Din has holes in his socks, it's a hc I hold dear and was fun to explore in this fic!

✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯

Din Djarin does not delight in being doted upon. You know this with as much certainty as two suns rise over Tatooine. 

Yet, you cannot resist your urge to spoil him on the one day of the year that is truly his.

Din's reluctance to be spoiled is precisely why you rose before dawn, pottering around the modest galley, gathering the ingredients necessary to bake a cake. You hope that even though Din is ordinarily a light sleeper, the energy he exerted in passion the previous evening will have sufficiently tired him out so that he sleeps in, for once. 

After all, he does so much for you and the big-eared, bug-eyed baby boy you both vowed to raise as a Mandalorian warrior in the small cabin you share on Nevarro. Baking him a cake is the least you can do.

Preparing a cake to celebrate his birthday is not the only thing you have in mind. Even though Din already declared that the greatest gift of all is your love, you could not resist spending a few credits to treat him to a small gift. The thought of surprising him with it causes a knot of anxiety in your stomach, but you try to suppress those fears as you begin weighing out the ingredients.

You focus too on the beautiful sentiment Din expressed to you, how deeply he treasures your love. Such words are a far cry from the hardened, battle-weary warrior you had first encountered on Coruscant. Din reported to your boss, Carson Teva, for his latest missions from the New Republic. The first meeting in that office had left you curious, if a little intimidated, by the hulking Mandalorian who towered over you as you quietly worked at your desk.

Din extended a gloved hand to you at the end of your all-too-brief conversation. When you took it and shook it, marvelling at the softness of the leather and how his hand engulfed yours, you were sure that you had felt a spark. You wondered whether you detected a hint of longing in his lingering touch. Whether he, too, had felt a tingle across his skin as your hands touched.

Almost an entire cycle later, you had your answer.

You smile when you think back to those early days. How Din's visits became more frequent and led to longer and more personal conversations. Your chats became less concerned with threats that plagued the galaxy. Eventually, they continued outside the parameters of the depressing New Republic office building where you once worked. 

Life with Din was everything you had yearned for and more. A boring bureaucratic desk job was never your desired lot in life. Din had opened up an entire galaxy of possibilities for you. He had brought you to Nevarro and given you the life you had always wanted but never expected for yourself.

All things considered, making a special effort for his birthday is the least you can do to attempt to repay the enormous debt of gratitude you owe to Din. A debt you are certain you will never truly manage to clear but are determined to try anyway.

So, rather than spending the first moments of light of Din’s birthday cuddling with him... instead, you find yourself hunched over the kitchen counters as pale orange light streams in from across the lava flats.

You hum quietly to yourself while you mix the carefully weighed-out ingredients, careful not to wake Din. Pouring the batter into the tins is a rather precarious manoeuvre and you are careful not to waste a single drop of the mixture. 

With the cakes finally baking in the Nanowave, you turn your attention to the mountain of pots before you. Upon seeing it, you wish Din was a little more flexible on his no-droids policy. Or that Grogu was awake. 

The kid has been known to use his powers to aid his parents with domestic chores from time to time, particularly if you allow him to sneakily eat a frog from his pond without his father noticing. 

Unfortunately, there is to be no help. If you want to keep the secret cake under wraps until you present it to Din later, you must get stuck into washing up.

You make good progress, carefully scrubbing away the remnants of batter with a soapy rag. So consumed are you by your diligent cleaning of each pot and utensil that you do not hear familiar footsteps as they echo across the hard kitchen floor.

You let out a yelp of surprise into the stillness of the early morning when a familiar pair of long arms wrap around your waist and a chin rests upon your shoulder.

“Good morning, ner riduur,” Din rasps as he softly kisses the side of your neck.

His voice is rough and gravelly with sleep, even deeper than usual. You gasp as he presses himself into you. It seems that Din has sufficiently recovered from the exhausting activities which kept you awake for most of the night. Until dawn was far closer than you had intended, given how early you knew you had to be awake to bake his cake.

For a moment, it is enough to make you forget the task at hand. 

Then you remember with a jolt why you are in the kitchen at such an early hour. You spin around in Din's embrace and vocalise your disapproval. 

“Din! It's far too early. Go back to bed!” you plead, keen for him to leave immediately.

Din responds by tightening his grip on your waist and continuing to press hot, open-mouthed kisses on your neck. It takes all of your strength to push him away.

"Please, Din," you whine, staring into his eyes, “I'll join you soon.”

Din sighs and then nods slowly, “Don't be too long, I'll be lonely...”

You exhale deeply as he turns to leave, pleased that Din is none the wiser about the surprise sweet treat. 

Unfortunately, the Nanowave has other plans. The characteristic ding lets you know that the cake is ready. Before you can respond, Din is over there in a shot. For the first time, you notice that he is wearing nothing except a pair of loose-fitting cotton shorts. His toned physique bared to you, muscles straining under his scarred skin as he leans over to take the cake out of the Nanowave. 

Din spins around with the cake cradled in his hands, the tin covered in a towel to protect his hands. He raises an eyebrow at you, clearly confused at what you have been making.

“Surprise!” you halfheartedly exclaim, with a nervous chuckle, “Well, it was meant to be a surprise at least…” 

“Ner kar’ta, you shouldn’t have,” Din whispers, with no true sense of disapproval in his tone. His brown eyes are glassy as he smiles at you with such tenderness that you feel your chest tighten.

Din asked you not to make a fuss over his birthday. But you can tell he is deeply touched by the gesture. The emotion on his face is almost enough to distract you from the fact that your riduur is barely clothed, practically glowing in the soft golden light which brings the promise of a new day. 

Almost.

All frustration and disappointment vanished at the sight of him before you. Din is always stunning, but in dawn's soft, golden light, you are convinced he is the most breathtaking sight in the entire galaxy.

You take the cake from his hands and gently set it on the kitchen counter to cool. Although Din has seen the cake, he has no idea of the decoration you intend to adorn it with. Later. You can finish the cake later.

For now, those honey-flecked brown eyes and the expanse of golden skin on display are far too irresistible. You pad across the kitchen and wrap your arms around Din’s neck, pressing your lips against his. It is a show of intent. You groan in delight when he cups your cheeks with his large hands and deepens the kiss, tenderly stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. 

Icing the cake can wait. For now, there is something far more mouthwatering to occupy your time...

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

Fortunately, you and Din slipped some clothes on before you drifted off after exhausting yourselves with your early morning lovemaking. So, when Grogu uses the Force to leap onto your entwined forms a few hours later after the golden light has turned to something paler and more indicative of mid-morning, he is saved from a scandalous sight. 

“Good morning, ad’ika,” Din coos, grinning widely in an expression which makes his eyes light up despite the sleepiness there.

Grogu chirps in response. His familiar baby babble is still only way he communicates with you and Din. Din nods and presses his forehead to his boy. Your heart soars as you watch the two of them interact. 

You wonder how Din understands him. You love Grogu; bonding with him was effortless. But their bond is something special, something which goes beyond words, a bond which you feel truly privileged to witness. Grogu saved Din in so many ways and made him into the man who is so easy for you to love today. 

“Why don’t you two get up and make something to eat?” you ask, yawning and stretching as you come around after the rude awakening.

“No special birthday breakfast for me?” Din asks, feigning incredulity.

“I thought you didn't want me to make a fuss?” you giggle, then add with a hint of seriousness, “I would never deprive you of a lazy morning of making flatcakes with your son.”

Din’s eyes flash with sentimentality and he leans over to kiss you again. Then, he rises from the bunk, chatting away to Grogu as he goes. You smile in their wake, so proud of your little Clan. 

You had an ulterior motive for suggesting Din and Grogu prepare something to eat, unrelated to your reluctance to find yourself in the kitchen again given the considerable time you already spent there this morning. While Din and Grogu go to make breakfast, it gives you the perfect opportunity to finish wrapping Din’s present.

Even though he said there was nothing you could buy for him, you still wanted to treat Din to something that would truly be his own. Much of his disposable income and free time is spent making your and Grogu's lives easier. Although you know acts of service are his love language, the thought that he would not have any gifts to open for his birthday is unacceptable to you. 

Mercifully, you had settled upon a present with surprising ease. You knew that Din needed nothing more than he already had to be satisfied, so the prospect of finding something small yet meaningful had seemed slightly daunting. 

Fortunately, the weekly artisan market on Nevarro came to your rescue. 

Din is meticulous in polishing and maintaining every part of his armour, especially the parts visible to the admiring eyes of others. Din does not neglect a single part of it. 

There is one piece of his everyday attire, however, which was noticeably shoddy compared to the rest of his beskar brilliance—his socks. 

They were threadbare and riddled with holes. A fact you had pointed out to Din numerous times, but the stubborn man still refused to have them darned. 

So, when you saw the deep red, thick socks at the weekly market on Nevarro, you knew they would be perfect, to the extent that you had purchased two pairs. 

You are sure that Din will appreciate them and not take umbrage with the gesture, that he will realise you are doing it for his comfort. Still, your hands tremble as you wrap the socks up in brightly coloured paper. You hope that the socks are as well-received as you have imagined they will be.

When Din calls to let you know that breakfast is ready, you stash the wrapped socks beneath the covers on your bunk and eagerly make your way to join them. 

Although you try to be present and enjoy the simple domesticity of breakfast with them, your mind is preoccupied with worries about whether the gift will be appreciated. The worry does not dissipate, remaining a leaden weight in your gut.

After finishing the flatcakes, you insist on cleaning up since it’s Din’s birthday. Even though you have done far more washing up than you intended, having some alone time while Din takes Grogu outside to his favourite pond gives you time to think.

You had planned to give Din the socks after you returned from a planned walk across the lava flats. But when Din and Grogu return to the cabin and are eager to leave for the walk, you can wait no longer. You want to enjoy this time with them, rather than being preoccupied with worries over how your gift will be received.

Din and Grogu hover by the entryway, clearly buzzing with anticipation for the walk. You are relieved that Din had not yet placed his helmet on, cradling it under his arm. The days when he wore it constantly feel so long ago; like they are from another age. Over the time you have known him, you have seen far more of his brown eyes than that dark T-visor. Yet, he still wears it whenever you leave the cabin. 

“Just need to use the ‘fresher,” you insist, excusing yourself.

“Alright,” Din nods. 

Instead of heading to the ‘fresher however, you scoop up the presents from underneath the covers on your bunk, taking deep breaths to compose yourself as you head back towards them. 

Din looks over at you curiously, shaking his head as he attempts to repress a smile when he sees the gift. You breathe a sigh of relief, grateful that he appears to be excited by the prospect of a present. 

“I know you said no gifts, but these are practical, I promise,” you vow.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Din says sternly, his eyes darkened like they do when he scolds Grogu before his entire expression softens and you feel instant relief. He adds affectionately, “But thank you, ner kar'ta. You are too good to me.”

“You deserve it,” you smile, leaning in to kiss Din on his stubbled cheek. 

Din nods and then tears into the brightly coloured paper. You wait with bated breath, anxious to see his response. For a terrible moment, he does not move. Then, your heart aches as his face drops. Din scowls at them, clearly unimpressed.

You open your mouth to apologise before Din plasters a grin across his face, a smile that does not quite reach his eyes and addresses you.

“Thank you, ner riduur,” Din smiles weakly, “Let me go and put them on right away.”

“Okay, Din,” you reply, your tone unsure.

Din hands Grogu to you and disappears off into your quarters. Grogu tilts his head to one side as though he is appraising the situation.

When Din is not quick to return, your concern is immediate. He had been itching to get out on the walk. Now that he is taking his time to put the socks on, you are certain something is wrong. Fear and guilt settle in the pit of your stomach.

“I don’t think he liked them,” you murmur, searching Grogu’s large eyes for answers.

Grogu nods slowly. 

You take another steadying breath in preparation to assess the situation. Despite your trepidation, you head down the hallway towards your quarters. The thought of Din being unhappy for even a second on his birthday unsettles you, especially if you were the cause of such an unwelcome emotion. 

When you make it to your room, the hulking silhouette of a Mandalorian warrior, with his broad shoulders slumped over in anguish greets you. The guilt is instant. You hover in the entryway for a few moments, cradling Grogu and pondering your next move.

“Din, did I offend you with the gifts?” you finally question as you set Grogu down on the bunk. 

Din sighs and shakes his head, turning to face you. The happy expression of this morning has been replaced with one of anguish. 

“I’m sorry I ruined your birthday,” you feebly murmur.

Din’s eyes widen in horror as he stands up from the edge of the bunk, instantly closing the distance between you and reaching out to hold your upper arms in his large hands. 

“No, never,” he promises, brown eyes darkened with sincerity.

You nod, shooting him a sceptical look.

“They, uh…” Din closes his eyes and sighs, clearly struggling with something, “They just remind me of something…”

You look at him, still confused by his evasiveness. You weren’t sure what such a simple pair of deep red socks could have done to disturb him so deeply.

Din opens his eyes, “Of somewhere,” he clarifies before he shuts them again.

He pauses for a few more seconds and you stand there unmoving, barely daring to breathe.

“The colour reminds me of the robes we wore on the planet of my birth.”

You swallow the lump which has abruptly formed in your throat, nodding at him to indicate you understand. He does not have to elaborate, to go back there if he does not want to.

“Okay, Din,” you say gently, wrapping your arms around his waist and bringing his head into your chest, “I can exchange them for a different colour.”

Din shakes his head, “No, I love them. It was just…” he sucks in a deep breath, voice quivering slightly as he adds, “A surprise. I try to avoid that colour at all costs.”

You think back to why you had been drawn to the socks. Perhaps your subconscious picked up on the fact you had never seen him with anything of that colour and wanted him to try something new. 

“They feel incredibly warm, the material is so soft. Thank you, it was very thoughtful of you,” Din smiles weakly. 

You can tell that something is still troubling him, so you boldly ask, “Do you think of them on your birthday?”

Din seems taken aback by your question but nods. 

“Before I met Grogu and you, when my heart was hardened and I rarely allowed affection in, my birthday was the one day of the year I would allow my mind to wander back there,” Din admits, “To think of them, of the life we could have had. Now I realise, of course, that if I stayed on Aq Vetina, I would never have met Grogu. Or you.”

Din addresses his son now, scooping him up and cuddling him tightly, “You are the best things that ever happened to me.” 

You feel overwhelmed with emotion as you look at them. Din presses his forehead to Grogu's for a few seconds, closing his eyes and relishing the contact.

Din opens his eyes and meets your gaze, “I have to let that place go. It’s not my home anymore. Not even this cabin is home,” Din muses.

You look at him quizzically, not following his train of thought. 

“Home isn’t a place for me,” Din whispers, “It’s a feeling. It’s the way you and Grogu love me.”

You are floored by the sentiment. That this once stoic warrior has such tenderness to him still amazes you.

“Oh, Din,” you whisper, cupping his cheek as you press your forehead to his.

Your arms encircle his waist. He brings you close with one hand and you know that he is drawing comfort from embracing you and Grogu like this. When you finally lean your head back, you detect a certain tiredness in those brown eyes you love so much.

“Why don’t you get some rest, honey?” you question, “Grogu can join too. It’s been a long, emotional day already and I want you to enjoy the rest of your birthday.”

Thankfully, Din does not fight you, conceding that he needs rest. When he climbs under the covers, you drop a tender kiss on both of their foreheads and turn to leave.

Before you leave the room, soft, even breaths indicate that they have already fallen asleep. The sight of Grogu’s tiny head on Din’s chest as they nap together makes your heart swell.

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

The cabin is bathed in golden light once again, this time after the sun has set. The three of you sit in contented, companionable silence as you appreciate the full feeling after a good meal.

You utilised Din and Grogu’s nap to ice the cake and prepare a special dinner consisting of Tiingilar, a traditional Mandalorian dish. Despite your apprehensiveness at perfecting the recipe, Din approved of your attempt.

As you sit there, you contemplate suggesting another nap. Consuming a sizable quantity of rich food always leaves a certain tiredness. 

But there is still one important duty yet to be carried out.

While Din is somewhat distracted talking to Grogu, you quietly excuse yourself and stealthily prepare dessert.

Your fingers tremble as they did when you wrapped the presents as you light the candles. You head towards the table on shaky legs. You begin singing the traditional birthday song with accompaniment from Grogu, who tries his best to join in with various chirps. 

Din grins as he watches you. You notice with relief that the spark in his eyes has returned. When you finish the song, you place the cake before him on the table.

“Blow them out!” you encourage.

Din nods and leans forward to extinguish the candles after savouring the moment a few beats longer. 

The excited expression on Din’s face is soon made bittersweet, “I’ve never blown out my own candles before,” he admits.

“There’s a first time for everything,” you whisper, touched by the years of agony which lie behind those words.

You are grateful that shovelling the sweet dessert into your mouth gives you an excuse not to speak as you are unsure how to move on from such an admission. Din has been through so much. Yet, he is still one of the kindest, gentlest men you have ever met. You want to give him all the experiences the galaxy has to offer. To make up for all of the years of hurt. 

“Thank you for the cake, it was delicious,” Din appreciatively says after he swallows his last bite. 

“You’re welcome,” you smile, “I think Grogu enjoyed it, too.”

You nod over at your mischievous son, who has more of the bright blue icing smeared around his face and tunic than ended up in his mouth.

Din smiles as he places the plate back on the table before you. He rubs his belly contentedly and adds, “Thank you for making this my best birthday yet.”

“Of course, Din,” you shrug, “You deserve it.”

You are already planning ways to make next year even better.

Follow @thefrogdalorianfics for updates on my latest fics!

[dailyadventureprompts]

Villain: Cult of the Earth in Arms

Camped out in remote mines and fortified wilderness compounds, these zealots toil and train and stockpile for a war that may never come, dreaming of the day they will march to glorious victory over their hated foe.. whoever that happens to be week to week.

The cult has many names and supposed patrons: deposed human kings, exiled gnomish geniuses, scornful aspects of dwarven gods. All of these are mere proxies for the cult’s true master Kurtulmak, a bitter god of warfare and mining who takes the form of a kobold who’s ire manifests as poison that dribbles from both his jaw and tailbarbs. 

Like many gods of wicked war, Kutulmak cares nothing for whatever cause his unwitting cultists call him to, feeding instead off of their resentment, suppressed fear, and ever mounting bloodlust. It doesn’t matter whether they are a paranoid militia prepping for a conflict they will never see, or bitter partisans waging guerrilla war against a populace long since seeking peace, they all feed Kurtulmak’s desire for intractable conflict and indelible resentments. 

The cult of the Earth in Arms tends to operate in isolation, pertaining to self sufficiency while raiding, extorting, or fleecing others for what they need. They entrench themselves in an area, filling it with traps and hidden fortifications, while sinking tunnels deep into the earth in search of resources that can help to fill their arsenals. Iron for blades and armour is obviously prized, but copper and tin for cannons and saltpetre for blasting powder are likewise prime targets. Often they will use captives to work these claims and the foundries they feed, as the cultists often consider drugework below the dignity of born warriors such as themselves. 

Adventure Hooks

An uptick in disappearances puts the party on the trail of a slaving operation, funneling bodies into a band of backwoods cultists working a hidden gem mine. After they’ve cleared the bastards out, the party might have the opportunity to make the operation legitimate if they put in the elbow grease and promise the authorities their due. 

The local lord thought he was very clever, operating a hidden foundry out of the old dwarven ruins to produce weapons and artillery in preparation for a campaign against his liege. As it turns out the reason the ruins were abandoned in the first place was because they sat on top of a magical layline, and all the smelting and quenching has attracted the attention of several rogue elementals.  Now there’s a scattering of earth-hulks marauding through the countryside and a team of mephits who’re flitting about with a cannon in tow. 

After suffering a crushing defeat, the general of the imperial army fell back into the mountains, her forces becoming little more than bandits in ensuing years until her scouts came back with news of drakes nesting in the region. Nearly a generation of arduous training and rearing since her defeat, she’s returned to retake the lands she lost with a flight of lesser dragons at her back.. Lands the party just happens to occupy. 

Artsource

[thevulturesquadron]

Thoughts probably no one is interested in, but I need to vent into the void of tumblr:

I am still pretty annoyed that in recent comics issues we got to see absolutely zero reaction from Rogue both during Magneto’s death and his return. Even the smallest panel for any of the events would have been sufficient.

Not to mention she was practically nonexistent in the whole Krakoa run (with both Mystique and Destiny being right. there).

It’s like she’s being held hostage in that marriage, locked away from any character development. She’s not allowed to even spare a look at anything and anyone (not even her family!!!!) without Gambit breathing down her neck.

That marriage was a mistake. There, I said it. It boxes both Rogue and Gambit into such nothing characters that aren’t allowed to have meaningful connections with anyone else.

Release my darlings at once! She-Hulk bring the divorce papers!

[daydreamerdrew]

The Hulk! (1978) #26

[voraciousvore]

Voretober Day 17: Rescue

Day 1 | Previous (16) | Next (18)

Content Warning: Unwilling soft safe vore, sexual themes, vomiting

Word Count: 3.8k

“Just stay quiet and let me do all the talking,” Leon advised. 

Joey responded with a terse nod and fumbled with his tie. “Yes, of course.” 

“And try not to fidget so much. Stop looking so nervous. You need to relax.” 

Joey gulped. “Right.” He forced his hands rigidly to his sides and schooled his features into a neutral expression. 

Leon looked him up and down with a skeptical gaze. He rubbed his chin and heaved a heavy sigh. “That’ll do, I suppose. Let’s go.” He opened the metal door in the side of the building behind him and began descending the narrow staircase. Joey glanced around at the dark, deserted streets, flanked by run-down industrial complexes, before following. 

The cement stairs were cracked and worn, so Joey had to watch his feet as he lightly put his weight on each step. The overhead bulbs were stark white and flickered with a loud fluorescent hum at just the right frequency to give him a headache. He focused on the balding patch on the back of Leon’s head in front of him to quell his rising anxiety.  

Leon reached the bottom of the stairs, where another metal door awaited him with a keycard reader. He swiped his card and gave Joey a stern look before twisting the knob. Joey dropped his hands down, realizing only just then that his fingers were fiddling with his tie of their own volition. He stuffed his hands in his pockets to get them out of the way. 

The door opened like a portal to a different dimension, revealing a world in striking contrast to the bland, dingy stairwell. Joey blinked and adjusted his glasses as he was hit with a blur of bright colorful lights amid a sea of green felt. The bubbly jingles of slot machines, accompanied by the solid clinks of coins and chips, rang out amidst the lower drone of masculine voices. Joey wrinkled his nose at the strong odor of cigar smoke and alcohol that hung thick in the air like a haze. 

Leon trotted in with confidence, and Joey matched his gait as he coolly slid alongside him. He furrowed his brow as he scanned the rows of slots and pachinko machines, searching with urgency. 

“Slow down, Joey,” Leon muttered out the side of his mouth. “Take a deep breath.” 

Joey inhaled through his nose in an attempt to remain calm, but only succeeded in choking on a toxic cloud of smoke. His palms were sweating in his pockets and his heart was racing like a ticking time bomb. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a perky waitress with big tits and a very short dress that hardly covered her panties addressed him. 

“Would you like a drink?” she chirped with an excessively peppy affect. She balanced a tray full of glasses on one hand. 

Joey opened his mouth to decline, but Leon interrupted. “Yes, martinis for both of us please.” Joey glanced at him questioningly as the waitress affirmed and scurried off. 

“It would be strange for us not to drink here,” Leon explained. “Or refuse a smoke.” Joey nodded. “Besides, it’ll help you loosen up a bit.” 

They kept moving. Joey restrained his powerful urge to march ahead with purpose, and allowed Leon to take him along a meandering path through the underground casino. As they strolled past the bar, the waitress returned with two drinks. Joey sipped his martini and absently stirred the toothpick with the olive, hoping for some liquid courage. 

He couldn’t help but notice that the clientele were exclusively upper-class men, sharply dressed in expensive suits and groomed to an immaculate polish. Joey had originally believed his disguise would be sufficient, but now he felt shabby by comparison, with his messy hair and dorky glasses. His suit, rented from a pawn shop, was ill-fitted, slightly rumpled, and permeated with the scent of dust and mothballs. Even the hulking security guards lurking on the fringes were better-dressed by comparison. He ran a hand through his hair self-consciously in a futile attempt to smooth down the stray locks. 

Leon guided him further inside the den of debauchery, to the roulette machines and the card tables. As Joey’s eagle eyes surveyed the tables, he stiffened, stopping in his tracks. Each table had a glass dome in the middle, like an enclosed bubble. The interior consisted of what could only be described as a stage, a raised platform with a metal floor. The performers on display were tiny human women less than the height of a single finger, scantily clad, twirling and gyrating in a titillating fashion on miniature stripper poles. Joey observed as a man sat down at one of the tables and pressed a button, causing all the women inside to flinch as if stung and begin to dance. He realized, with a twist in his gut, that the metal plates the girls were standing on delivered electric shocks. 

He clenched his fists in anger and gritted his teeth. “Monsters,” he growled. 

“Easy, Joey,” Leon warned. “Don’t lose it here.” 

Joey huffed but didn’t answer. He struggled to maintain his composure, despite his blood boiling just beneath the surface. His eyes scoured each table frantically as his pulse pounded in his head. Leon frowned with concern but hid his expression behind his drink. 

“Eren!” Joey cried, a bit too loudly. Leon paled as a few faces turned their way. 

“Joey!” he hissed, clapping his hand on his shoulder to stop him from dashing forward. “You’re drawing attention to yourself!” 

“She’s right there,” Joey choked, barely containing himself. At one of the poker tables, under the glass bubble, a diminutive woman with long raven hair was twisting around one of the poles. Her misery was plastered all over her face as a creepy older giant with gray hair leered down at her, his finger hovering over the button to shock her if she stopped. Joey felt like throwing up. 

“I know, I know,” Leon said. “But making a scene is not going to accomplish anything. We need to be smart about this.” 

“But what can we do?” Joey lamented. “I can’t just leave her there! I need to save her!” 

Leon abruptly stiffened, sucking in a sharp breath. Joey felt the fine hairs on the nape of his neck stand on end. He turned around to behold a balding, bearded giant lumbering towards him. He was huge and imposing, both tall in height and broad in girth, and dressed in a black suit of the finest material. He regarded Joey with hard metallic irises that pierced through him like twin blades. 

“Who’s this?” he boomed in a rich stentorian voice. 

“Mr. Wolfe, I’d like you to meet my nephew,” Leon lied, placing a hand on Joey’s shoulder. “Joey, this is Mr. Wolfe, the owner of this casino.” He addressed his boss again. “I believe young Joey here has… potential.” 

“Is that so?” Mr. Wolfe studied Joey intently, from his scuffed shoes to his ragged hair, as if examining a scrawny bug under a magnifying glass. What he saw didn’t seem to impress him much. “Hmph,” he scoffed. 

“Why don’t we sit down to a game of poker?” Leon suggested, spotting an opportunity—a risky one, perhaps, but one that afforded them a chance to rescue Eren. “We can join Mr. Hardon and Mr. Greenwood over there, if they’ll have us.” 

The big man scratched his beard as he continued to stare at Joey in a way that made the younger man want to shrivel up like a raisin. Mr. Wolfe’s metal eyes glinted and he peeled his rubbery lips back into a wolfish grin, like he was fantasizing about eating Joey alive and not just beating him at cards. “You’ve piqued my interest. Let’s test this fresh meat.” 

Mr. Wolfe turned away toward the table, and Joey nearly collapsed after bearing the weight of his gaze for so long. Leon and Joey followed him to the poker table, where two other men were already seated. The gray-haired pervert who had been thirsting over the small women trapped in the dome was introduced to Joey as Mr. Hardon. The other man, Mr. Greenwood, resembled an old-fashioned mob boss, complete with a dark pinstripe suit and a cigar tucked in the corner of his mouth. They both regarded Joey with condescension as he shuffled into his chair. He was thankful to sit down before his quaking legs gave out beneath him. 

“You gents can play without me,” Mr. Hardon announced. “I’m getting bored. I’ll just watch instead.” His pale eyes drifted down to the women in the dome, who were observing the new arrivals warily. With a grin that turned Joey’s stomach, he pressed the shock button and they all jumped in unison. 

For a split second, a murderous expression flashed across Joey’s face and he leaned forward as if about to lunge. Leon swiftly kicked him under the cover of the table to bring him back to his senses. He reigned himself back with a pinched frown. Fortunately, the others were distracted by the tiny women dancing and didn’t notice his aggression. An idea sparked in Leon’s brain. 

“Why don’t we make the game more interesting then?”  he suggested. “We could play for a prize. Whoever wins all the chips gets to choose one of the women for himself.” He plunked his finger on the glass for emphasis. His heart broke as the humans inside trembled, but he didn’t allow any sympathy to break through his stony façade. 

“I’m in!” Mr. Hardon proclaimed, slavering like a mad dog. “Now THAT would be fun!” He looked eagerly over at Mr. Wolfe. 

“I agree, but only under the condition that we at least get to watch the victor eat their prey,” Mr. Greenwood said with a wicked smirk, chewing on the end of his cigar. 

Mr. Wolfe smiled coldly. “Very well.” He gestured to one of the dealers with a flick of his wrist. The dealer divided up the chips, shuffled the cards, and gave each man their hands. Mr. Hardon’s eyes and rows of teeth gleamed as he drooled over the little women, his cards cupped close to his grinning face. Mr. Wolfe was deadpan, completely unreadable. Mr. Greenwood puffed on his cigar impassively. Leon scrutinized each man closely. 

Joey was an honest, earnest young man with many admirable traits, but hiding his emotions was not one of them. He frowned as he peeked at his cards before he caught himself, but the damage was done. He had a terrible poker face and couldn’t manage to pull off a successful bluff. He tentatively placed a bet, only to lose his chips as the more hardened and experienced men saw through him as easily as if he were made of crystal. 

He lost the next hand as well. And the following. The other men were ready to tear him apart like sharks drawn to blood. He began to sweat and fidget under the pressure, polishing his glasses and smoothing the folds in his suit. His tie felt like a boa constrictor around his neck, twisting tighter and tighter. He finally managed to get a decent hand, but his reaction was so blatant that nobody was foolish enough to bet against him. He was losing badly. 

“Cigar?” Mr. Greenwood offered, holding out a box in his palm. Leon, Hardon, and Wolfe all accepted. Joey, recalling Leon’s advice that refusing to smoke would be suspicious, took one as well, oblivious to the fact that he was holding a luxury worth more than he’d ever be able to afford in his life. He bit his lip nervously as he lit the tip. He’d never smoked before. 

Ignorant of the proper way to smoke a cigar, Joey took a drag like he’d seen people do with cigarettes and immediately burst into a coughing fit. Mr. Greenwood chuckled, as did Mr. Hardon, but Mr. Wolfe was not amused. He regarded Joey with disappointed disgust before shooting a scathing glare at Leon, who hid behind his cards and slumped down in his chair like a beat dog. 

As the game wore on, Mr. Wolfe focused on Joey and waxed with increasing wrath and dissatisfaction over the pathetic specimen before him. Joey’s chips were dwindling and he was clearly losing his composure under the pressure, his eyes darting from his cards to his chips to the women in the glass bubble. Eren gazed up at her giant boyfriend with despair as she saw her only way out shrinking with the diminishing pile of chips. 

Joey was almost out of the game by this point. He didn’t have a great hand, but he had no choice but to go all in lest he lose his only chance to retrieve his girl. In an excessive and unnecessary show of force, to really crush the man beneath his heel and demonstrate his supremacy, Mr. Wolfe pushed all his chips forward. “All in.” Joey blanched. 

“Ah, screw it. All in,” Mr. Greenwood grunted, presenting his own pile of chips. Mr. Hardon did the same, grinning with a savage edge. 

“All in,” Leon muttered without confidence, his face puckered. 

“Perfect. Let’s see it, then, Joey,” Mr. Wolfe growled with a grotesque sneer. Joey winced as he flipped his cards to reveal… nothing. His hand was garbage and he knew it. His lips quivered and his eyes moistened. 

Mr. Wolfe let out a slow, sadistic, soft laugh. He was thoroughly enjoying Joey’s pain. He turned over his cards in a dramatic flourish to show off an impressive hand: a pair of aces. Mr. Greenwood and Mr. Hardon frowned as they exposed strong, but inferior, hands. 

Joey began to tremble all over as his mask crumbled. He had lost. He couldn’t save Eren. He considered, briefly, smashing the glass, grabbing her, and bolting, but he knew he wouldn’t make it to the door before security slammed him down. He didn’t even look at Leon’s cards as he put them face-up. The situation was hopeless.  

“Leon, you sly fox,” Mr. Greenwood uttered. “I should’ve known.” Joey snapped out of his spiral to glance over, and was shocked to see Leon also had a pair of cards—tens, not aces, but combined he managed to score three of a kind. Joey blinked away the excess water in his eyes with shock. 

“I win,” Leon proclaimed, a smile stretching out his face. “Allow me to claim my prize, please.” Mr. Wolfe glowered but pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked a panel in the table. He pressed a button and the dome split open and retracted with a smooth whoosh. The humans recoiled with fear, huddling against each other in the middle of the table. They had nowhere to run, since they were surrounded on all sides by giant men. 

Leon hastened to grab up Eren and pull her to safety. He tried his best to be gentle and not squeeze her small frame in his enormous hands, but her terrified squirming made it difficult to maintain a mild grip. She looked over frantically at Joey and opened her mouth to scream his name. Leon swiftly clamped his thumb over her face to muffle her exclamation; he couldn’t have her reveal their connection and unwittingly sabotage their plan. She bit his thumb in response, but her teeth were too small to break the skin or cause any real damage. 

Leon tucked her into his pants pocket, holding his hand over her so she couldn’t escape. His chest tightened as he felt her thrashing through the fabric against his thigh. She didn’t know him; she had no clue he was allied with her boyfriend and was trying to help her. 

“Well, I’ll be off now,” he remarked casually, standing up out of his chair. 

Mr. Wolfe knew he’d been outsmarted, and he was seething. “Hold on, Leon,” he snarled. “We’re not finished here.” 

“Oh, I’m good,” Leon replied. 

“SIT. DOWN.” 

A hush dampened the voices in the room as nearby patrons of the casino were disrupted by his bellowing bass tone. Leon stiffened, a bead of sweat dripping down his temple. “Very well, sir,” he answered faintly, lowering himself back into his seat. 

“You’re going to finish what we started here,” Mr. Wolfe demanded. 

“I’d rather save her for later, if that’s okay…” Leon said feebly. His remaining courage had vaporized in an instant as he understood he was at the mercy of his boss. 

“No.” The authoritarian word, as solid as a wall of iron, left no room for negotiation. The big, brutish giant leaned forward in his chair, which squeaked under his prodigious weight, and clasped his hands firmly on the table. “Now. You’re not getting out of this.” Leon’s reluctance to consume humans was known to him, and he wasn’t going to let him slink out unpunished. 

Greenwood and Hardon stared at Leon with ravenous anticipation. Joey looked as if he’d dissipate into smoke. Leon swallowed his misgivings and fished Eren, kicking and screaming, out of his pocket. With a stealthy motion under the table, he shoved a human anti-digestion pill from his other pocket into her hands before squeezing her tightly between his fingers so she had no room to flail her limbs. She fumbled the object with confusion before going very quiet as she registered what she was holding. She began to tremble as she looked up at him with pleading eyes. 

Leon wanted to apologize, to console her, to tell her she was safe and everything would be okay, to let her know she’d soon be reunited with Joey. But he couldn’t. Not a word. He’d jeopardize everything. So, knowing he had no other choice, he opened his mouth and stuffed her in. 

She tasted meaty and tender, like steak. A flood of drool filled his mouth; he gulped it down so she wouldn’t be swimming in his juices. Eren struggled with terror on his tongue and tapped against his teeth, punching them uselessly with miniscule fists. He tried to maneuver her into a more comfortable position for swallowing, so she would go down smoother, but she refused to cooperate. 

He felt terrible as he tried not to imagine what the experience must be like for her. As gently as he could manage, he tilted his tongue up so she would slide into his gullet. He wanted to guide her down his throat slowly, but a kick to his uvula made him choke instead. He sucked her down in a harsh swallow, gripping his neck with pain as she slid through it, crunched up at an awkward angle. His Adam’s apple rippled against his palm and he nearly vomited with revulsion. 

She continued to resist the constricting tunnel around her as she passed through his chest into his stomach. He felt her pushing and clawing, along with her frightened little heart pounding in a panicked cadence that matched his own. She dropped into the void of his gut and he gasped as he realized he could even perceive her tiny feet sinking into his stomach lining and wading through the gastric soup within. He covered his mouth in a dry heave, but fortunately kept down his stomach contents, Eren included. His face turned green with nausea. 

Joey, too, appeared close to vomiting. Mr. Wolfe smirked cruelly at the display, since he knew Leon was not a fan of ingesting humans. Mr. Greenwood rolled his cigar in his hand with satisfaction, and Mr. Hardon seemed close to bursting. 

“Mr. Wolfe? Can I have one too? Pleeeeease?” Hardon begged. “I promise I’ll keep her alive; I don’t even need to eat her! I’ll settle for a lap dance.”  

Mr. Wolfe huffed. “Fine. Whatever.” The lecherous old man snatched up a busty blonde and dragged her under the table to his lap. Leon couldn’t take any more. He heaved himself to his feet and stumbled out, with Joey right behind him. Mr. Wolfe allowed him to leave, following his trail with a frosty squint. 

Leon made it to the staircase and rushed ahead in a tizzy. Eren bounced in his belly with every step. He threw open the metal door to the outside world and slurped the cool, smoke-free night air greedily into his lungs. He ran around to the opposite side of the building, bent over on his knees, and promptly barfed into the alleyway. 

He gasped for breath, holding his stomach with agony as strings of bile trailed from his lips. He spied Eren floundering in the rancid muck like a worm and nearly retched again. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m so, so sorry…” 

“EREN!” Joey exclaimed. Without any regard for how dirty she was, he scooped her up out of the puddle and clasped her to his chest. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m…” She started to cry, snuggling desperately into the folds of his suit. “Joey, I was so scared!” 

“Shhhh, shhhh… you’re safe now, Eren. I’m here,” Joey murmured, petting her wet hair. He teared up as well. “I’m so sorry this happened… and if not for Leon…” His breath hitched in his throat. 

Leon wiped off his mouth and dusted off his knees as he stood up. “You were essential too, Joey. Mr. Wolfe was so fixated on you, he didn’t catch my bluff. Usually he’s more perceptive.” He surveyed the alleyway. “We need to get moving, before someone spots us here.” 

Joey nodded with determination and began to walk briskly, clutching Eren protectively. She looked up at him, along the curve of his chin above her. “What about the other humans? They’re still in danger!” 

“Don’t fret, Eren. I’m wearing a wire and a small camera. I have evidence against them,” Joey assured her. “And Leon has been gathering evidence too, with his involvement in the organization. He’ll provide testimony.” 

“I should’ve done this a long time ago,” Leon muttered in a sorrowful tone, laced with regret. “But once they started snatching up humans, I knew I couldn’t stand by any longer…” 

“I’m glad you were there to aid us,” Joey remarked. “You’re doing the right thing.” As he spoke, he cleaned off Eren with his shirt. 

“Yes,” Leon agreed. He sighed and looked up at the few stars he could see through the light pollution. At least there was something. 

“I love you, Joey,” Eren whimpered, kissing his thumb. Leon felt warmth in his heart at the display. The small things mattered, after all—small and precious, like Eren. 

Joey raised her up to his lips and kissed her back. “I love you too.” 

[belokhvostikova]

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing and smoking.

It was Steve Harrington’s twenty-ninth big birthday palooza.

Well, at least that’s what the giant, colorful banner called it, that hung across the foyer of his home. That’s what happens when Dustin Henderson plans your party. But the kid—who was beyond the definition of a kid now—had told Steve he had no right to complain about it being childish. Steve did shoot down the first option of “Big Birthday Bash,” terribly unaware that palooza was the next best thing for Henderson.

Had he known, he surely would have stuck with the first option.

Steve was correct, though. The banner was childish, and it had garnered all the fascination from the mini Munson that walked in with a gaping mouth of pure awe at the bright sign. At the very least, the actual kid would enjoy it.

And “palooza” was really selling it out. It was merely a group of adult friends simply hanging out like old times. Only the new addition was the three-year-old hanging off your leg, who adorably looked a lot like your husband.

Not fair. You did most of the work.

But it was worth it, staring into those baby cow eyes every time you crouched down to your kid. And once you stood up, you’d find them again from Eddie Munson, himself, who peered at you lovingly.

Of course, you had to show off your baby and bring him to the party. He was already a crowd favorite. Being the first baby born into Hawkins’ infamous clan of misfits gave you that right. And they all loved that tiny Munson.

Especially after that “Happy Birtday, Uncle Steeb!” It was enough to make icebergs melt.

And having a child at an adult hangout wasn’t all bad. Keeping the beers separated from the juice boxes, and having a yard big enough for the child to run was sufficient enough. Bonus points for Steve Harrington’s dog, Rufus, who took up all your kid’s attention.

By the end of the night, the group had naturally separated into two; the men left smoking outside, while the women conversed in the comfort of the living room. This had come after the cake celebration. Once the candles were blown out, Steve had joked that he wished to keep all his hair throughout his thirties. In reality, he’d wished to start a family as loving as the one his friend had.

He would end up confiding this to Eddie during the relaxed smoking session. That he wanted the whole package; a wife and kid. In fact, he dreamed of having many of them. Eddie blew out the smoke from his cigarette and smiled. “It’s the greatest fucking feeling ever, man.”

Because when Eddie looked back through the glass doors of the patio, he saw you. Sitting and chatting, beautiful as ever. But the cherry on top was seeing his tiny kid straddling your lap. His curly head of hair buried into your neck calmly asleep, as Eddie’s leather jacket draped over as a comforting blanket.

“I wouldn’t trade it for the world.” Eddie beamed, as he stomped out his cigarette.

One day Steve would get that. Whether it was with the pretty lady he was currently seeing or a future soulmate, he’d get that.

Eddie had walked in, strutting over to the quarter of cake that was left after everyone had gotten a slice. Not you, though. You were busy cheering on Steve from the couch, as your baby used your chest as a bed. Cutting a slice, and plonking it onto a paper plate, Eddie meandered his way next to you on the couch.

“You deserve a piece.” He forked a triple chocolate portion into your mouth, where he smiled, as your face contorted into delight. “Good?” He knew it was, he devoured two slices earlier. You could only hum with pleasure, before he leaned in and whispered. “Should we feed the monster?”

It was a risky move. One taste of sugar, and your three-year-old would turn into the Hulk. But it was a risk worth taking, your baby was too cute not to feed treats to.

Eddie managed to slowly insert a small piece between his tiny puckered lips, as he slept. And in true Munson fashion, your baby chewed in his sleep, eyes closed but mouth surely moving.

Then, those baby cow eyes tiredly opened at the sudden sweetness. “Choclat?”

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | I don’t know why I keep making Dad!Eddie blurbs. It’s an addiction that can’t be stopped.

[onyourowndaisymae]

trick or treat!

obey me trick if this is still open :>

"no way this is safe--!" asmo shrieks, clutching the edge of the trailer as he curled uncomfortably in the bin of hay.

mammon laughs loudly, boisterous and excited as the tractor pulling the trailer of the hayride takes off at a truly deceptive speed-- the old hulking beast seemed to know that four grown adults were in its bed and acted accordingly by taking corners at mach speed on your way to the pumpkin patch.

leviathan yelps in panic. the tips of his horns begin to peak through his hair as his body reacts to what appears to be danger. but you're laughing along with mammon, letting the wind blow your hair back. you sit up on your knees and put your hands up like this is some kind of rollercoaster. hell-- where is your common sense?! your survival instinct?! his toes curl with anxiety as he watches your aloof response to such a bumpy ride.

luckily, things are over as quick as they start. good. levi didn't realize how itchy and unpleasant the straw felt through his pants until the chaos stopped. he scurries off the ride before the rest of the group and thoroughly wipes himself off.

"we get to ride back like that, too?" mammon whoops with an obnoxious laugh. asmo whines.

"hell no! we're lucky we didn't fall off that time! i almost lost my sunglasses, too--"

the two bicker as they walk towards rows of big, glossy pumpkins, picturesque in the golden human realm sun. levi straightens up once his pants are sufficiently straw-free-- only to be startled by you standing close by. he yelps again, much to his chagrin.

"sorry," you reply with a lopsided grin. "i didn't realize the ride would be that crazy. are you okay?"

he feels embarrassed now. did you think he was some giant crybaby would couldn't handle a rowdy hayride? his cheeks burn as he looks off.

"i'm fine."

"good. good to hear."

you extend a hand out between the two of you, palm warm and inviting in the warm light as the day slowly begins to creep away from you both.

"c'mon. lets go get some pumpkins, yeah?"

leviathan feels just as hot and embarrassed as he takes your hand-- but he does it anyways. because it's you. and levi learned long ago that most things are better by your side.

"yeah," he agrees.

[sasster]

Bitter/Sweet Dreams

I am going to call this one the penultimate Dream Sequence drabble, but if I'm wrong, don't come for me. If you see any typos shhhhhh.

[doc]

-- Ailzea does not always remember his dreams, but lately he has come to know daymares that threaten even his resolve. Images of his children in various states of disrepair flash through his mind, plaguing his mornings and tainting any semblance of peace he might hope to find in slumber.

Daymares that remind him of how he has failed the pair of them.

This time an invisible glasslike surface separates him from Arkiro, a beast of a troll hunches over him and pulls his arms apart, no doubt eliciting sickening snaps and pops with each great pull. What’s worse is that Ailzea does not need to see the face of the assailant to know who it belongs to.

The priest presses himself up against the glass, but no amount of effort bears any fruit. He can only watch as one of the arms is ripped right off of his son, painting the floor and both trolls in purple. Afterward, Favion turns and grins, raising the dismembered arm to wave hello.

While in the waking world Ailzea knows better than to give him a reaction, he pounds against the invisible force, much to the yellow hulk’s amusement. His grin widens, splitting the parts of his face covered in the priest's hue, his son’s blood, to show off more of his teeth. Sharp and dangerous. Itching to dig into flesh.

Words do not come to Ailzea, any sound he tries to make dies as a whimper on his lips, and he slides down to his knees, silently begging the cool surface keeping him away from his son to let up with his forehead pressed hard against it.

For a second nothing happens as he sits in the soundless chamber, and it feels as though for the hundredth or thousandth time that his prayer has gone unanswered, then in an instant the barrier is gone and so is Favion’s leering face, replaced by a silhouette that stands proud and sports a large fanning tail that obscures his view of his son.

Ailzea moves his lips, but only a choked cry surfaces.

“Father Restorer, forgive my intrusion.” She says, her voice ringing across the dreamscape like a wind chime, and Ailzea is relieved that he can hear, the vacuum around him having sufficiently been pierced. “I was drawn here, by your plea.”

He nods, stretches to see his sun around her and lets out a relieved sigh when she turns to face him to reveal Arkiro, fully intact, with as much of him cradled in her arm as she could carry.

“This is a dream, Father Restorer.”

“A dream,” he repeats, chewing on the words as he gets used to the ability to speak being returned to him. “Thank you. Thank you for ending it.”

His legs start to carry him to what he now understands to be merely a manifestation of his son, one that he must see up close before his heart beating between his ears can settle. By the time he crosses the infinite distance between them, Arkiro has morphed into a version of himself as a child, no older than five sweeps old, asleep and safe in the goddesses arms. When he is close enough, she wordlessly hands the child to him.

The boy hardly stirs, sucking on his thumb and curling closer to his father’s chest. Ailzea notes that though the child he holds in his arms is exactly as he remembers him, his left horn has been replaced by a wooden one.

There is no immediate danger, the horn seems to say to him, but there is still danger.

He hugs the boy tightly, tight enough that it almost feels that he has absorbed him when he poofs out of his arms. Though he has no way of knowing how he knows, he knows his son both here and in the waking world rest soundly thanks to this dreaming goddess.

“Thank you.” He says again.

“Father Restorer,” she whispers, sheepish. “May I ask a favor?”

All at once, the Dreamer is no longer the ethereal being that saved him from his own mind, instead she appears for what she really is. A you troll thrust headfirst into a life that is unsustainable and one that she did not ask for. Worry and fear and sadness paint a pitiful expression on her face, it forces her tail to droop low.

Ailzea replaces his disappeared son with the sullen goddess in an instant, wrapping her up in his arms before he answers. “Of course, my child. How can I help you?”

She deflates into him, but does not leave the way Arkior did. He feels the weight of her, her grief, as if it were real. Slowly, he pulls her down with him to take a seat on the ground, she puts up no resistance to the action.

“I do not feel safe at home.” Her voice is impossibly small, perhaps it would be impossible to hear were they not embraced.

“I see,” he moves to pet her hair. “Is it Favion?”

Nymira shakes her head, hesitating for just a brief moment.

“Father has not been…Not himself lately,” she says and Ailzea does not say that he thinks he is being himself entirely. “But he wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Then what troubles you?”

“Cylion. He. I think he is stressed. He has been acting erratically. With Father in his current state, I think Cylion could use some guidance from outside.”

“Guidance,” he echoes and she nods. “You want me to speak to him?”

“Please! He will not let me involve Father at any rate and I don’t know what else to do! I’m scared.”

“Of course, dear child. I understand.”

Nymira turns to look up to him, eyes glistening from the tears that fall from them freely.

“I will come visit shortly.”

“Thank you.” She whispers and allows herself to curl closer.

Ailzea pets her hair, grateful that this is the dream he will wake up remembering.

[cillivnz]

𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐜𝐞𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐮 𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬 [𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭]

CHAPTER ONE —— AFTERMATH

warnings. angst, gore descriptions, torture, mentions of death, stabbing, shooting; basically your average 14 minutes into a john wick movie.

a/n. occasionally updating the preliminaries post of this series as deemed necessary. all warnings and details would be mentioned in that post. note, this is a slow burn (emphasis on slow). i hope you enjoy reading this short chapter, i promise it’ll get better. this one’s for the anon who wanted angst, i owe it all to you, honey. <3 pardon any inaccurate translations.

notes. Rehneyr Corsioni [OC] — ex-associate of reader’s father. Edgar Corsioni [OC] — Rehneyr’s son.

TRANSLATIONS. mon ange — my angel; tenez-moi — hold me; va te faire foutre — fuck you/fuck off; “Écoute, si tu parviens à répondre, tu seras libre de vivre ce qui reste de ta vie pathétique.” — Look, if you manage to answer, you will be free to live whatever is left of your pathetic life; “Sing, pute.” — Sing, bitch; “Je ne ferais jamais ça.” — I would never do that; “Laisse moi ici,” — Leave me here;

Clustering sounds beside you were your alarm. Your eyes fought to get adjusted to your dimly lit surroundings, in a panic, you shot up from the bed. Bed? You were uncertain of where you were, until you saw a tall figure hulking, with his back towards you. As if sensing your inquisitive eyes on him, he turned around, a solemn expression on his face, plump lips sealed tight, yet his gaze softened at the sight of you. “Good… morning.” He said shaking his head, it seemed like he wasn’t too fond of his words, considering the sun set a few hours ago. You took a moment to look down at yourself, wearing an oversized, white silk shirt, and your panties. “I took the liberty of cleaning you, I’m sorry, ange.” He was avoiding your gaze, looking at the foot of the bed. “It’s okay, Vince.” “I appreciate you.” Your voice was soft, just a whisper lingering in the breeze.

“You need to rest.” He spoke with an authoritative concern. “I can’t, I just woke up.” You let out something along the lines of a chuckle and a scoff. “Lie down.” He raised his brows, a pleading look on his handsome face. “Lie down with me.” You quirked a brow, not anticipating the flush on his cheeks to be so prominent. “If, uh, if that’s what you want, ange.” He dare not look at you while discarding his jacket, slowly climbing beside you in the queen-size bed, long legs almost swinging out of it; the long bed that sufficiently accommodated you, failed to do the same for him.

Perplexity. Life had a way of arousing it, for life is a gland and these shitty plotholes are the hormones it secrets into your bloody life. A day ago, you mourned the loss of your family, this man, one who vowed service to your father, abandoned him when he needed him the most; when you needed him the most — but he’s here now, isn’t he? You should’ve been mad, hell, he of all people knew the degree of your wrath once unleashed, but you couldn’t be mad at your Vince, not when he sank into the mattress, beside you, pressing himself against you, tauntingly gently, reluctant on whether to be a bit selfish and let his arm rest on your waist, close all humane proximity between you two, and let whatever warmth he still possessed, even if it came from the fiery depths of hell he was certain to burn in, creep onto you.

You noticed this reluctance, despite not facing him. You couldn’t, you feared what you’d do once you’d catch those ocean eyes of his staring into the depths of your soul, digging an abyss into it with his piercing gaze, creating his personal hell inside of you.

“Vincent,” you whispered. “Yes, mon ange.” His soft voice whispered. “Tenez-moi.” Finally, the hesitant arm found homage, snakes around your waist, pressing his godly body against yours. The grip was possessive, permanent, and above all, right. Nothing has ever felt so right, to both of you. In that moment you knew, Vincent would fight heaven and back for you, in your name, whatever it takes.

Amidst your sleep, you heard agonising whimpers from behind you. Both of Vincent’s hands were on your hips, like the fullness of them was comforting. “Ange,” He shivered a whimper, grip tightening around your hips, squeezing them in fear, fear of whatever horror he saw behind those eyes shut tight.

“It’s okay, Vince. I’m not going anywhere.” You whispered, fingered grazing the veins on his large hands. He seemed to lean into your touch, crouching so his head could rest on your shoulder. ‘Not now, not ever.’ You meant to say, but you’re never had a way with words, a knotted tongue and a betraying body.

When morning came, so did the hellhounds. Jolting up at the sound of gunfire, your first thought was if Vincent got hurt, but not seeing him in bed with you as you’d requested, somehow, hurt more than what you’d knew a shot to the heart would. Getting up from the sheets in a frenzy, you reach for your 9mm and rush to the window. The sight below was three men circling in on one Vincent. Three armed men, and one Vincent with his weapon on the ground. You aim at the thug on the left — headshot; right, headshot, leaving the big boy with one man to knock down, a piece of cake, considering the boy was 6’4. He looked back at you, a grin plastered on his beautiful face, before he turned to the man in-front of him and tackled the shooter to the ground. “Atta boy.” You yelled out the window, before heading down to assist him.

‘Torturing’ is what an amateur would call it. You, on the other hand, say it like it is. ‘Information extraction’, it is. That’s truly how simple it is, the good ol’ human compliance, cooperation. You wouldn’t want to be a sinful Pinocchio and say you didn’t enjoy it when they didn’t, however. A challenge, hellions and rascals, and you loved brat-taming. Foreseeable, was this sight. A man stripped to the bone, tied in razor blade ropes of bondage, bleeding rivers of crimson at the hands of you and your beloved. Friend. Beloved friend.

“Tell us who sent you.” Vincent demanded, the tone of his voice was enough to snap you out of your sinister daze and let gooseflesh arise. “Va te faire foutre.” The son of a bitch had the audacity to retort. “Écoute, si tu parviens à répondre, tu seras libre de vivre ce qui reste de ta vie pathétique.” You sigh, rubbing the bridge of your nose in annoyance. The bastard spitting on your face was the last straw for Vincent, who conjured a knife from an apparent holster and grabbed the perpetrator by his short hair. “If you won’t talk,” he said, slashing the man’s throat in one swift stroke, “Sing, pute.”

Fear, for the first time, as the evening sun made feeble attempts to paint the perpetrator’s etiolating face a hue of tangerine, gargling on his own blood, he managed to weakly reveal, “Corsioni,” before leaving this realm, leaving behind no legacy in a maggot’s world, but a mess for you and Vincent to clean.

Rehneyr Corsioni, an associate of your father’s. You remember talk amongst your mother and his wife of a marriage (of convenience) between you and his son, Edgar. “Je ne ferais jamais ça.” You’d scowl at the sound of his name. He had his Russian mother’s face and his Italian father’s eyes, his skin and her hair. A lethal combination, something many a woman has succumbed to in the past, but not you. You had your own plans involving a very mercurial and brooding Parisian boy. His fawn hair, his blue-green eyes; you’d decided to call the colour a shade of Turkish blue. Looking at him now, dried blood splatters tainting his face, you noticed he hasn’t changed much. He was still your Vince, right?

After ridding yourselves of the body, Vincent and you stayed outdoors, staring into the wisteria horizon; at the ravens flying into the greenery and at the bats flying north. “How are you holding up?” He asked you, breaking the silence after minutes of staring at you, a habit you’ve noticed him picking up. “All things considered…” you paused, peering into the sky as if the clouds were etched in your answers. “I’m just glad you’re with me, Vince.” You turn to him, resting your head on his shoulder.

May you be damned for finding solace in this state, but were you really to be blamed when tonight’s the first time he���s lowered his walls? Just enough for you to hop over, or sit atop them prettily. “About that,” he inched away a little, causing you to raise your head, tilting in confusion. “I think you should leave.” He spoke, his words were choked by uncertainty and his brows furrowed at how pathetic he sounded. “What?” Your voice was barely a whisper. “America. Stay there for a bit, lay low, or even find contracts. Laisse moi ici, just until things pacify.”

Pacify? What was left to assuage in this city of ruins? “Vincent, there’s nothing left for me here — for us, here.” You began reasoning, eyes flickering from his face, to his hands. When he blatantly refused to meet your gaze, you grabbed one of his hands, the whole of your hand seemingly elfin in his large ones. This act forced him to stare you down, unlike he does voluntarily, from time to time; this instance, you had to force him to look you in the eye.

“I’ve already booked a ticket, an apartment, clothes, everything— you don’t have to worry about none of that.” He tightened his hold on your hand, grabbing the other, too. “Please, Ange. I need you to do this.” He beseeched. Never had you ever seen such a pleading look on his face, agony whirling in his eyes. “For me?”

For him you found yourself on a plane to New York, tears threatening to break the dam of dignity in your eyes and flood away as you reminisce about his arms that wrapped around you the night before, and the way he leaned in but pulled away in the blink of an eye, muttering curses, unheard of by you, but the twitch of his mouth and the tearing up of his eyes didn’t go unnoticed by you.

If your departure meant more to Vincent than he was letting on, why was he adamant on sending you away, and what wrath will the city of Paris go through now at the hands of a man apoplectic with provoked rage? Unfortunately, you couldn’t see for yourself, so, you let sleep cradle your being and drift off to some unconscious safe haven.

[dragonmaiden39point5]

No Escape (3)

Aight l waited long enough, here take this.

All characters depicted are over the age of 18

Summary: You grow tired of Bakugo's bad behavior and after 4 years as a couple, you make a run for it.

Katsuki Bakugo x Black!Reader

❗Ft. Dark!Deku❗

Darkfic. Stalking, humiliation, non-con, mild Daddy!kink. Potentially some untagged triggers.

Torino was very happy after the visit with his loved ones. He didn't say anything specific (he wasn't a particularly chatty old man) just that Toshinori-- the man who hired and paid you-- and his stepkid always knew how to put a smile on his face.

You did your standard routine of arranging his meals for the day which was made easier by he and his guests having harvested; Then you were on your way to work via your 18 speed bike.

Even though everything was following your new normal, you couldn't help but get this prickly feeling, like you were being watched. Just like before you left *him*. Customers were unusually scarce and there were dense rain clouds in the sky. As time dragged on during the uneventful shift your stomach began to tighten; It felt like the same one or two black SUVs with limo tinted windows were the only cars you'd seen driving by all day. It couldn't be who you'd thought it was-- Not this far away. Not here where you were safe and self-sufficient...It was certainly your imagination running wild. Just a bit of nerves, like when you first ran. Nevertheless, by the time you got off around 5pm you felt sick. That foreboding, doomlike feeling hung over you even after the clouds had burst and a downpour soaked you all the way through to your underwear as you rode your bike home.

When you got home, it was dark and you were supremely exhausted from riding around with such low visibility. Your clothes sagged off of you, oversaturated with the water that had just bombarded you. Entering through the front door, the cold air from the A/C made goosebumps rise across your skin. You stood there in the entryway for a moment, dripping a puddle onto the rug... "Thunder?" You called out, he didn't come.

You felt a wave of nausea and swallowed dryly; Torino hadn't answered either.

Without hesitation you sprinted upstairs, heading straight for the old man's room. He was fast asleep, under his reading light, radio very low playing on some golden oldies station. You sighed backing away as you closed his door.

Turning around you nearly leapt through the ceiling, covering your mouth in a silent scream. Toshinori's hulking frame stood behind you inquisitively, if not a bit surprised.

"Oh, Hey! You're finally home." He said with a smile, "You, look like you've seen a ghost."

"Ha-ha, hi-- Toshinori. I didn't know you'd be here today is all... I was just.. You startled me."

Toshinori eyed your soaked, trembling body briefly before he responded. "I wasn't supposed to stay, but the news said there'd be some flooding tonight and tomorrow so I decided to stick around instead of heading to my apartment... You know, you should really warm up." He said, careful not to stare and how the drenched fabric clung to your shivering form, how goosebumps were spread across your skin, and how your hardened nipples pushed up against your shirt.

"Oh, I uh, yeah-- Just... Where is Thunder?"

"In my room sleeping. Do you want to check? You seem pretty on edge."

"Yeah..." you nodded, walking carefully down the hallway to the room that Toshinori kept as his own. The door was already cracked, with Thunder laying across the foot of the large bed. As you pushed the door further open, he sat up and looked at you before lazily flopping down in place.

"See? Everything is fine." Toshinori said, from the hallway.

You sighed with some relief, but still a sick, sinking feeling in your stomach.

Maybe it was something you ate.

"I'm sorry. I just... It was a weird day." You lied; Other than a gut feeling it was pretty uniform that there were no customers before a major weather event.

"I'll go get cleaned up... Thunder can stay here since apparently he's so comfy." You forced a chuckle.

"Alrighty." He said eyes locked on you, shrugging. "Have a good night, then."

"Yeah, y-you too." You swallowed thickly, hurrying away, back downstairs.

You scurried through the first floor of the house in a blur hurrying all the way to the basement. Gripping the railing for support, you dragged your feet down to the last stair and sat on it, covering your eyes.

Near tears, you hadn't felt this way in so long. That feeling of being watched, like there were eyes on you all day made you sick. You would've thought that it was just paranoia-- An onset of your anxiety creeping up from back when you first moved, until you heard the rapidly approaching footsteps.

Your blood ran cold as you came face to face with Izuku Midoriya. As you attempted to stand on wobbly legs, he swiftly reached out to firmly grasp your arm. "Hey." He says, "It's been a while."

You couldn't find the words to respond, gulping in air like a fish out of water. Kacchan's best friend. A different brand of the same type of degenerate. He snatched you close, coiling one arm around your waist and using the other to stroke the damp skin on your cheeks. He didn't seem to care that the wetness from your clothes was seeping into his.

He looked at your face with great scrutiny, before moving his lips in to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Wow. You are so beautiful up close... I can see how Kacchan got obsessed." He said, sticking his tongue out to lick the side of your face.

Heated tears began to cloud your vision as he started to kiss you. You struggled against his hold, but he owned a gym after all-- You were only tiring yourself out. "Come on now." He chuckled, lifting you up with ease and carrying over your couch, upon which you were dropped upon without care.

"H-how did you find me?" You sputtered.

He lifted an eyebrow, starting to pace; one of his excited ticks. "Funny you should ask. Toshinori is my stepdad. He married my mom before you and Kacchan started dating."

You tried to clear your mind enough to speak but couldn't, instead settling for shakily forcing yourself to stand.

He continued. "I was just coming for a visit now that I have the time but, boy I sure got lucky. Thunder recognized me immediately. I can't believe you moved into a house that my family owns!"

He laughed, almost giddy at the idea of your misfortune, before slowly falling silent and eyeing you up and down. You were trembling violently in the cold air, but you likely wouldn't have fared any better regardless of the air's temperature. He stopped pacing and turned to face you completely, harshly shoving backwards onto the couch and climbing on top of you before forcing himself between your legs. Caressing your cheeks he pressed an excited kiss to your lips, forcing his tongue into your mouth.

You tried not to react, but he was very persistent, holding you in place to let his tongue fully explore your mouth. It had been ages since you were touched in such a way, yet still the tiniest wick of fire began to slightly simmer within you.

You didn't like it.

His hasty, intense approach reminded you of Kacchan and then suddenly you felt the anchor of guilt comfortably settling in with the hyper-alert anxiety that plagued you... And that tiny ping of arousal. His intensity lessened and he pulled back a bit, gazing into your eyes as he pecked and licked at your lips.

He stroked one of the stray curls near your ear that had escaped your high puff. "Gotta get you out of these wet clothes." He said, just above a whisper. That was all the warning you got before he leaned back and snatched his own shirt off, before pulling your own above your head along with your sports bra. With tremors still running through your body, your hands flew to your bare breast to cover them but he snatched them away with a petrifying amount of force.

"Don't be shy now," he chuckled, "With all the pictures and videos of you that Kacchan has shared, I know what you're *really* like." Undoing his pants, he thick erection sprung free and he pinned your wrists, squeezing them with an excess of force until you whimpered. "Play nice." He hissed, grinding against you.

You could feel all of him, the full girth of his dick as he fucked against the outer layer of your thin workshorts. He rubbed insistently over where your clit was, precum leaking from the tip and smearing all over the black fabric, effectively soiling them. You felt the betrayal of your body as your pussy throbbed from the continuous nudging and he began to kiss you, sealing his mouth over your own.

Maybe you should've bit him, screamed, knocked something over-- anything at all-- But your brain stalled out and blanked, leaving you frozen in apparent surrender. His hands released your wrists and moved to your tits, exploring the soft mounds nearly frantically. He squeezed and pinched, teasing your dark nipples as he molded and pushed the supple flesh.

Throat tightening and eyes stinging, you moaned underneath him. Your body was not your own and moved without thought as you subtly wiggled your hips.

"That's right." He huffed, "I know you like it..."

Suddenly gripping your shoulders, Midoriya jostled you around until you were laying flat on your back and he was shoving his pants the rest of the way off. He moved to sit on your chest, dick resting right between your tits. He gripped them firmly and pushed them together as he thrusted in earnest, more of his pre leaking out to defile the tender flesh.

Your eyes burned with tears, shame flowing through your veins that you could actually feel that excited wetness building up between your thighs. You had to resist the urge to reach down your pants and pursue rubbing that nagging feeling of need until you soaked yourself with release.

Midoriya's dick was swollen to full size, ready to burst and empty on you. He grabbed you by the hair and scooted up your body a bit further, now overly urgent to chase his orgasm in your mouth. To him you were so pretty when you cried, he wasn't like Kacchan who didn't care for tears. The big sad droplets pouring off of your face only motivated him to further fuck down into your intake. He loved the way your lips strained around his girth and how you gagged miserably as your already tight throat attempted to squeeze him out. He didn't stop as you sputtered and drooled around him-- that was a part of the excitement. A woman's throat constricted on its own when she cried-- as well as her mouth being hotter and more full of drool... He took one more glance at you pinned between his legs and finally came. You choked harshly but he held your head still until he had emptied every drop of the warm semen into your mouth.

You still throbbed with unspoken pleasure, even as Midoriya pulled away his fully spent cock and collapsed into the other corner of the couch with a happy sigh and left you coughing with a mouth full of his load.

You sat up slowly, cum dripping down your front and all over your hands. A small sob came from your chest and you sniffled your runny nose.

"You know, you're never gonna get away again right?" Midoriya snarked, "What do you think, Kacchan?"

You startled, wiping the tears that blurred your vision and looked across the room. Sure enough, there was the only person who had gone out of their way tomake your life a living hell, right there on the love seat.

💥💥💥💥💥

[mimble-sparklepudding]

Hey! With people sending in suggested ships both cursed and sincere I wanted to stick my oar in with how 👀I've been at the idea of a Humble/Aymeric ship on that sincere end of things. Especially when I saw your musings on the kinds of ship tropes you were potentially intrigued about, all of which I think would lend themselves excellently to a ship with those two;

Friends to Lovers - there's a lot of canon support for Aymeric coming to consider our characters a good friend if Humble's adventures map onto those of the MSQ, but even if they don't I feel very strongly that Humble is the kind of person Aymeric would love to be friends (and then potentially more >:3) with.

Secret Relationship - care/concern around political implications given Aymeric's (and potentially Humble's - I realise I'm not sure whether you consider him to be The WoL or not in your stories!) position in the public eye and how gossipy and judgemental Ishgard can be, as well as it maybe just being nice to have a secret thing that's just theirs on their own terms and they don't have to worry about how they're coming across or what other people think.

Dude in Distress - Again, if canon MSQ is being followed the WoL canonically busts this guy out of jail and then he helps the WoL out when they're in trouble at Ghimlyt. And there's loads of other points in the story where the two are on the battlefield together and could come to each other's rescue, and many other plot points that could easily be nudged in that kind of direction whether MSQ relevant or adjacent or not.

I told myself I wasn't going to write an essay here lmao XD But as always, I'm just really curious and excited to see your own continuing musings around all this, and what ends up feeling right and fun for you! <3

Wow thank you for all the thought you put into this @orime-stories.

Aymeric is definitely a potential ship for Humble that would work well I think - they are both noble, self-sacrificing and somewhat repressed. There are are some interesting contrasts, with Aymeric being fully aware of social mores and Humble... being not so aware. Plus Aymeric's confident oratory and Humble's tendancy to leave his actions to do the talking would make an interesting contrast.

Plus I do have a bit of a thing for the chivalrous knight and rugged barbarian pairing - as it's rich in romantic (and, ahem, erotic) potential.

I think you're right that Friends to Lovers would work for Humble and Aymeric - or at least slightly reserved acquaintances to friends to (eventually) lovers. They are both quite romantic I suspect, or at least Humble would try to be.

Secret Relationship would also have potential, as I suspect the various gossiping aristocrats (and the tavern rumourmongers of The Brume) would assume that Aymeric would be entering into a politically convenient marriage with a noble lady... A romantic entanglement with an hulking bearded Hellsguard would probably upset quite a lot of people. To say nothing of the diplomatic implications of the leader of one Eorzean city-state being in a partnership with the Warrior of Light. So I can imagine a lot of repressed passions until the doors were firmly shut on the outside world.

And yes definitely they could take turns being the Dude in Distress for shipping purposes, although strong as Aymeric is, he might struggle to carry Humble in his arms for any distance.

Plus being apart for extended periods of time would give Humble plenty of opportunity to practice his letter writing, which hopefully Aymeric would be able to decipher given sufficient time...

Thank you so much for the suggestion!