#or send him to the reader

[tarantulasnot]

Sudden ramble because I want to.

Hi! This is the snot that the original tarantula did not expect to sneeze out and it became way more drawn out than I thought it would!!

Content Contains: Yearning, rushed slow burn, Leon is an alcoholic, masturbation, Leon thinks about how much the reader cares and pops a wad, but it means something chat, will have a part two.

Imagine like an old vendetta Leon that lives in a small apartment. Something cheap. After all, it's not like he's going to have any time to actually take care of it. Just dump some of the useless amount of money he has into it every month and crash every once in a while. It's simple, and it keeps his alcohol in a safe place.

But then there was you. The sweet girl next door, barely aware of the horrors of the world. So naive, so God damn innocent with your bright eyes and big dreams. He never expected to see a little ray of sunshine living so close to him. So, it took him by surprised when you greeted him old-fashioned. An apple pie you baked on your downtime to relieve stress from your college life.

Your voice was so sweet. So open-hearted he almost wanted to vomit. "Hi! I'm your next door neighbor (Y/N), and I figured I'd bring you a welcome gift." Your hands gesture the fresh pie towards him, and his nose scrunches up at the sight. What was this? Some kind of cheesy rom-com? What was your angle? Why were you buttering him up like this?

"Thanks." His voice was gruff and low, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation, so you were quick to let it go. "Oh yeah, of course. I live right across from you, so feel free to stop by anytime. I make enough pastries to make a dentist rich." Ah, what a jokester you were.

Still, his blue eyes never left your face. You were such a pretty little thing. So unreal, so contrasting to him. It almost felt impossible. To have such... normalcy in his life.

"Yeah, okay." He took the pie from your hands, and he gave a short wave good-bye before he closed the door. First day here, and he was already feeling like his simple apartment was going to be a hassle. He had to avoid you.

But later that night, he stares down at the pie in front of him. Still in its tin, glaring at him as he sits down across from it. It's clear you put in great effort, and he fiddles with his fork. He can't let it go to waste, and it's not like it was bad. But a part of him felt so wrong. He didn't deserve this. This sweet pastry as opposed to gas station snacks and whatever rations the government decided to supply him with while he was on missions. If those ran out? The fish he'd pick up or the animals he'd shoot down.

The creatures he'd shoot down before leaving them to rot. Not quite that deprived yet.

He took a swig of his flask, relishing in the burn down his throat... and then he dipped his fork into the pie.

Leon had a mission today. Quite literally. Some stupid bio-terrorism somewhere he didn't really pay attention to but would be debriefed on again when he got there. He spent his morning equipping himself with his knife, his gun, some ammo, and whatever other necessities would be most likely to ensure his survival.

He doesn't own any mirrors. He doesn't care to if he's going to come home fucked up anyway. Leon exits the front door, locking it behind him and he heads towards the stairs.

And he sees you again.

Your appearance is so vastly different from his. Your hair has been styled in a way that fits you perfectly, your makeup flawless, and a fresh clean outfit adorns your body to match the messenger bag strewn over one shoulder. Then you smile at him

Did you always smile like that? This frequently?

"Hey again! Did you like the pie last night?" That voice brings him out of his fleeting thoughts, and he nods as you slow your descend down the stone steps. His pace ambling down to match yours.

"Yeah, I did." If Leon had the mind to, he would have given a more sociable, reciprocal reply. However, that's not him anymore. He doesn't care to find the him that would anyway.

"Well that's good. I'm glad." You reply, now walking side by side with him. His icy blue eyes graze over you, the warmth that seems to just radiate off of you.

Eventually, you both reached the bottom, and he finds his bike was parked next to your car. It fits you, and it fits him. Your car, with interior decorations and even a padded steering wheel cover for extra comfort. His bike, which is so easy to flip and likely to be hit. So easy to be in the wrong place at the right time.

"I didn't catch your name yesterday." Good. You didn't need to know it. In the same hand, why was it such a problem? It was just a name.

"Leon. My name's Leon." He replies simply, throwing his leg over his bike as you unlock your car.

"It was nice talking to you again, Leon." You reply with a goodbye wave, and a smile.

Something in his chest leaps. There was something about the way you said his name. It wasn't beckoning him to follow along some plan he wasn't aware of, and it wasn't ordering him to do something. Its just...

Fuck.

Leon rarely ever gets back from missions during the day. However, a week later he does. In a way, it's like a little reprieve. Enough time to patch himself up and relax (to the best he can with the help of alcohol) before he goes to sleep.

So today, as he sits on his couch staring mindlessly at some movie playing on the cheap cable the complex provides, his thoughts wandered. Blurred and aimless as the alcohol continues to pump into his bloodstream. However, he thinks back to the pie that night.

It was the best, and the first one he's had since he was a boy. Did he like it, you asked him. God, he loved it. After the first bite, he was like a man starved man. His mind practically left him as he took bite after bite after bite until there was nothing but tin and crumbs in front of him.

If he wanted to be existential, he felt in some way like he was eating a part of you. It was authentic. Peeled honeycrisp apples not totally softened from the heat, the crust so obviously hand kneaded by the uneven and plushness of it. Plush, like you. Like your cheeks when you smiled. They seemed so soft.

Calloused fingertips came up to his own face, grazing over the stubble and wrinkles there. He clenched his jaw, slamming his hand down and throwing back his flask once again.

Then, his thoughts returned to other things.

To Leon's surprise, there was no call at three in the morning demanding his help with some bio-terrorism or some cooky scientist. Instead, after he'd woken up and began to spike his own coffee, there was a knock at his door.

Well, the good Lord gives, and the good Lord takes away.

Maybe if he didn't see things that God could not have possibly allowed, he might have actually sought the deity out.

Footsteps trudge to his front door, swinging it open and looking down at his visitor. It's you. Of course it's you.

His hands flex on the edge of the door, and his eyes look down at you. "Hi, (Y/N)." He greets you, and once again you give him another smile. God fucking dammit, are you even capable of feeling anything other than optimism?

"Morning Leon! Well, I know you didn't ask, but college has yet again led me into insane amounts of baking. I know you liked the pie last time, so I was wondering if you'd like some breakfast? I have a surplus over here..." You let out a soft laugh at the end of your sentence, tucking hair behind your ear. God your face, the one he'd been thinking about last night.

Mulling over the thought, he agreed. "I don't see why not."

It truly wasn't a long visit. You weren't lying about that, or the surplus you'd whipped up. He wondered how much you spent on ingredients for these little concoctions you made. Maybe he'd give you some money. He had enough of it laying around. Practically useless.

He sat at his table. Staring at the treats you'd covered in saran wrap. It wasn't just pastries either. There was shepherd's pie in a Tupperware dish, chicken pot pie, and he wondered what you did with all this food. Maybe you handed it out to all the neighbors you knew.

Oh. He didn't like that.

He'd already finished his spiked coffee, and was now sipping on straight vodka as he glared down at the sweets. He knew what people were like. He betted they all wanted a piece of you. God, why wouldn't they?

You were sweet, kind, gentle, and you had that fucking smile... looked at him like he was special. Something to care about. Were you pitying him? No, you wouldn't do that.

You were just a good person.

You were gorgeous, too. Such a lethal combination, and you didn't even know it. He wondered if you had a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend.

He took another swig, his brows furrowing as he tried to think about something else. But alas, he couldn't.

Who wouldn't want to snatch you up? Come over every now and then to look at your smile and your pretty face, and eat the stuff you baked so impulsively.

Who wouldn't want you?

You were young, you'd probably want to do something with a lover. What kind of lover were you? Were you shy and timid? Blushing and moaning softly as someone fucked you?

If he fucked you?

You'd want to settle down probably... you seemed the type. He couldn't settle down, though. Not with all these grueling missions he's forced to do.

But wouldn't it be nice to come home to someone like you? A pretty smile waiting to greet him with food in the oven and a house that wasn't dusty. Full of the life he was missing from himself?

His breathing unconsciously became more labored the more he thought about it. You'd have a limited amount of time with him. He'd make the best of it. Eating the food you made and thanking you. Helping you clean and relaxing with you. Something to keep him company besides the steel flask he brings to his lips again.

He'd fuck you.

His hands would dwarf your thighs as he lifts your hips up and down on his cock while his own hips snap up into you, your warmth. His hand leaves his flask to his forehead as his other hand drifts down his abdomen, skin twitching under his own touch. His brows furrowing as a low groan escapes him.

Would you beg him to slow down? Cry about how full you felt with his cock pressing against every soft contour your cunt had to offer him. Only for him. You'd look up at him with half lidded, fluttering eyes and swollen, parted lips as he fucked you like he needed to.

His head was already muddled from the alcohol, but the lust only made his head swim further and further into untouched depths until he's palming himself through sweapants, his hips shifting and twitching in excitement. A groan tears from his throat. Would you press your palm against him like this? Feel him up with curiosity, unaware of how fucking good it felt?

Would you put him past your lips? Sweet words interrupted by his cock, soft cheeks red and stained with tears as he fucks your throat.

His hand dipped below to his waistband to his throbbing cock. His tip already leaking with anticipation as he spreads the essence over his length.

You were nice, but maybe you weren't as naive as he's making you out to be. Maybe you'd have him laid out on his back, situated between his legs as you stroke him, making him groan and grip the bedsheets because your hands would be so fucking soft. So experienced, gliding over his cock as he's helpless to it. Watching you as you work his old cock with enthusiasm only young girls like you had.

His hand pumps faster, and he's borderline whimpering at the thought. Maybe you'd take care of him. Pin him down with your hands on his chest while your hips slammed down on top of his like your life depended on it. His hips would twitch uselessly, too focused on your cunt sucking him in and the gloss decorating his cock as you used him to make yourself cum. It's the least he can do, after all these pastries you've made him.

Only him.

You'd treat him so fucking good.

"F-Fuck!" Leon can't help himself when a strangled groan escapes his lips, cock shooting white hot ropes into his hand and onto the floor as he cums, thighs twitching and chest heaving as he comes down from his high.

It takes a second for him to get over the aftershock before his eyes flicker open, and he states at the cooling food in front of him. With a sigh, he tucks himself into his pants, and grabs a brownie. His other hand picking up his flask again.

I will make a part two but it's getting late and I'm moving in two days so erm yeah eat your food. The next chapter will be from the reader's perspective muehehe

[mimisplayground]

size difference kink but in the “i grew up being made fun of for being chubby so now the idea of a giant of a man being able to toss me around and tower over me without making my weight a problem makes me really horny” way, you get what im saying?

[frudoo]

It’s always baker!reader or butcher!Simon—which is always delicious, mind you—but I’m not sure I’ve ever seen baker!Simon (correct me if I’m wrong). Fem!Reader.

Baker!Simon who decided to take his therapist’s advice to find a relaxing hobby and taught himself to bake and decorate after retiring from the military.

Baker!Simon who runs a home bakery so he can do what he loves where he loves. Where else could he blast his favorite playlists while creating tasty treats (he’s convinced that listening to Tool truly helps make the goodies taste better)?

Baker!Simon who specializes in intricate desserts—flawless layered cakes lathered in rich buttercream, perfectly piped patterns across the surface. Soft, chewy sugar cookies with royal icing that has a satisfying snap to those who can actually bear to bite into them and ruin his beautiful designs. Smooth, vibrant macarons with a gorgeous rise and creamy ganache filling.

Baker!Simon who gets his traction on Facebook. He sells his goods on Marketplace and is a member of nearly every baking group on the site—and is quite popular amongst the older ladies in the same groups.

Baker!Simon who, as amazing as his baked goods look and taste, cannot take a flattering picture of them to save his life. Because of this, he doesn’t get as much business as he’d like. Apparently, Marketplace shoppers are picky about camera quality, as if that has anything to do with talent or flavor. Even the baking groups he’s in have given him warnings in the past to take clearer photos—the admins backed off as soon as the old ladies found out they were picking on their best boy.

Food Photographer!Reader who stumbles upon one of his groups one day, seeing the potential in his treats and knowing she could help him out with his promotion photos.

Baker!Simon who cocks an eyebrow at the ping his phone alerts him of, opening Messenger to see a pretty thing with a camera in his DMs:

Sorry to bother you, but I’ve gone through your profile and I think your work is absolutely gorgeous. If you’re interested, I’m a trained photographer and I’d like to help you out with your pictures? No charge, don’t worry. Consider it a favor between two small businesses! :)

Part 2 <3

[peachsukii]

✮ content. pro-hero!bakugo x pro-hero fem!reader. late 20 somethings + married w/ a toddler. family fluff while he’s away on a mission. slightly suggestive (aka Katsuki’s down bad for his wife). ;)

“Momma!” Your daughter shouts from the living room, the little pitter patters of her feet echoing down the hall as she sprints toward you with glee. “Phone’s ringing, pick it up, please!”

Her small hands shove the phone against your thigh, bouncing up and down in place with excitement. You tuck the folded towel in your arms into the closet and bend down to her level. When you take the phone from her, your husband’s name —💥Katsuki 👑💕— is displayed across the screen, accompanied by a photo of the three of you on your last beach trip. Clicking the “Accept” button, the visual of Katsuki in his hero costume appears, his attention focused on removing his gloves while waiting for you to answer.

“Hey handsome,” you greet, heart swelling when you catch him smirk at the compliment. “Someone’s been waiting for you to call.”

“An’ where’s my little girl at?”

Your daughter hops into view, jumping up and down with her hands waving frantically.

“Hi Daddy!” She giggles, dancing back and forth on her tip toes. “Did ya beat up the bad guys today?”

Katsuki laughs heartily, finally sitting on the bed in his hotel room. “Sure did. I’m keepin’ you and Momma safe. How’s school goin’?”

“S’good! I got a gold star today for my drawing.”

“Yeah? Proud of you, sweetheart. Can’t wait for ya to show me when I come home.”

The time on your phone reads 7:30PM, and like clockwork, your daughter begins to stretch, yawning the same way Katsuki does when he’s exhausted after a long shift.

“Why don’t you get ready for bed, sweetie?” You suggest while rubbing her back. “I know you’re tired.”

“Okaaay,” she pouts, trying to fight off her sudden sleepiness. “G’night Daddy. I miss you!”

“Only two more days. Love an’ miss you, Princess. Sweet dreams.”

With a wave and a smile, she trots off toward her bedroom to change into her PJs, leaving you with a few minutes to talk with Katsuki before tucking her into bed. You walk back into your joint bedroom, leaving the door cracked as you lay on the bed. Katsuki does the same, shifting the camera to follow his movements as he stretches out across the sheets.

“Goddamn, I miss you somethin’ fierce,” he admits, sighing into his forearm as it crosses his face to hide the soft dusting of pink on his cheeks. “You put a spell on me or some shit?”

“Not this time,” you chuckle, feet swaying in the air behind you like a giddy schoolgirl. “I miss you, too. How was your day?”

“S’alright, nothin’ crazy. Can’t wait’ta be back home, sleepin’ alone sucks.”

“Yeah, the bed is cold without you.”

There’s a short lull in the conversation before it shifts into something more sensually charged. Katsuki tends to get clingier the longer he’s stationed away from home — all the telltale signs of it are reflecting in his eyes through the camera, sparkling under the dim moonlight from his hotel room window.

“Good thing I know how to keep ya warm,” he purrs with a wink, the mischievous grin stretched over his lips telling you how he’s truly feeling. “S’how you got knocked up the first time.”

There it is, that familiar warmth flooding into your belly and heat spreading from your ears to your toes.

“Kaaats!” you whine, shyly tucking your head into your chest. “Shut up.”

“Don’t get shy on me now, Peaches,” he teases, laughing quietly at your bashfulness. “S’cute how easy ya are to rile up.”

You wave him off and roll your eyes lovingly. “I should go put her to bed. Are you gonna be up in an hour?”

His brow furrows curiously. “Prob’ly. Why?”

“Gives me time to get her settled, put away the laundry and finish the dishes. Up for a little late night date?”

Oh, Katsuki knows exactly what that means. Why was the thought of watching you doing chores around the house and taking care of your daughter making him suddenly break out in a sweat?

“Earth to Katsuki?” You call again and recollect his attention. “If you’re too tired—”

“Never too tired for you, baby. Go do what ya gotta do, I’ll be waitin’.”

“Okay, I love you!” You sweetly sing as you roll off the bed. “Get comfy, bye babe.”

“Love you too, Peach. See ya.”

The “End Call” screen flashes briefly in front of Katsuki’s eyes, the darkness of the hotel room returning once the screen dims into nothingness. He mumbles a breathless ‘fuck’ into the air before jumping off the bed to stomp toward the bathroom.

Only you can leave him hanging by a thread on simple promises, even when he’s miles away. And damn, did he love it.

[keypostos]

something short just bc. slight (like... very slight) suggestive language but like nothing too crazy.

caleb helping you with your physics homework because you're struggling so much, but you're barely paying attention because you're staring at his hands the whole time.

they're huge: they take up almost half of the paper. they're long and delicate: you knew they wouldn't break if you pulled on them, but they look so pristine.

as he slides a finger down the paper, gesturing to a problem you haven't attempted, your breath hitches. you imagine that finger sliding down your jaw, stopping just below your bottom lip, then tugging at it shortly later.

you bite down on your lip at the thought and blink a few times to snap out of this daze. it takes a sharp flick to the forehead from caleb to snap out of it.

"so, can you explain the force i used to flick you just now?" he raised an eyebrow with a teasing smirk.

you flushed—no doubt he caught you staring, "shut up, caleb."

he laughs, watching as you return back to the problems at hand. one of his hands rests on the table, pointing to problems and explaining solutions. the other, rests on his knee that's nervously bouncing up and down. his neck is completely flushed and he hopes that the dark lighting conceals the tomato shade of his ears.

when he spotted you staring at him, a hunger flushed through him like never before. you weren't even staring at his face, for god's sake. you were captivated by his hands, and caleb started to fantasize about all the ways he could please you with them.

he imagines his hands enveloping your face: they're placed on your cheeks as his thumbs travel up and down your cheekbones. he'd caress the under-eye bags you've been sporting lately (he'd chide you on it later), and trace them with such warmth that you'd want to place your hand on top of his to keep him there.

while laying down, his hands could move through your whole body. he'd start from the shoulders down to your arms, running his fingertips downwards to keep you on edge. when you'd tense up under him, he'd press you deeper into him, signaling for you to relax. he'd trace circles, rhombuses, hearts and all sorts of shapes over your stomach. he would make sure his hands trickle all over your back.

he dreams about touching you. he wants to run his thumb over your forehead when you have a stubborn pout on your face (like right now), or pull you across the table so you could sit on his lap while he teaches you. he wants to place his head on your shoulder (he knows it would fit perfectly) and whisper into your ear. he wants to see how he could rile you up by doing that.

caleb wants to wrap you up in his arms and never let you go. he could never let you leave. he wants you—needs you, even—but he knows that if he got a single taste of you, he would keep you by his side forever. it's dangerous—vulturous—how he feels about you.

so for now, he settles for watching you gulp as he looks up at you. you fiddle with the strings of your shorts while he continues explaining a problem to you, and you don't look up at him.

later, caleb reminds himself, one day.

[teojira]

HES SO FUCKING CUTE THE LOVE OF MY LIFE????? SHADOW MY BELOVED

[sanguineterrain]

(fem reader, size difference, some thoughts about jason being a big fella.)

Thinking about how it takes Jason some time for it to sink in how different you are physically after he returns, and how it seriously fucks with him.

Obviously, he knows rationally that he's taller and stronger and just bigger. He knows that his skills are sharper than when he was Robin. He fights better because he's grown, and he has the body to match it. He no longer has to worry so much about how to use his opponent's strength against them. He has enough strength for ten opponents.

But it's different with you. You're not an opponent, though Jason frequently feels conquered by you. You were his friend before and you're his friend now, but he can't help but question if that's the only thing that's remained constant. Jason was a small kid, unassuming, and he suspects that that's why you liked him in the first place. Jason wasn't a physical threat before. Of course you'd feel safe with him as a friend. Now what?

The stark difference between you manifests in fleeting moments, like when he gets a cup for you from the cupboard which you could get yourself, but it's easier if Jason does it. And then he watches your smaller, lovely hand take it from his, your fingers brushing together, maybe they're painted with that nail polish you love so much, and Jason has to take a lap. You squeeze past him in the kitchen or the hallway and Jason can't stop thinking about how you both grew up but he really grew up, and you're not small, Jason's just big. He could cover a good part of your waist or your face with his hands. He could pull you into a hug, into a room, into his lap with such little effort, it frightens him. Your spine would bend if he pressed right; your arms would stay up, down, however he moved them. You could be Jason's pretty little doll, and that makes him feel like a monster.

This thought about Jason growing up and seeing you in a new light shaped by want and warmth is wrapped in a richer, darker thought about how Jason sees you and a part of his brain demands you to be his. He pines for it. It's not a quick kink to release in the bedroom (Jason can't even fathom you letting him into your bed); it's a constant reminder of how even though Jason's dedication to you is the same, the way in which he can show you his dedication is different. He's scary now, and sometimes that fills him with so much self-hatred, he feels sick. But sometimes it leaves him heady with power, thinking yeah, you don't need a guard dog, you get on fine, but Jason's there nonetheless, solid and able to take on anything. He would kill for you. You're not helpless but if you were, Jason would take care of you. He'd carry you around the apartment like a loyal steed if you wanted him to. He'd put his hand on the middle of your back and arch you over him, if you wanted him to. Only if you wanted to. Jason would rather die than scare you.

But here is the kicker: you aren't afraid. Jason's this looming tank of a man (of a monster?) and you carry on without a worry. You laugh and tease and poke his ribs and make him lunch and look up at him without a hint of fear. This does not bode well for that richer, darker desire of Jason's. If you were afraid of him, well, Jason could work with that. He'd hate himself more, but he'd understand. It's only logical that you'd fear someone who has such a physical advantage over you.

But every warm touch, every smile, every plate of food that you make for Jason with the casual excuse that you were cooking anyway (you weren't—he knows what you look like when you lie), it all just makes that terrifying thing inside of him want you more. More than once, Jason's woken up from a dream about you. His beautiful, incredible best friend, who'd crawl into his wolf mouth and fall asleep on his teeth. He's dreamt of you offering a sparkly gala gown to him, then pulling off your shirt and waiting for him to dress you. He's dreamt about your horrified screams when you realize that all he's good for is killing, and who'd want a bloodthirsty dog for a friend? He's had other dreams about you that left him hard and self-loathing. Jason's terrified by his desire, but if you let him, if you wanted it, he'd overwhelm you with his size in the best way. He wants you to bury yourself in him, the way he so often does with you. Make him hold you, rest your feet on his back, sleep on his chest. He can take it. He can take it all and more. God knows he's strong enough.

[lvrxly]

thinking about nerdy!könig who can't get enough of the hot bimbo who finally gave him a chance. all dressed in pink and sparkles, he can't get enough of you. a pretty little dumb thing who needs tutoring. naturally, he jumped at the chance to get close to you. little did he know, you could teach him a few things too..

his hands nervously on your hips, glasses fogged due to how close your face was too his. rough but shaky hands running up and down your thighs, discreetly sliding his fingers under your skirt, trying to memorize the feeling of your skin on his fingertips.

quiet babbling slipping from his lips as you lazily bounce up and down on his cock, jumping in and out of german, the feeling of being inside you making him absolutely pussydrunk. "baby, bitte, bitte..please," his whimpers fill your ears...

-

i'm officially back baby (i need to be sedated asap)

[fastboatsmojito]

tell me more about the sweet things Frank does pleeaassseee

ugh he’s suuuuch a sweetheart for someone who has every right to be a complete asshole to everyone <///3

Notes; hi guys I have so much other shit to write it’s actually laughable but this is what ur getting for now mostly because im unable to think about anyone else atm #sorry, enjoy!

he’s pretty old fashioned when it comes to most things; leaning his head back to look at you like you’re insane if you try to pay for anything, long legs striding right past you to open doors, a guiding hand on your waist when you’re walking together so you can keep up with him, etc. he’ll be damned if you ever do anything you don’t have to, always insistent on lending a large helping hand whenever you need one.

“Why don’t you just let me help you, huh? Always gotta have an attitude about it.” he made it sound so simple, like the act of him helping you clasp your necklace shouldn’t have you swooning like this, reeling in the rough callouses of his fingers against the back of your neck. of course he wasn’t really upset, shaking his head at your insistent remarks about being able to do it yourself. you could always tell when he was pushing you to accept the love he so thoughtfully handed to you, understanding when you needed a harsher tone or a soothing hand.

that’s just who he is; priding himself in keeping you safe and in the meantime securing every understanding he had of you in his mind, every fear, every goal, the things you’d dream about often enough to bring it up the next morning, he knew you and he knew what you needed, half the time before you knew it yourself. because that’s just who he is. that’s his job — at least that’s what he keeps telling you.

“I don’t have an attitude, but you don’t have to take care of me all the time, Frank. I can-“

“You can take care of yourself. Yeah yeah I know sweetheart, you’re real tough. I know it.” it was hard to look it right now, letting his arms squeeze around you, standing firm in your words as you melted into the strong shape of him behind you.

there were a million examples, and no matter how hard you tried to convince him, he’d do it again and again. coming back home after a rough day and cleaning himself up before picking you up from where you’d fallen asleep on the couch to take you to bed. ignoring the ache in his bones, hushing you with a kiss on your crown, and tucking you under the soft blankets ‘right where you belong’ because that’s just who Frank Castle is.

[weepingchronicles]

❝𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜!𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐛𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫❞

୧ ‧₊˚ 🥩 yandere cannibal who meets you first as one of his victims.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🥩 he went through the basic process of luring you, drugging you, kidnapping you back to his messy home.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🥩 but you were different for some reason. of course, you were reasonably scared to die and be eaten. but you couldn't help but ask questions. maybe it'd give you a chance to survive. maybe.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🥩 what does human taste like?

୧ ‧₊˚ 🥩 it caught him so off guard he almost tied your restraints wrong. phew, close one.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🥩 he couldn't help but entertain your insatiable appetite for knowledge. maybe he was just playing along with your game but he felt like a child on christmas morning.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🥩 he almost felt a connection, someone– someone who finally seems to understand him.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🥩 so he even kindly offered you a taste. his most recent victim, cooked and prepared well– he didn't give you anything like a disgusting body part for a beginner, just a piece of the fatty thigh.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🥩 and you refused.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🥩 how dare you? why ask all those questions if you weren't like him too? he even started to like you too, such a shame you'll become a slab of meat like the rest of his victims– wait... he just can't bring himself to butcher you. he can't just discard you, the one person who seemed to hold an inkling of what it is like to be him. even if you had reservations for not eating human meat. he could feel it, you wanted to.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🥩 it's okay, he'll teach you to open up, become more like him. you too will soon be like him, he will mentor you, raise you to your highest potential and unlock a forbidden world of tastes.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🥩 he even ends up getting more sentimental than intentional. he learns more about you, you don't just become a name on the menu or a possible friend. you're someone. someone with thoughts and feelings, a heart and a brain.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🥩 he feels almost betrayed you want to leave. why leave? isn't he good enough for you? he takes care of you, he could have just killed you like everyone else to step foot in his home but he spared you! and you're not even being grateful.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🥩 he has had enough of being nice, trying to get you to willingly eat his homecooked food. he will make you like him, he will make you just as sick and demented as him so that you will be stuck with him, forever.

[cupcakeinat0r]

Miguel sometimes cries during it.

*giggles n runs away from my phone*

[ghost-proofbaby]

can y’all imagine sending one of those things where a girl texts her man about having a bad day or wanting coffee or something and he replies by sending her an insane amount of money (like $100+) to eddie, and just being like “why don’t you ever do this for me? 😐” as a joke

and then the man just sends you one (1) fucking dollar.

and when you’re like “REALLY??? A DOLLAR???” he just goes “I DONT KNOW WHAT YOU WANT FROM ME IM BROKE”

it would become an inside joke, him randomly sending you the smallest amounts of money possible and just going “buy yourself something nice 😏” or “don’t spend this all at once baby” to be a little shit

god i love eddie munson

[4acoffee]

continuation here

-

thinking about.

being Jing Yuan's first and only lover back when he was training under Jingliu.

say you come from a family where the eldest child is always blessed with the power of an aeon or something, but in your case your constitution is a little weaker or they in some sort of sick experiment gave you more power than what your body can handle and it leaves you sick every time you use your powers.

but say you study in the alchemy commission and slowly train your abilities. maybe you worked as a nurse or assistant just trying to figure yourself out, and one day the apprentice of the fuckin Sword Champion of the Loufu ends up in your care and he's so sweet and handsome with his honey eyes and boyish smile and he makes you laugh, but you send him off that day and think that's that.

but all of a sudden you find that he is finding every excuse to be able to see you and it's so obvious he has a little crush but he's just so cute that you can't help but fall so easily for him too

you bandage his hands after training and kiss his bruises better when he pouts and he brings you the prettiest jewelry from off world missions with his master and carves your initials together somewhere on the training ground with his favorite sword.

you make out in the dark alleys of the alchemy commission and explore what it is like to love and to care for someone in a way neither of you have experienced before and it's clear to everyone how smitten you both are with each other

then something comes up and you have to leave the loufu for your home planet and when you are saying goodbye, he is not just upset, he is bitter, a little resentful because he never even thought about leaving your side, and he never considered that it may be different for you

you don't want to leave him, but you have to because you have responsibilities on your own planet and maybe you never planned to stay on the loufu forever in the first place

jing yuan grows and more people leave him, but he stays, and the pain never goes away, but it grows duller with him.

you grow as well and you are weighed down by the responsibilities of your family and you realize that your beloved aeon is not what you thought and you and your most trusted friends leave to find a way to free your people.

you turn to the loufu for help because you know that he is the general now and you hope that even if he hates you, you trust that he will be kind enough to save your people.

just imagine you request to have an audience with him and he is shocked to see you back, standing before him in the seat of divine foresight with the conviction of a leader in your eyes, as if you didn't tear his heart out of his foolish chest centuries ago and squeeze it rotten and dry in your deceiving hands.

but he plays along, brings your group to a meeting room and you are there pleading your case.

.

"If you remember, my body did not well receive the blessing of our aeon as it has previously in my family.

"I remember, I was very well acquainted with your body, if you recall."

He preens shamelessly, in front of everyone.

[potatoof69]

orv got me screaming 2 years later man like

wdym the reason why the protagonist goes on an endless journey and has more and more adventures is bc the reader wishes to see more of them and never have the story end.

wdym the reason why an author writes is bc they wish to speak to and save even just their one sole reader.

wdym the reason why the reader would sacrifice himself over and over again for fictional characters is bc he sees the people in stories as more important than him because their tales in the fictional world matter more to him than the pain he tries to ignore from the real world.

[minoment]

God sub!Miguel is so 🤭🤭

Like, I’m not a top by any means but he’d look so pretty begging. Wether it’s for me to move or for him to be allowed to move? Good lord…

And to have a hand wrapped around his neck while I’m chasing my own satisfaction? Or just to have some form of restriction on him while he’s begging me to touch him…

-🩵

Ugh yes..

Miguel cries so pretty too, doing his best to hold back the humiliating tears as you bounce up and down on his length. Eventually he can't hold back and the waterworks come, leaving him sobbing and begging for you to let him cum.

Add choking to the mix? He's a goner.. making soft gagging noises as you (safely 😠) squeeze the sides of his neck.

Furthermore, if you mock or tease him while he's like that.. he's nutting.. Hard.

"Look at you crying beneath me while I use you.."

"Such a messy little spider hm?"

"Your cock is such a good toy.. oh.. do you like being my little toy Miguel? Do you get off on me calling you names?"

Say anything along those lines and his back his arching off the sheets as he spills himself inside you with a tear-filled cry.

If he's being a brat, you can tie him up and ride him; dragging orgasm after orgasm out of him while you use him for your own pleasure. Slap him hard across the face when he cums and tell him what a slut he is. He FOLDS..

Pinch and play with his nipples after he comes down from his high, doesn't matter if you've milked him dry, he will whimper and get painfully hard again.

Of course when you're done with him, take care of him. Give him a long bath and lots of kisses. Tell him how much you adore him..

I HAVE SO MUCH TO SAY ABOUT THIS MAN IT'S NOT FUNNY

[rawbin-hsr]

Aventurine x Reader

You treat Aventurine with more respect than he deserves.

Read part 2 here !

Only barely proof-read, guaranteed to have lots of grammatical errors, English is not my first language and I am experimenting with my writing style <3

CW: smut, handjob (Aventurine receiving), dehumanisation (internal, thoughts Aventurine has of himself, referring to himself as a “monster”), feelings of inadequacy, hurt/very little comfort, crying, mentions of death, at some points this seems like dubcon because Aventurine speaks of feeling “dread”, but it’s NEVER intended to be read as him not wanting to receive touch from reader, it is meant to convey how little he thinks he deserves this. The smut is soft and gentle, but Aventurine’s internal thoughts definitely are not <3

Lmk if there’s anything else I should warn about !!

18+, minors will be blocked <3

Your touch is so kind. Soft and gentle, as if he is made of the finest porcelain, as if he is a fragile flower, as if he is delicate. It is cruel, he thinks, that he has made you think he is any less than a monster. It is cruel that he hasn’t pushed you away, when he knows he will devour you. It has become part of his nature.

But how can he push you away when you are so persistent? How can he push you away when you roll with his punches, when you go along with each and every one of his pushes and pulls? It is hard to keep you out when you insistently pry your way into what’s left of his soul, when you gaze upon the rotten corpse that he is and still claim him to be beautiful. He thinks you must be blind at best and naive at worst.

“You’re so pretty,” you whisper reverently, and though Aventurine knows his body is, he also knows that is not the part of him you’re referring to. Not when your hand rests on his chest, above the empty cavern where his heart is meant to be.

You kiss his neck and he shivers. There’s a pit in his stomach, knotting his insides with dread.

He should tell you to stop, should warn you that he’s deceiving you, that he’s not the person you think he is. Should show you that he is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, that he is a bad omen. But he can’t bring himself to. Not when being with you feels so good, not when he’s self-indulgent to a fault, and he can’t help himself with you. He is the worst mistake you could ever make, in part because he can’t even stop from letting you continue to make it.

His hands rest on the back of your neck, fingers tangled in your hair. It is unfair how good your touch feels, his back arching just from mere caresses upon his skin. You play him like he’s an instrument you’ve practiced for years, despite never having fucked him before. He digs his heels into your back as your hand wraps around his dick, and he whines into your shoulder when you lovingly stroke it.

“I love you,” you murmur as he pulls on your hair, as his nails dig into your skin, and he wants to cry. He will destroy you from the inside out, he knows, or maybe he will kill you before he gets the chance to. He can never keep the things he loves alive.

Your lips kiss his skin, and he moans brokenly as your thumb glides over the head of his cock, pushing down on the tip. His hips rock up to meet your hand, and he feels ashamed of how blatantly he allows himself to enjoy you, how blatantly he allows himself to use you. You deserve so much better, but you are the best thing that he has ever managed to get his bloodstained hands on, and so he can’t help himself. He wants you to remain unaware of how much better you could do. He wants you to stubbornly remain by his side even when he makes it hard for you to do so. He wants to bare every part of his being to you so you can see how little worth he is to you. He wants you to run from him before it’s too late.

But part of him knows he already has shown you himself, that you’ve seen who he is and you still love him. You must be stupid.

“Use me,” he begs you, wishing you’d do something with him to alleviate the guilt he feels, so it would at least be mutual. His hands cling to you, and he whimpers pathetically when you lean back to look down at him. “Use me, please. Please…”

And your eyes are so kind. Your eyes are so sweet and soft and human, and everything he is not.

“Shh,” you hush him, tenderly pressing a kiss to his lips. He sobs, feeling embarrassing tears fill his eyes as you press closer to him, the touch so caring and innocent yet so lewd as your hand tugs at him. “Just let me make you feel good, okay?”

And you do. You always keep true to your words, unlike him. It’s barely a minute later that his breath hitches and he keens, nearly wailing into your neck as he comes undone under your too loving hands. It’s obscene, and he feels filthy as his semen paints your hand and splatters on his lower stomach. He has soiled your perfect skin, has dirtied your perfect body. He hopes you will let go of him and wash yourself up, then leave him here, broken on the bed in the mess he’s created. That you will leave him to pick up the pieces of himself he has left. He is undeserving of you.

And yet he only feels your love swaddle him when his body relaxes, adoring praises and sweet words tumbling from your perfect lips as your perfect hands gently stroke his body, soothing him as if he is deserving. Your perfect body presses closer to him, no doubt getting his mess on your perfect abdomen as you almost lay yourself flat on him. You pepper perfect kisses all over his face, and he realises belatedly he’s crying. For the first time in ten years. Fat tears rolling down his cheeks, and he doesn’t know for what reason.

But you seem like you do know. You look so understanding, wiping his tears with an achingly kind, perhaps slightly sad smile, and you don’t ask him why.

“I’ve got you now, it’s okay,” you say instead. And you do, because you always keep true to your word.

And he is selfish, because he doesn’t stop you. He lets you clean him up, lets you kiss his tears away, lets you take care of him. Lets you climb into bed with him afterwards, unaware that you have brought the monster under your bed up into your loving arms. He hasn’t felt so much love since he was nine.

And he is selfish, because even though he can already feel his claws dig into your flesh as he holds you in return, he cannot bring himself to pull away. He can only hope he won’t dig in his heels when you eventually see reason and try to leave. He can only hope you will have the time to get away before he kills you.

---------------------------------------------------------

My inbox is open, feel free to send in asks or requests, I'd love to ramble about things <3