Simon Jolted Awake, A Sheen Layer Of Sweat Covering His Body As He Struggled To Compose Himself. You

commission

aaaaah I'm so glad your askbox is open!! Could I possibly request Gaz and some body worship please?

➸ battle ready (gaz x gn!reader)

a/n; drabble/short fic !! you didn’t specify who was getting worshipped, so i made this about gaz getting worshipped :p enjoy! — pudgy, muscular men agenda btw

[warnings; extremely suggestive, soft, fluffy.]

In all senses of it, you loved Kyle’s body. Starting from the top, you love his prominent nose, the way it dips into his philtrum and cupid’s bow, his full lips. His strong brow bone and his wrinkles along his forehead, the smile lines ingrained in his face. The two small atrophic scars below his eye is something you always adored. 

You love the way Kyle’s jaw curves, his big brown eyes. Fuck, everyone knew you couldn’t say no to the man when he would flash you a pretty smile paired with his eyes.

You trail your mouth down his neck—God, his neck. You’d never tell him in fear of him finding it stupid, but you love his throat and shoulders. Strong and full of power—his Adam’s apple jutting out against your lips. You love his throat because inside is his vocal cords—you could get drunk off of hearing him talk, hearing him laugh. Kyle’s joy means so much to you, so much more than he will ever know.

Kyle murmurs your name softly as your lips trail across his collarbone, nearing his chest. 

You love his chest, wide and muscular with a little bit of pudge (well, he has some pudge everywhere); enough muscle to overpower and destroy, enough pudge to know he’s eating right and taking care of himself. You let out a soft sigh as your lips brush against a nipple before you press soft kiss to the skin right below his left pec, following the random pattern of beauty marks and freckles across his torso.

Kyle’s hand comes up and rests on your bare back as you trail over to his arms. You love his arms—you love his everything, to be fair, but the pure power from his arms drives you out of your mind sometimes. The muscles, his strong bicep flexing and molding into his triceps—you wanna bite him, honestly. Bite him and never let go. Especially when he wears t-shirts that hug his arms.

Trailing down his upper arm, over his inner elbow to his thick forearms. The muscles and tendons underneath the skin you appreciate like they’re a fine instrument; aren’t they, for a man like Kyle? His fingers, his precision. You press kisses down his forearm, between his veins until you get to his wrist. Kyle looks at you and his eyebrows twitch as he watches your tongue and drag across his pulse point, against his wrist bone.

It sends a shudder down his spine as your lips move to his palm. Kyle’s hands are incredible; rough to the touch yet so gentle with his lover, you. His calluses scratch you gently when he rubs your back, but his palm is so careful with you. Kyle uses his hands to break so much, but he uses them to preserve you—you and your grown together home.

“What’re you doin’?”

Kyle’s voice breaks you out of your near hungry trance, your eyes flickering up to his. He isn’t upset in any sense; he’s nervous, really. Kyle adores attention, but.. you’re being so slow. Meticulous and careful. 

“Appreciating you.” You murmur against his palm, brushing your nose against it before moving over to right below his sternum. You’re met with a quiet yet sharp inhale from the man below you, the muscles tightening as you press slow, gentle kisses down his stomach. Kyle’s stomach is built yet a small layer of fat exists over his abs, the man built for force and survival instead of showing off like bodybuilders.

You catch his eyes and hold his gaze as you kiss down below his belly button before his head rolls back with his stomach tightening.

Kyle groans as you pepper kisses lower and lower. This isn’t the first time you’ve done this, and certainly will not be the last. Not by a long shot.

─── 𓈒 𝓨EARNER!𝓙ASON TODD 𝓗EADCANONS ❪ SMUT ❫

𝓖𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 : ; smut headcanons for 𝐉𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐃 who yearns. or, well, jason todd who’s ovulating from yearning for you more.

𝓒ONTENTS : : yearner!jason todd. smut. foreplay mentioned. praises. ooc(?). female!reader. smut. light smut. masturbation. sweet nothings. fluff. aftercare. both are of age !! gramatical errors. yearner yearner yearner yearner yearner yearner yearner yearner yearner yearner

BOOKS — DC BOOK

REQUESTED ; SUGGESTED : : @yeoniverseee : I sent you the request on ig not here 😭 I'm sorry, boo. Okay. I need need need need need yearner! Jason Todd headcanons. Begging. Jason Todd in general is already a yearner so it's like ovulating! LMAO

ᨦ𓏲 ، ݃♟❜ : : my....... first...... time.......... writing........ smut............................... I'M NOT VERY GOOD AT THIS— I'M NOT GOOD AT IT AT AWLL SO I'M SOSOSOSO SORRY😓 also, these are HEADCANONS,, & how i see yearner!(ovulating)jason. so.. yeah.. inspired by my two works, most ardently ( mostly this. )& my love. ion think i will ever write smut again... i only wrote this bc my pretty girl was the one who requested 😭( luv u so much. ) sighs.. okay. it's fine. it's cool. && OVULATING!JASON IM SOBBING LDMAO. i made this TWO WEEKS AGO btw.. yeah.. that's how difficult writing smut is for me... so don't expect much. will do a fluff version.. bc no waayyy.. ... but i love-love hannie 😋 god my blog is not sfw anymore. & layout is once again, inspired by eli < 3

yearner!jason todd who touches you like you're a secret he never imagined he'd be able to keep. every time. slow hands. he's committing you to memory. like if he dies again, your skin will be the final thing he sees & feel

yearner!jason todd who gets hard just hearing you say his name. especially when it's soft. or needy. or when you whine while pulling him closer. like, like, it physically affects him. sometimes he bites his lip to keep himself from coming too fast.

yearner!jason todd who always, always, always, always kisses you first. regardless of how desperate he is, regardless of how quickly it begins. there's always a kiss. kisses. kiss. kisses. because to him, it isn't merely sex. it never is just sex. it's a "i missed you. i love you. i fear of losing you." kind.

yearner!jason todd who's a foreplay guy. like…like… he's making out with you for 30-ish minutes before he even considers doing anything else. thighs jammed between yours, his hands pressing up under your shirt, moaning( he moans. like come awn. ) into your mouth like you're air.

yearner!jason todd who wants to go down on you more than he wants to breathe. legit, legit, literally, literally his favorite thing. his hands on your thighs, his eyes on you, humming into you just to feel you squirm( 😛 ). he needs, needs, needs you falling apart because of him.

yearner!jason todd who never, ever, ever, hurries your clothes off. it's slow. like he's unwrapping something holy( but will be doing something unholy,, ). kissing each inch of skin as he takes them off you. whispering little sweet nothings ( well. yeah. shh. it is. he's sweet. very sweet. ) like "so fuckin' beautiful. god, ma, look at you."

yearner!jason todd cried during sex,,, he insisted it was sweat. you both knew otherwise. like. nu-uh. he came so hard he gagged on his own breath, then buried his face against your neck & sniffled. his voice cracked when he said "fuck. i didn't think i'd ever get this.” ( #yearner )

yearner!jason todd who whimpers. not grunts. whimpers.( dc mls, please normalize whimperer!jason. im tired of people saying he only scowls( who scowls during sex though… i don't read smut allat…… ), groans, grunts.. it's yearner!jason anw so yay!! okay i'll stop. ) when it's good. when he's close. when he's overwhelmed. his hips stutter & catch in breath & his hands hold on to you like you'll vanish.

yearner!jason todd who speaks so much in bed. i said it. & not cocky dirty stuff. like emotional crap. "i love you so much." "you feel like heaven." "you make me feel real." between gentle moans & curses & kissing your shoulder. ( like. i changed my mind. put a baby in me already. take that fucking condom awfff. )

yearner!jason todd when he bottoms( or well, let you take control..,, for a bit ), he stops. not because he needs to. because he needs to feel you. needs you to feel him. chest to chest. lips moving. arms trembling. "jesus christ━━baby━━i'm so fuckin' in love with you."

yearner!jason todd who gets overwhelmed. sometimes he freezes in mid sentence just to hug you. arms wrapped tight. face buried in your chest or your neck or your shoulder. grounding himself. because he still can't believe it's real. can't believe that you're real. can't believe that he's real.

yearner!jason todd who says thank you. after. during. every time. sometimes a whisper. sometimes a broken moan. "thank you. fuck. thank you. i needed this. i needed you."

yearner!jason todd who's top kinks are……….. praise, desperation, & you. he doesn’t care where, when, or how. as long as you’re there. tell him he’s good. tell him he’s perfect. he’ll lose it.

yearner!jason todd who he always finishes with his face pressed to you. in your neck. on your chest. buried between your thighs. somewhere soft. somewhere safe( yes, your cunt is very safe for him ) .

yearner!jason todd who loves watching you cum,, multiple times. because.,,, gets so hooked. hooked on your sounds, the movement of your body, the way you moan his name as if it's the only thing you know.

yearner!jason todd who's aftercare is crazy. insane. five stars. warm towels, water, checking your skin, running a bath, walking you. he won't stop unless you make him. he needs to know you're alright. that he didn't mess it up. that you're still his. “don’t think i know how to do this” my ass.

yearner!jason todd who'll l kiss each & every mark he made. each bruise, each scratch, each hickey. mumbling little sorrys( that you are convinced he doesn't mean.. but does at the same time.. like. yeah. ) & "mine" simultaneously. it's possessive, but also very, very, gentle.

yearner!jason todd who needs touch you even afterwards. clingy. messy. burried you onto his chest, or snuggling into your arms. hand in your shirt. leg between your legs. mumbled half asleep,,, "don't leave. not yet."

yearner!jason todd who masturbates to thinking about your first time all the time. not because it was sexy ( although it was ), but because it mattered. because you made a choice.& that choice is him. he'll stroke himself slow, moaning your name into his pillow, hips jerking like he's there. & kaboom. woah.

yearner!jason todd who's an absolute menace when you’re teasing. brushing against him, wearing something skimpy, straddling him casually. he gets shaky. hard. clenches his jaw. begs with his eyes before he even opens his mouth.

yearner!jason todd who's hands tremble when he's desperate. like when it's been too long, or when you kissed him too slowly, or when he's been missing you. he'll press his forehead against yours & plead, softly, "please angel, please let me have you."

yearner!jason todd who loves, loves, loves it when you ride him. looks up at you like he's beholding a god( or zimba, your choice ). mouth open. hands on your waist. little compliments with each bounce. "that's it. fuck━━look at you. you're everything."

yearner!jason todd who groans your name when he climaxes. no censorship( lol yeah no no ). loud, oh, loud, sometimes strangled. like it's being torn from his chest. like it's the last word he'll ever speak. like he's dying again but in a good way.

yearner!jason todd who keeps something of yours in his pillowcase( with permission, of course !! actually, you gave it to him ). for nights when he can’t have you. a shirt. a scarf… your underwear. bra. sweater. something that smells like you. he presses his face to it, wraps around it like he’s holding you. sometimes he’ll jerk off holding it. sometimes he just cries.

yearner!jason todd who needs it to be about love. even when it's complicated. even when he's complicated. even when you're complicated. he'll bite your shoulder & grab your hair & swear under his breath, but he always slows down to kiss you like you saved him. ( #needthat #isthisavailableonamazon #howaboutshein #maybelazada #orshoppee )

© spcherryygirl

Saw these panels the other day and—

LET JASON BE SILLY YOUR HONOR

He knows he won’t no balls

"once more to see you" ; aventurine

summary — to him, love was like a religion waiting to be discovered and he’ll find god in the way the sun looks on your skin; alternatively, aventurine thinks he’s rotten work and tiring to take care of but not to you, not if it's him (please get the reference).

pairing — aventurine (w/ gender-neutral reader)

tags — established relationship (but aventurine wants to de-establish it), somewhat fluff, slight angst with comfort, never proofread never what?!!, 1.3k ; ficlet

note — 2.1 broke me (the whole quest knocked at the door of my house, shook my hands, congratulated me, and invited itself into my home before pouring water on my face, slapping me, throwing me around, and left with the door open, all the while, my family watched). this is day 1 of writing for aventurine until i have him.

“you have a lot of moles.” his voice, despite a gentle whisper, tears through the silence of the night like a drop of water that ruptured and disturbed the surface of the pond. “especially here.” he gently taps on your skin; they seem like stars, he swallows the words back down. 

you feel aventurine’s finger trace on the back of your neck and the curve of your shoulders, seemingly drawing—or connecting something. it was ticklish, the way he gently drags his hand and ghosts over your skin, a soft laugh slipping past your lips (you’ll capture his touch on your skin as if you were a sinner remembering how forgiveness tasted on your lips). there was something intimate that lingers in the air between you two as you lay in his bed with him, a fleeting moment that will be inked into your mind. 

(the both of you leave your titles behind, mixed together with the scattered objects on the floor, laid on the cold ground to be picked up and worn later like a shiny medal even if you weren’t proud to have them.)

“they say it’s where your lover kissed you the most in your past life.” you stir in your position as you speak, coming to face him and meet his pretty jewel-like eyes—how alluring it was, painted with vivid colors yet it never shines. the sound of mirth laughter bubbles from his throat, a pleasant melody to your ears.

he asks, curiosity tracing the tone of his voice, “and from where did you even hear that?” and you shrug, bringing your form closer to him as you seek for more warmth, “i can’t recall. perhaps i heard it from topaz or maybe from one of the members of the ipc? they’re the only ones i often see and talk to.”

“the doctor?” he wraps his arm around your figure, his hand settling on the small of your back.

“that man will only scorn at that idea and call it stupid. he’ll most likely say that ‘only fools would believe such concepts.’” you mimic the way the esteemed doctor spoke, from the serious expression that he always don on his face to the deepening of his voice. your seemingly successful imitation earned a chuckle from the blonde-haired man before you.

“i’m sure he will.”

silence falls between you two and you took this time to adore each and every line of his being. a few strands of hair fall over his eyes—beautiful, captivating, mesmerizing, you could list out every word to describe his eyes but it would never be enough. you had always wondered why he would hide it until you witnessed the reason why he does so. 

aventurine seems to study your expression at the same also, a soft look on his face as he did, and you can’t help but be curious. “what are you thinking about?” you ask him, breaking the silence that nurtured itself in the space between you and him.

you, he wishes to answer. how you look at this moment in his embrace: you were wearing one of his shirts, albeit, not exactly to your size but you insisted, saying that you liked it as it smelled like him. how gentle, loving, adoring, you were everything; he looks and thinks of you as if you were his everything (he doesn’t deserve you). but he doesn’t say it—the thought weighs too heavily on his mind, claws at his throat, and suffocates him—, instead he utters something entirely different that creates a shift in the air between you two. 

“i don’t think i can do this.” he turns his head to look away from you, staring at the ceiling instead. it seems to extend itself far and far away from him.

the horrible part of being human is the tendency for destruction that lies in your bones. stained palms, calloused pads, despite the gentleness of your touch and the comfort of your caress. the desire to devour flesh and bones, to understand the underlying thoughts and meanings behind words and unexpressed feelings by consuming them. to submerge and drown in the depths of one's despair and desire (too close that the line blurs into one). the horrible part of being him was his tendency to destroy—hesitation and doubt lies in his being and aches at his chest, tugging on his heart’s strings, and settles on his throat—, it’s not like he doesn’t want to hold you, it’s just that he can’t.

“do what?”

“this.” you know exactly what he was referring to, know what he’s afraid of. he has laid himself bare and vulnerable in front of you countless of times that you have memorized the constellations that adorns his skin. you know him, you have known him enough to recognize the fear that tugs on his voice and see the walls that he tries to build up in front of you. you know him enough to know what thoughts are plaguing his mind.

“why do you think so?”

“don’t you think i’m too much to take care of?” he tries not to choke on his words and bite his tongue, careful not to let his voice crack lest he crumbles underneath your caress. i am undeserving of it. worthless. failure. selfish. discarded. coward. loser. nothing. you are bound to leave. 

“not for me.” you caress his cheek and guide him to look at you—instead of the ceiling that seems to appear farther than it originally was in each passing second as the walls glean over him like a shadow—, to meet your gaze and see the sincerity that lurks deep within. “never will i get tired of you. so, let me carry your burden.”

he takes a few seconds to answer, uncertainty lingering in his tone: “it’s not yours to have.”

“it may not be.” you answer with no hesitation, “but it doesn’t mean that you must shoulder them alone.”

he opens his mouth to speak but unable to find the words to say, he closes them. there was a moment of stillness shared between you two. comfort, relief, assurance seeps into the ache of his bones and you say something too heavy even for this steady and silent night to hold, the words too much to be held—light spills in like a flood as if it was pouring out from the sun itself.

“i love you.”

“you utter such words as if it’s something easy for you.” as if loving him was just as simple as waking up in the morning and adoring the way the honey-light hugs your form as the dust settles in the corner of your room. when he’s stripped of everything and left with nothing, would you still love him the same? would you still kiss him as gently as you did? would you still hold the shards of his form even if it makes your hand bleed? 

you spoke in a gentle yet firm croon, gaze unwavering, “because it is.”

you see the falter in his expression: his face, that once was crumpled, relaxed and so did his gaze soften. and you smile at him with only adoration in your eyes—like a devout follower to a divine being. “are you still afraid?”

“i don’t know.” he whispers.

“it’s alright. you have all the time in the world.” your hand weaves itself into his own, fingers lacing with one another, and you gently squeeze. it was a form of reassurance, a way of telling him that you’re here with him through all of it.

the warmth has settled in your being and you spill yourself into the cracks of his vulnerability. “i love you.” you say once more and you kiss the mark on his neck—lingering and soft as if you wish that it would take all his hurt away. the way he shudders underneath your touch, the hitch of his breath soon followed by a gentle sigh as he cradles you closer to him tells you everything that you wish to hear. for once, he sleeps as if he had nothing to carry, nothing that shackles him to the stars that forsakes him.

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

welcome, here you can see a selection of all my works related to call of duty and divided into different writing categories so you could pick what interests you. character's that i recently writed about — simon ghost riley, könig, john price, johnny mactavish, kyle garrick, phillip graves.

previous masterlist

DIFFERENT AU WRITINGS ―

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bf simon ghost riley x gf fem reader

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bf simon ghost riley x gf fem reader

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bf simon ghost riley x gf fem reader

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bf simon ghost riley x gf fem reader

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bf simon ghost riley x gn reader

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simon ghost riley x fem reader

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𝗛𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗢𝗪𝗘𝗘𝗡 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗦𝗜𝗠𝗢𝗡

bf simon ghost riley x gf fem reader

𝗦𝗜𝗠𝗢𝗡 𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗟𝗘𝗦 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗘𝗙𝗨𝗟𝗟𝗬 𝗗𝗨𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗙𝗜𝗥𝗦𝗧 𝗦𝗘𝗫 𝗦𝗜𝗡𝗖𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗕𝗜𝗥𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗗

husband simon ghost riley x wife fem reader

𝗠𝗔𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗦𝗜𝗠𝗢𝗡 𝗛𝗨𝗠𝗣 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗟𝗘𝗚

bf simon ghost riley x gf fem reader

𝗕𝗘𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗦𝗜𝗠𝗢𝗡'𝗦 𝗟𝗔𝗣 𝗖𝗔𝗧

owner simon ghost riley x hybrid fem reader

𝗦𝗜𝗠𝗢𝗡 𝗜𝗦 𝗔𝗡 𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗬 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗥

bf simon ghost riley x gf fem reader

𝗧𝗘𝗔𝗖𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗦𝗜𝗠𝗢𝗡 𝗧𝗢 𝗚𝗜𝗩𝗘 𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗦𝗘𝗟𝗙 𝗔 𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗧

bf simon ghost riley x gn reader

𝗖𝗢𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞 𝗛𝗢𝗠𝗘 𝗧𝗢 𝗦𝗜𝗠𝗢𝗡 𝗗𝗥𝗨𝗡𝗞

bf simon ghost riley x gf fem reader

𝗦𝗜𝗠𝗢𝗡 𝗕𝗨𝗬𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗔 𝗚𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗗 𝗧𝗢𝗬 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗬𝗢𝗨

bf simon ghost riley x gf fem reader

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗦 𝗜𝗡 𝗙𝗥𝗢𝗡𝗧 𝗢𝗙 𝗦𝗜𝗠𝗢𝗡

bf simon ghost riley x gf fem reader

𝗔𝗟𝗣𝗛𝗔 𝗦𝗜𝗠𝗢𝗡 𝗕𝗘𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗦𝗠𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗡 𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗥 𝗬𝗢𝗨

alpha mate simon ghost riley x omega mate fem reader

𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗖𝗜𝗢𝗨𝗦 𝗭𝗢𝗠𝗕𝗜𝗘 𝗦𝗜𝗠𝗢𝗡

zombie bf simon ghost riley x gn reader

P LINKS ―

𝗕𝗘𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗔 𝗡𝗔𝗨𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗬 𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗫 𝗧𝗢𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗗𝗦 𝗦𝗜𝗠𝗢𝗡

bf simon ghost riley x gf fem reader

𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗪𝗔𝗞𝗘 𝗨𝗣 𝗡𝗘𝗘𝗗𝗬 𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗠𝗜𝗗𝗗𝗟𝗘 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗡𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧

bf simon ghost riley x gf fem reader

𝗦𝗜𝗠𝗢𝗡 𝗖𝗢𝗠𝗘𝗦 𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞 𝗛𝗢𝗠𝗘 𝗧𝗜𝗥𝗘𝗗 𝗔𝗙𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗗𝗘𝗣𝗟𝗢𝗬𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗧

bf simon ghost riley x gf fem reader

𝗔 𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗟𝗘 𝗕𝗜𝗧 𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗘 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗦𝗜𝗠𝗢𝗡

bf simon ghost riley x gf fem reader

𝗗𝗥𝗬 𝗛𝗨𝗠𝗣𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗦𝗜𝗠𝗢𝗡'𝗦 𝗡𝗔𝗞𝗘𝗗 𝗖𝗢𝗖𝗞

bf simon ghost riley x gf fem reader

DIFFERENT AU WRITINGS ―

𝗙𝗔𝗥𝗠𝗘𝗥 𝗞𝗢𝗡𝗜𝗚

╰ 𝘀𝗺𝘂𝘁 𝗱𝗿𝗮𝗯𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝗼𝗻𝗲

𝗘𝗫𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗚𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗟𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗦 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗖𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗡𝗘𝗟 𝗞𝗢𝗡𝗜𝗚

╰ 𝘀𝗺𝘂𝘁 𝗱𝗿𝗮𝗯𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝗼𝗻𝗲, 𝘀𝗺𝘂𝘁 𝗱𝗿𝗮𝗯𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝘁𝘄𝗼

OTHER ―

𝗦𝗨𝗕𝗕𝗬 𝗞𝗢𝗡𝗜𝗚

bf könig x gf fem reader

𝗖𝗢𝗟𝗟𝗔𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗞𝗢𝗡𝗜𝗚

bf könig x gf fem reader

𝗞𝗜𝗗𝗡𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗥 𝗞𝗢𝗡𝗜𝗚 𝗧𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗧𝗦 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘 𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗣𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗖𝗘𝗦𝗦

kidnapper könig x fem reader

𝗠𝗔𝗙𝗜𝗔 𝗞𝗢𝗡𝗜𝗚 𝗞𝗜𝗗𝗡𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗦 𝗬𝗢𝗨

mafia könig x fem civilian reader

𝗞𝗢𝗡𝗜𝗚'𝗦 𝗥𝗨𝗚𝗚𝗘𝗗 𝗙𝗔𝗖𝗘 𝗕𝗘𝗧𝗪𝗘𝗘𝗡 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗦

bf könig x gf fem reader

OTHER ―

𝗝𝗢𝗛𝗡 𝗙𝗨𝗖𝗞𝗦 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗕𝗘𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗟𝗘𝗔𝗩𝗘 𝗢𝗡 𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗖𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗥 𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗦𝗜𝗢𝗡

john price x fem reader

OTHER ―

𝗞𝗬𝗟𝗘 𝗨𝗦𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗣𝗜𝗖 𝗢𝗙 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗔𝗦 𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗟𝗢𝗖𝗞𝗦𝗖𝗥𝗘𝗘𝗡

bf kyle garrick x gf fem reader

please take this. I made myself cry writing it and I have nothing to say except that putting ya’aburnee and darling by halsey on my jason playlist was a brutal choice. also look up flower language if you want additional feelings.

There’s so many things you want for Jason Todd.

You want him to get a good night’s sleep for once. You let him close his pretty seafoam eyes and lay his head in the crook of your neck as you scratch gently at his scalp. It always calms him down, grounds him in the here and now. Your arms around him, your fingers carding through his hair, the rise and fall of your chest that’s synced with his–it all reminds him that he’s safe, that he’s home. You want that feeling to follow him into his dreams, to let him find true rest. So when his body goes tense and his breathing gets labored, you hold him closer and hum gently into his ear until whatever haunts him in his sleep is chased away by the comfort you bring.

You want to make sure he’s protected. You wish you could deflect every hit, blade, and bullet away from his body. You wish he would see his body as something worth protecting. He would stop if you asked, would settle into a normal life as best as he could. You would never ask because to do so would be to deny the part of him you love most: his heart that beats to help others. So you protect him in the ways that you can. You stitch cuts and treat burns, you mend his jackets and help clean his guns. More than anything, you guard his peace of mind like it’s the most valuable thing in the world. You’re never cruel to him, never scream vicious words or toss him out into the cold night. You call Bruce and thank him for the first edition Jane Austen novels that arrived on your doorstep on August 16th when Jason just…can’t. You let him grip your hand brutally tight under the table when you go to the manor for Thanksgiving for the first time. And when it gets really bad? When he feels the burning of green waters that breathed life into him that he didn’t want, when hideous laughter echoes in a place it’s never been? You do something no one has ever done for him. You wait. You stay. You stay by his side until he can breathe again, until dawn breaks and he can see the light again. And always, always you, haloed in it like an angel he doesn’t think he deserves. He does.

You want him to have a good cup of hot chocolate. He told you about it once when he came home after a long winter patrol. Half delirious from exhaustion, he reminisced about how Bruce would make them both a cup of hot chocolate after particularly rough or successful patrols in December. How this specific hot chocolate had no equal—even Alfred couldn’t replicate the richness and warmth. You noticed the fondness in his voice, the longing so intense that it still makes your heart ache for him. So you do some light stalking and hunt down Tim Drake, demand that he give you the information you want or else you’ll disclose how he really lost his spleen to Bruce (why he was dense enough to tell Jason, you’ll never know). And that is how Bruce Wayne, billionaire philanthropist single father and the Batman, receives an email with the subject line “URGENT: Recipe Request” that reads as follows:

To whom it may concern,

I have been made aware that you have a remarkably compelling hot chocolate recipe that is hitherto unparalleled by cafes, franchises, and butlers alike. I am emailing you to inquire about my being sent this recipe post-haste. This is less a request than a demand. I will do my best to ensure that you, at some point in time not specified (it will take great effort on my part), are able to witness the consumption of the hot chocolate by the individual that will be receiving the product of the recipe.

Best regards,

Someone who loves your son.

Bruce sends the recipe the second he receives the email. He has to sneak his phone under the conference table at the Wayne Enterprises board meeting to do it, but he still manages to reply in two minutes and forty-seven seconds. And you make good on your promise. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Jason shine as brightly as he does that Christmas, lit up by the lights on the twelve foot tree as he sips his hot chocolate from the same red mug that’s been sitting in the kitchen cabinet since he last drank from it. The matching black mug is clasped in the hands of the hot chocolate connoisseur himself, who smiles softly like the magic of the season has returned to his life for the first time in ages.

You want him to heal. It’s a big ask; you know that. But you’ve never been one for giving up hope, and if anyone can manage to achieve the impossible, it’s Jason. So you tell him it’s a great idea when he jokes about getting a therapist. You wait for him in the car the first time he goes and you let him open up to you in his own time when he comes out of the appointment body tight as a bowstring and eyes bloodshot. You watch quietly and celebrate the little victories you see him win. He can call his father first now; he doesn’t do it often, but he can. He can talk to his younger brother without hating his hands and the blood that’s been spilled on them, without going out on patrol and intentionally letting all the worst hits make contact. He can go out to lunch with his older brother and his youngest, can laugh with them over that ridiculous thing Bruce did at a gala once to make them all laugh. He can bear his birthday a little bit better now, can accept the cake you bake and actually make a wish when he blows out the candles. But you’ll never know about the moment that you start to get what you want. Jason goes to visit his own grave on the anniversary of his death and finds a bouquet of red carnations, baby’s breath, and honeysuckle with a note in your handwriting that reads “Someone told me once that you were magic, that that was the best thing about you. I think it’s far more important that you were loved. I don’t know what you could’ve been. I don’t wonder about it like those that loved you did because all I know is who you became. He’s wonderful. He’s still magic. I think you’d be proud of him. I’ll do my best to take care of him for you.” He sits there for an hour in tears. Then he takes one bud of each flower and the note, goes home and presses them into the pages of his favorite book. He holds you in his arms in bed that night and feels, for the first time in a long time, a sense of peace down to his very bones.

You want—above all else—Jason Todd to feel loved. You want him to feel so cherished and wanted that he cannot possibly look at himself without realizing that he is something precious, something beloved. So you tell him that you love him and you accept his warm embrace as his way of saying it back. You make him chocolate chip cookies and sneak one into the pocket of his tactical pants when he goes on patrol (they’re soft, they don’t get crunched when he’s thrown from a roof). You read his favorite books to understand what he’s saying when he goes off on tangents about class and social hierarchy and how they governed life in the 19th century. You trace his scars and kiss away his tears when he can’t believe that he could be transformed from a being marred by brutality into a man revered with gentleness. You will love him until the day you both die. You will love him in death, until whatever atoms made up you and him come together again. You will love him until everything that ever is or ever was ceases to be in a supernova of light. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll love him in whatever is born after.

The duality of Bruce Wayne’s eldest sons (Batkids after patrol)

he deserves way better fr