Welcome To Remy’s Kitchen!

Kyle Gaz Garrick who hides the constant nightmares he has from you.

Ever since the helicopter incident, things have been different for him.

He isn't sure if he's really 'traumatized' as the feelings come and go.

Some days he feels like open spaces are closed in on him and suffocating him

some days he feels like running quickly up the stairs as he feels like he could fall through them any moment

some nights he wakes up with the same memory from where he was upside down and shooting terrorists

Sure, he boasts about it. Who wouldn't? Managing to live to tell the tale and knocking bad guys out all the same time while he was under stress and pressure?

And yet if doesn't stop the adrenaline he felt rushing through him, how he had to push himself aside for a moment and focus on the mission at hand and worry about the situation later

Now he sat on the couch, not wanting to wake you up with something so little, something he could handle

He's a grown man afterall

He had made sure to leave the room as quickly and as quietly as possible and yet you still managed to wake up, feeling the lack of his warmth and just him in general

Tiptoeing your way into the living room before frowning at the sight of your boyfriend with his head in his hands, hunched over in the dark.

You couldn't see a thing yet the pit in your stomach grew and grew with each moment

"Kyle?"

He looked up quickly when he heard your voice. You turned the lights onto see his face, making your frown tug a little lower when you saw how tired he looked

"Shit, sorry. didn't mean to wake you up, love"

You sighed and sat next to him, letting him lay on your chest.

His arms wrapped around your torso as he started to relax when your hand rubbed circles on his back, a comforting silence filled the air as you two enjoyed eachother's company

You didn't expect him to open up to you yet nor did you force him. You just wanted to be there for him in his darkest moments like he always was for you

He buried his face into your shoulder, soon falling asleep there before you started to feel yourself drift off as well

He was unsure of a lot of things, but he was sure of one thing:

You were his light

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ MasterList ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

WELCOME TO: jellofish-plant's MasterList

hi everyone!

I'm alli and this is my list of my previous and continuing works as of right now.

Guidelines & Rules

Red Hood

Shadows and Smoke || x female reader

one two three four five six

Jason Todd headcanons

A Night In (Jason Todd x reader fluff)

home with you (Jason Todd x reader fluff)

Caught in the Crossfire

Crime Alley's Sweetheart

A Different Kind of Love

Through The Years

The Broken Pieces

Love Languages

Raindrops & Red Hood

Kitchen Chaos

Sleeping In

Headcanons: First Meeting – Red Hood Saves You

Headcanons: First Meeting. Pt 2 – A Familiar stranger

Valentine’s Day with Jason Todd

Jason Todd Valentine's Day Headcanons

Proof of Existence

Leather & Warmth

Focus on You

Rest In Red

Framed in Forever [◉"]

Hold Me First

Sleep-Talk Confessions

Not Letting Go

I thought you were dead...

Just...don't leave me, okay?

You should hate me

Bat Family

Bat Family platonic & relationship Headcanons (Brue Wayne, Richard Grayson, Jason Todd, & Selina Kyle)

Bat Family platonic & relationship headcanons

Silent Watcher (Batman x reader)

Through the Years With You (Nightwing x reader)

DC Characters

Justice League headcanons super man, wonder women, Batman, Green Lantern, The Flash

Rex Splode (Invincible)

Explosive Moments

Explosive Dynamics [Part 1] [Part 2]

Rest in Red

Pairing: Jason Todd (Red Hood) x Reader

Summary: Sleeping next to Jason Todd is never boring. From his protective instincts to his late-night vulnerability, every night with him is an unpredictable mix of comfort, restlessness, and quiet love. Whether he’s pulling you closer in his sleep, mumbling sweet nothings without realizing it, or fighting his own inner demons, one thing is certain Jason sleeps best when he’s with you.

[Masterlist]

Sleeping Headcanons with Jason Todd x Reader

Big Spoon Energy:  Jason loves being the big spoon. He won’t say it outright, but holding you close makes him feel grounded. Even on nights when he’s restless, having you in his arms calms him down.

Restless Sleeper: Thanks to his past (and, let’s be real, his terrible sleep schedule), Jason doesn’t sleep deeply. He tosses and turns a lot, and if he’s had a bad night, he might wake up in a cold sweat. But the moment you reach for him, he relaxes almost instantly.

Protective Even in Sleep: His arms are always around you, even unconsciously. If you move, he tightens his hold slightly, as if making sure you’re still there. If he senses any kind of disturbance (like a weird noise outside), he’s alert in seconds, ready to protect you.

Sleeps Better With You: Before you, Jason was used to sleeping alone or barely sleeping at all. Now? The bed feels empty without you. If you’re not there, he either stays up waiting or texts you to come back ASAP.

Mumbling in His Sleep: If he’s in a deep sleep, Jason sometimes mumbles. It’s usually just low, incoherent grumbles, but on rare occasions, you’ll catch him murmuring your name or telling you he loves you without even realizing it.

Forehead Kisses Before Sleep: No matter how tired he is, Jason always presses a lazy kiss to your forehead before drifting off. It’s his silent way of saying, I love you, and I’m glad you’re here.

Late-Night Talks: Some nights, neither of you can sleep, so you just lay there, whispering about anything and everything. Jason opens up the most during these moments, sharing thoughts he wouldn’t say in the daylight.

Mornings Are a Struggle: Jason is not a morning person. If you try to get up early, he’ll groan, pull you back into his arms, and mumble, “Five more minutes.” (Five minutes actually means an hour.)

Post-Mission Crashes: After a long night as Red Hood, Jason sometimes just collapses into bed with you, too exhausted to move. You’ll have to help him take off his boots or jacket, and he’ll murmur a soft, “You’re the best,” before immediately passing out.

Nightmares & Comfort: Jason’s past still haunts him, and sometimes he wakes up in a panic. When that happens, he grips onto you like you’re his lifeline. If you run your fingers through his hair and whisper soothing words, he’ll calm down, murmuring a quiet “Thanks, babe” before falling back asleep.

Unexpected Softness: For someone so tough and battle-worn, Jason is incredibly soft when he sleeps. His breathing evens out, his usually furrowed brows relax, and his grip on you becomes gentle. It’s one of the only times he truly looks at peace.

tag list:

@a-brilliante-mariposa

batman shooting somebody is crazy itself. BUT AT HIS SON?? DIABOLICAL.

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。08:00 PM — AL-HAITHAM.

idk i just felt like. writing haitham grieving his grandmother. it’s also a slight character study ig. idk if anyone will read this but if you do. just know that he is the core of my heart. his grandmother too i mourn her death so much sobs

“hey,” you say gently, sitting next to him. al-haitham only grunts in acknowledgment, slumped on the couch. “d’you want dinner? i made your favorite.”

“not hungry,” he mumbles.

his grandmother’s death anniversary is a sore spot. it’s a day you tiptoe around carefully every year. you don’t know much about his family—just that he was orphaned very young and raised by his father’s mother until the ripe age of 16. you’ve seen the dainty handwriting inside the covers of books, and you’ve even seen a small, framed photograph that he keeps stowed away.

sometimes, you wish he’d tell you. you wish the far away look and the clenched fist around the fabric of his pants would ease with your presence. you wish he’d tell you about her, that you’d know the woman who raised the man you love—even if only through hushed words and old stories.

“you hate sleeping on an empty stomach,” you hum, placing your hand over his clenched one.

his fist loosens a little—progress.

“i…” he pauses, let’s out a heavy sigh before letting his head fall back. there’s tension in his shoulders, in his neck, in the jaw he keeps so tightly clenched. “i won’t be sleeping for a bit. sorry,” he tries to sound apologetic. you don’t hear much in his tone besides defeat. “you can head in without me.”

“that’s okay,” you shrug, forcing his clenched fingers apart to weave yours in with his. “i don’t sleep well without you anyway.”

“suit yourself,” is all he says.

and it’s silent for a bit. he seems to be thinking deeply—or reminiscing, maybe grieving. maybe all three, but you’re not too sure. you’re never too sure when it comes to how al-haitham feels about anything.

he’s hard to decipher—but he’s easy to pull apart. you don’t understand how someone as hard and calculating as him is so gentle with love, but it’s hard not to notice how soft his touch is, how it lingers, how the tips of his fingers long for you. you don’t doubt he loves you—he never gives you the chance to.

but sometimes….sometimes you wish he’d let you love him properly. to kiss the scars. to admire the parts he thinks are ugly. to shelter the thoughts that have no home besides his own head.

it’s silent for a bit—until it’s not. you break the silence first, like you’re holding a hand out for him from the shore as he drifts aimlessly.

“baby?” you ask quietly. he grunts again in response. “what was she like?”

“who?”

al-haitham is a smart man. probably the smartest you’ve ever met. you don’t think you’ve ever met someone who read physics books as a pastime, and you’re pretty certain he’ll always be the only one. you know he knows exactly what what you’re asking and you know he’s avoiding it.

but it doesn’t stop you though—it’s been long enough, you think. you’ve known him long enough. craved him for a few summers and loved him for enough winters that he has pieces of you that fall through the cracks of your resolve.

you think you deserve a few pieces of him too—even if your fingers have to reach past the cracks themselves, even if they have to slice against the jagged edges and bleed a little in the process.

you’ll bleed for him—like the sun rises from the east and sets in the west, your heart beats for al-haitham. and it’ll bleed for him too.

“your grandmother,” you whisper. “you’ve never told me about her.”

“there’s not much to tell,” he shrugs. “she died right before i enrolled in the akademiya and she raised me after my parents died.”

“i’m sure there’s more,” you say gently—his grip has tightened on your hand now. you don’t think he realizes—in fact, you don’t think al-haitham realizes half of what he feels when it comes to vulnerability.

it’s why he realizes he loves you so late. it’s why you fall first and he falls after. but he falls harder—it’s not hard to see.

“she was a ksharewar scholar,” he offers blankly.

your thumb brushes over his knuckles, and it’s almost like your hand reaches past the shore just a little further—you don’t mind risking the fall into the water if it means pulling him out.

“haitham,” you sigh delicately. he swallows. it’s hard to keep composure for long—even for someone like him.

grief is an evil thing. it’s a familiar friend—one you wish you never made and one you’ll never shake away. it dances with you under the moonlight, when the stars are bright but the sky is heavy. it barely grazes your skin some days but weighs into your bones on others. it’s a cruel thing really—and it hits you harder some moments than others.

“she was kind,” he starts slowly, his hand reaching out and grabbing yours over the shoreline. maybe, just maybe, sometimes he can get tired of drifting too. “she liked to bake. her hands got too weak to knead dough when i got older, though. you would have liked her tarts. she couldn’t read without her glasses and she always forgot they were on her head. she said my father looked like her husband and that i look like my father. she used to ask me to read to her sometimes so i’d sit on her lap and read my books out loud. she loved the sunrise but was never good at waking up on time to see it. she used to drink tea during sunsets. she liked hers extra sweet and i liked mine more bitter. i…” he pauses, voice shaky as his fingers dig into your hand. you squeeze, and he sniffles. “i haven’t had tea since she passed.”

“she sounds lovely,” you whisper. “i would have loved to meet her.”

“she’d have loved you,” he cracks a small smile, shaking his head as he thinks. “probably more than she loved me.”

“i’m sure i’d never compare to her darling grandson,” you chuckle, bumping arms with him. his head drops to your shoulder—you hesitate for a moment before deciding to pull him into your chest. and when he doesn’t protest, when he buries himself into you instead of pulling away, you thread your fingers into his hair.

“i miss her,” he croaks quietly.

“i know,” you soothe. “i know, baby.”

al-haitham has only ever known love twice in his life. one is gone but it lives through the other. the gentle touch against his scalp and the warmth under his cheek is familiar—it feels like the lap he slept on when he was six. it feels like the delicate hands that cupped his cheeks when he was eight. it feels like the soft kisses against his temple when he was ten.

al-haitham has only ever known love twice in his life, and he’s glad that one of them is you.

“you’d have loved her too,” his voice breaks. you kiss his head as you feel your shirt dampen.

“i already do,” you murmur, “she raised you well. i have her to thank.”

his breath hitches at that—and then he pulls you closer, grasps you tighter, falls in love with you harder. his grandmother’s death anniversary has always been a sore spot—but somehow, you numb the ache even if by just a little.

gently, your hand clasps his and pulls him to shore. he’s grateful he doesn’t have to drift alone anymore.

there is nothing i’m more obsessed with than al-haitham’s childhood. i have so many thought about it. and him. and his character. and his inner thoughts and feelings and most of them revolve around his grandmother and more importantly her passing. and idk. he’s just sosososo important to me i wish we knew more about his grandmother. i love her so much i grieve her passing even though we’ve never even met her 😭

Everyone always talks about John "share my wife" Price but what about Kyle "our girlfriend" Garrick???

18+

It starts with you and him on the couch together. You've got your hand in his pants and he's got his tongue down your throat. You're pumping his cock while he pants into your mouth when his phone rings- someone is video calling him. You glance at his phone sitting beside him, discarded on the couch cushion when you first crawled over to him to kiss his neck. The icon on the screen is a familiar one: a mischievous grin with a mohawk on top.

"Answer it," you say as you slide down the couch and onto your knees in front of him.

"What?" He asks, his eyes wide as saucers as you hand him the phone.

"Answer it," you say again with a devilish grin, still stroking him slowly. With a shaky breath to school his expression, he answers it.

Gaz tries his best to stay nonchalant, not even listening to Soap's chatter through the phone, but you have other plans. Gaz let's out a surprised grunt and jerks when you take his cockhead into your mouth.

"You alright mate?" Soap asks after a momentary pause.

"Yeah-yeah," Gaz answers too quickly. "Muscle spasm. Got a- ah- knot in my shoulder." You can't help but smile around his dick as you bob your head up and down his shaft. He glances down at you with a frustrated huff. Soap makes a noise on the phone.

"That's rough, mate. You should ask your girl to help you rub it out." You nearly choke at the unintended double entendre. "Where is she anyway? Wanna say hi."

"Uh... she's-" whatever half-baked excuse Gaz was about to spout off is cut off by the sudden sucking noise your lips made on "accident". Gaz freezes, looking past the phone at you, and Soap is silent on the other line. You continue to swirl your tongue around Gaz's tip.

"...Gaz?" Soap asks slowly. Gaz doesn't answer, his chest heaving in an effort to maintain his composure. "What's going on?" Gaz's eyes darted back and forth between you and the phone, silently willing you to stop so he wont get caught. Instead, you make yourself gag on his length, causing him to grunt involuntarily.

"Holy shite, Gaz... are you...?" Soap sounds suddenly breathless at the sounds he hears on his phone. They aren't unfamiliar to him, but usually they're accompanied by a little orange logo, not by his best mate on FaceTime. "Turn the camera around."

Gaz's jaw drops with a pant. Oh, he's so caught. He stares down at you, and you nod your head before sucking hard. With a shaky hand, he taps the screen, and you hear Soap groan over the speaker. You suck off Gaz's tip with a wet pop and smile.

"Hi Soap," you say conversationally, as if Gaz's cock wasn't there right in your face, as if you didn't have drool and precum dripping down your chin. You stare up into the camera phone as you stick your tongue out and lick up and down the shaft.

"Steamin' Jesus," Soap says, and there's a rustling over the speaker. "Garrick, you dog," he growls. You put on a show for him, pumping Gaz in your hand while you mouth at his balls, making him moan out loud. He's already been caught, no use hiding it anymore.

Soap gets himself off to it. You can hear his groans of pleasure over the phone mixing with Gaz's, can hear the wet sounds of him stroking himself. When you finally get Gaz to cum on your face, you smile at the pleasured moan Soap let's out. Gaz smears his cum over your lips with his thumb and with a smirk he says,

"What are you doing tonight, Tav?"

"I'll be over in an hour," Soap replies.

The three of you go at it for hours, round after round, multiple positions, every combination. And while you were the center of their attention for most of it, it was also incredible hot to watch them together, making out above you, jerking each other's cocks. By the end of the night, when everyone's needs had been met and you all were exhausted, you all agree it was the best sex of any of your lives. And you all three agree: there's no going back after this.

Soap comes over more and more often for threesomes, but a couple times it was just you and him, or him and Gaz. The three of you find a rhythm and balance together, happy and very well satisfied.

Gaz is out of the country when Ghost finds out. And. He. Is. Livid.

He'd borrowed Soap's phone for something, he doesn't remember what he needed, because once he saw the video of you and Soap on his phone he swears he saw red.

Soap had never seen his LT so angry, especially not toward him. Ghost has him backed into the wall, face in his face, barking at him like a mad dog.

"Have you gone fucking mad? You've got a lot of fucking nerve, Sergeant! Showin' your face to Gaz while you're giving him the runaround! Fucking his girl behind his back! You should be ashamed! He's our teammate, he's our BROTHER!" And in a blind panic, Soap shouts out:

"He knows!" It's enough to make Ghost pause his tirade for a moment, giving the shorter man an incredulous look.

"Bullshit."

"He does! He knows, I can prove it!" Soap pleads, and slowly holds out his hand. Ghost pins him with a glare but hands him the phone anyway.

Soap opens up the group chat the three of you share and turns the phone to show to Ghost. There's a variety of messages, some casual, some flirtatious, but what really catches Ghost's eye are the videos.

The first is the one that sent him into a fit in the first place: you're bent over in front of a mirror while Soap rams into you from behind. The video is sent with a message reading "taking care of our girl while you're gone x" The next video is sent from your POV as you bounce on Gaz’s cock. Then a video sent from Gaz's number that seems to be in the barracks shower of all places, the phone propped up somehow capturing the two Sergeants wet and naked. Gaz steps back from the camera and embraces Soap with a heated kiss. They each wrap a hand around both their cocks together and jerk themselves off to a simultaneous finish.

As Ghost scrolls through the chat, Soap, still pinned to the wall, takes notice of the way Ghost's breathing steadily gets heavier and heavier. And he DEFINITELY notices the growing weight pressed against his stomach. He gives an experimental grind of his hips. Ghost's eyes snap back up to him. They're still full of fire, but for a completely different reason.

"You got me stuck between a rock and a hard place, here, LT." He jokes with a gravelly voice. "But you know what they say... the more the merrier." In a matter of minutes, Ghost had Soap turned around, and both their pants are down by their ankles.

Gaz gets a new message in the chat later that night. The video starts focused on your face, your mouth deepthroating Soap and your eyes rolled back in your head as your body gets jostled roughly by... someone else. The camera pans down your body, showing you on your hands and knees, and a thick, wide body fucking into you from behind. A familiar tattoo sleeve catches Gaz's eye, and finally the camera pans up to show that infamous skull mask that he knows so well. The video is captioned: "found a new playmate for us... don't tell the captain ;)"

The captain, of course, does find out sooner rather than later. The team is gathered at you and Gaz’s home to watch a football game. Most of the sports terminology goes over your head, but you're glad to have all your boys together... plus their captain.

You think you're being subtle about everything, but Price notices. His job is noticing things. Countless life-or-death situations have counted on Price noticing little things. So of course he notices your heated glances at Soap, the way you leave lingering touches on Ghost when you pass by him. You, nestled into your boyfriend's side with his arm around you while you make eyes at his teammates. It makes his blood boil.

He confronts you in the kitchen. You got up to fetch yourself a drink and he waits a moment before he follows you in. You turn around from the fridge to see him standing behind you. His face is impassive and unreadable. You linger there a moment in confusion. He's usually so friendly toward you. Finally he breaks the silence first.

"You know, Kyle really cares about you. Talks about you all the time, talks about how much he loves you. You've got that poor boy wrapped around your little finger, you know that?"

"Th-thank you...?" You stutter, completely caught off-guard. The cold tone of his voice doesn't match his kind words. There's an edge to it, a dangerous one. He shakes his head at you.

"He doesn't deserve this. He's a good man."

"Doesn't deserve what?" You ask, glancing down at the extra beer in your hand that you'd gotten for Gaz. He doesn't deserve beer?

"You think I don't know what's going on?" He accuses with a step forward. "You think I don't see it?"

"See what?" You ask, growing more and more worried with every passing second. Price scoffs.

"You know, I've seen this a lot. Men in the service go out and risk their lives, all the while back home their girl is running circles around them." He huffs, giving you a look you'd never seen before. It makes you feel... gross. "Thought you were different, though. Thought you could be trusted. And to do it with his teammates?" His eyes narrow and his nose wrinkles in disgust. You gasp in realization. He thinks you're cheating!

"John, you don't understand-"

"You think I'm stupid?"

"No!"

"What's going on?" Gaz asks from the doorway. He was wondering what was taking you both so long, but he didn't expect to find you close to tears cornered by his captain. Price turns his body toward him, but keeps his eyes on you.

"Do you want to tell him, or should I?" He asks. You open and close your mouth but nothing comes out. Your brain is overworking trying to figure out an answer. You can't tell him the truth, you'd get your boys in trouble! Should you just admit to it? Take the blame to protect them? Before you can come up with the words, Soap and Ghost enter the room behind Gaz. Price turns his attention to them, and you breathe out in relief to have his glare off you.

"Or maybe you two would like to tell him?" He proposes, voice slightly raised. The tension in the room is suffocating. Price stares the other two down as Gaz looks from one person to the other, putting the pieces together.

"Price it's not what you think," he says with his hands out in a placating gesture. Price tilts his head.

"Kyle, I'm sorry to have to tell you-"

"They're not going round my back, Price. I know." Price shuffles his feet a bit.

"You... know?"

"The four of us have... an arrangement." Gaz walks over to you and wraps an arm around you. "She's done nothing wrong, don't be cross with her. Neither have Ghost or Soap. She's not just my girlfriend, she's our girlfriend." Gaz holds Price's eyes.

"And the four of you are..."

"Together. Is that a problem, Captain?" Price quirks an eyebrow at his sergeant's challenge, but after a moment shakes his head.

"No. No, not a problem. Just keep it tactical on the field. Copy?"

"Yes sir." Price turns to Soap and Ghost.

"Copy?"

"Yes sir," they answer in unison. Price looks at you again and his expression softens, dropping his Captain persona for your sake.

"I owe you an apology," he starts.

"It's alright," you interrupt, giving him a shy smile. "You were just looking out for Kyle."

"You should've seen Ghost when he found out. Nearly bit my head off," Soap says, lightening the mood. But Price's eyes still linger.

"Game's still on," Ghost says, "if you all are done being dramatic." The five of you file back into the living room to finish out the game with you still nestled into Gaz's side, this time openly joined by Soap on your other side. Throughout the game, as the men banter about whose team is better, Price kept glancing over at you.

The game ends and as everybody winds down, Price watches the affection you gave the other three.

"I have to wonder, though," he starts, "what it is that's got all three of my men so wrapped up in you..." Your eyes dart from one man to the other as each of them catch onto Price's meaning.

"Well... it'd be a shame not to include that captain, right boys?" Gaz teases.

"The more the merrier-"

"Shut up MacTavish, fucks sake," Ghost huffs, still with a smirk.

"I still owe you a proper apology, sweetheart," Price says, beckoning you to sit on his lap.

And apologize, he does, in the form of his face between your thighs, pulling orgasm after orgasm from you. Eventually, the five of you wind up in the bedroom, tasting and teasing and fucking one another.

"We're going to need a bigger bed..."

Gaz & his Love (Part one?)

The '141' stops as soon as they are back home. After that, they are just close friends. Simon, John, Kyle and Johnny had managed to settle down and find themselves sweet little things. All who adore their brave men and all who share different tastes

In this 'series', it's essentially bits of each of the 141 one and their kinks they have with their partners. With that being said, I don't really care if you think that Soap is submissive or Ghost is into CNC/Primal play. That's great. But in this fantasy, this is what it is. It's what I wanted to write. If you want Kyle Garrick to be a pleasure Dom and John to be a Daddy Dom. Cool. Go find other fictions that write that, or be the one to write them. I'm not going to argue about what kinks they would really have.

CW: NSFW. Edging. Use of chastity belt. Spanking. Mentions of figging. D/s dynamics. Self-deprication. Aftercare. Impact play.

4.5 k words.

Not proof-read

The downside of having a Dom with a huge dick is that he was stingy with it. Thus making him a huge dick. And when it became very apparent that you lacked any self control and restraint from touching your greedy little pussy, Kyle had found that edging you was the best form of punishment, if not just to push your limits.

He wouldn't necessarily call himself a sadist. The moment you started to cry (at least outside of the bedroom) he was quick to remedy the situation. The term brat tamer didn't sit right with either of you. You didn't like the idea of having to be tamed and Kyle liked, loved, that you could be, well, you.

But that didn't mean he didn't like setting you a little more straight. Making sure you stuck to your goals. Showed yourself the same kindess you insisted others be given. And most importantly, helping you remember that iced coffee does not count as a meal; an issue that is a reoccurring struggle.

Although Kyle did not like hurting you, he loved making you squirm. Edging, teasing. Making you cum so many times that you had to beg him to stop. Eventually he would.

You were ovulating and you tried to usually use that as an excuse to convince Kyle to let you have free reign over your orgasms. But you both knew that if he gave you an inch, you would take a yard. You would be chasing that euphoria all fucking day and you both shit you needed to get done.

He had went out on a quick errand, promising to be home at 6 and then the two of you could head out for dinner. He had gotten back earlier than expected and imagine the surprise he walked into when he came back home earlier than expected.

When he had found you rubbing yourself, legs spread without a care in the world, he practically beamed. You knew the rules and you broke them. He knew that the penance he had lined up would break you and he couldn't wait to be the one to help put you back together.

You had given a half ass apology when you first realized he was standing in the doorway of your bedroom. His eyes looking at you as if he were just waiting to eat you alive. You had expected anger or, at the least, a bit of irritation. As he stood there, saying nothing you took the initiative and offered to bend over, making his life a bit easier. You did have your moments where you did like being good for him.

But instead, he ordered you to stay on your back. Slowly walking to you. The sound of your heartbeat filling your head. He reached at the posts of the bed, pulling at the restraints that he always kept there just in case the moment arose where you needed a bit of… correcting.

He was tender as he wrapped the cuffs around your wrists and ankles. Adjusting the straps so you have very little movement. You have expected him to flip him on your belly so he could spend the next hours spanking your poor ass raw.

But given that the punishment needed to fit the punishment, you assumed it would be a night of bringing you to the brink of release only to deny you. You thought you knew what was in store.

But fuck were you wrong.

Once he had you exactly how he wanted, barely able to move, he stood. Staring only for a moment before making his way out of the bedroom.

He left you there, giving you a chance to guess how many times he would edge you until he finally felt like you had learned your lesson. And even then, the bastard still wouldn't let you come.

The sound of his approaching footsteps made your heart race.

He came back in with a box in hand. No markings or anything noteworthy. Just a plain cardboard box. With curious eyes, you practically burned a whole through it, trying to figure out what exactly could it be.

Too small to be a sybian or a fucking machine. You already had a decent sized collection of toys and paddles… Before you could keep guessing, he set in on the floor, just out of view before going to your dressers.

Smoothly, he pulled off his t-shirt leaving him only in a pair of jeans that hugged him perfectly. Kyle didn't say anything as he pulled out a Hitachi wand, some clamps, a dildo and a roll of duct tape.

Fuck. This was already going to be a long night.

Not taking his eyes off you, he made his way back on the bed pulling out something you hadn't noticed before. Your gaze zeroed in on the malicious object. A tool that Kyle knew you had a terrible familiarity with.

A simple and standard clear plastic ruler.

Dammit.

Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.

It was more delicate than a paddle so Kyle had no qualms about using it on your pussy and with you were spread out with not even enough wiggle room to block him with your thighs. The precision made it so he could hit your clit directly. Every. Single. Time.

Couldn't get that kind of a precision with a flogger. One time when you

Immediately, he sensed your apprehension. Saw the sudden unease in your eyes. Kyle knew that you didn’t like being punished as much as you liked the release you got from it. There were some punishments that were completely off the table, personal hard limits for both you and him. But then there were some, like hitting and slapping your pussy that blurred the edges of what you could stand and what you couldn’t.

And although he loved bringing you to tears, the thing that made him get off was the fact that you wanted this as much as he did. You trusted him to not take things too far and dish out punishments that fit the infraction. Having your mouth gagged for extended periods when you smart off at him. Getting bent over his knee after being a little pain in the ass. And in this instance, torturing your pussy because you couldn’t keep your hands off her.

"You know your safe words and cues?" He asked, wanting to remind you could stop this at any time. You looked up at him, momentarily forgetting the intimidating instrument of torture he so casually held in his hand. His eyes cast over you hungrily. An absolute vision.

"Yes, Sir." He tried not to smile as he sensed the tremble in your usually steady voice. He liked you scared, hell even fighting against it. But he needed your consent. He needed to know that in that moment, you were relying on him to do what he knew what was best. You needed to let him take control and give everything to him.

"I don't think I need to remind you that during your punishments, you're not allowed to cum." He said twirling the ruler slowly, now wanting to taunt you.

Fuck.

You couldn’t look at it. It was like getting a shot. If you weren’t looking, it didn’t hurt as bad, right? "No, Sir." You swallowed, eyes staring at the ceiling.

Now that wouldn’t do. He thought. He needed your attention. Plus unless he had you blindfolded you or specified otherwise, you knew that during a scene you were to look at him when you answered him. You hissed as the piece of plastic landed on your inner thigh.

"Eyes on me." He ordered. You obeyed already shifting from his brat to his good girl. He hid his smile. It was hard when you started to get into your sub space to refrain from breaking you down too quickly. Kyle enjoyed the aftercare as much as he did taming you, but going about it too quickly wouldn’t help the lesson stick; a lesson you were in desperate need of learning.

“We’re going to start off with twenty.” You wanted to argue, but you had practically asked for it. How could you not remember to at least lock the door? You nod, too afraid to speak, your hands gripping onto the restraints to help ground you. "Count." Was his only response as the first swat came.

You hissed at the sinister slapping sound and the sting of pain that followed. "One." You breathed out taking a deep breathe in before the next one came.

"Two." Your voice rushed out. Two. You were only at two. Again. Deep breath.

smack

"Three." You squeaked. Another breath. smack. "Four!"

Kyle didn't know where he wanted to look the most.

At your face. Your eyes squinting and closing tightly at his lashing. At your tits. How your nipples had already started to pebble. Maybe he should take the ruler to those next...

But he had to keep his focus on your pussy. With each swat the clear ruler had come back with a little bit more of your juice. This was making you wet. You would never admit it and you didn't have to, but both of you knew that this turned you on. Being able to give up control, even for a moment. Having to let go was hard. But Kyle was the only person you could trust without micromanaging.

By the time you got to twenty, the tears that had pooled in your eyes had fallen. If he could have a painting commission for that very sight, he would have paid anything to have it. Instead, he had to settle on burning the image in his mind forever.

"Good girl." His praise was meant to mock you and acknowledge that he was satisfied with how you took your punishment.

"Are we not done?" You asked.

"Oh no, Love." He said picking up one of the clamps. "That was just for breaking the no-touching rule." He leaned over your body, taking a nipple in your mouth. You gasped. Your back arching into his touch. Wanting more. Needing more.

He flicked his tongue, faster and faster before suckling hard and releasing you with a pop. Before you could open your eyes, you felt the pinch from the clamp. No warning.

"Fuck!" You squirmed. Opening your eyes only to shoot daggers at Kyle, who was now straddling your waist with a smile playing on his lips.

"Onto the next one?" He asked, but you didn't entertain him with an answer. He took your other nipple in his mouth. Repeating the same motions that you yet again fell for. Trying to fight the need to arch your back. To hum as his tongue and your body worked against you.

Another pinch came. Even with the knowledge that it was coming it still hurt like an absolute bitch.

He got off of you only to crawl toward that delicate place between your thighs. You were dripping onto the bed. It took everything, every ounce of self control Kyle had to refrain from swiping his tongue up your folds. He could make a day out of eating you out until you cried and begged for mercy. He had done it before even if it took you almost 45 minutes before tapping out.

But when you saw him pick up another clip and his hand drawing closer to your exposed pussy you're first instinct was to call out yellow. He saw your recoil and stopped. His eyes met yours, searching for an answer. You both knew the ball was in your court. But it didn't feel like... enough?

"Green." You put your head back down against the pillow, waiting for the sharp sting. Instead it was just a gradual pressure. Slowly building instead of an instant pinch. Then another. And another. And another. It wasn't until you heard the harsh ripping of tape before you looked down to see what your boyfriend was doing.

He had put four clothes pins on your labia major, two on each side. The piece of tape he had just ripped with his teeth was used to hold the clamps against your leg. You didn't speak. Neither of you making eye contact as he continued to the other side until you were left fully exposed.

He sat back on his ankles, looking down and admiring your pussy as if it were artwork and he was the dedicated artist. "Mind if I take a picture for later?" He asked, his tone softening. "Something to think about when I'm on a mission." He gave a cheeky wink, but let you know in his voice that you could say no. Pictures and videos had always been a sore subject for you, but you had sent some here and there, although he had never prompted you before, even after all this time.

"Yes." You said. "But can it just not have my face?" The same request as always. You trusted Kyle, but there was always that what if possibility.

What if his phone got hacked?

What if someone got ahold of his phone or he was innocently trying to show one of his collegues a picture and then BAM, there's your pussy?

"Of course, Love." He said, pulling his phone from his back pocket before taking a few pictures. Without you asking, he turned the screen around. His fingers swiping through the photos to let you see your glistening, spread cunt. Just your cunt. Not your face. No identifying marks. "Look how pretty she is." Kyle's coo of approval made your stomach flutter.

Without any other remarks, he returned his phone back into his pocket and kneeled between your legs, resting on his own. "How many times did you come?" He asked. Although you frequently disobeyed Kyle, you never lied.

"I didn't." You shamefully admitted. "I just couldn't get there."

He hummed as if contemplating his next course of action. "Well then," he said. He grabbed a pillow near your head that you weren't using. Putting it in the space between your knees before lowering his body onto it. His mouth was hovering above your pussy. "Let's make up for that then."

The bastard had grabbed the pillow to make himself comfortable.

Fuck.

You were going to be here a while.

Eight. He had pulled eight orgasms out of you. He had switched things up between each one. Sometimes one finger before adding another and then a third. Using the dildo. But his mouth never left you and he never let up. Each one was as intense, if not more, than the last. You were crying by number four, but still hadn't begged him to stop.

But he was damned and determined to get you there.

You still hadn't by number twelve. You couldn't. Not from sheer stubbornness, but you simply couldn't. It was all too much. It was hurting at that point, but a new feeling, a heaviness consumed you. Your tongue was too heavy in your mouth. Your stomach was flipping, tightening its self into a little ball.

You weren't sure if you were hot or cold anymore, but you were certain that at any moment you were going to be sick. You were approaching number thirteen, feeling something more than just an orgasm threatening to escape you. You were going to throw up.

“K- Ky?” You stammered, forgetting your words. What was your safe word again?

“What’s your color?" He asked, pulling away from you for the first time in almost an hour.

“I-” you didn’t know. You didn’t want to tap out. You had disobeyed, this was the punishment. Kyle had never took things too far. You didn’t decide when this was done. He did. “I need a minute.”

Your head fell against the pillow. Closing your eyes, you try to breathe slowly through your nose. The wave of nausea didn't pass as your heart continued to beat so violently you head practically pulsed along with it.

While you were trying to get your shit together, fighting the sickness that started to swell inside you, Kyle began to fiddle with your restraints.

“What are you doing?” You asked, not having the strength to pull your head up to look at him.

“You’re done.” There was a finality in his voice, leaving no room for argument. “I’m calling Red.”

“What?” You asked, confused. "I-" You stuttered, taking a moment to gather your thoughts. Process what was happening. "You can't call Red for me."

“Yes I can and I did.” He said, finishing the remaining cuffs before going for the clamps on your nipples.

“But you weren’t finished.” You don't know why you were arguing, but it felt wrong for him to just stop everything.

“Who said I was?” He smirked before gently taking off the clamps. Further down he moved, settling back down between your legs before rooming the clamps he had put on your aching pussy lips. You sucked in a breath as the blood rushed back.

“I feel like I’m going to throw up.” You hadn't mean to say it out loud.

“Yeah. You’re done.” His tone annoyed.

“Please don’t be mad at me right now.” You said, throwing an arm over your eyes as if that would somehow shield you from the embarrassment. A sort of if I can't see them, they can't see me mentality. “I held out as long as I could.”

“I’m not mad that we needed to end the scene.” He explained, his tone not as annoyed as before, but still holding a certain sharpness to it. “I’m upset that you should have called yellow and didn’t.” You hissed as he removed the fourth and final clamp. “I’m guessing that you didn’t to prove something.”

Kyle was good at breaking you. It’s what you wanted. It's what he wanted. But he could only be sure to not cross the line if you drew it out for him. He didn't hold the power here, you did.

“Tapping out of a punishment makes me feel bad.” You confessed, still not daring to look at him. “It makes me feel like I bit off more than I could chew and that I’m trying to weasel my way out of a punishment and I don’t like that.”

He decided right this second wasn't the time to have this conversation. You were already starting to drop and he needed to get started on your aftercare. “Let’s get you showered off and then we’ll talk,” he offered, scooping you up from the bed before you had a chance to argue.

He ran the water on luke warm to help your temperature get back down before slowly building it up to a comfortable heat. You leaned against his chest as he ran his hands up and down your back.

Before you could really stop it, the tears came. Kyle felt your body shaking against his chest.

“Shhhh,” he soothed. “It’s alright, Love.”

"I don't know why I'm crying." You sobbed. "I just didn't want to weasel out of it."

"Using a safe word doesn’t mean you’re ’weaseling’ out of a punishment when it becomes too much,” He said, pulling you away to look at you. His fingers rubbing small circles on your arms. “It just means it just got to be too much. You needed to end the scene. End of story.”

“I know," you said, the crown of your head pushing against his chest as you looked down. The water still cascading down on you both. "But it still doesn’t feel that way.”

“Would you like me to keep punishing you?” You knew he was asking it rhetorically, but that didn't stop you from answering honestly.

“Maybe not anything with impact.” You offered. “Like lines or something.”

“I’ll think of something. Later.” He said grabbing your soap off of your little shelf and lathering you up. "Lets get you all cleaned up." Kyle's after care was just as important to him as it was to you. It helped ground him. Make him remember that everything in the bedroom was a fantasy.

You didn't think he was a monster. He wasn't cruel. It gave him an opportunity to also help build back what he had broken.

By the time he as finished rubbing you down, you were practically putty in his hands. "Finish up while I go and change the sheets." He kissed your forehead, leaving you to it.

“How you feeling?” He asked as you made your way back into the bedroom. He had already changed into a fresh pair of jeans and threw on a button up. Sometimes you hated how beautifully put together he could get almost instantly.

“Better.” You gave him a soft smile before noting his outfit.. "You're all dressed up."

"I figured we could still make dinner if you wanted to. You need to eat something." He wasn't wrong. You didn't want to get into the discussion about your only meal for the day had been an iced coffee. So you quickly got ready. You sat on the edge of the bed, putting on your socks when you noticed it again.

The box on the floor that Kyle had brought in earlier. The one he never opened.

“What’s that?” You pointed. Kyle wanted to say that the two of you could open it later, but he had been so exciting to go and pick up his order he could hardly wait.

“It's what I was going to finish the night off with," he answered with a gleam in his eye as he picked up the box, putting it on the bed. "Think of it as a surprise."

"What the fuck is that, Kyle Garrick?" You said, pulling your legs tightly to your body. As if coiling yourself into a ball would ever stop him.

"It's something to help you." That mischievous glint was back in his eye. Your heart stopped as he finally tore through the box like a kid at Christmas. Beaming with pride as he held up the sinister piece of metal.

“Kyle,” you began. “That's not a-”

“A chastity belt.” He finished. “Yes. It's my assurance.” He held up the chunk of metal, allowing it to shine in the bedroom.

"For what?" You're voice reaching a higher pitch. Kyle tried not to laugh as you practically squeaked. You always did it when you were nervous. "Making my life into the Handmaiden's Tale?"

He rolled his eyes at your over-exaggerated comparison. "To make sure you can't cum until I say so." He set the contraption down on the ibed before pulling out a small set of keys and a padlock out of the box as well.

Holy fuck. He was serious. "Since I can’t trust you when I’m not here, you’ll start wearing it when I have to go out.”

“Kyle, please.” You begged. It was no use. You had fucked up. Kyle could handle your brattiness. He loved having you over his knee, making your ass burn. But disobedience and being a little shit were two different things. He gave you a rule and you broke it. Plain and simple.

You had secretly hoped that he would just pull out the ginger root. Figging your poor little asshole until you were a crying, blubbering mess. The aftercare during such a session was so intense it almost made it worth it. Failing in comparison at the one he had just given you, although it was still wonderful.

But you had came without permission. Not only that, but you were strictly told NOT to touch yourself. A rule that you had broken time and time again.

You huff, but honestly the idea of being unable to do anything. Having to beg him…. You could already feel yourself getting wet. “Not now though, right?”

“Later” “Your punishment wasn’t finished.”

“How long would I have to wear it?” You asked, thinking maybe he’ll just

“Let’s start with five days.”

“FIVE?” You practically squeal. No way. There is absolutely no way you’ll be able to make it five days without something to give you some sort of stimulation between your thighs. Even if you had just come so many times it had quite literally made you sick. “Kyle, be reasonable.”

“This is me being reasonable.” He said, grabbing a light jacket from his wardrobe. “Do you think I got one of these last minute? Your lack of control is an issue I will be damned and determined to fix.” He retreated into the your closet with something to keep you warm. “Tell you what,” he said crossing his arms as you put it on. “Make it a week.”

“Kyle!” Your jaw fell open, ready to protest.

“Hush and let me finish.” He ordered, holding up a finger to pause any more interruptions. “One week straight. 24/7 . The belt stays on unless you need to shower or go to the bathroom. Make it a week with no complaints and I’ll give you a week where you don’t have to ask.”

Your ears had suddenly perked up. A week of being able to rub yourself absolutely raw without any repercussions.

“A week and after that I get a week where I can come anytime I want?” You clarified, not fully trusting his wording. "I can cum when you fuck me and when I masturbate. I'm allowed to masturbate?"

Your spew of words had him laughing. "You act like I'm a genie trying to trick you!"

"That's exactly what you are!" You argued, your tone now growing less appalled and more playful.

"Fine!" He sighed. "If you last a week, you can have a full week of absolute orgasmic freedom."

"Deal!" You held out your hand, waiting for the deal to be made before he could go back on his word.

As soon as the two of you had gotten home, Kyle had started the countdown. It felt weird. Definetly uncomfortable and something you weren't entirely sure you would get used to.

The next morning, Kyle was already down in the kitchen. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filling your senses as you joined him.

"How'd you sleep?" He asked, smirking over the rim of his mug already knowing the answer.

"Fucking terrible." You huffed out. You had practically tossed and turned all night. He was almost tempted to take it off, but a deal is a deal. "This thing is so uncomfortable. It's like a pair of medieval panties."

"You tapping out after one night?" He asked, already knowing he should have made a counter off to your deal instead of simply it making it a challenge for you.

"Not a chance." You smiled, shooting him the same smile he was giving you. "But I think maybe a cup of coffee could help perk me up."

You kissed him as he handed you your own mug. Humming as his hand traveled to the base of your neck, pulling you closer to him. Deepening the kiss until you were nearly breathless.

You had hoped next week's freedom would be worth it. It surely wasn’t right now as the chastity belt rubbed irritatingly against your core.

"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.

Oh, He’s Big Big 18+

Thinking about Jason Todd just being big. Big hands, big cock, even bigger heart. Practically pawing at you, able to hold the plush softness of your thighs when you’re sitting on his face, hands large enough to encircle your entire wrists. Cock the size of a monster can, splitting you open so that you feel in it your throat when he’s fucking you into the bed. Being sore for days after a quickie. Jason who cares so much. Will be there any time of day or night if you need him and will break a few noses along the way.

That’s it. Send tweet.

A (crime) Lord's nap

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Secret Santa gift (very late) for @idubtheetumblina !! I hope you like it

Thank you @wait-whos-batman for organizing it

Ps: I know because of his training with Batman and the League, Jason would absolutely know how to meditate, however it's a joke so I do not care.