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Comfort In The Mundane

PAIRING: Damian Wayne x Reader

SYNOPSIS: Damian pushes her head back down to his chest and smooths his hand through her hair gently. "Nothing of concern." He murmurs quietly, in a tone that the others have never heard before. "Go back to sleep, Habibti."

"Oh my God." Dick blinks in amazement.

"I don't think pinching is enough, I might have to ask Jason to shoot me in the foot." Tim wheezes when Dick elbows his chidingly.

MASTERLIST

"Someone pinch me." Tim whispers in disbelief, peering into the living room from the doorway leading to the hall.

The glare Damian fixes him with from his spot on the couch is withering, and if Tim wasn't a bat that was practically immune to his little brother's moods he would've ran for the hills.

Instead, he grins, slow and shit-eating. "Dick!" He calls over his shoulder. "Dick, come here!"

"Quiet!" Damian hisses, voice pitched low. The scowl on his face is fierce, and completely at odds with the entire scene.

He's laying on the couch, his girlfriend nestles onto his chest, fast asleep. There's a movie nobody's paying attention to anymore droning on in the background, his arms around her securely making sure she stays put and comfortable. She is warm against him, soft and soothing. The weight of her makes the thing that's always coiled tense and tight in his chest unwind, the scent of her coaxes his muscles to relax.

Nights like this are his favourite, back at their abode. Soft music playing in the background, the lights dimmed low and those candles she loves lit on the coffee table. It's moments like those where everything slows down and Damian feels, if but for a while, that he can be still and not suffer the consequences.

His first mistake was agreeing to stay over at the manor. It's the middle of the night, and it was a mistake on his part to oversee the fact that half of his idiotic family is practically nocturnal.

It was just so easy to fall back into habits, he'd been cocooned with the familiarity of her body against his before Damian had realised that perhaps this was not the best place to settle down without the intention of being seen.

It's not that he wishes to avoid being seen with her; that would be a lie severe enough to warrant cutting his tongue out in punishment. No, if Damian had his way, they'd never be apart. He'd have her with him always. It's more that...he's naturally a private person. It had taken an entire year for him to bring her over to the manor itself. These little things, the little pockets of contentedness, Damian finds himself protective over them. He wants every shred of her kindness, wants to keep it close to his chest where it'll be safe.

By the time his oldest brother enters the room curiously, Damian's ears are a little red, but he refuses to let anything but disdain show on his face.

He does not understand why they are treating this like such a monumental sight. He loves her. They live together. They have been each other's for two years now and yet the sight of them together like this is still enough for Dick to laugh in glee and pull his phone out.

"Grayson, I will eviscerate you." He threatens as the flash goes off. "Put that away, this is childish." Automatically, his hand covers her eyes to shield it from the burst of light, and Grayson at least has the decency to look apologetic.

"You're gonna have to move out from under there first, Dami." Dick snickers, looking through the photos, barely holding back a coo. "This is adorable." He grins. "I'm getting this printed; it's going up on a wall here somewhere."

"You will do no such thing!" His face prickles with heat. "As if I-"

He cuts himself off when she stirs against his chest with a soft sound, eyes fluttering open, half lidded. "Hmm?"

Tim and Dick watch in amazement as their brother, regal and cut from stone, softens into something quieter. The hard lines smooth over, the determined glint in his eye ebbs away.

Damian pushes her head back down to his chest and smooths his hand through her hair gently. "Nothing of concern." He murmurs quietly, in a tone that the others have never heard before. "Go back to sleep, Habibti."

The trust between them is obvious, because all she does is answer with a sleepy hum, and push herself a little higher on his body so she can tip her face into the crook of his neck. Damian's arms tighten around her, and he adjusts to make them more comfortable.

"Oh my God." Dick blinks in amazement.

"I don't think pinching is enough, I might have to ask Jason to shoot me in the foot." Tim wheezes when Dick elbows his chidingly.

"We can go to our room." Damian is not startled when she whispers against his neck. Perhaps if he was younger, more brash and easily riled up he would have agreed. Maybe he would have even pushed her off, or been vigilant enough to never let himself be caught in this position to begin with.

But he's grown older, and being here with his family has chiselled down his sharper edges into ones that are still rough, but don't cut as easily. He wouldn't call it 'going soft', because at the end of the day Damian is still inherently the same person. But he understands more now, he knows that beneath their teasing, their intentions are innocent. Their eyes are warm with something like pride and happiness for him. Grayson exudes it as the telltale ping on his phone on the coffee table tells him those pictures have just been sent to him.

"We have no obligation to move." He answers, taking her nuzzling into him as agreement. He's tuned his brother's out, but eventually Tim steps out when his phone rings, and Grayson takes his leave shortly after with a wink and a grin.

And it's peaceful.

They lay there for a moment until he notices fondly that their breathing is in sync.

Carefully, he feels around the back of the couch with one hand and grabs the decorative throw Alfred introduced to the rotation last month. Damian shakes it out and adjusts it to cover them, knowing by the soft exhale against his skin that it was the right choice.

"Wake me up if we do need to move." She says sleepily, lips brushing against his jaw chastely. "Love you, Dami."

Fondness seeps through him, cements itself in the cracks of something he had always felt was missing before she came into his life. A balm, cool to the touch, healing to his soul.

"Ya Rouhi." is lips press against her forehead, sweet and intense as he always is. "Rest."

He watches her muscles relax, watches the way she trusts him so openly, notes exactly when she falls back asleep with the way her breathing deepens. Damian always sleeps better with her there, holding onto her like this, keeping her against him reassures that part of him that is used to his joy being torn away for a lesson that might have been beat into him regardless.

He feels better knowing she's safe, protected, even if he knows she's the last person that would need it.

Eventually sleep calls to him too, the crackling fireplace ambient noise enough for Damian to let his eyes shut as well. He'd probably resolve to get up after a while, to carry her to the room they're staying in because although it's cozy here, he would much prefer to rest on an actual mattress.

But for now, the moment is his. Theirs.

"What the fuck am I seeing?"

Nevermind.

Annoyance flaring, he holds back a sigh and takes the blanket off of them, manoeuvring to slide an arm under her knees and pick her up.

Jason looks stunned as Damian pushes past him towards the stairs wordlessly.

"Told you so." She smiles against his chest when he grumbles.

Reblog, Like and Comment! Send through an ask!

(8/08/2026)

hidingwhere

𝜗𝜚 nanami vs sundresses

Nanami’s wife had a big teeny tiny obsession with sundresses. In fact, over a quarter of your wardrobe was occupied with sundresses hung meticulously in colour order along the railing. You looked so happy in them, eyes creasing as you smiled with glee.

It drove Nanami absolutely crazy.

Of course he loved the dresses and he loved seeing you happy even more, but the way the material hugged your chest and hips, the way it flowed beautifully around your lower half and swayed in slow motion whenever you moved had him going insane. He felt his cock hardening whenever you walked out of the bedroom and the self control he had to teach himself was becoming unbearable.

“Kento? Are you okay?”

His head snapped up to your eyes instantly, reaching for your hand and kissing your knuckles gently. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’m fine.”

“You seem distracted,” you add on.

“Just… work stuff,” he lied, trying to avoid eye contact with your yellow sundress, little blue flowers printed over it.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Your adorable concerned expression had Nanami staring down at his lap, counting to ten in his head to try and prevent all the blood rushing to his groin. His jaw tightened painfully.

“I’m okay, darling. Thank you for offering.”

You wouldn’t let up though, unable to move on from the conversation because of how weird your husband was acting. You squeezed his hand gently from across the dining table. “Kenny, are-“

You pause mid sentence when he groans, eyes squeezing shut. With a curious mind, you lean down to look under the table and notice the large bulge forming in his work trousers.

You can’t help but burst out into giggles.

Nanami stares at you like you’re personally offending him.

“Love, it’s not nice to laugh.”

“Aww, you’re so cute, Ken! Why didn’t you just tell me?” One foot outstretches to press against his groin under the table, eliciting another low moan.

“Didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he grits out.

“Hm? How do you mean?”

“I didn’t-“ His breaths becomes shorter. “-want to make you feel sexualised in your dress.”

You beam. “So you like them that much, huh?”

He groans again when you rub over his hardened cock slowly. “Don’t tease, darling. You know I love them, and you.”

“Oh, I know. Now I wanna see just how much you love them.”

what-even-is-thiss

The amount of slavery in Ancient Rome was legitimately terrifying tbh

what-even-is-thiss

Y’all know that I’m into ancient Roman history and I do a lot of research on it but even though I should be used to it by now sometimes I read an anecdote about how an individual slave was treated and I’m hit with the realization that like a third of the population was living like that and I just need to put my head in my hands for a second

what-even-is-thiss

Emperor Hadrian randomly stabbed a slave in the eye in a fit of rage and he was supposedly unusually sympathetic to slaves.

There’s other instances of people randomly punching slaves that they didn’t even know because they got in their way or something. This was just normal behavior.

And slaves didn’t rebel en masse because if even one slave committed an act of violent rebellion it was common practice to kill every slave and former slave in the household.

People only took notice for posterity when these mass executions got into the hundreds of people. One of the few recorded for the history books is of over 400 people being killed because one guy stabbed his enslaver.

Like how many people throughout history were beaten to death because some rich asshole was angry and there was no legal or social consequences for doing so? We don’t know.

what-even-is-thiss

When you study ancient history you’re reminded that slavery has never once been kind or justified. It just takes on different forms of evil in every time and place that it infects.

black-nata

whoever said scooby doo isn’t intellectual: explain this then

ferbaby

spoiled rotten

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ pairing — jason todd x fem!reader

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ sypnosis — in which jason has gotten used to your affection aka he's spoiled

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ tags — fluff, domesticity, slice of life, puppy jason?, kinda based off my last fic, ooc jason, mild language, reader loves him... even if she denies it, strict reader back at it

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ wc — 1.6k

author's note — thank you guys for all the support my last fic got! i love u guys so much sooo i had this one in my drafts and it's all yours

two-bees-poetry

twenty years across the sea

wolfythewitch

metaphorically undressing myself via truth nuke

milkvetch114

—𓏲𑁘 Damian yachting with his ridiculously spoiled wife

The Italian coast glittered around you. The sun turning the white cliffs and water to diamonds.

The sea was impossibly blue, bright enough to burn through your closed eyelids. You had melted bonelessly into the vinyl cushions at the bow with no intention of moving. Not from the overwhelming heat. The sun was warming its way through your skin to the marrow of you, turning your body loose and golden and heavy.

You were too hot. Overheated, definitely. Your breathing had gone shallow from it.

But it felt so good.

Eventually, you would roll off the side of the anchored yacht like some dramatic, half-dead thing and crash into the water to cool yourself down.

For now, you were content to sun like a spoiled lizard.

Till a shadow fell over you.

You did not open your eyes.

“You’re going to burn,” Damian said. “When’s the last time you applied sunscreen or drank water?”

“Mm.”

There was a disapproving sound above you. A click of his tongue. The sound your long-suffering husband always made when you were being unreasonable on purpose.

Then his hands were on you.

You whined, immediately going limp in protest. “Nooo, ’m all sweaty.”

He ignored you, of course. Gathered you to him with appalling ease, as if you were not a grown woman but some indignant cat. You made yourself dead weight just to be difficult, and he handled you anyway. He settled against the cushioned backrest and arranged you so you were lying atop him, front to his bare chest. His heartbeat slow under your squished cheek.

You huffed but made no attempt to move.

He tugged the strings of your bikini top, tossing the pesky thing away so he could run his broad hand lazily up and down the length of your spine uninterrupted.

“Open, beloved.”

You opened your mouth without opening your eyes to see what it was.

Blood orange burst over your tongue, sharply sweet and cold. Juice ran down the corner of your mouth before you could catch it.

Damian simply ducked his head, licking the red trail clean for you.

“Greedy,” you mumbled. Your eyes opened halfway to look up at him.

“My wife makes restraint difficult.” He placed another slice between his teeth and leaned close enough to make you lift your head for it. You took it from his mouth, licking your lips.

You inspected the plate that sat beside you. Washed fruit, cut neat and pretty because he had no capacity to do anything carelessly. “Cherries next.” You demanded, because you had him wrapped around your finger and you both knew it.

And next came black cherries, dark and glossy as polished stones and already pitted. He hand-fed them to you one by one, letting your lips brush his fingertips every time. Crisp pears, cold and pale. Then blood orange again, peeled and segmented, ruby-bright and dripping between his fingers. He ate what you did not, had you lick the juice from his now sticky fingers, and kept his other possessive hand spread across the bare, sun-hot skin of your back.

Waves licked at the sides of the yacht and the whole world smelled like salt, sweat, citrus, and him.

You were still too hot. Still drowsy with it. Half-planning your escape to slip into the water.

But Damian’s chest rose and fell beneath you, steady and hot. His mouth pressed once to the crown of your head. His muscular arms wrapped around you, as if he had all the time in the world to keep you exactly where he wanted you.

So, you closed your eyes again.

DC Masterlist

WC: 619 (drabble)

if you want to be in my tagged for any character i write for let me know :)

dontyouworrydaddy

Stars fell on Gotham

Jason Todd x fem!Reader

summary: Jason finding the profound, gentle, calming love he deserves.

warning: tooth-rotting fluff, JASON IS A LOVERBOY

The little supermarket closed an hour ago. You sit cross legged on the curb with empty cookie box on your lap, while Jason sits next to you, sleeves pushed to his forearms, looking more at you than at anything else outside.

He always looks surprised whenever he realizes that you’re not running away from him. As if some part of him still expects the universe to remember who he used to be and come take this away.

You notice it in the way his shoulders stay tense for the first few minutes, in the way his eyes stay focused on you. The city has taught him that peace is temporary and love is dangerous, and those lessons do not disappear just because someone kisses him gently and asks how his day was.

So you never demand that he forget. You simply make room for him.

“Did you know that there is a planet mostly made from diamonds?” you ask him softly.

Jason glances down, then huffs a quiet laugh. “55 cancri e, right?”

“Yes! You’re so smart.”

His gaze lifts to you, and there is love written plainly across his face. “Oh really? Thank you baby.”

Jason pushes himself closer to your side, moving with that careful grace that still carries traces of old violence. He settles his side completely against your side, his long legs stretched out, shoulder pressed against yours.

You feel the exact moment he relaxes.

It is small enough that most people would miss it. The slow release of breath, the weight of him leaning just a little more fully into you, the unclenching of hands that have spent too many years and years ready to fight.

But you notice. You notice because you love him wholeheartedly. Your fingers slip into his, intertwining.

For a while, neither of you speak.

The quiet is never awkward with Jason. It feels more sacred, like standing beneath a sky so full of stars that it feels like heaven is accepting you with open arms.

Jason traces absent patterns across your knuckles, and you think about all the versions of him that have existed before you came into his life and changed it for a better version.

Then you think about this version. The one sitting on the curb at midnight, holding your hand as if he is afraid to let go.

“I had a thought earlier.” he admits, voice low.

“You can think?”

“Very funny.” He rolls his eyes, trying to look annoyed but you catch him smiling faintly. “I was on patrol, and it was quiet for once. No gunfire, no criminals, no rooftops collapsing. Seriously nothing.”

He pauses, looking down at your joined hands. He still finds it hard to believe that your soft hands are holding his round ones. “And I caught myself wanting to come home.”

The word lands gently between you. Because you hear him say this for the first time. Jason wanted to come home.

Home. Not the manor. Not a safehouse. Not Roy who acts like he’s in a relationship with Jason, and not you. Not some temporary place to sleep with one eye open. Home.

Your throat tightens. “We can go home if you want Jay.”

He closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, they are softer than the city has any right to make them.

“I know we can,” he says quietly. “Now that’s the weird part.”

You turn toward him fully. The street light catches the white streak in his hair, the scar near his throat, the tiredness that never really leaves him. You cup his face with both hands, and he leans into the touch immediately, like a man who has spent too long cold and is desperate to feel the warmth everyone talks about.

“There’s nothing weird about being loved baby.” you whisper. Something in him breaks then. Not in the violent way things used to break, but in the way where his brain stops screaming at him for a moment. His forehead rests against yours, and you feel his breath tremble before it steadies.

“I can’t believe this,” he murmurs. “I used to think happiness was for other people.”

“And what do you think now?”

“Now I think it’s this.” He kisses you slowly, with the kind of care that makes the whole world narrow to warmth and breath and the soft brush of his mouth against yours. There is no urgency in it, no desperation, only pure love. When he pulls back, he stays close enough that your noses still touch.

Jason looks up where the clouds reveal a scattering of stars above Gotham’s sky. The city is nowhere near perfect with all the criminals living inside, but tonight the sky seems gentler somehow. Revealing its stars. It almost feels like a hidden message for Jason, are the stars trying to tell him that he can finally stop swimming in the deep ocean because you came to his rescue.

“Come here.” he says.

He rises and draws you with him to the front of the store. Together you stand, your arms wrapped around each other as you look up at the clearing sky.

“You think stars can fall from the sky?” he asks with curiosity in his voice.

“I don’t think so.” you laugh at him. What does that even mean? Can stars fall from the sky?

“Funny,” he says, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Feels like one fell right into my arms.”

You smile, and he feels it against his cheek. You try your absolute best to not cry at how sweet and sincere he is.

For so long Jason has lived as if he is waiting for the next loss, the next betrayal, the next disappointment, the next hand reaching into the dark to drag him back under. But here with your heartbeat steady beneath his palm, he finally understands something he never lets himself believe.

Love is not something that blinds people and lures them into a trap. Love does not ask for permission to be let in.

Love is a place. A place where he can just sit down and breathe for a little while. A place where his name is spoken gently. A place where he is not a warning or a tragedy, but simply a man who is tired and loved and safe.

And Jason is sure that love is a beautiful person, too. A person who chose him and his problems, and turned him into a man he usually reads about in books.

You tilt your head back against him. “What are you thinking about?”

Jason presses a kiss into your hair.

“That I’ve spent my whole life surviving,” he confesses. “And with you, I finally get to live.”

taglist: @fireriyu @sillygayfreak

aftonfamilyvalues

imagine being so mentally ill and dressing so ugly that your community calls you a psyop

tris-morreu

nolan's the odyssey has such a fundamentally culturally christian understanding of religion and divinity that it is genuinely jarring to see characters in a supposedly ancient greek historical context describe divinity and its expression in those terms. characters wonder aloud why gods hide themselves (they didn't), question the existence of what nolan interprets the supernatural to be (they wouldn't) and talk of zeus's law (not real, and still somehow bastardized) in the same way we would talk about the ten commandments. it's so out of place. and it taps into that "defy the gods" thing.

like. we can defy the christian god, in a way, because we can choose to not do what he says we ought to. sure. but we cannot defy greek gods in the same way, because the god is not just an entity that commands you but the very thing you are doing. apollo does not just send plagues, he is plague. you know apollo is real because there is plague. plague is not apollo acting in the world, it is an instance of apollo, in the same way that insight is athena, love is aphrodite, harvest is demeter, storms are zeus. gods are not commanding nature and sending signs and acting upon the world, because signs and nature and human nature are themselves the gods. the gods cannot be absent, because we still get ideas, and harvest, and go to war, and feel desire, and hunt. the gods cannot be defied because you cannot defy "getting ideas" or "harvesting" or "having sex" or "dying." to attempt to is entirely futile. like you cannot defy poseidon because you cannot defy the sea. you cannot defy aphrodite because you cannot defy love and reproduction. nature and human nature are unbeatable, and so the gods are unbeatable, because they are nature and human nature.

and it's such a beautiful way of looking at the world, and he just doesn't get that.

nevver

“He is always on the brink of suicide … because he seeks salvation through the routine formulas suggested to him by the society in which he lives.” — Umberto Eco on Charlie Brown

moonmiiu

jason todd and kissing

Jason Todd loves kissing you.

Whether it's a quick peck on the cheek or a long messy kiss on the mouth, he always needs to have his lips on you as soon as he sees you. He says 'hello' by grabbing your face and planting a soft kiss on your mouth. That very quickly turns into something messy, as he sticks his tongue inside your mouth (a welcoming, expected intrusion you suppose). It doesn't matter if you're around other people, his greeting is the same as always, which is probably why Roy and Jade stopped asking you guys to babysit. He kisses you with the intention of turning it into something raunchy. Tongues clashing in each others' mouths, your lipgloss transferring to his lips, hands grabbing your backside and squeezing, giving everyone a show. You don't even get embarrassed anymore, in fact you've grown to crave it.

He can't not kiss you during sex. He swears that he needs to do it, otherwise he won't be able to finish. He'll put you in a mean mating press, your legs pushed against your chest, making you feel a delicious stretch, just so he can put his mouth on yours. During prone, he'll push your back down onto the covers but will grab your head to turn it and face him. If it's not the lips on your mouth, it's the lips between your legs. He'll take his time, kissing and sucking for hours as you cry out in pain and pleasure.

He can't help it, he just loves kissing you!

a/n: im actually so pissed at myself for deleting that baby daddy!jason post by accident. i wrote this in my physical journal instead of the next part..... dw once i get over myself i will be back with more of that family...hopefully

as always thank you for reading, i hope you enjoyed!

reblogs + comments are always appreciated!

border credit goes to @bronzewasp

aquasprings

higuruma and his overworked wife

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

you step into your apartment, keys dropped somewhere, shoes half-kicked off, your bag slumped against the tile.

“you’re late.”

his voice comes from the living room, low and steady. you peek around the corner and there he is, tie loosened, sleeves rolled. higuruma doesn’t look up right away, pen still moving.

“double shift,” you mumble, voice scratchy. “someone called in sick. then someone else. then a code blue—”

he looks up and clicks his pen shut, soft smile on his face. “come here, love.”

you shuffle over, limbs heavy. he stands before you reach him and his hand comes up, thumb brushing under your eye.

“you didn’t eat,” he says.

“i did,” you lie weakly.

his brow twitches. he doesn’t argue. instead, he exhales, slowly, and sits back down.

“sit.”

you expect the couch. instead, he guides you down onto his lap, firm hands at your waist before you can protest. you let out a soft noise, half-surprised, half-relieved, melting against him without meaning to.

“you’re burning out,” he murmurs against your temple.

“mm. can’t. patients—”

“i know.” his voice softens, almost unbearably so. “i know.”

his hand slides up your back, slow and grounding.

you sigh, head dropping into his shoulder. his fingers trace absent patterns along your spine, then lower, then back up again, deliberate, thoughtful.

“you take care of everyone,” he says, voice dipping. “but you come home like this.” his grip tightens just a little at your waist. “that’s unacceptable.”

you huff a tired laugh. “sort of my job.”

his hand slips under the hem of your shirt, palm warm against your skin. you inhale sharply, more awake now, nerves flickering back to life under his touch.

“hiromi…”

“you need to be reminded,” he continues, voice calm but laced with something heavier now, “that you’re allowed to feel good too.”

his lips brush your ear and you curl your fingers onto his shirt. “will you let me take care of you, love?” he murmurs into your neck, kissing the crook of it softly.

you nod into his chest and he hums, slowly turning you so your back is to the couch, and he sinks to his knees between your legs, large palms spreading your thighs as he gazes up at you with a softness that makes you ache.

“will you let me?” he repeats, quieter, tugging down your scrubs and kissing the soft skin of your thighs.

“y—yeah,” you breathe out, sighing, tugging at his hair.

hiromi always has you cumming in minutes.

it never takes long with him and his gentle, reverent kisses. the way he knows each spot that makes you squirm. how his tongue laps at your cunt so carefully, licking and pushing into you with practiced ease.

these kinds of nights end the same way too. after you fall apart on his tongue, moaning his name between gasps, he carries you to bed, eats you out again, then fucks you slowly and deeply and softly.

until your mind goes quiet and your body finally, finally rests. his touch stays unhurried, like there’s nowhere else he needs to be. and when he presses his forehead to yours, it feels less like an ending and more like something he plans to keep proving to you, over and over again.

crucifihx

Forgive me for all i have sinned but I've been Fantasizing biker jason todd... Who def likes to bend reader on it.. And perhaps.. Just downright freaky jason..😞

jason is canonically a freak with bikes and cars. he therefore canonically is definitely a freak with you on it. i don't make the rules, i just enforce 'em. the bike i have in my head is a yamaha v-star 650 cruiser. such a sexy bike

— gn!afab!reader ♱ smut, reader is called "my slut" and "baby", reader wears a skirt but no mention of clothes otherwise, jason lowk a goof, semi-public sex, exhibitionism, praise praise praise, romantic non-penetrative sunset sexy time, please don't try to fuck on a bike without prior experimenting (i have pulled muscles i never knew existed)

‎ ᝰ 1,172 words. wrote this instead of studying for my final exam in approx 2h. can i get fuck yeah ‎ ‎ ⓘ requests / ask box info

for jason, fucking you on his bike is a way of christening it. his bike doesn’t even need to be a new one. any excuse to get you to cum around his fat cock while you’re bent over on his bike is good enough for him. new fairings? he’s doing his fucking best to make sure you’re cumming hard enough to leave marks. new wheels for his ride because the tread wear is flat? he’s making sure your clit is pressed against the rubber while he fucks you from the back.

you’d gotten a text from him that afternoon. short, cheeky, and you knew exactly what to expect.

internetb3by

“have you ever had a wet dream?” you question breaking the comfortable silence between the two of you. a cartoon playing low in the background as he rubs at your temples, your head perched on his lap, as he massages your temples.

“what?” he slightly raises his eyes brows in shock. a tell-tale sign he was slightly caught off guard by your questioning

“you know, like a dream where you’ve-” you attempt to explain.

“i know what a wet dream is, of course i’ve had one.” he cuts you off muttering your name under his breath, along with an obscenity before you can go into detail.

“oh yeah?” you shoot him a teasing grin. “about who?” his fingers tense against your skin for a fraction, his ears and cheeks dusting pink. before continuing their gentle movements against your temple.

about you, who else? you occupy his mind constantly it’s not surprise you’ve managed to infiltrate his dreams too. your lips pressed to his own, to his neck, down his chest. nimble fingers working fast to shed him of his pajamas. slipping him out of his boxers.

how can he tell you, it’s you he dreams of every night. the feeling of your soft cunt pressed snugly around him. the pretty sounds he can only imagine you’d make if he was between your thighs. sucking at your sensitive clit.

he has to muster up the worst mental picture he can muster to prevent his dick from chubbing up underneath your head right now.

lucidcrashing

jason todd is a yapaholic | mdni pls ! 18+

anything about jason being a man of few words is propaganda. unless he’s exhausted, he’ll talk your ear off about the books he’s reading, his arguments with his brothers and teammates, the criminal operations he’s plotting on. he’s quick and witty, and has no qualms making fun of himself or you. you try your best to listen, honest — but sometimes you end up accidentally tuning him out. he’s not offended by this, don’t worry, and he’ll fuck off if you get overstimulated.

but, god help you, his talkativeness absolutely extends to the bedroom. you cannot tune him out then.

every word makes your face hotter, your moans louder. he gets off on it shamelessly. he’s constantly mouthing off, talking about how good you look, how good you feel, how good you are for him. you don’t have to do a thing, pretty, just let him do all the work. the definition of ‘talks you through it’.

“there she is, there’s my girl. so pretty f’me… god, baby, if you could see what i see. perfect little thing. i’d give you the moon, baby— s-shit, stop squeezin’ me like that. gonna make me cum too quick, like a goddamn virgin. if i wasn’t fuckin’ you stupid right now, you’d think that’s funny. what’s that now? ah, ah, ah? uh, uh, uh? sound so fuckin’ cute, baby…”

i don’t think he’s much of a moaner, honestly. i think he’ll grunt, occasionally groan, but the real kicker? he whimpers when he cums.

“shit, ‘m so fucking close. gonna give it to me? yes, you can, i know you can. c’mon, baby, you’re right there. i’ll rub your pretty clit— there you go. oh, i know, sweet girl. c’mon, be so good for me. there it is— fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck— mmph!”

the only time you can guarantee silence is when you’re basking in the afterglow. once he’s sure you’re clean and physically/mentally okay, he’ll pull you right back into him in bed. his favourite place to be is the crook of your neck. his lips will press a few sweet, soft kisses on your shoulder, but after that he just wants to lie there with you and breathe in your warmth.

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