#sands replies

[thesandsofelsweyr]

Something tells me AK!Jason could be pretty much into cuddlefuck

⚠️ cw: softcore smut (⚤)

As long as the sex doesn't trigger his migraines, then absolutely.

He loves the intoxicating smell of you after you're spent: your sweat, your perfume, your pussy.

Loves the sticky warmth of your skin pressed against his as your bodies remain entwined after making love.

Loves the steady beat of your heart against his scarred chest—a coveted reassurance in his world of uncertainty.

Loves the softness of your breast gloved in his disfigured hand. A poignant contradiction you've taught him to ignore.

Loves the hardness of your nipple pressing into his drill-punctured palm, as if seeking the protection his calloused, violence-shaped hand can provide.

Loves how your legs remain locked around the curve of his back, as if you'll never let him go.

Loves how you still hold him deep inside you, even after you reached that apex together and your conjoined euphoria has ebbed away.

Loves how you occasionally press your heels down into his skin, encouraging languid, additional thrusts.

Loves how the wetness of your walls—coated in the cocktail of his seed and your still-flowing juices—engulf his now flaccid cock like a velvet glove.

Loves how you smile up at him, cheeks still flushed with pleasure, eyes still shining with want. His breath catches for a heartbeat as it hits him once again: she wants me, and that overwhelming rush of devotion to you surges up inside him, overtaking him like a tsunami, smothering all of his feelings of inadequacy, leaving him scraped clean. Becoming something new in your gaze.

Loves when you praise him for making you feel amazing once again, loves how your words tickle his belly as prideful butterflies take flight.

Loves to run his nose along the line of your jaw up to your ear, loves to bury his nose behind it and drink in your sweet scent. Loves to retrace his path with his tongue back down to your neck, tasting you until he finds your collarbone, then loves to dip his tongue in the hollow of your throat.

Loves to thread his fingers through your sweat-damp hair, to push stray locks behind your ear before pressing his lips to yours.

Loves when you wrap him up in your arms and hug him tight to your chest until you both drift off to sleep.

Loves that when your bodies are entangled, his nightmares can't seem to find him.

[thesandsofelsweyr]

What your thoughts of s/o offered to massage his shoulders?

To him, a massage is better than sex. His back and shoulders are perma-fucked from his stay in Arkham, leaving him with constant, chronic pain that OTC painkillers—the only painkillers he'll take—are practically useless against.

If he's with a s/o whose touch he's learned to crave, not fear, then he will become putty in their deft hands, melting into their kneading fingers, their rolling knuckles, the heels of their palms; his skin coming alive again as they press insistently against the tangled mess of scar tissue that was once his back, against the ever-present knot of misery between his shoulder blades. They instinctively know the right pressure to use, know the perfect balance between pleasure and pain.

But it's not just the electric magic of their touch that makes him feel amazing. It's the proof that this person he loves so much, this person isn't disgusted by his ruined body, this person wants to touch him despite all the reminders of his weakness, his cowardice, his stupidity, his failures that litter his flesh, this person wants to waste an hour of their day making him feel better.

[thesandsofelsweyr]

you mentioned how things aren’t 100% in operation down there for AK!jay after escape, how would intimacy and sex work for him afterwards if he ever found a point where he wanted to?

⚠️ cw: smut, non-con touching mention

After he escapes, he's quite sex-repulsed, since the only person who ever touched him down there was the Clown 😞 He's not even interested in jacking off, partly because he assumes those parts are just as ruined as the rest of him. If he does masturbate, which is rare, it's strictly for stress relief. But half the time it leaves him more stressed than he was to begin with as touching himself reminds him too much of the Clown’s pasty-white hands 🤮

Canonically this poor boy probably isn’t gonna touch intimacy with a 10 foot pole. But this is my playground, so let's say he finds the right person. A special someone who gains his trust over an extended period of time. Someone who sticks with him through thick and thin, proving their love for him. (A relationship with him is gonna be rocky because he'll always be second-guessing how someone could possibly love a scarred monster like him.) He has to trust that this person won't hurt him or abandon him, that their touches will always be tender, that they'll love him unconditionally, despite all of the baggage that comes with loving him, that they'll always treat his broken heart and fragile soul gently since so much of himself has already been shattered.

With this person, he’s relieved to learn he has no trouble getting it up as long as he's in the mood for it. Honestly though, he'd much rather cuddle with his special someone because sex leaves him drained both emotionally and physically. Due to all the physical and mental trauma it takes him a long time to cum. Then when he does finally cum, he often struggles with excruciating orgasm headaches (a side effect of Joker's bullet grazing his skull) that leave him weak, exhausted, and sometimes even in tears.

But after sex brings aftercare ❤️ Like when his partner combs their fingers through his tousled black hair, when they drop soft kisses all over his scarred body, when they give his abused shoulders a much-needed massage, when they nuzzle behind his ear and whisper how much they love him, when they snuggle up beside him, their sweat-slick skin warm against his own as they wrap him up in their arms and legs, the comforting beat of their heart lulling him to sleep in their safe embrace.

[thesandsofelsweyr]

Could you write fic based off of this img

《 ALSO ON AO3 》

Comments & kudos on ao3 are much appreciated, as are reblogs here on Tumblr! ❤️

The red hot branding iron was inches away from his other cheek when he woke with a choked gasp. His ragged breath was running away from him while his heart pounded like fists against his ribcage. His wide, pale blue eyes blinked frantically, adjusting to the darkness, trying desperately to latch onto something—anything—that didn’t belong in his dank, dark prison cell. A bed, he told himself. His chest rose and fell as if he was running a marathon. He swallowed hard. I’m in a bed. The only bed he’d known in Arkham was the cold, hard, filthy wood floor of his cage. But he could still feel the intense heat radiating off the cruel metal onto his tender, unbranded cheek; the Clown’s maniacal cackle still echoed in his ear. He clawed at his pillow, pulling it over his head as if he could hide from his master, as if he could drown out the grating laugh that would haunt him even after he was rotting away in his grave.

“He’s dead,” he panted as his body shook like a leaf in a hurricane, “he’s dead, he’s dead, I’m free,” he repeated, but icy terror still clutched at his throat as his mind refused to believe the words. The walls of the dark room seemed to close around him, swallowing him back down into the bowels of Arkham Asylum, where his master was waiting to punish him again. He choked back a scream. Tears burned at the corners of his eyes, which he screwed shut. “Not again,” he whimpered helplessly. “Please don’t do it again.”

His muscles were as taut as a grappling cable. Cold sweat drenched his entire body. He pulled shuddering knees to his chest, curling into the fetal position, as if he could protect himself from the crowbar in the Clown's lavender-gloved hands. 

A pair of ungloved hands slid beneath the crooks of his arms, and he squealed in terrifying despair.

“Shh,” a voice whispered, as soft as satin, as gentle as a breeze. Then the warmth of an embrace enveloped him, dragging him out of hell.

“I-I’m sorry…” he stammered, sniffling. Warm tears trickled down his cheeks, which flamed red with embarrassment. “I-I didn’t mean to wake you…”

She squeezed him even tighter, curling herself around him, wrapping him up in a cocoon of protection. Her heart beat steadily against his mutilated back, and he grounded himself with the comforting sensation; the reminder that he was needed, that he was loved. 

“It’s okay, baby,” she murmured sleepily. “You’re safe. I’m here…” She placed a tender kiss against his trembling shoulder, and his body relaxed in her arms. “I got you.”

[thesandsofelsweyr]

Taking AK!Jason on a date to one of those rage rooms

Any thoughts?

You sit back and sip a few cocktails while he beats the ever-loving shit out of every single item at his disposal, switching from weapon to weapon to weapon, until there's nothing left of his prey but unrecognizable fragments scattered at his feet, and he's dripping in sweat, his mop of black hair a disheveled mess, eyes wild like Jack Nicholson in The Shining, nostrils flared, knuckles white around the axe gripped in his fists, standing proudly amidst the destruction he's wrought, and you've got a nice buzz going on.

10/10, will do again.

[thesandsofelsweyr]

He may be sensitive but that just sounds like a really good reason to suck him balls and all like idk man

Not like overstimulationnn just tryna take care of a mf ykwim?

⚠️ cw: smut

As long as you're patient with him, take it s l o w, let him get accustomed to your gentle touches there first until he knows that your hands will never hurt him... he'll eventually welcome, nay crave, the wet heat of your mouth engulfing those most sensitive parts as you roll each of them around on your tongue, sucking at them while you stare up into those icy blue eyes from your knees at his feet like a good pet.

[thesandsofelsweyr]

Showering with Jason would likely never be a sexual thing but instead just desperately trying to comfort him as he learns to trust someone not to hurt him.

Like you hear his panic every time he needs to wash off so eventually you start sitting outside the shower, talking to him so he isn't alone with his memories.

The first time you go in with him, you just stand at the other end of the shower, not touching him, scared you'll do something that will trigger him. Ignoring the cold spray that comes from the back of the faucet. The water itself is room temperature, a stark contrast to the boiling showers you usually take, but the fear of being burned keeps it at a temperature that can't even be classified as warm.

You buy him the softest washcloth you can find because the abrasiveness of anything else terrifies him.

Eventually, he lets you touch him, wash his back, his hair. It's such a small act, but it's probably one of the biggest steps forward for his trust of you.

He knows he's safe with you.

💍

OMG, I'm SUCH a sucker for bath scenes, anon 😍

Imagine his surprise when you gift him a pack of pillow-soft fleece cloths in his favorite color: green 🥰 (I like to throw green in there since most people say his favorite color is red.)

Imagine once he finally lets you touch him, running the soapy cloth over his scarred skin, dropping gentle kisses on his mutilated back. Imagine how he shudders the first time you do this, but when you pull back in fear that you might have triggered him, he mutters so low you can barely hear him: "Please, don't stop." 💖

[thesandsofelsweyr]

You ever think abt wrapping an arm around AK Jay in bed and helping him rub one out when he's too tired to

I know that mf sounds so pretty half asleep, too exhausted to hold any noise back <3

⚠️ cw: smut

You gently slide one arm behind his neck, careful not to wake him yet. You two have been together long enough for him not to startle at your touch, to trust your soft hands won’t hurt him. He’s grown accustomed to the feel of your skin against his, so he continues to doze (peacefully, you hope.)

You begin with a single fingertip. With the deftness of a calligrapher illuminating an ancient manuscript, you trace his soft, full lips, paying careful attention to the tiny scars that mark them, before dragging your finger over the cleft of his chin. With a single fingernail you draw an invisible line down the column of his neck, passing over his Adam’s apple, dipping into the hollow of his throat, then moving onto his chest. There you weave random patterns on his warm skin until you find his nipple. You circle that pink pearl of flesh, smiling when it begins to stiffen beneath your touch. You press a delicate kiss into his cheek, then nuzzle at his ear, inhaling the scent of his sandalwood shampoo and the remnants of his sweat still dampening his hair. You find his other nipple, which you rub between two fingers as you slide your tongue along the shell of his ear. Your finger then moves to the Arkham symbol carved into his abs. To you it isn’t the symbol of his prison, but rather an arrow leading you to buried treasure.

You follow the trail of black hair disappearing into his boxer briefs. Your hand slips into the waistband, following the coarse hair to the base of his cock, which begins to stir from your ministrations. You nibble at the fold of his ear while your palm finds his shaft, careful to avoid his balls for now, which remain ultra-sensitive, even after all this time. You run the heel of your palm over his length, up and down, gentle but firm, until it hardens at your touch.

A single blue-green eye peeks out from beneath a heavy lid, and those lips you so adore quirk up into a rare smile, which you return before trailing kisses down his neck and chest. You take a stiff nipple between your teeth, your eyes never leaving his, your hand now wrapped around his hard-soft cock, pumping up and down. Precum leaks from its swollen tip, and he lets out a low, deep moan, his body tensing beneath you as you bring him closer and closer to ecstasy.

“That feels so good, baby,” he murmurs in a deep voice, still thick with sleep, as he tenderly combs gnarled fingers through your hair. 

(to be continued 😏)