18+ Minors Dni

♯ ATTRACTIVE THINGS THEY DO . . . without realizing

BRUCE WAYNE

rolling his sleeves

bruce wayne sat at his desk, eyes scanning the papers in front of him with a focus that bordered on obsessive. his brow furrowed slightly as he sifted through the reports, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him. with a sigh, he leaned back in the chair, his broad shoulders rolling as he stretched, the fabric of his shirt straining just enough to hint at the muscle beneath.

he reached down to his cuffs, fingers moving with practiced ease as he undid the buttons. the action was simple, but there was an undeniable smoothness to it. slowly, he pushed the sleeves up, the fabric tugging against the defined muscles of his forearms as they flexed with the motion. the shirt rode up slightly, revealing the veins beneath.

once the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, he flexed his fingers briefly, feeling the weight of the day settle into his body. there was no rush, no hurry. bruce wayne wasn’t just a man who wore suits—he was a man who controlled the world around him.

looking down and leaning in to hear you better

he stood tall, his imposing presence filling the space as he leaned in slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. the difference in height between you made the moment feel all the more intimate, as though the world around you had faded into the background. his broad shoulders, strong and steady, seemed to fill the room with the weight of his silent power. every inch of him radiated control, and yet, there was something almost magnetic about the way he was focused on you now, narrowing the gap between you.

he tilted his head just a little, his gaze softening yet still intense, before his lips parted slightly. with a quiet, almost imperceptible shift in his posture, he leaned closer, his height forcing you to tilt your head back just to meet his eyes.

“sorry, what were you saying?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, the words lingering in the air between you. there was no rush in his movement, no hint of impatience—just the steady presence of a man who knew the effect he had, who made every action feel deliberate, calculated.

DICK GRAYSON

stretching

dick grayson towered in the middle of your bedroom, a small stretch escaping him after a long day of training and patrol. with a soft grunt, he raised his arms high above his head, his back arching slightly as his muscles flexed in the motion. the action was simple, but the way his body moved with effortless grace caught the light in just the right way, accentuating the sleek, toned lines of his chest and abdomen.

as he reached upwards, the hem of his shirt lifted slightly, revealing the faint line of his happy trail—dark and subtle beneath the fabric. his abs tightened with the stretch, his posture perfect and confident, yet so natural.

when his arms finally lowered, he relaxed, a small, satisfied smile curling on his lips, unaware of the effect the simple stretch had on your wandering gaze.

running a hand through his hair

he leaned back against the post of your bed, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath after another long night of patrol. he was tired, but not exhausted—just enough to feel the strain of the evening settling into his muscles. his hand moved instinctively to his hair, running through it with a relaxed sigh. the motion was effortless, but there was something undeniably attractive about it. his fingers tangled in the dark strands, pushing them back, only to leave them even more tousled than before.

his hair, usually neatly styled, now fell in messy waves, a little wild and chaotic—much like dick himself. as he scratched the back of his head, his tousled look gave off a carefree vibe, as if he didn’t have a care in the world despite the weight of his responsibilities. the slight rumple only added to the charm.

his lips quirked into a soft, knowing smile as he caught the look in your eyes, momentarily lost in them—so damn predictable. he had you right where he wanted you.

JASON TODD

leaning against a doorway

jason todd stood in the doorway, his posture relaxed yet undeniably intimidating. his arms were crossed over his chest, biceps flexing slightly with the movement, a stance that spoke of quiet confidence and a hint of defiance. his shoulders were broad, his body leaning casually against the doorframe, but there was an edge to him—something hard and unyielding beneath the surface. the way his weight shifted ever so slightly to one side gave him an almost effortless air, as if the world had to adjust to him, not the other way around.

his dark eyes scanned the room, taking in everything with a sharp focus, though he didn’t seem to be in a rush to move or speak. the leather jacket he adorned hung from his frame, the subtle creases and folds of the material giving it an air of worn-in familiarity, like it had seen too much for too long. but his gaze—intense, guarded—never left your figure, as if he was watching for something just out of reach, something that only he could sense.

the way jason held himself in the doorway, arms crossed with a hint of tension in his posture, felt like a silent challenge for most, though there was nothing overtly aggressive about it. it was just the quiet power of a man who was used to being underestimated, a man who didn't need to say a word to command attention.

wearing a shirt that fits just right

he moved through the motions of his training with practiced precision, the rhythm of his strikes steady and controlled. his black shirt clung to his body, the dark fabric stretching over the defined muscles of his chest and back as he moved. the fit was snug, highlighting the sheer strength in his frame, the subtle curve of his biceps flexing with each punch and kick.

swaet began to bead on his forehead, trailing down his temple as he focused on his technique, his breathing steady despite the exertion. the shirt, stretched tight across his shoulders, rode up slightly as his arms reached high, the lines of his stomach momentarily visible as he performed another series of rapid, forceful punches. his torso flexed, muscles tightening and releasing with each movement, and the shirt seemed to accentuate the sculpted definition of his body.

as he paused, catching his breath, the shirt clung even tighter, the movement of his chest beneath it noticeable with every rise and fall of his breath. jason didn’t seem to notice—or care—how the fit of the shirt left little to the imagination. his focus was on the work, on pushing himself further, but the way the fabric outlined his form only added to the unspoken intensity of his presence. even when he wasn't speaking, his body did all the talking.

Jason Todd has a big Nose; pass it on.

little edit i made for my men, jason and dick 🙂‍↕️

reblogs r appreciated <33

I think Jason is freaky af with his partners

yes. Jason is good at sex when he's doing hookups but when he's in a committed relationship he feels like he can relax a little bit more. The man's a slut but only for you.

so without further ado I bring you Jason Todd's sexual habits:

You can argue until the cows come home about whether that man is a switch, top, bottom, sub, or dom. None of that matters because Jaosn gets pleasure from servicing you. Knowing that he's the one making you feel good, making you moan, making you scratch his back.

Speaking of scratches, Mark him pls. He likes knowing that he is as much your as you are his. So scratch his back, hickies on his neck, even hickies on his thighs.

Likes to kiss while fucking. If it's a position like missionary or mating press (anything like that), one of his hands will be behind your neck so he can lift your head up and kiss you as he pleases.

I'd think he'd prefer bedroom sex over any other type. There's something he loves about being able to take his time and making sure that the sex is good.

However, when quickies do occur, they are usually rough and fast. I'm talking just slip your panties to the side fast and hunched over a counter. These are usually right before patrol, or before major events.

THE SEX AFTER HE RETURNS FROM A MISSION. Imagine getting him in the bath tub to wash away all of the stench of the mission and when you turn to leave, he pulls your hand, eyes begging you not to go. So now you're in the bathtub together, your sitting flush to his chest and it's cute at first until his hand starts to drift between your legs.

i think that's all for now!

Masterlist

Web Bound

Pairing: Batfamily x Reader x Superfamily (?)

Summary: After losing so much, Spider-woman learns to just keep moving. Only for her to end up somewhere far from home. Her first agenda is figuring out where she is, and how to get back. The only problem is that she ended up somewhere fictional (to her). Playing hero with Batman was not in her bingo cards this year. Hopefully she will be able to make it back home before she catches unwanted attention.

YN Pronouns: Female - She/Her

Status: Incomplete

Chapters

Act I | Spider-woman has to navigate a new world all on her own, until she can get a solid foot on the ground while attempting to not attract unwanted attention. God please give this girl a break.

Prologue | A Whole New World Chapter 1 | Home Sick Chapter 2 |

Act II | Spider-woman finds it hard to keeping her double life separated with the newfound relationships and acquaintanceship. All because she ended up attracting unwanted attention. God please give this girl a loooooong break.

Act III | Spider-woman finds herself in a predicament, she just wants to get back home, again. God please just give this girl a fucking break.

---

don't take what I wrote up here seriously, I have no clue where I am taking this story, plus I'm not that knowledgeable of the dc comics. I left when Jason died and only came back because of Damian (plus Duke) so I have very little understanding of their characters. I am learning but comic issues and such would be helpful for me to check out, thanks

I've been tooooo obsessed with yandere bat fam honestly

---

Wanna buy me Ko-Fi? (:

they're talking.

talking as if they hadn't been taking turns on you for hours, folding you into different positions and buried their cocks between your puffy folds as your freshly-manicured nails rakes their back. "jesus," you took a sharp breath, stomach caves in slightly as dick pushes your knees up to your chest, easily slipping his fat cock into you. you can hear the way he gulped as your dripping cunt throbs around him, his eyes shuts tight, "i swear..." the rest of his sentence grow incoherent as dick leaves sloppy kisses on your neck.

"wait, dick—" your words were cut off when jason slapped the tip of his cock against your swollen lips.

"hush." jason mumbled under his breath, eyes narrowed when you poked your tongue and lazily runs along the vein on his length. "sorry, princess." dick whispers, his lips forming a small smile. "a bet is a bet, and you lose so..." you rolled your eyes at the way dick pretends to empathise you but he's clearly too pussy drunk to even form something to make you feel better.

dick moved his hips slowly, face buried into your neck. big, calloused palms easily lifts your hips up to bury his cock deeper as he lets out a deep groan. "...so you gotta back it up." jason continues, pushing his tip into your mouth as he watches you instinctively puckered your cheeks and bobs your head up and down with his fingers tangled with your locks to keep your head in place. "fuuuck, startin' to think you purposely lose from how good you're slobbering all over my cock." the both of them chuckled as dick playfully nudges jason in his thigh and clicks his tongue.

"don't be mean." jason scoffs at dick's words.

"i'm not. look at her, she's not even denying it." dick turned his eyes back on you, watching as your eyes gradually gets heavy with your mouth filled with jason's dick as you subconsciously rolls your hips against his own.

"guess she's not."

© kennedybaby.

will you hold me instead, and tell me that it's over now?

i look forward to a little me and you, so now i hope that you don't tell me that it's over

or; patching jason up after an intense mission [2.1k]

jason todd x fem!reader; angst/fluff; brief mentions of human trafficking and allusion to murder (he's talking about how the mission went); mention of his scars; jason being insecure & thinking he's not good enough😞; description of injuries and the first aid applied to them (please do not take anything as actual medical advice); this is me hard-launching my physical touch x touch starved!jason agenda

You don’t know how early it is when you hear the sound of the front door opening and closing, just that it’s too early. It’s not like you could sleep anyway; you spent the night drifting in and out of semi-consciousness, too worried to let yourself relax. You always got like this when Jason went away on missions. Several days, and sometimes even weeks, spent anxiously anticipating the state in which he would return home—you haven’t been able to get a manicure since before you met him.

You’re still a little delirious when a hand ghosts up your arm, stirring you from your half-sleep. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room and register the sight in front of you. Your boyfriend is on one knee on the floor in front of you, brushing strands of hair out of your face with endearing eyes.

“There she is,” he says when you lift your head off the pillow and reach out to him. He catches your hand and kisses your fingertips, spreading a warmth up your arm that combats the midnight chill. You push yourself up to a sitting position, and he takes the opportunity to cup his hands around your face and bring you in for a kiss.

“Missed you,” you mumble against him, and his lips curve upwards against yours.

“Missed you too, sweetheart.” His mouth travels up from yours towards your temple, leaving a path of gentle kisses in his wake. Your palms, pressed flat against his chest, slide up to loop around his neck. He tenses, choking back a strained grunt. But you catch it.

You pull back abruptly. “Are you hurt?” Your eyes frantically dart around, scanning his entire body. Now fully alert, you reach over to the bedside table and switch the lamp on.

“’s just a bruise, baby, I’m fine.” A hand comes up to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness. But with newly unobstructed vision, you can see more than just a bruise. He has a busted lip, a shallow gash on his temple, and splotches of purple and red peeking out of his shirt collar.

“You’re bleeding, Jason,” you chastise him, getting up off the bed.

He stands alongside you with a huff. “It’s nothing,” he sighs. “Doesn’t even hurt.” But when you take his hand and start pulling him to the bathroom, he follows without argument. You lead Jason to sit down on the edge of the tub and fetch the first aid kit from under the sink, setting it down next to him on the bathtub ledge. You stand between his legs, your positions making you a half-head taller than him. He gazes up at you and for the first time tonight you notice how dark and deep the skin under his eyes is.

“Off,” you order, dragging up the hem of his shirt. He helps you pull it off, wincing when it requires him to lift his bruised arm.

“Someone’s eager,” he muses, raising his eyebrows in a teasing manner. It earns him a swat on the arm; he grunts loudly and doubles over in pain.

You gasp. “Oh my god! Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I—”

But when he looks up, it’s with a coy smirk and a twinkle in his eye. You swat him again.

“Asshole,” you mutter, but you can’t help the slight twitch at the corner of your lips. “Why didn’t you take care of this earlier? Alfred wasn’t at the manor to help you?”

He shrugs his good shoulder. “Don’t know. Came straight here.”

“Did you tell anyone where you were going?” You ask.

He looks at you blankly, as if to say, don’t you know who you’re talking to?

You sigh, exasperated. “You shouldn’t have done that, Jason. What if ended up becoming serious? And you didn’t make it here in time? What if—” 

He interrupts your doom spiral by pressing a finger to your lips. “I know, honey, I’m sorry. But I wanted to see you.”

You sigh. There’s a sadness to it, one that comes from familiarity with the fact that he does not care for himself as much as he should—as much as he deserves. But there are no words to make him believe it that you haven’t tried, so all you do is lean your forehead against his, hoping he can hear the what you don’t say. You need him to hear you.

“You’re not sorry,” you whisper.

“No, I’m not,” he whispers back.

You start with his shoulder, which was decidedly not ‘just a bruise,’ but actually several bruises, all clumped together to form one giant Franken-bruise that covered his entire shoulder. It gets rubbed with ointment and you’re not sure who it pains more, because while you’re spilling out frantic apologies as you try to speed through it, Jason is white-knuckling the edge of the tub with a wad of gauze between his teeth. 

His lip doesn’t require any medical attention, but he insists you kiss it better anyway, and who are you to deny him? 

You tend to his temple last, but he’s antsy now. His leg bounces up and down, one hand is drumming its fingers on the tub, and the other is fiddling with the loose threads that hang from the hem of your shirt; you have to scold him into sitting still.

“Where’s the dermabond?” You ask, sifting through the contents of the first aid kid.

“Used it up last month, remember? After you just had to feed that fuckin’ squirrel.” His voice is gruff at the recollection. “Should be a new pack under the sink.”

You fetch the new box, picking at the plastic wrapping. “Can you blame me? He was so cute.”

“Yeah, was. Until that greedy fucker decided he wanted the whole picnic.” Jason sees you struggling with the plastic covering and takes it from you, breaks it open, then hands it back. “Bastard.”

You giggle. “You know, you could’ve just let him have the cupcake. It wasn’t worth risking rabies for.” You fish out the glass tube of surgical glue, tossing its cardboard box aside.

“‘Course it was. My girl wanted red velvet, she should get her red velvet.” Jason’s hands finally rest on the backs of your bare thighs, squeezing them lightly. He grins when that makes you let out a little squeak.

You roll your eyes, though there’s a warmth flowing in your veins that courses from the tips of your ears to the bottom of your feet. “My hero,” you muse with a smile.

There’s a pause. Then:

“I’m not a hero,” he responds. His tone is still light, but his eyes feel far away.

You start to clean the blood from the wound, which has since clotted and dried, with a saline-soaked cotton pad. He stares at you while you clean and then close the cut with the glue. And when you finish, supplies set aside and glue cured, he’s still staring. His eyes are traveling all over your face, taking in each feature, committing every ridge, every angle, every pore, every freckle to memory. The light-hearted teasing demeanor from mere moments ago is long gone. You're a deer caught in emerald headlights.

You recognize this shift. You noticed hints of it since he arrived home, but assumed it was just due to the pain. Now it’s obvious that there’s more. It’s the same shift that comes when the news becomes a circus, or when he stares at his scars in the mirror for too long.

His hands slide up your body slowly, reverently. One stops at your waist while the other continues, blazing a trail up your ribcage, over the side of your breast. He pauses at your shoulder for a split second, squeezing the flesh every so gently before continuing up your neck. His thumb drags across your collarbone, brushing against the spot that always lights up your senses and parts your lips in a breathy sigh. He stops when he reaches your face. He cups your cheek. Your hand covers his and you lean into his hold, the stroke of your small, soft fingers juxtaposing the rough callouses of his knuckles. You stay here for a moment before turning to press your lips to his palm once, twice, thrice, four times, each one lingering a little longer than the last.

“What is it, Jason?” Your hands come to cradle his neck before dragging up to his hair, and his move to wrap around your torso and pull you closer into him. You place a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Hmm?”

“I’m not a hero,” he says again, softer.

“Jay,” you whisper. “You know that’s not true.”

He says nothing, only heaving a heavy sigh and burying his face into the crook of your neck. You’re content to stand like this, to simply hold him and graze your nails against his scalp for as long as he needs while he inhales the comforting scent of your skin.

After what could have been one minute or twenty, he pulls back to look up at you. He looks exhausted. “It was a human trafficking case,” he says. “They knew we were closing in on ‘em, so we had to act fast. They were…trying to…” He trails off, unsure how to put it in words delicate enough to spare you. He breaks eye contact. “Destroy the evidence,” he finishes.

You don’t respond. Despite the heavy silence that follows this admission, you know he’s not done. It takes another several minutes of stroking fingers and feather-light hairline kisses to coax it out of him.

“There was a woman. She…we didn’t—“ His voice cracks. “I didn’t get there in time.”

“Oh, honey.” You run your palm over his forehead, pushing back his thick waves. His eyelids slide down over glassy irises as he sinks into your touch. You lean down to press your lips to his forehead. “You know that’s not your fault,” you whisper. He shakes his head, eyes still closed.

“But if I’d just—”

“No, Jason.” You grip his face between your palms. He opens his eyes at the sudden sternness. “But nothing. You did everything you possibly could—”

“You don’t know that,” he interrupts.

“I do know that. I know because you are always doing everything you can. For me, and for everyone in this city. And I know that it wasn’t just you on that mission. Do you blame anyone else for what happened?”

He says nothing, but his eyes are welling with tears.

“You saved so many other people, Jason. You are a hero, and you know that. You have to know that.” Some of his tears spill over, but you brush your thumbs across his cheeks and kiss them away.

He pulls you onto his lap so your legs are straddled over his and rests his head against your sternum. His arms squeeze impossibly tight around your waist, but you don’t say anything. When his shoulders tremble and you feel the dampness on the front of your shirt, you still don’t say anything. And when he places a hand on the back of your head to pull you in for a hard, searing kiss that leaves you both breathless, you don’t say anything. You just look at him, at how pretty he is, and hope that he can hear you.

The sounds of buzzing echo in from the next room. To your dismay, he turns away, towards the direction of your phones. “I should get that,” he says. His voice is hollow. “It’s probably the bats wanting to know where I am. They’ll send a search party if I don’t check in.”

He’s about to move you off his lap, but you stop him. “In a minute, Jay.”

Jason’s forehead crinkles. You use your thumb to smooth it out.

“Please?” You breathe out. “Just let me look at you a little longer. I love looking at you.”

He relaxes back into his seat. And you keep looking at him. At his beautifully rosy cheeks and shining eyes, his puffed lips. The scar that runs diagonally down his slightly crooked nose.

It’s dawn now; the tangerine beginnings of sunrise elicit a soft glow that spills through the window. Jason takes it all in. The two of you together in the home you share, arms around each other, your face all honeyed and beautiful in the light.

And you know he can hear you.

love when you guys leave messages/feedback it really brightens up my day<3

divider is from here

18+ minors dni

warnings: overstimulation (shocker)

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

for someone of his size and strength, jason todd gets pussydrunk so easily. what starts as him generously preparing you to take his huge cock quickly devolves into a feast for him—and torture for you—as he pins you to the bed with one arm and makes a mess of devouring your cunt, the thought of fucking you long lost in his mind.

your eyes water as his plump lips suck at your overworked clit while his free hand fucks you slowly, his large fingers coated in your slick as they slide back into you. you’re incoherent as you try to wriggle away from him, the ache of another unbearable orgasm forming in the pit of your belly. you buck your hips against his face, trying to delay the inevitable as he curls his fingers inside you.

undeterred by your squirming, jason puts more of his weight on you as he buries his face deeper in your cunt. his chin is glazed with your arousal and his saliva, and his dark lashes rest on his cheeks as he releases your clit with a lewd pop. he flattens his tongue and drags it up your folds, letting out a gravelly moan against your pussy at the way you taste. you can’t help the heat that spreads over your cheeks at the obscene display he’s putting on, but you find yourself unable to look away.

he withdraws his fingers from your entrance and uses them to spread you apart, pulling back from you so he can admire the glossy mess as you clench involuntarily at the loss of contact. embarrassment has you trying to clasp your legs shut, but he easily blocks you with his arms. “so fuckin’ pretty, ma,” he mumbles, mostly to himself as he uses his thumb to smear your slick all over your sex, transfixed by the sight. “all mine, hm? all fuckin’ mine.”

you cry out as he latches back onto your clit, sucking hungrily while his hands keep you in place. you knot your fingers into his hair as your spine raises off the bed with the force of another overwhelming orgasm that has your thighs trembling around his head and your pussy gushing onto his tongue again, which he accepts with another moan. you can feel his smile against you as you breathe shakily, letting your legs collapse onto his shoulders.

“jay,” you whine suddenly, feeling him trail his lips along your inner thigh. “I can’t—”

“c’mon, princess,” he coos sweetly, grazing his thumb over your slit lightly. “just gimme one more, hm?”

18+ minors dni

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

it’s an unusually quiet night in blüdhaven, meaning dick grayson has some time to kill. he doesn’t think that stopping by your apartment during his patrol will lead to much more than a brief conversation and a be safe, see you tonight kiss, which is how his pit stops usually go. that being said, tonight is the first time he’s shown up to see you in the full nightwing getup—escrima sticks and mask included.

it takes you one glance at his muscular body clad in the tight black and blue material to send a surge of heat between your legs, and before either of you can think clearly, you’re on top of him on your sofa, entangled in a sloppy kiss with your hands running through his hair. his fingers dig into your hips as you rock against his hard length, grinding your core against the textured material of his suit.

his hand reaches between you to pull your panties to the side so your bare cunt can rub against him freely, before he nestles his palms under your ass. he helps you roll against him as your wetness spreads over his lower abdomen, relishing in your needy whines. the feeling of his rigid muscles against you and his hot lips pressed to yours sends you into overdrive; you feel your thighs tightening around dick as you make a mess of his suit, an orgasm creeping its way down your belly.

“fuck, baby,” he pants, throwing his head back at the sensation of your warmth stroking him over his suit. “I should’ve worn this thing ages ago.” he squeezes your ass as you continue rubbing yourself on him. your movements begin to get sloppy, and heat starts pooling in your belly. you know you’re being greedy and dick deserves some attention too, but right now you’re too caught up in the way he feels against you to care.

“god…dick—nightwing—I’m gonna cum!” you gasp, clutching onto his shoulders for stability. he can’t contain the moan he emits at hearing you call him by his alias; it sets off a ringing in his ears, and he digs his fingers into your soft flesh, coaxing your climax out of you. behind his blue mask, his eyes are trained on your face, watching your expression as you whimper.

“that’s right, pretty girl,” he groans, meeting your movements with his own rocking. “fuck…cum for me, c’mon.” you bury your head in the crook of his neck as your body starts to tremble, your release ripping through you and dripping thickly down dick’s suit. you moan as he ruts into you through your orgasm, his pace slowing as your body stills.

he gently pulls your panties back into position, and looks down at the glossy mess you’ve left on his suit, a satisfied grin on his face. his masked eyes meet yours as he rubs small circles onto your hips, taking in your breathless form. “I think I’m gonna have to suit up around you more often.”

Jason is a chronic biter. Whether it’s his lips, the insides of cheeks, or the stings of his hoodie, he is constantly gnawing on something.

This habit was usually not a problem. In fact, it was almost endearing, it was a cute and boyish quirk. However, this was until he decided that his body and his things didn’t suffice anymore. Suddenly, he found himself itching to get his teeth on you.

It had started off very slow, almost as if he was testing the waters. The two of you were sitting on the old couch together, watching the latest episode of one of your shows. Jason was mindlessly playing with your fingers, as he usually did, but this time, there was a mischievous look in his eyes. He kissed your knuckle and you smiled, without giving it too much thought—accidentally giving him the confirmation to keep going. The next thing you felt were his teeth clamping down on your finger, hard. You jolted and looked up at him confused. Jason grinned, almost confidently and you laughed at his childish antics.

Then, there was an another time where he felt a little bolder. You had been in the kitchen washing the dishes after Jason had made dinner. You were in your own world, cleaning, when he came up behind you. Jason pulled you into a warm embrace and you found yourself melting into his touch. You stayed there for a few seconds, just gently swaying and enjoying his company. What you thought was Jason bending down to kiss your exposed shoulder, turned out to be a firm chomp on your skin. You whined, annoyed, but let him do this thing.

This habit wasn’t all that irritating though. There were often times when the two of you were preoccupied with each other. There were many, late nights where his lips would not leave your skin. During those times, the gentle grazes of his teeth set fire to your skin, it felt pleasant in an odd sort of way. The feeling would have you sighing blissfully. The tenderness caused your body to burn with excitement. His bites were almost always followed up with a kiss to soothe the deliciously painful sensation. Those moments had you grateful for his ridiculous way of showing affection.

Jason had a weird biting habit and you weren’t sure if you found it completely insufferable or just purely indulgent….