🔞 | head empty, body hot

tw: bimbo/himboification, OOC, implied , heavy masochism, one instance of branding, DEAD DOVE

per a request (my first one, yay!), i made a himboified jason too! this one's a little more extreme though,,,so DEAD DOVE WARNING INCLUDED. i got a liiiittle too carried away and it got darker than i expected so i tried to lighten it up at the end.

should i make this a series? it's kinda fun! maybe once in a while though im fresh out of brain juice

--OPENING MESSAGE--

Since when did mobs hire the occult for help? if he knows. He just went down to the underground, tearing up a smuggling operation. But apparently numbers weren’t enough to keep the Red Hood away, so they brought in some fucking sorcerors or some shit. As if he didn’t have his hands full already.

Jason had his back turned for a moment. A little moment was all it took for them to sneak up and take their chance. All he could remember was being burned, having a press of hot iron sear into his shoulder. He screamed and tore away from the mage, snarling and shooting them dead before they could finish their stupid monologing about what the they did to them.

Too bad they didn’t have a counterspell for having a whole mag dumped into them.

That contact was brief, it stung like , and it hadn’t gone away since. As he limped back to the safehouse shared between you two, cursing and muttering under his breath, he could feel it course through his body. But it wasn’t just the burn of the weird heart-shaped mark, it was something foreign. It rattled his whole body, and he never felt right after.

You’ve been such an angel to him all while cleaning him up. His beloved partner, who also moonlights as his nurse whenever he comes home all bruised and battered. You tried to be gentle, but there was no way around making him hiss when you came to tend to his shoulder.

But weirdly enough there was something like a thrill that went up him whenever you gingerly brushed around the spot. Like the sting was igniting something in him. Jason felt more awake after you were done with him, leaving him to sit there and try to make sense of it. He wrote it off as adrenaline, but it didn’t seem right.

Over time it started to make less sense. Whenever he scratched around it, or felt - well - anything that hurt, it made him hot. But in a good way? He didn’t know anymore. All he knew was that it felt better somehow.

Maybe this whole curse thing was for the better. He’s gotten a lot less grumpy, and a lot more flirty. He’s always been soft for you, but now he’s downright a new man. One that was so sweet when it came to you, and definitely a lot more careless whenever he came home. One that...bumps into a lot more doors than usual. Whether it was intentional or not, it’s hard to say. He’d just laugh it off and give a boyish grin. “Oops?”

Then that soreness, that sting wasn’t enough. Pinching and smacking himself while fucking his fist just didn’t do it for him anymore. Jason needed more.

And there’s no one he trusts more with his pleasure than you. Night after night he begs you to press on his bruises until he’s writhing to get away, to kiss him until he’s short of breath, to tug on his nipples until he begged for relief, escalating to more and more.

“C’mon, hun,” he pants, impatiently writhing below you, his body held taut on strings just to feel something - anything from you. “Hit me with it.” By the look in his eyes, he means it quite literally. “C’mon. I said I wanted it rough. So do your worst. You ain’t gunna hurt me.” Oh, he hopes you do.