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prettyacademia00 · 12 days ago

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as the heavens set fire

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 2.7k

warnings: smut MDNI, virgin!Jason and virgin!reader, grinding, thigh riding, non-penetrative fingering, implications of Jason being demisexual.

a/n: I wrote this ages ago and just now found it in my drafts. I love the idea that in between being brought back from the dead and his revenge plot and dealing with the trauma of both that Jay never had the time to find his hopeless romantic love for the ages. I also hc him as demisexual, so both of these things combined make him a virgin in my head. Also inspired by @sanguineterrain and @sunnie-angel and their magnificent writings of virgin!jason. This is directly related to my other two fics, and it’s all quickly becoming a little universe that I’m affectionately labeling as “Jason gets the girl”. so yes, please enjoy some very soft, sweet smut of two blushing virgins!

divider credit: saradika

Jason Todd has never felt desire before. Not really. Sure, he had his fair share of kisses and frenzied touches when he first came back to Gotham, but it had never gone farther than that. Not with Rose, not with Artemis. Any time it started to go further, a harsh flinch and the recoil of his body would cut off any hope of more. And before? In his first life? He was a child, and then his teenage years were absolutely consumed with Robin. So, yeah, Jason was a little inexperienced. A virgin, if you wanted to get definitive about things. At first he thought maybe he couldn’t feel that way at all. The idea of letting someone he doesn’t trust touch him like that is unfathomable. And the idea of trusting someone enough to allow them access to his body isn’t even a thought in his mind. So all of his pleasure comes from harsh, slick strokes just to get the job done and the vague notions of the classic romance novels he loves so much.

Until now. Until you. It’s been two months since he came to you bruised and beaten worse than he’d ever been. Two months since you had tended to him, bathed him, clothed him, told him you loved him. Two months since he’d finally steeled his nerve and kissed you as both thanks and confession. You’ve been delicately together ever since. He’s dropped by your apartment every night, and he’s kissed you on more of those nights than he hasn’t. He’s felt an unfamiliar warmth stir in his belly on most of those occasions but he’s kept it in check. Well, he’s kept it in check until he gets home and throws himself into the shower, fist tight around his cock as he thinks of your sweet face smiling at him, your pretty mouth telling him you love him. But he’s got impeccable self control around you. Or he thought he did.

Tonight he dropped in injured for the first time in a while. One of Riddler’s goons had smashed a bottle against his forehead, the shattered glass leaving him with a cut and a blossoming headache. Jason is starting to regret his style change from helmet to domino mask and muzzle. His first instinct was to come to you. He figured it would be the same old song and dance you two had done for over a year now, except maybe with some kisses included. It fails to be the same song and dance the second he sees you in the tiny satin pajama shorts and cropped spaghetti strap pajama top. The set is a deep wine red color that looks so pretty against your skin. His head starts to feel a little fuzzy, but he thinks maybe that’s from the hit. He lets himself in through your window, loud and obvious so as not to startle you.

And, oh, you’re so kind to him. Always so kind to him. You guide him to your sofa and push him down onto the soft cushions (and his mind goes fuzzier). You kneel next to him, leaning slightly into his body while trying to reach the jagged cut on his head. But all Jason can see is red, red, red against your plush exposed skin. A groan of frustration pulls him from his trance.

“I can’t reach you like this, Jay,” you mutter, shaking your head.

“Can I sit on your lap?” you ask, and your face has so much concern on it.

Jason ceases to think. Maybe the hit has concussed him, made him stupid. He doesn’t even think he heard you right. But as you go to apologize for suggesting it, for pushing him into uncomfortable territory, he knows he did hear you correctly. And somehow your concern over his boundaries just makes his body burn hotter. He’d laid out ground rules when you two started this. He wasn’t familiar with physical contact without the intention to cause harm, so he needed time to adjust. And you’ve so diligently allowed him that time. You always ask if it’s okay to hold his hand, to rest against him, to kiss him. Even now you’re asking if he’s okay with you getting closer. He can’t bring himself to tell you just how much closer he wants you. So he simply raises his hand to cut off your apologies and nods.

The warm weight of you on his lap is heavenly. He’s keyed up, acutely aware of your body resting atop his. He tries to reign in his thoughts. The sensitivity of his body, however, can’t be controlled. You lean forward to apply the dermabond to his cut and he has to grip the sofa cushions as he feels your body press flush against his. He hopes you think it’s from the pain. You let out a soft sigh as you soothingly stroke his hair while the surgical glue cures.

“I’m so sorry, Jason. You’re doing so well, angel,” you coo at him.

Jason forces a harsh exhale through his nose. You’re killing him. He’s half hard in his pants now and the prospect of hiding his desire behind pain is dwindling by the second. He’s taking controlled breaths, willing himself to just get through this so he can go home and take care of his growing problem. But then a series of things all happen at once: you shift in his lap as you lean back to grab bandages, your eyes go wide as you feel him against you, and Jason whimpers at the feeling of you accidentally grinding on him.

His seafoam eyes shoot open, face red as his muzzle.

“S-sorry, ‘m sorry. You’re just really warm and so nice to me and I didn’t mean to–” Jason stutters, tripping over his own tongue.

He’s embarrassed. Humiliated even. One, he got hard when you were just trying to fix his head wound. Two, he’s been reduced to a bumbling fucking idiot over it. He’s about to pick you up off of him and go before he has to see the disgust on your face. But then he feels the press of your hands on his chest pushing him back into your sofa. He could easily stop you, but you’re looking at him in a way you never have before and Jason feels himself crumbling like a house of cards.

“Don’t apologize. You never have to apologize for wanting anything, not with me,” you tell him, hands back in his hair.

“How do you want to go about this?” you ask him gently.

Jason should say he wants to stop. Should tell you to get off him so he can cool down and you can pass the remainder of your time together peacefully. Maybe he should even tell you he wants to leave, that he’ll see you tomorrow. But your hands are playing with his hair so softly and your body is so warm and you’re looking at him like he’s something worth looking at.

“Kiss me,” he begs. “Please.”

So you do. You slot your soft lips against his and kiss him with everything you’re worth. Jason moans into it, the sound falling from his mouth to yours. He wraps both of his strong arms around you, pulling you tight against his body. He wrestles all of his self control to not rut up into you when doing so drags your hips against his. He’s licking at your plush bottom lip before he can stop himself and he groans when you immediately open your mouth for him. The slick slide of your tongues clashing makes you sigh against him. Your fingers tighten in his hair and your hips grind down of their own accord, eliciting whines from both of you.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Jay,” you gasp as you pull back from him.

“No. You got nothin’ to be sorry for. It’s fine. It’s good,” he reassures you.

Just in case you don’t believe him, he brings his hands to your hips and squeezes as he finds the confidence to rock up into you. You moan as your eyes flutter shut and Jason swears this may be the closest to heaven he’s ever gotten.

“I’ve never–” you choke on your own gasp as he rocks his hips at a steady pace against you. “Never done anything like this before.”

“Me either,” Jason pants through strained inhales.

“I want this. I want you. Can we…can we keep doing this?” you ask against his mouth as you start to follow his rhythm.

Any worries or doubts that Jason had about your willingness in this fly out the window. He’s rambling mindlessly in response. Yes, yes, we can keep doing this, that sounds perfect, please don’t stop. His grip is hard on your hips, bunching the waistband of your shorts and pulling them tighter against you. The moan you let out fucking levels him. He never thought it could be this good. It seems to happen all too soon, that white hot coil curling in his belly. He’s just so sensitive and you feel so good grinding on his covered cock. You’re so kind to him and he loves you, he loves you, he loves you. He babbles it like a broken record as he cums harder than he ever has in his life, soaking his boxers and leaving his tactical pants damp.

He’s whimpering from overstimulation at the hot, wet drag of fabric against his sensitive tip as your hips slow to a stop. He can feel tears of relief and humiliation pooling in the corners of his eyes. He came fast. Embarrassingly fast from such little stimulation. And he may be a virgin but he damn well knows women’s anatomy, so he knows you haven’t gotten off yet. His face is buried in the crook of your neck and you can feel the hot tears that fall from his pretty seafoam eyes.

“Oh, Jason, you did so well, baby. I’m so proud of you,” you breathe out.

Jason lets out a choked noise. You’re proud of him. Proud of him for cumming in his pants like a horny teenager. But there’s such sincerity to your voice that even his self loathing can’t overpower it. He feels your praise in his chest, warm and bright like a healing light. He wants to make you proud. It’s a feeling he hasn’t felt in so long–the desire for someone else to be happy because of him, proud because of him. It’s what gives him the nerve to manhandle you onto one of his muscular thighs. He starts guiding your hips back and forth, smiles when your head tips back and you grip his shoulders.

“Jay, ah, angel, we can stop,” you protest weakly.

He shakes his head fiercely. There’s a determined glint in his green eyes that leaves no room for argument.

“Keep goin’. I want you—need you to feel good too,” he insists.

You nod your head and let your body fall against his. He guides your hips over his thigh again and again and again. Each pass rewards him with little mewls and sighs that Jason thinks he could get addicted to. Your hands are gripping his biceps hard, your face buried in the crook of his neck. He notices you getting antsy, whinier than before and a lightbulb clicks on above his head.

“Wanna take these off?” he asks you, tugging at the waistband of your pretty red shorts.

You mutter a weak uh huh and Jason’s standing you up to drag the slippery satin down your legs. He feels his cock twitch when he sees your black panties. They sit high just above your hip bones and the thin mesh leaves very little to the imagination. He can’t take his eyes off you as he pulls you back down on his thigh. He angles your hips forward and the high pitched moan that spills from your mouth assures him that he’s positioned you just right to grind your clit against him.

“There we go. Just like that, doll,” Jason says as you start to rock your hips at your own pace.

“Oh God, Jason,” you keen, the pet name going straight to your cunt.

Jason catalogs the knowledge of just how much you like him calling you doll. If his brain weren’t so hazy and fucked out, he might be embarrassed by just how much he likes calling you doll. But he can’t be bothered to care, not when you look so pretty riding his thigh.

“More. I want more, angel,” you whine, grabbing at his hand and slowly guiding it up your thigh.

You don’t push him further than the waistband of your panties. Even in your own desperate pursuit of pleasure, you’re still worried about his boundaries. Jason’s never wanted anything in his life as much as he wants to make you cum for him. He dips his hand under the black mesh, fingers brushing against soft hair before landing home on your cunt.

And, fuck, you’re so wet it makes him dizzy. The idea that he’s caused this, that all of this is for him? It doesn’t compute in his brain. It goes against everything he’s ever thought about himself. But the proof is slick and warm on his fingertips. He can be a source of pleasure, of desire, of something good. So he drags his fingers up and down your slit, reveling in the high pitched keens you let out. When he starts to draw circles around your clit, he’s rewarded with you calling his name in the prettiest whimper he could possibly imagine.

“‘S this good? Tell me what you need,” he rasps out, looking for your reassurance, your approval.

You frantically nod your head, quiet whines slipping from your mouth.

“Mmmf, it’s so good, Jay. Please don’t stop,” you moan.

Jason, ever the quick learner, does just as you ask. He keeps rubbing your clit with the exact pace and direction that has you crying out above him. Every now and then he’ll dip his fingers down to collect more of the slick that drips from you, bring it back up to your aching clit and shudder at the noises you make from the stimulation. He’s taking in your body language, studying you like you’re the finest piece of art he’s ever laid his eyes on. Your hips start to jerk erratically under his free hand and your moans turn to breathy whimpers, and he knows before you even tell him.

“Jason–ah–s’too much. I can’t I can’t I can’t,” you babble.

“Don’t fight it, sweetheart. Just let go f’me. I’m right here with you,” he encourages you gently.

And maybe it’s how sweet he’s being, or maybe it’s the way his free hand starts comfortingly stroking along your spine, or most likely it’s the unrelenting swirls he’s making on your swollen clit, but you’re tumbling over the edge before you even realize what’s happening. It’s burning, white hot and alive. It’s new and it’s consuming and it’s all Jason. You don’t think you’ll be able to live without him after this. You know you won’t want to.

You’re both breathing heavily as you come down, your body limp against his. All that surrounds you is each other. Touch, scent, sight–only the two of you exist in the warmth of the afterglow.

“I love you,” you whisper, face buried in his neck.

He holds you tight, nuzzles into your mussed up hair.

“I love you too.”

Jason realizes that’s all that was missing. Love. That love and want are inextricably tied up for him, that the latter can’t exist without the former. Because he loves you, and for the first time ever, he knows what that aching hunger feels like, knows what it’s like to have fire lick across his veins. And he’s so grateful to you, so grateful for yet another gift you’ve given him. Kindness, tenderness, love, desire. He’d known none of it before you dragged him through your window. And maybe he doesn’t really believe in God anymore, but he’s positive that you’re nothing short of a miracle he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to deserve.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd smut #red hood x reader #red hood x you

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