#Soft Jason Todd

[killerplink]

WRECKED

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

Words: 9k

Plot: It's your first time with Jason. You thought you knew what to expect—until he ruined you. (yep, I'm officially a whore, and my old crushes are coming back lmao)

CW: established relationship, 18+, smut, oral sex, overstimulation, praise, creampie, aftercare

It starts the second you're outside the bar. Jason's hand finds your waist, pulling you close like he can't bear the space between you any longer. His lips crash against yours—hungry, rough, possessive. You gasp into his mouth, and he takes full advantage, tongue sliding against yours as he walks you backward toward his bike.

You don't make it far. His hand—big, calloused—cups the back of your neck, holding you in place as he devours you. His other hand grips your ass, fingers digging in like he owns you already. He groans when you grind into him, hips meeting yours with a delicious friction that has you whining.

"Fuck," he mutters against your lips. "Can't wait to get you home."

The ride to his apartment is a blur—his hand on your thigh, thumb stroking slow circles that make your pussy throb. The second you're inside, the door slams shut, and he's on you. His mouth finds yours again, teeth scraping your bottom lip before he bites just enough to make you moan. His hands slide under your thighs, and—fuck—he lifts you like you weigh nothing, pinning you against the door.

You gasp, legs wrapping around his waist, feeling how hard he is through his jeans. He rolls his hips, grinding against you, and you whimper, clutching at his jacket.

"Jesus, listen to you," he growls, lips trailing to your jaw, then your neck.

His teeth scrape over your pulse before he sucks a bruise there, and your head thumps against the door. His big hands squeeze your ass, lifting and dropping you just enough to rub you against the bulge in his pants.

"Jason," you gasp, hips moving on instinct.

"Yeah, baby? Feels good?"

His voice is low, rough like gravel, and you can feel the smirk against your skin. He carries you to the bedroom effortlessly, tossing you onto the mattress with a grin. You barely catch your breath before he's climbing over you, tossing his jacket, kissing you like he's starving.

"You're so fuckin' pretty," he murmurs, fingers working at your clothes. "Bet you taste even better."

Your shirt goes next, then your bra, and shit, the way his eyes darken has heat flooding your cheeks. His palms—warm, rough—cup your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples. You arch into him, moaning when his mouth replaces his hands, tongue flicking before he sucks one into his mouth. His other hand kneads your other breast, squeezing just enough to make you gasp.

"You like that, baby?" His voice is a growl against your skin. "So sensitive... fuck, I could play with these all night."

He trails kisses lower, teeth grazing your stomach, and your breath hitches. His fingers hook into your waistband, dragging your pants and panties down slow. His gaze never leaves yours—hungry, possessive.

"Fuckin' gorgeous," he mutters, spreading your legs. "Look at this pretty pussy."

"Jay," you whimper, hips lifting.

"I've got you," he promises, voice thick. "Gonna make you feel so fuckin' good, baby."

Then fuck, his mouth is on you. His tongue drags through your folds, slow and filthy, making your back arch off the bed. He groans against you like you're his favorite meal, licking you like he can't get enough. His tongue flicks over your clit—soft at first, then harder when you moan—and you feel the smirk against you.

"Goddamn, you taste good," he mutters, voice rough.

His tongue dips lower, fucking into you, and you sob, fingers tangling in his hair. He sucks your clit, tongue flicking just right, and your hips grind against his face, chasing the heat coiling in your belly.

"That's it, baby. Take what you need," he growls, tongue relentless.

Your legs shake, toes curling as the pleasure builds, sharp and hot. His hands—huge, strong—hold your thighs open, keeping you right where he wants you. You moan his name, voice wrecked, and he groans against you, the vibrations shooting straight through you.

"Fuck, Jason—"

You're close, teetering on the edge—your whole body strung tight, nerves buzzing—when one thick finger pushes in. It's slow, intentional, stretching you inch by inch. Your breath catches, walls fluttering around him, so full from just his finger.

"Fuck," Jason groans, voice rough. "God, you're tight."

His eyes—dark, blown wide with lust—stay on yours, drinking in every twitch, every gasp that slips from your lips. His free hand holds your thigh open, firm but gentle, like he wants you spread just for him.

Then—without warning—he adds a second finger. The stretch is intense, burning in that delicious way that has your back arching, hips tilting to take him deeper.

"Easy," he murmurs, soft, despite how wrecked he looks. "Gotta stretch this pretty little pussy out for me, baby. Can't have you strugglin' with my dick."

God. Your cheeks burn, heat flooding through you at his words, pussy clenching tight around his fingers. He feels it, and the groan that rumbles from his chest is obscene.

"You like that?"

His grin is crooked, cocky. His fingers curl—fuck—pressing right against that perfect spot inside you. Your mouth falls open, a strangled moan ripping from your throat as your hips jerk.

"There," he breathes, eyes locked on your face. "Right there, huh?"

His pace picks up—slow but deep, fingers fucking into you like he's got all the time in the world. He twists them just right, dragging along your walls with a rhythm that has your thighs trembling. The wet sounds echo in the room, filthy and soaked, each thrust squelching louder as your arousal drips down to his palm.

"Jesus, baby," Jason groans, gaze dropping to where his fingers disappear into you. "Look at this pussy, so fuckin' wet for me. I haven't even fucked you yet, and you're already drippin'."

Your head falls back, heat swirling in your belly, pleasure winding tight. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow, precise circles that make your vision blur.

"That's it," he murmurs, lips brushing your thigh as he presses kisses between filthy praise. "Take it, baby. Just like that... fuck, you're squeezin' my fingers so good."

He leans down again, tongue flicking over your clit, and you cry out, hips jerking. The combination—his fingers curling deep, tongue working your sensitive bundle of nerves—has you unraveling fast.

"Jay—fuck—I—I'm gonna—"

"I know, baby," he growls against your pussy, voice wrecked. "Cum for me. C'mon, lemme feel you soak my fingers."

And fuck, you do. The coil snaps—white-hot and all-consuming—as you cum hard, walls clenching around his fingers. Your whole body shudders, pleasure crashing over you in waves. You sob his name, hips rocking through it, chasing every last spark.

Jason keeps going, drawing it out, his fingers fucking into you through your orgasm. Your slick coats his hand, dripping onto the sheets, and the sounds—messy, obscene—only make the high hit harder.

"Goddamn," he mutters, watching you with a look that's part worship, part starving. "Look at you. So fuckin' pretty when you cum. Feels so good around my fingers... can't wait to feel you around my dick."

You're panting, body wrecked, but his mouth finds you again, fingers slipping out of you, and he's licking you clean, tongue dragging through your folds, tasting every drop you've given him. You whimper, overstimulated, but he groans, sucking your clit just to hear you whine.

"You can give me another one, baby," he murmurs against you, voice dangerous. "Haven't even started yet."

Your orgasm barely fades before Jason's mouth is back on you, tongue dragging a slow, wet stripe through your folds. Your hips jerk, thighs trembling from the overstimulation, but his hands—big and firm—press your legs open, keeping you spread wide for him.

"Jay—" you whimper, trying to close up, overwhelmed, but his grip tightens.

"Uh-uh, baby," he murmurs against your soaked cunt, voice rough and dark. "Told you, I'm not done. Not 'til I taste everything you've got for me."

Fuck. Heat swirls in your belly, a mess of pleasure and desperation, nerves alight. You try to squirm, try to close your legs again, but it's useless. His arms are strong, holding you open like you're nothing to him just something to devour.

And God, the way he eats you out...

His tongue moves slow, deliberate, fucking into you with wet, obscene strokes that make your head spin. It's messy, his spit mixing with your slick, dripping down to the sheets below. Every flick, every press of his tongue is precise, like he's studied your body, like he knows exactly how to pull those sounds from you.

Your back arches, hips trying to ride his face, and he groans, the vibration shooting through you. His hands grip your thighs, thumbs pressing bruising marks into your skin as he guides you over his mouth.

"You taste so fuckin' good," he mutters, pulling back just enough to breathe you in, his lips slick with your arousal. His eyes—dark, pupils blown—drag up your body, gaze heated. "Could eat this pussy all night."

Your mind reels. No one's ever eaten you like this before, ever. The guys you dated? Please. They'd barely been able to find your clit, let alone worship you like this, like you're the best thing Jason's ever had in his mouth. And God, the way he looks at you—like you're his. Like he lives for the way you moan, the way you fall apart under his tongue.

"Jay," you gasp, fingers threading through his hair, tugging but he just laughs, deep and hungry.

"You can pull all you want, baby," he grins against you, fucking into you with his tongue again. "Not lettin' you go 'til you cum on my face."

His tongue fucks into you deep, and fuck, your legs shake, your whole body strung tight. Pleasure coils low in your belly, building fast, dizzying. Jason knows. Of course he does. His gaze stays locked on your face, watching every gasp, every shudder. Loving how you fall apart for him.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, lips dragging over your clit before he sucks—hard, perfect. "Give it to me. I wanna feel you cum again, wanna taste it."

And fuck, you do.

The second orgasm hits hard, ripping through you with white-hot intensity. Your thighs clamp around his head, but he doesn't stop, hands holding you open as he devours you through it. Pleasure crashes over you in waves, your body writhing, sobbing his name.

So good—too good.

Jason groans like he can't get enough, tongue dragging through your soaked folds, drinking down everything you give him. In his head, it's a mess of thoughts—she's so fuckin' beautiful, so tight and wet and perfect. Could spend hours between her legs, make her cum until she's cryin'—mine.

When you finally go limp, chest heaving, body wrecked, he pulls back with a filthy grin. His lips, chin—soaked. His eyes burn into you, warm and starving.

"Fuck," he breathes, kissing your inner thigh. "So good for me."

Your chest heaves, vision hazy as you blink down at him. His mouth is slick with you, lips curled into that cocky grin, but his eyes are soft, like you're the only thing that matters.

Then he moves up, muscles shifting beneath flushed skin, body radiating heat. His hand comes up, fingers threading into your hair, cupping the top of your head just right. The touch sends a shiver down your spine—gentle, but possessive. He tilts your face toward him, gaze flicking from your eyes to your lips, and then he kisses you. God.

It's messy, hot and filthy, your mouths sliding together. His lips are soft but urgent, tongue pressing past yours like he needs you. You can taste yourself on him, thick and salty, spreading across your tongue—fuck. Your fingers clutch his shoulders, nails digging into hard muscle as you suck on his tongue, drawing a deep, hungry groan from his chest.

He presses closer, crowding you against the bed, hand tightening in your hair. The kiss turns sloppy, wet noises filling the space between gasps and moans. His lips drag over yours, breathing you in, swallowing the soft whimpers you can't hold back.

Then, he pulls back. Barely. Just enough to look at you. His gaze roams over your face—flushed, lips swollen and slick from him—ruined. His thumb brushes your rosy cheek, tender amidst the heat.

"You're so fuckin' beautiful, baby," he murmurs, voice thick with something soft, something real. His eyes catch yours—burning, sincere. "Don't be shy."

Heat rushes to your cheeks. Fuck. You blush, lips parting to speak but words fail you. All you can do is nod, heart pounding.

And then you pull him back in.

Another kiss—this one deeper, needier, tongues tangling like you can't get enough. Because you can't. Not with the way he holds you, not with the way he tastes, not with the way his body presses into yours like you belong there, like this is where you've always belonged. And God, maybe you do.

Your hands are all over him: fingers dragging across heated skin, nails scraping over the hard planes of his back as you kiss like you'll die without it. It's frantic, messy, lips sliding, teeth clashing, tongues greedy. His hands are everywhere—gripping, squeezing, grinding you against him until you can feel how hard he is through his jeans, thick and aching.

Somehow, between kisses that leave you breathless, you fumble with his shirt, tugging it up. Jason breaks away just long enough to yank it off, tossing it aside—fuck.

God, he's all muscle. Broad chest, pecs firm, shoulders so wide they make you feel small. His abs are cut, ridges begging to be traced, and fuck, you do. Running your hands down his stomach as he groans, head tipping back. His skin is warm, stretched over powerful muscle and old scars, stories written across him.

Your gaze drops—oh God.

He's stripping out of his jeans now, pushing them down along with his boxers, and fuck. You knew he was big. You knew it from the way his hands dwarfed yours, the way his fingers stretched you open when he prepped you, the way his cock felt heavy against your belly when he first laid you out beneath him.

But seeing it—really seeing it—makes your throat go dry. He's long and thick, veiny, the head flushed and leaking. Precum beads at the tip, dripping down the shaft, smearing across your skin when he presses close again. You can feel it, sticky warmth spreading over your stomach—fuck.

Your legs are already spread, body pliant under his touch, flushed warm from how long he's spent kissing every inch of you. But now that you're here, staring down at that thick length, your confidence wavers.

"Jay," you breathe, voice softer than you expect—half awe, half holy shit.

He knows. Of course he does. His hands are already smoothing up your thighs, squeezing gently as he leans over you. Dark hair falls forward, that white streak that you like catching the dim light, casting shadows across his wrecked face. His eyes—fuck—dark, pupils blown wide with lust, consuming you.

"You still good, baby?"

His voice is low, thick with restraint, like he's holding himself back by a thread. Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out at first. Instead, your fingers flex against his shoulders, gripping hard. He's just... so big.

Jason lets out a quiet chuckle, dipping down to kiss your nose—sweet, soft. "You're lookin' at me like I'm about to break you."

You swallow, heart pounding. "You are."

His jaw flexes, something raw flickering across his face—heat, hunger, something tender too.

"Nah." His lips brush yours—soft, a promise in the wreckage. "Gonna take care of you." Another kiss, deeper this time, stealing your breath. "Gonna make it feel good."

He lines himself up, cock heavy in his hand, and fuck, you can feel it—hot and throbbing against your soaked folds. His other hand rests on your thigh, holding you open like it's the easiest thing in the world.

You're panting, skin flushed, every nerve lit up as he drags the thick head of his dick through your slick, smearing precum and arousal together until it's messy, sticky, filthy.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, voice rough, wrecked. "Look at this... look at how wet you are for me."

His gaze drops to where you're spread wide for him, cock nudging your clit—a jolt shoots through you, your hips twitching—but his hands hold you down, firm and unchanging.

"You hear that?" he rasps, rolling his hips just enough that the head slides against your swollen clit—slick noises filling the air. "Soaked, baby. Shit, you're fuckin' perfect."

Heat flares through you, cheeks burning, but you can't stop the needy little whimper that escapes when he teases your entrance again, tip pressing just barely inside.

His gaze lifts—hungry, dark, soft. Like you're his whole goddamn world. "You ready for me, pretty girl?" His thumb brushes your cheek, tender despite the weight of his cock poised at your entrance. "Gonna take care of you, yeah?"

You nod, breath catching. "Yeah... Please."

Jason's jaw tightens, like he's barely holding on. "Good girl."

And then—fuck—he starts to push in.

The stretch is instant, your pussy straining around the thick head of his cock. It's too much, too big, and your fingers scramble for purchase, gripping the sheets tight as a gasp rips from your throat.

"F-fuck—"

"Shhh, I've got you," Jason soothes, voice gentle even as his hips press forward. His hand slides up, thumb stroking soothing circles into your skin. "Just breathe for me, baby. So good, takin' me so fuckin' well."

You try, you really do, but God, the burn. It's sharp, making your legs twitch, hips jerking. His cock splits you open, inch by slow, agonizing inch.

Jason groans, head dropping to rest against your shoulder for a beat, shaking. "Jesus, baby... you're—fuck. Squeezin' me so fuckin' tight."

His words send heat pooling in your belly, but it's so much, stretching you to your limit. You bite your lip, eyes squeezed shut as he pauses, hips still, letting you adjust. His hand cups your face, thumb tracing your cheekbone.

"You okay?"

His voice is soft, earnest. Like he'd stop if you asked. Like he wants you to feel good more than anything.

You nod, chest heaving. "Hurts... but fuck, it's so good."

"Yeah?" His lips brush yours, achingly tender. "You're doin' so fuckin' good for me, baby. So fuckin' tight, can barely—shit—barely fit."

And then he rocks his hips, just a little, just to test the water. White-hot pleasure sparks, the pain melting, shifting into something else entirely. Your walls clench around him instinctively, trying to pull him deeper, and fuck, your whimper slips out, soft, shaky, helpless.

Jason's breath catches, body tense, every muscle flexing. He looks down at you, pupils blown, lips parted. "Fuck, do that again," he rasps, voice barely there.

Your mind swims, overwhelmed, but when he rolls his hips once more, your body betrays you, another whimper falling free.

Jason growls. Deep, rough, like he's losing it. He pushes in slow, cock thick and unforgiving as your pussy clings to every inch, stretching around him. There's a burn, sharp and intense, making your breath hitch, but fuck, it feels so good, hurts just right.

"Shhh," Jason soothes, voice low, thick with restraint. His hands frame your face, holding you steady, his muscles taut beneath your fingers. "Doin' so good, baby. Just a little more. Almost there."

He pauses, lets you breathe, lets you feel. His cock throbs inside you, barely halfway in, and you're already so full. You gasp, head tilting back, chest heaving.

"Fuck," you whisper, walls fluttering. "So big..."

Jason's jaw flexes, a soft groan spilling from his lips. "Yeah? You're takin' me so fuckin' well. Goddamn, look at you." His gaze drops, watching where his cock disappears into you, your slick coating him. "Messy already, baby. So pretty."

He eases in further, slow, careful, letting you adjust. Your cunt struggles to take him, every inch a stretch, a burn, but it melts, shifts into pleasure, thick and all-consuming.

And then he bottoms out.

You gasp, a soft cry escaping as his hips press flush against yours. "Oh God—" so deep, so hot, so full.

Your pussy clenches, overwhelmed by the sheer size of him. Jason leans down, kisses you. Slow, deep, hot. His tongue slides against yours, coaxing you into a messy dance that makes your walls tighten around him.

He groans softly into your mouth—low, rough, and fuck, you feel it everywhere. His tongue dances with yours, messy, heated, but not rushed, like he wants to savor you, to taste every little sound you make. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, and he leans into it, deepening the kiss until your lungs burn and your head swims.

Your pussy flutters around his thick cock, gripping him with every shift of his hips, the fullness inside you making your toes curl. Every swirl of his tongue sends sparks down your spine, feeding that deep ache between your legs. God, you're so full of him, your slick walls clenching like your body is begging to keep him there.

And underneath it all, that steady throb of him inside you, every flutter of your cunt making him curse softly against your lips, hips stuttering as your body squeezes him tight.

"Shit, baby," he groans into your mouth. "Clampin' down on me like that—fuck—feels so fuckin' good."

Your head spins, drowning in heat and him. When he pulls back, breaking the kiss, his eyes are dark, soft, wrecked.

"You alright?" he murmurs, thumb brushing your cheek.

You nod, breath shaky. "Please... move."

That's all it takes. Jason pulls out almost entirely, the thick head dragging against your sensitive walls—your slick making a wet sound that has him groaning, hips trembling.

Then, he pushes back in. Slow. Deliberate. Every inch filling you perfectly.

Your mind blurs, overwhelmed by the stretch and heat. Fuck, he feels so good, so full, your pussy molding to him like it was made for this. And bare, skin-to-skin, it's different. Better. Raw. Intimate.

No barriers. Just him. You. Heat. Friction.

Your thoughts spiral, remembering how sweet he'd been, getting tested just for you. "You don't have to, baby," he'd said, so sure, so trusting.

But you had anyway. Wanted to reassure him. Wanted this. Bare. Real. And God, you hadn't known sex could feel this good. Jason's pace is slow, deep, torturous. His hips roll, dragging his cock against every sensitive spot inside you.

"Fuck, baby—" his voice is rough, wrecked. "Pussy's perfect. So fuckin' tight. So good. You hear yourself? Best fuckin' sounds I ever heard."

Your moans spill free, soft, needy, mixing with the slick sounds of him fucking into you. His lips find yours again—kissing you, worshiping you, every thrust measured, deep, making you feel every inch.

Jason moves slow, deep, fucking you with a rhythm that makes your whole body ache for more. Every thrust has him sliding against your walls, every drag of his cock making your pussy tighten like it never wants to let him go. And fuck, he feels it, feels the way you're so wet, so hot, your cunt pulling him in like you were made for this.

"Shit," he mutters, voice rough as his forehead drops against yours. "You're gonna kill me, baby."

His lips brush your cheek, your jaw, his breath ragged, every exhale heavy with restraint. "Sound so fuckin' sweet."

You can't hold still. Your hands scramble for purchase, gripping his arms, his back, nails digging into the muscle that flexes with every roll of his hips.

"Jay, I—"

"I know, baby," he whispers, voice strained, thick with want. "I know. I've got you. I've got you."

And fuck, he does. His hands are everywhere—one sliding down your thigh, fingers digging in as he lifts your leg higher against his waist, adjusting the angle. And when he thrusts again—

His hips roll slow, deep, dragging pleasure through your veins, making your body tremble beneath him. You're stretching, adjusting, but it still feels like too much—too big, too deep—but you love it, love how he's holding you together even as he's pulling you apart.

"Fuck," he groans, voice shaking. "Look at you."

You barely have the strength to open your eyes, but when you do—fuck. He looks wrecked. His jaw is clenched tight, his eyes dark and hungry, but his hands—his big, gentle hands—stroke along your body, like he's memorizing every inch of you. And then he leans down, lips brushing your temple, voice low and possessive.

"Mine," he murmurs, rough and raw. "All mine."

Your breath hitches, body clenching around him at the gravel in his voice.

Jason grins, breathless, his nose brushing yours. "Love those little noises, baby." His hips roll again, slow, teasing, making your toes curl. "You gonna keep whimpering for me?"

You can't stop. Not when he has you like this, stretched out beneath him, held so gently even as he fucks you deep.

He groans, lips trailing down your throat, biting lightly at your shoulder. "Fuck," he mutters, voice rough, words punctuated by another deep, perfect thrust. "Gonna make you feel so fuckin' good."

Your body arches, thighs shaking, and Jason—God, he feels everything. How you clench when he kisses you, how your cunt squeezes him when he praises you.

You cling to him like you'll fall apart if you don't, arms wrapping tight around his shoulders, pulling him down until his mouth crashes into yours. The kiss is deep, sloppy, hot, all teeth and tongue, your moans spilling between his lips as he fucks you faster. His hips snap forward, each thrust deeper, harder, making you cry out against his mouth.

"Fuck—baby," he groans into the kiss, tongue sliding against yours, tasting every little sound you make. "So fuckin' sweet—"

His skin slaps against yours, the squelch of your slick coating him every time he bottoms out, his pelvis rubbing right against your clit—right there—and fuck, it's too much. Your fingers tangle in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp, pulling him closer, tighter, like you can anchor yourself to him.

"Jay—oh my God—"

"Yeah?" he grunts, lips dragging down to your neck, biting, sucking, leaving marks that'll sting later. "That feel good, baby? Fuckin'—God, you feel so fuckin' good around me."

Your moans get higher, softer, desperate, your body trembling beneath him as he pounds into you. Every thrust hits that spot, the pressure building so tight you can barely breathe.

"C'mon, pretty girl," he pants, voice wrecked, hips grinding deeper. "Give it to me. Wanna feel you cum on my dick."

That pushes you over. Your orgasm hits like a fucking freight train, pleasure exploding through your veins, blinding, hot, overwhelming. Your back arches, mouth falling open in a cry that's half moan, half sob, your cunt clenching so tight around him it pulls a growl from his chest.

"Fuck, fuck, baby—"

He keeps moving, hips grinding through it, dragging out your orgasm until you're shaking, your thighs trembling around his waist. Every thrust makes you feel it everywhere, your clit rubbing against his skin, sparks of pleasure crackling through you with every squelching slide of his cock.

"Goddamn," Jason groans, head dropping to your shoulder, panting, his voice rough in your ear. "Pussy's squeezin' me so fuckin' tight—shit. Feels so good, baby, so fuckin' good."

Your fingers scrape down his back, desperate for more, even as your body twitches with aftershocks. His cock drags against your over-sensitive walls, making you whimper, and he smirks against your skin.

"Look at you," he pants, fucking into you slow now, deep, making you feel every inch. "Takin' me so good, baby—fuck, love how you cum for me."

Your brain's mush, your body boneless, but you want more.

"Jay..."

It's half a moan, half a whimper, and fuck, the sound makes his hips stutter. His eyes snap to yours, brows furrowing with instant worry. Shit. His brain short-circuits, thoughts racing—Did I hurt her? Push too far?

The last thing he wants is to hurt you, to ruin this. His heart twists, the rush of panic making his grip ease but then you lick your lips, breath shaky, eyes dark with need.

"H-harder," you whisper, voice barely there but wrecked, needy, and so fucking hot it punches the air from his lungs.

He goes dumb for a second—blinking, brain lagging—because holy shit.

"You sure, baby?"

His voice is rough, low, edged with concern but fuck, there's heat burning bright in his eyes. You nod, brows furrowed, lips parted, dripping for him, and God, he's gone. So fucking gone.

You have no idea how completely wrecked he is over you, how your face, your sounds, the way you look right now is burned into his soul. Fuck, he doesn't think he's ever wanted anyone this badly—no, not badly. Desperately.

"If something doesn't feel right," he rasps, leaning in, voice serious beneath the hunger, "you tell me, yeah?"

You nod again, legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer, and that's it, he loses it. His hips snap forward, harder, deeper, faster, dragging a sharp cry from your throat as your head throws back, mouth falling open. God, the sound, the way your tits bounce with every thrust—it's too much.

His gaze locks on them, entranced, like they're the prettiest fucking thing he's ever seen—soft, perfect, fucking begging for his mouth. He leans down, tongue flicking over a pebbled nipple, sucking, licking, his lips wrapping around it hungrily.

"Fuck—" he groans against your skin, teeth scraping just enough to make you shiver.

He moves to the other, sucking deep, leaving faint hickeys, marks he wants burned into your skin because you're his right now, all his.

"Look at you," he pants, thrusting deep, hips grinding against you, rubbing your clit just right. "So fuckin' gorgeous... bouncin' for me like that—shit, baby, you're unreal."

Your nails dig into his back, scraping, making him groan against your chest. His thrusts pick up, relentless, dragging wet, filthy squelches from where he's buried deep, your pussy clenching around him so perfectly.

"Fuckin' God," he grits out, "feel like you're made for me." His voice breaks, wrecked with pure need, hips slamming into yours, making the bed creak, skin slapping loud and obscene. "So tight, baby, takin' me so fuckin' good—shit, you hear that? Hear how wet you are for me?"

Every thrust makes your breath hitch, your body rocking with his. His mouth moves between your neck and chest, tasting, licking, biting, leaving you marked, claimed.

"Fuck, baby—fuck," he pants, hips relentless, his abs flexing against your stomach, body hot and solid. "You're gonna ruin me. Shit, you already have."

He pulls away, your nipple leaving his mouth with a wet pop, and fuck, the way your chest heaves makes him want to dive back in, but no. Not yet.

He sits upright, hands gripping your hips, and Jesus, the sight wrecks him. His gaze locks on the place where his dick slides in and out of you, slick and glistening, soaked with how fucking wet you are.

"Shit, baby—" his voice catches, rough and wrecked, "look at this."

Your pussy stretches around him, tight and perfect, swallowing him whole. Every thrust drags a filthy squelch, his cock gleaming with your slick, and fuck, you're making a mess—dripping down to his balls, coating him. His abs flex with every deep thrust, jaw clenched as he watches your cunt take him, take all of him.

"Goddamn," he groans, hips rolling, eyes glued to where you're joined. "Look at you takin' it—fuck, baby, you're takin' my whole dick—" He grits his teeth, pulling out slow, just to watch your pussy cling, desperate to keep him inside. "You're gonna kill me, baby. Shit."

You squirm, sheepish, a flush burning across your skin. "Don't... don't look at me," you whine, voice small, embarrassed by the intensity of his gaze, the way he's devouring you with his eyes.

His gaze snaps to yours, dark and hot, but there's warmth in it—soft, reassuring beneath the feral hunger.

"Hey," he murmurs, hips still moving, deep, slow, "don't do that. Don't hide from me." His thumb brushes along your hip, gentle despite the rough pace. "You're fuckin' gorgeous, baby, every part of you. Watching you take me like this—shit, it's the hottest thing I've ever seen."

And then—fuck—his hand moves, sliding down until his fingers find your clit, puffy and needy. He circles it, slow, deliberate, just as his hips pound into you, dragging a choked whine from your throat.

"Jay—oh, fuck... too much," you whimper, hips jerking, trying to squirm away, but his grip tightens, holding you right there.

"No, baby," he pants, hips relentless, dick hitting deep, stretching you wide. "You can take it. You're my good girl, right? Gimme one more, c'mon, I'm so fuckin' close."

Your mind spins, thoughts scattered, every thrust punching pleasure through your veins. He's big—God, so fucking big—stretching you to the limit, filling you so deep it feels like you can feel him in your throat. Every thrust hits that spot, sparks exploding behind your eyes. This is the best fuck of your life, no contest.

And fuck, people call him scary, say he's dangerous, but not here, not with you. Not like this. Not when his touch is careful, when he's so mindful of your pleasure, his voice gentle even as he wrecks you.

"God," he groans, hips slamming into you, his thumb rubbing against your clit with every thrust, making your thighs shake. "You feel so fuckin' good. Tight, wet, takin' me so perfect. Baby—shit—you got no idea what you're doin' to me."

Your nails dig into his arms, desperate, overwhelmed, his dick dragging against your walls, making you see stars.

He pounds into you, hips slamming against yours with bruising force, each thrust dragging a broken moan from your throat. His fingers circle your clit, faster, harder, until you're falling apart, babbling, a mess of whimpers and cries.

"Fuck, Jay... oh my God, please—"

You can't think, can't breathe, pleasure crashing over you in waves, your back arching, body tightening beneath him.

"That's it, baby. Fuck, you're takin' me so good. C'mon,give it to me... cum for me, doll—wanna feel you squeeze me," he growls, hips relentless, cock dragging against your sweet spot over and over.

And fuck, when it hits, it's devastating. Your vision whites out, body snapping taut as your orgasm crashes through you, intense, all-consuming. Your pussy clamps down around him, pulsing, milking his cock, making him curse, a ragged moan tearing from his chest.

But he doesn't stop.

He leans over you, his mouth crashing against yours in a bruising kiss, messy, desperate. His tongue tangles with yours, claiming, consuming, swallowing your gasps and whimpers as he fucks you through your high. His hips drive deep, faster, rougher, chasing his own release, and you melt under him—helpless, wrecked.

"God, Jay, you feel so good," you whimper against his lips, voice wrecked, slurred with pleasure. "So deep, fuck... so good—"

His eyes flutter shut, hips slamming into you with single-minded focus, cock dragging against your sensitive walls. "Fuck, baby," he pants, voice rough, wrecked, "you got no fuckin' idea—shit—drivin' me crazy."

He moans—deep, guttural—right in your ear, making your whole body shudder. "Where d'you want me to cum, doll?" His voice breaks, hips still pounding, "Tell me—fuck—where d'you want it?"

You don't hesitate, eyes glassy, lips parted, "Inside me, God, please—"

And fuck, that's it—he's gone.

"Shit, fuck, fuck," he growls, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his hips slamming into you like a man possessed.

His dick throbs, swelling inside you, then he breaks, hips jerking, and he cums, hard, deep. Hot ropes of cum flood your pussy, the pressure blinding, making you cry out, pussy clenching around him.

God. His load is huge. You can feel it—hot, thick, endless. Spurts of cum paint your insides, flooding your pussy so much it spills out, leaking around his thrusting cock in wet, sticky streams. Each pulse of his dick sends another gush of cum deeper, so warm and slick you swear you feel it spreading, coating every inch of your clenching walls.

And fuck, your cunt's puffy, swollen from how hard he's fucked you, stretched so perfectly around him, gripping him like your body refuses to let him go. His cock's still thick, throbbing, buried balls-deep as he grinds his hips, like he needs to push it all in, like he wants his cum everywhere.

The pressure's too much.

Your clit's throbbing, overstimulated, slick and sensitive from how he rubbed it raw, from how his skin keeps dragging against it. And with his cum gushing inside, with his cock pounding it deeper, it tips you over again, one last time.

Your orgasm slams into you like a fucking freight train.

"Oh, fuck, Jay... oh my God—"

Your back arches, mouth dropping open in a silent scream before broken moans spill out, babbling, wrecked. Your pussy clamps down so tight around him it makes him curse, hips jerking.

"Shit, baby, fuck—" as you milk his cock, your walls spasming, pulling every last drop from him.

Stars burst behind your eyelids—white-hot, blinding. Your whole body shakes, overwhelmed, nerves lit up, toes curling as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through you, relentless, all-consuming.

You can't stop shaking, can't stop moaning, a wrecked mess under him, drenched in sweat, skin tingling from how good—how fucking good—he makes you feel.

And he's still there, still grinding, fucking his cum into you, hips rolling slow, making wet squelches fill the air—filthy, messy, your combined slick and his cum making a sloppy mess between you. You feel it leak out, thick streams oozing past where you're stretched wide around him, warm as it dribbles down your ass.

"Look at you," he pants, voice wrecked, dark eyes devouring you. "So fuckin' pretty, makin' a mess all over me. Shit, baby, takin' me so good."

Your breath hitches, heart racing, head spinning. You're ruined. Destroyed. And fuck, you love it. Your body trembles, and you sob—not from pain, but from too much pleasure, from how overwhelmed you are.

"Shhh, pretty girl," he murmurs, voice soft, soothing, as his lips brush over your skin—your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your lips—gentle pecks that ground you, anchor you to him.

His big hands roam your body, soothing touches that chase away the lingering tremors.

"It's okay, baby. Got you," he whispers, thumb rubbing soft circles along your hip.

His body's so warm against yours, chest rising and falling with steady breaths, damp with sweat. He's careful, so careful not to crush you with his weight, propped up just enough to let you breathe, but still close enough that you can feel him everywhere.

And fuck, his dick's still inside you, still thick, still faintly throbbing. The stretch makes you whimper, a soft, shaky sound that tugs at his heart. He smiles, leans down, and runs a hand through your hair, fingers gentle, comforting.

"You did so good for me," he murmurs, voice rough but tender. "So fuckin' good, pretty girl."

Your lashes flutter, heart pounding, and you murmur, voice wobbly, "God, that... that was... so fucking good."

He chuckles, low and warm, a sound that rumbles through his chest. "Yeah, baby?"

His dark eyes soften when you nod, your nose brushing his, eyes big and beautiful, looking at him with this adoring gaze that wrecks him all over again. Fuck, you let him fuck you like that—hard, deep, relentless—and now you're looking at him like he hung the stars, like he didn't just ruin you, like he's something good. And God, that does something to him. Warms him, unravels him, makes him want to kiss you again and again.

So he does.

He leans down, lips brushing yours, and the kiss unfolds slow, lazy, messy. His tongue slides against yours, soft moans mixing between your mouths. Your lips part, welcoming him, and he tastes you, deep and slow, like he's got all the time in the world. His fingers thread through your hair, cradling you, keeping you close as you melt into him.

Your breaths mingle, warm and shaky, tongues sliding together in a sloppy kiss that's all soft sounds—wet licks, gentle sucks, hushed moans. You cling to him, nails digging into his back, and he loves it, loves you like this—soft, wrecked, beautiful.

He breaks the kiss after a few lingering licks, breathing heavy against your lips, and slowly, he begins to pull out.

You hiss, a sharp, shaky sound, and your thighs tremble, cunt sore, swollen, molded to the shape of his cock. The drag of him leaving your puffy, overstimulated pussy has your eyes fluttering, jaw slack, as warm, sticky cum begins to leak out—his load, thick and hot, spilling down your messy folds.

And fuck, his eyes are glued to the sight.

Your pussy is glistening, wrecked, stretched from taking him so deep and so good, and there's so much cum, sticky strings connecting your swollen lips to his slick, flushed dick. His jaw clenches, fingers itching to push it back in, to watch you drip around his cock again. God, the urge is unbearable.

But then you whimper, soft and tired, and he shakes himself out of it, soothing a hand over your quivering thigh. "Easy, baby," he murmurs, voice rough but gentle, "I know."

He plops down beside you, muscles relaxing, and you instinctively snuggle in, nuzzling against his broad, sweaty chest. His heartbeat's steady, comforting, and without hesitation, his arms wrap around you, pulling you close. He presses a kiss to your temple, warm lips lingering as his fingers trace soft shapes along your damp skin.

"You okay?" he asks, voice low, concern threading through the roughness.

You nod, so sleepy, so fucked out, eyelids heavy. "Mhmm," you murmur, content.

He chuckles, that deep, warm sound rumbling through his chest, and god, it soothes you. His calloused fingers glide along your sweat-slicked skin, slow, comforting, as you breathe him in—warm, safe, so good.

You tilt your head up, blinking lazily, and pout, voice soft, "Can I stay?"

He pauses, brows knitting as he glances down. "What?"

Your cheeks heat, and you look away, suddenly sheepish. Fuck. He doesn't exactly scream cuddles after fucking. Not with the reputation that precedes him.

But then his fingers gently tilt your chin up, urging your gaze back to his. "Hey, talk to me, baby."

Your heart skips. You swallow, nervous, "I mean... I... can I stay the night?"

For a beat, there's silence, then—he laughs, a surprised, genuine sound, and cups your cheek, thumb brushing softly along your warm skin.

"I didn't know leaving was an option."

Your eyes widen, taken aback, and then you giggle, nose scrunching. "You like me that much?"

And God, you've only been together a few weeks, and yeah, maybe you thought he was just waiting to fuck you, toss you aside after, but fuck, he's been so good to you from the start.

You just believed the talk, like a moron. He's Red Hood, Jason Todd. He fucks and leaves. That's what everyone said. But he never made you feel like that. Not once.

"I do," he says, simple, honest, and it hits you right in the chest.

Your heart flutters, and you see it: the sincerity in those bright blue eyes, something soft and real that makes your throat tighten.

His hand trails down from your side, and then, he cups your ass, big hand kneading the soft flesh before giving it a playful slap.

You yelp, giggling against his chest, and he grins, "Couldn't help myself," he murmurs, teasing.

You almost fall asleep against him, nuzzled into his warm chest, surrounded by the steady beat of his heartbeat and the faint scent of his skin—clean, a hint of gunpowder, and something uniquely him that makes your head spin. God, he smells so fucking good.

His fingers trace soft patterns along your sweaty skin, gentle, soothing, and fuck, it's impossible not to drift. Your eyelids droop, breath slowing, body boneless against him.

But then he shifts slightly, muscles tensing as he moves, and you whine, voice small, "Nooo..."

He chuckles, the sound deep and fond. "C'mon, baby," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "We gotta clean up."

You pout, half-asleep, mumbling, "M'tired..."

And fuck, he melts. Heart just gone. You're too cute, all sleepy and clingy, eyes heavy and lips pouty. "I'll clean you quickly, I promise, okay?"

You grumble, but when he pulls away, you whimper, instinctively clinging to him. His brows lift, a bit surprised. He's not that guy—not the cuddly type, not the one for soft aftercare. But for you? Fuck. For you, he is.

"Alright, baby," he murmurs, and then he scoops you up, effortless, like you weigh nothing.

His arms cradle you against his broad chest, warmth radiating off him as he carries you to the bathroom. The tile's cool beneath his bare feet, and the soft glow of the bathroom light makes everything feel hazy, dreamlike. He sets you down gently, but you cling, arms wrapped around his torso, cheek pressed to his skin.

"Jesus," he laughs softly, "you're really not lettin' go, huh?"

You mumble something incoherent, and he just grins, wrapping an arm around you while he reaches to turn on the shower. The pipes groan, and warm steam begins to fill the air.

"Just a bit more," he says, voice low, chin resting on your shoulder as you lean back into him, "and we'll go to sleep, yeah?"

You nod sleepily, and he presses a soft kiss to the curve of your neck, lips warm against your cool skin. The water heats up, steam curling around you both, and he guides you into the shower cabin. The first rush of warm water hits your skin, washing away the sweat and stickiness, and you sigh, body relaxing further.

He steps behind you, arms wrapping around your waist, holding you close. One of his hands spreads over your belly, rubbing slow circles.

"God," he hums, mouth brushing against your damp hair, "you did so good for me, baby."

Your heart flutters, but you just nod, too tired to do much else.

"Just a quick shower," he murmurs, reaching for his body wash.

He pours some into his hand—and God, his hands are so big compared to you—before he starts lathering you up. His fingers glide over your skin, gentle but thorough, slick suds sliding down your tired body.

He washes you carefully, every curve, every dip, soothing touches along your arms, shoulders, hips. He's fast but soft, intent on making sure you're clean without keeping you up too long.

When he finishes, he guides you under the spray, rinsing you off, and you just lean against him, boneless, letting him take care of you.

"See? Told you I'd be quick," he grins, fingers brushing along your waist.

"Mhmm," you murmur, sleepy satisfaction settling in your bones.

Then, it's his turn. He grabs the body wash, lathering up quickly, and you step back slightly, half-lidded eyes drifting down his broad chest, strong arms, defined abs, water cascading down his tattooed skin.

God. You bite your lip, not even subtle about staring. His muscles shift with every movement, abs flexing as he runs suds over his chest, water tracing every dip and ridge. And when he turns around to rinse off—fuck.

His back is just as unfair, muscles rippling, tattoos stretching over his skin, and your gaze drops lower. His ass is perfect, firm and sculpted, like something out of a fantasy, and those thighs—Jesus.

Thick, powerful, covered in droplets that slide down to his calves. You can see the sheer strength there, thighs that could crush you without trying, legs that hold him steady when he wrecks you.

And then... yeah, he catches you.

"Caught you starin', baby," he teases, grinning, "like what you see?"

Your face heats, and you huff, "Shut up."

"Didn't hear a no," he laughs, water streaming down his face, blue eyes bright with amusement.

You pinch your nose just as he turns off the water, a little scrunch of your face that makes him snort softly.

"Such a drama queen," he mutters, grinning as he steps out first, water dripping from his tattooed skin.

He grabs a towel, gives it a quick shake, and then turns back to you. Warmth flickers in his blue eyes as he wraps you in it, pulling the soft fabric snug around your damp body.

"Gotcha," he murmurs, fingers brushing your cheek.

He offers his hand, and you take it, stepping out carefully. The bathroom tile is cool against your feet, and you shiver, but it's not from the cold.

Because holy shit.

Your eyes catch on him—the broad chest, water sliding down sculpted abs, and then... yeah. Your gaze drops. And even soft, his dick is huge. Like, what the fuck. Thick, heavy, resting against his thigh, and God, it's pretty.

Veins running along the length, flushed at the tip, and that happy trail above it? Dark, perfect, practically begging you to lick your way down. The kind of sight that makes your mouth water, heat curling low in your belly.

Your brain short-circuits for a second, and all you can think is how the fuck did that fit inside you? No wonder you felt stretched to the brink, stuffed full, wrecked. God, he ruined you.

He smirks, noticing your stare, but says nothing, just grabs another towel and wraps it around his waist. Barely. It hangs low on his hips, dangerously close to slipping, teasingly casual.

"C'mon, baby," he murmurs, guiding you back to the bedroom.

The sheets are rumpled, still bearing evidence of what he did to you, and heat rushes to your cheeks. He tosses open his closet, rummaging for a second before pulling out a t-shirt.

"Here," he says, grinning, "this'll do."

It's worn soft, the fabric faded but smelling like him—that clean scent, mixed with cologne and something uniquely Jason. Your head spins, heart fluttering.

He gently dries you off, hands warm as he rubs the towel over your arms, shoulders, legs, taking careful time with your still-sensitive skin. Then he slips the shirt over your head, and it swallows you whole.

Like, drowns you. The hem hits mid-thigh, the neckline wide, slipping off your shoulder. The sleeves hang loose, practically devouring your arms.

Jason leans back, takes one look at you, and laughs. "Jesus," he grins, "you look like you're wearin' a damn dress."

You huff, slapping his chest. Which, of course, does absolutely nothing.

He's built like a fucking wall. Solid. Unmoving.

"Ouch," you deadpan, "my hand's broken now."

He catches your wrist easily, grinning, and then pulls you into him. His arms wrap around you, big hands sliding beneath the hem of the oversized shirt, and yep, they go straight for your ass.

He cups it, kneading shamelessly.

You huff, "You're obsessed."

"Yeah," he says, zero shame, grin widening. "I am."

Jason grabs a pair of boxers, slides them on, the waistband snapping against his hips. He picks up both towels, tossing them into the laundry basket.

"Hang on," he says, waving you off as you yawn. "These sheets are trashed."

You flop face-first onto the bed anyway, muffled, "Don't care. Tired."

"Yeah, I know," he grins, peeling the sheets off on his side.

They're ... yeah. Destroyed. Wrinkled, soaked, and holy shit, he really did a number on you. You roll to the side, watching him wrestle with the fitted sheet like it's personally offended him.

"Need help?" you mumble.

"No," he grunts, "I got it. Fucking—goddamn thing—"

He finally manages, cursing under his breath, and throws on fresh ones. Then, without warning, he turns, grins, and scoops you up so he can fit the sheet on your side too.

"Jason!" you squeal, legs kicking weakly, "I can—"

"Shhh," he teases, "you love it."

He plops you onto the fresh sheets, and you bounce, letting out a giggly little noise. "Asshole."

"Yup," he agrees cheerfully, dropping down next to you. His arm snakes around your waist, dragging you in, and you go willingly, curling against his chest.

"God," you yawn again, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

His skin's warm, smells like him—that clean soap mixed with his natural heat. One arm drapes over his waist, your fingers splaying over solid muscle.

His hand finds the back of your head, gentle, fingers threading through your damp hair.

"You okay?" he asks softly, voice rumbling in your ear.

You nod, murmuring, "Mhmm... just tired."

"Sleep, baby," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You melt, mumbling something incoherent, and he chuckles, pulling you closer.

And as you drift off, Jason just... lays there. Holds you. He wasn't expecting this. Not the clingy post-sex cuddling, not you nuzzling into him like he's safe, like you trust him.

Not the way his chest feels tight, not in a bad way, just... fuck. He's not soft. Not really. Not supposed to be. But you curl into him, and it's like his body knows what to do, like holding you is instinct.

You're small against him, your breathing evening out, little puffs of air against his neck. And shit, he could get used to this.

Your leg hooks over his, possessive even in sleep, and he smirks, shaking his head.

"You're somethin' else," he murmurs, so quiet you don't hear.

But yeah... he's already all fucking in.

P. S: I didn't forget about your requests, guys. I have the Nightwing one you suggested, imma post it these days 🤭 I'm just a slut for both Dick and Jason rn ✋🏻

[plethorawrites]

i think jason is perfect for the girl who thinks that's unlovable x guy who loves her like it's as easy as breathing

maybe I'm just projecting because that has never happened to me but i do think that jason is a loverboy, especially if his significant other has never been treated right

(I think he'd be self reflecting too, honestly. Trying to treat someone the way no one ever treated him either.) (P.S. I tried a different style with this, idk if it worked or not, but try to stick with it to lmk please!)

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---_

You were hard to love. You knew that. Every partner you ever had said so. And it made sense why.

You talked a lot. Droned on and on about interests that no else really seemed to care about. Couldn't even tell when they were getting bored because you were too focused on the way your hands moved to talk and tell stories.

You could never shut your brain off. You were always fidgeting in bed, trying to find something for your hands to do besides trace the sheets or pick at the threads on the blankets. You were always the last to fall asleep no matter when or where because some thought kept you up and you usually annoyed whoever was closest with it until they got so bored they fell asleep.

You were a terrible singer. Yet, you did it all the time. You couldn't carry a tune, couldn't hit any pitch, had no talent whatsoever and if an actual singer were to hear you when you were in the shower or the kitchen, they would surely ban you from ever listening to music again. You sang it under your breath, fighting it so you wouldn't annoy people, but always lost your own challenge and they ended up laughing.

You were clingy. You knew it was pathetic, always craving someone's attention to make you feel wanted. It was unattractive to need the kind of reassurance you wanted—to feel the warmest and most content when holding onto someone or sleeping in their arms. It was needy and sad. You were jealous. It was a bad habit, you knew. What everyone did with their own life didn't affect you in any serious way, but it was just so hard to share. Only child syndrome, maybe. Regardless, it was hard not to feel envious when someone else got attention from the person you loved most. You tried not to let it show. It did.

You were loud. You couldn't help it. You got overzealous about small things, like seeing a puppy in public or a cute baby in a onesie. You always made that high pitched screech that had people wincing in pain and telling you to lower your voice. No one wanted to see or hear about your happiness, they especially didn't like when you accidentally grabbed them without realizing you were doing it. It was annoying.

You were an awkward, bumbling, idiot. Your words got mixed up, you pulled doors that said push, you tripped. And you blushed and you covered your face with shame when it happened, but it never stopped people from giving you judgemental sideways glances in public.

...

But never to Jason.

...

You talked a lot. Spoke about interests that he sometimes knew and other times didn't. Never noticed him staring at you so intently, watching your eyes light up as you talk with your hands out of pure excitement that made him utterly enthralled.

You could never shut your brain off. You were always moving closer and closer to him in bed. You were restless, so your hands would fuss with his hair or trace the scars on his back. You always found something to mumble about— a recent book, a new recipe, something from a show, or drama from work. Your voice was so soft, so soothing as you dragged your hands up and down his back, he had no choice but to fall asleep to the comforting sound of it.

You were a terrible singer. But the sound still brought him joy. Because it was your own joy causing the horrendous screeching you couldn't seem to help. He'd laugh, yes, at the adorable attempt. He was always trying his best to disguise the grin by hiding behind his book as he read in the living room and you sang in the kitchen. He couldn't resist peeking up from his book every once in a while just to watch before ducking back down and pretending to have not noticed how happy singing off key seemed to make you.

You were clingy. It was adorable, especially with the height difference, how you'd hug him from behind when he was cooking or drape your arms around him the second he came home. He always feared touch, but yours seemed addictive. The only thing he feared worse was losing you, but thankfully, you held him tightly at night and never minded when he reciprocated. He found it peaceful, settling his thoughts when he felt his skin on yours—so soft compared to his own, which were covered in bruises and scars.

You were jealous. Some people might find the constant hovering when someone else even remotely attractive was nearby, but not him. He found it endearing how you'd hang off him, lean on him, wrap him arm around your waist or do any number of other things to make it perfectly clear he was yours. It made him feel wanted, reassured him that you weren't willing to share anymore than he wanted to watch you get attention from other people.

You were loud. You jumped when you got excited, your eyes lighting up and your nose crinkling. Your squeals of joy fell from your lips by accident and even when they were a little loud or piercing, the sound still conveyed your happiness. Your teeth would sink into your bottom lip to try to suppress your own content but it never worked and he wouldn't want it to. The little hops, the way your face would soften at the sight of something cute or grab and shake him when you saw something you thought he'd like.

You were an awkward, bumbling, idiot. You made little mistakes here and there, like everyone did. It was your reaction that had people staring. The way you'd laugh at yourself, your smile bearing widely and a faint blush spreading across your cheeks. Anyone with functioning eyes would look at you when you laughed. Hell, even a blind man with the displeasure of never getting to see your smile would still turn, just to hear your laughter a little bit better.

Maybe you talked a lot, were clingy, and jealous. But more than anything— you were his.

[popipopipopipopipo000]

Sweet dreams🪽🩸

Sleepy Jason i did a while ago teehee i wanted to draw him w bed hair

[applejuicebegood]

The Softest of Jason Todd HCs

Fem!Reader A/N: Some of these were originally conceived for the lovely, talented, wonderful @midnightorchids. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE FALLOW HER RIGHT NOW

Masterlist

Jason fell for you slowly. It was the kinda falling that took on the form of severe distraction and confusion during his patrol time. The only spot in his second life he had crafted into hours of precise control and expectancy. He hated how, as he was clicking a mag into his handgun, his mind would flash to your smiling, blushed face. He hated how you would unintentionally make him trip and stumble over the roof-tops of Gotham. He hated how recalling the chime of your laugh made his hands sweaty under his leather gloves. He hated how he had to take off his helmet in the seclusion of an abandoned wear-house because recalling how his hand slipped in to your on your last date made his face heat up to the point where he felt like he would pass out.

Once he realised that the nervous pounding in his gut whenever your shoulders brushed was in-fact caused from a growing crush on you, he panicked. The eventual confession was awkward and stumbled, him making it clear that he needed time and room to figure it out. He took your smaller hands into his, promising that no matter what, for now he would figure it out with you at his side. Of course you agreed, squeezing his hands in confirmation.

Ya'll are soulmates, period. Very big 'he is half of my soul' energy. Your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. Your words have already been said by the other before you can string them together in your head. You share in each-others grief and rage. Five years into the relationship, Jason knew you so well (and being raised in a family of detectives) that you would never have to explain your frustration or annoyance - and on days like that he would always be ready to wrap you up in a weighted blanket, forcing a cup of raspberry tea into your cold hands and his headphones over your ears with one of his audiobooks already playing. Carrying you to your shared bed for you to fall asleep leaned up against his chest, his thick arms wrapped tightly around you.

Despite his availability of wealth and status, he keeps your date-night very low-key and personal. On his off days from Red-Hooding, both of you would have cooking nights. Where you would sway and giggle with the slow drift of music coming from the kitchen radio. You would make something hearty and filling. You wanting to see Jason sigh in the comfort of good food. You both would curl up with your steaming bowls on your couch, probably watching Tangled (at your request). It's all extremely cozy, Jason smiling into your skin as gratitude blooms in his chest for you. For having created this safe, hidden expanse of reassurance. All while the harsh Gotham wind whipped just outside your window.

This man is smitten- he worships you entirely. His is in awe of you, even as both of you grow old, his love and his care for you never relents or dwindles.

Ya'll would go to museums and art galleries and he would point at statues and paintings of goddess and queens and say 'you', under his breath. It's so horribly corny but it makes you hold his arm just a bit tighter every time.

After you both moved in together, he developed a habit of making your coffee alongside his and bringing it to you in bed in the mornings. This eventually just became your routine on weekends when you both had enough time to bask in the slow creeping of sunlight over each-others skin.

He's a romantic at heart, a part of him you had to slowly unearth under years of torment and blood. You were the one to force him out of his cave of isolation and into the reality of him deserving softness and joy. It's a dept you have assured him he doesn't need to pay back. That doesn't stop him from trying.

Giggles and smiles like a little boy if you kiss his forehead, specifically at the roots of his white streak. You think it's one of the prettiest things about him.

Unintentional scary dog when you guys are out together. He's got his hand laced with yours or floating somewhere on your hip or lower back. It's mostly due to his anxiety, constantly having his head on a swivel. It's all heightened due to the fact that he has the most precious, important individual standing next to him. Whether it's at one of his Dad's galla's or trips to the local library, he likes to have you near him.

Bitch has multiple playlists made about/for you (a lot of Noah Kahn and TV Girl)

Example:

A/N: I may be gay but I have a very special place for sappy Jason in my heart. Please send in any requests regarding our boy (or any of the bat boys or girls)- I really love writing for the people in this fandom.

[sanguineterrain]

in your hands | jason todd

Summary: Jason thinks he's too big to be loved. You show him that that's impossible.

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader 

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings/tags: bathing together, sad jason, brief dissociation, i hc jason to have body dysmorphia and i wanted to explore that, non sexual nudity, washing your partner, bruce angst, hopeful ending.

A/N: as always, if you like this fic, tell me through comments and reblogs :)

the divider

Tonight, Jason comes home far away.

You clock it as soon as he walks in. He’s moving on autopilot: boots by the door, helmet on the shelf, gear in the closet. He washes his hands, hangs up his jacket, and then he stands at the doorway. And waits. 

You’re never quite sure what he’s waiting for. But you know that he’ll stay stuck in his head if you don’t step in. 

“Hey, baby,” you say, cupping his cheeks. “Hey. You wanna eat or clean up first?”

The change is instant. As soon as you touch him, Jason is there. You’ve never mentioned it to him. It frightens you too much to explore, knowing that you’re his tether. You don’t want to think about what that means, having the power to anchor a man who used to be dead.

He looks at you, meets your gaze head-on.

“Did I disappear?” he whispers.

“Little bit. It’s okay.”

You keep stroking his cheeks, avoiding his shaving cuts and the freshly split lip. There’s a bruise around his eye and on his temple. 

“Wanna wash up,” he finally says, but his hands cling to your waist. 

You pet the back of his neck. “Want me to go with you?” 

“Please?” He glances at the kitchen. “But if you’re in the middle ‘f something, then—”

“No, Jay. C’mon.”

You take him by the hand and lead him to the bathroom. Jason undresses while you draw a bath. Soon the bathroom starts to fog up with steam. You pour in some Epsom salts for his muscle aches—you know he should soak more than he does. 

You turn off the faucet. Jason is in his boxers, staring at himself in the mirror. He picks at his autopsy scar, presses the puckered white flesh until it turns red. 

“Jay,” you say gently. “C’mere, honey.”

His hands drop to his sides. Jason goes to the bath, pulls off his underwear, and sinks into the water. It’s a generously-sized tub. Jason had gotten his old tub replaced for a larger one after you’d mentioned that you liked baths. Soon enough, you’d introduced him to the wonders of hot baths for his sore muscles. 

Even with its size, Jason still has to bend his knees slightly to fit. He pushes himself up easily. A little water sloshes over and dampens the edge of your shirt. Jason curses.

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head. 

“It’s okay, honey. You want me to come in?”

He nods. You pull off your shirt, then your pants and underwear. Jason folds in on himself to make room, but you stop him.

“I’ll just sit between your legs, Jay. No problem.”

You step into the bath. Jason holds your wrist so you can sit down without slipping. He stares at his hand on your arm after you’ve sat. 

You reach over for a washcloth and pour a lightly-scented soap. You lather it up first, then rub it over his shoulders, his chest, his stomach. Jason is perfectly still. 

“Can you lean over, baby? So I can get your back.”

Jason obediently leans over. You smile at him as he holds himself up with his core. You know Jason’s not just strong, that he’s agile too. He’s very good at wielding his body.

You wash his back. This close, you can see the contours of his muscles, how broad he is. 

When you’re done, you wring the soap out of the cloth and cup water in your palms to rinse the suds off of his skin. You catch his gaze in the mirror across the tub. Jason turns his head.

“God, look at me. How are you not afraid every time I come stompin’ around?”

You stop pouring water and rest your hands on Jason’s biceps. “What do you mean?”

He scoffs. “I’m like a huge, fuckin’... monster. Too big, too loud. I’m—” He swallows, bows his head. “How can you look at me?”

“Jay, honey. You’re not a monster.”

“Bruce thinks so,” he whispers, and straightens. “He can barely look at me. Every time he does, ‘s like he doesn’t even recognize me.”

His hand quietly swishes through the water to claw at his autopsy scar. 

“This is all I am. Just violence. ‘M too big for anything else.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and pull his head into your chest. Jason hugs you back. His shoulders begin to shake. 

“You’re more than your body,” you say. “You’re more than what the Pit made you. What you were.”

He shakes and cries into your neck. “I was small. People loved me when I was small.”

You pick up his head. Jason’s eyes are thick with tears. You lean in and kiss his Cupid’s bow.

“I love you.” You brush away his tears with your lips. “I love you so much, Jay. That’ll never change.”

“Too big for it,” he rasps.

You shake your head. “No, Jaybird. You’re never too big to be loved.”

“I’m s-scary.”

You kiss his temple, rub between his shoulder blades. Jason clings tighter.

“You don’t scare me. You never have.”

He pulls you closer, so you’re chest-to-chest. You straddle his stomach with your legs and hug Jason as tightly as you can. 

“I was good when I was small,” he says. “I don’t–I don’t know how to be good anymore. I wanna be good, I do. I don’t want Bruce to think I’m bad. I’m still good.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath. “Oh, Jay. Baby. You are good. You came back to make a change. You’ve always been good. You’ve got a good heart. Nothing’s going to change that. Bruce is stubborn and stuck in his head. But you’ll always be his son. And you’ll always have people who love you.”

“What if I’m not worth it?” he whispers. “What if I’m too lost?”

“Then I’ll go out and find you. And we’ll come home together,” you say. “You’ll always find your way back home.”

He smells like soap and Epsom salts. You kiss his autopsy scar. Jason shakes more. 

“Let me wash your hair, baby,” you say.

He nods, tears on his lashes. You wet his hair and pour shampoo. You rest your lips on his cheek as you lather the shampoo, detangling tiny knots with your fingers. Jason bends at the waist so you can rinse off the soap with the faucet.

You tap his hip and Jason sits up. He slips his arms around you again and tucks his chin into your neck.

“Don’t let go,” he says, suddenly desperate. “Don’t–don’t let me go.”

“I won’t, Jay. I’m right here.”

[jellofish-plant]

A Night In

Pairing: Jason Todd (Red Hood) x Reader

Summary: After much convincing, you manage to get Jason to stay home for the night. What follows is a cozy evening filled with hot cocoa, rom-coms, and some rare, tender moments with the Red Hood himself.

Warnings:

Mentions of Jason’s vigilantism and Gotham chaos

[Masterlist]

The sound of rain tapping against the windows filled the apartment, a soothing rhythm that complemented the cozy warmth inside. You pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, sinking deeper into the couch as a soft glow from the TV illuminated the room.

Jason’s deep chuckle broke your focus as he walked into the living room, balancing two steaming mugs of hot cocoa in his hands. He wore his usual lounge attire: gray sweatpants and a faded Gotham Knights hoodie. His dark hair was still damp from his shower, a few stubborn strands falling across his forehead.

“Got your marshmallows,” he said with a smirk, handing you a mug. “Three of ‘em, just like you like it.”

You took the cup from him, your fingers brushing his for a moment. The warmth from the mug spread through your hands as you smiled up at him. “You’re spoiling me, Todd. Not that I’m complaining.”

He plopped down next to you, the couch dipping under his weight. “You’re lucky I love you, or I’d be halfway across Gotham right now chasing some idiot with a crowbar.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “You’re always halfway across Gotham. That’s why I convinced you to stay in tonight, remember?”

Jason leaned back, stretching his long legs out and draping an arm across the back of the couch. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. Self-care or whatever.” He took a sip of his cocoa, then smirked at you over the rim of his mug. “But I’m not sure how watching cheesy rom-coms qualifies as self-care.”

“Excuse me,” you gasped, mock-offended. “When Harry Met Sally is a classic. You’re just bitter because Harry reminds me of you.”

“Bitter?” Jason raised an eyebrow, leaning closer. “I’ll have you know I’m a romantic at heart.”

“Oh, really?” you teased, setting your mug down and narrowing your eyes. “Let’s hear it then. Give me your best romantic line.”

Jason tilted his head, pretending to think for a moment. Then, in a voice dripping with exaggerated charm, he said, “Is it hot in here, or is it just you?”

You groaned, laughing despite yourself. “That’s terrible. You’d never get a date with that.”

“Good thing I don’t need to,” he shot back, his grin softening into something more genuine. “Already got the only person I want.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks at the sincerity in his tone. Jason always had a way of catching you off guard, slipping in moments of raw honesty when you least expected them.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered, leaning your head against his shoulder.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “And you’re lucky you’re stubborn enough to get me to stay home tonight.”

The two of you settled into a comfortable silence, the movie playing in the background as the rain continued to fall outside. For once, there were no alarms, no emergencies, and no masks to wear. Just you, Jason, and the warmth of a night spent together.

[sleepn0tfound]

New Years Special║[Jason Todd x Reader]

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

"You're here." The girl said with a smile as she turned around. "Of course I am." Jason returned the smile, walking til he ended up next to her, leaning his weight onto the railings, his arm crossed on top them.

"Just like old times, huh?" Y/n looked back up at the dark sky of Gotham, the darkness of the sky seemed to make the stars shine even brighter. "Just like old times." He repeated with an uncharacteristic soft tone, noticing her shivering he placed his leather jacket over her. It was if nothing had changed and they were still the same teenagers they were years ago, even the way his jacket would engulf her.

Yet at the same time it was as if everything was different. Crime alley no longer was as noisy as it would've been years ago. "We've come so far," Y/n hummed as she looked down at the part of Gotham that used to be full or crimes happening at every second, fitting the name. "The name 'Crime Alley' doesn't really suit this place anymore, does it?"

Jason looked down from the rooftop they were on, "Yeah. Thanks to you." He said with a playful nudge at her shoulder.

"Thanks to us."

Those words made Jason pause before his smile returned, "Yeah. Thanks to us..." He still remembered the tears they both shared on the first night where there had been zero crime activity in Crime Alley.

Their thoughts were interrupted by the counting down of residents.

5.

"Ah. It's almost time," She raised her head to flash a smile at him.

4.

"Happy New Years, Jay." The two leaned closer to each other.

3.

"I love you." Jason could feel the warmth of her words breath on his lips.

2.

"Happy New Years, N/n." Jason carressed her cheek.

1.

"I love you too."

.

A mix of red and purple fireworks had went off, signaling the start of a new year. The two locked lips as the sound of fireworks going off faded into the distance, feeling as if they were the only people in the world.

[ghostlyshellofapuppet]

Thinking about a day when you don't feel well, your body tired, no energy in your limbs but you still have stuff to do. Clean, do laundry, take out the trash, but Jason Todd is suddenly standing in front of you as you bump into him. A stern but soft look on his face as he sees you, bags under your eyes and sluggish movements and he debates immediately picking you up and tucking you into bed.

"Go lay down",he demanded softly as he cupped your cheek with a touch softer than most thought he was capable of. And he fully expected the pout that forms on your face at his command, "I can do it, and don't tell me what to do", but as he hears your words with your little unintentional whiny pout he can't help but chuckle slightly because you look like a sad, sick cat.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but you're going to lay down."

"I'm-", you try to start but he gently picks you up to be held against his chest and walks you into the bedroom, he doesn't miss the way you go slightly limp in his hold thanks to his warmth and touch. Laying down with you and tucking you into his chest as he covers the both of you with blankets and a kiss to your forehead and cheek. "Just rest for now sweetheart, we can take care of everything later"

[eeerrrrewsd]

Worth the Risk

Part 2

Jason Todd x Reader – Hurt/Comfort, Soft!Jason, Fluff

Jason wasn’t good at this.

The whole relationship thing.

The soft stuff. The affectionate stuff. The normal stuff.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to.

It was just… weird.

He knew how to fight. He knew how to kill. He knew how to survive.

But he didn’t know how to do this.

Didn’t know how to just—

Hold your hand for no reason.

Let you fix his hair because you said it was messy.

Touch you without bracing for the moment you’d flinch or pull away.

Because you didn’t pull away.

You weren’t scared of him.

You weren’t cautious, like you were waiting for him to snap.

You just—touched him.

Like it was easy. Like it was normal.

And Jason—Jason had no idea what to do with that.

He was trying, though.

Because you were affectionate—really affectionate.

You reached for him constantly.

A hand on his arm when you talked.

Brushing stray hairs from his face.

Casually linking your pinky with his when you walked side by side.

The first few times, Jason had tensed—pure instinct.

But you never expected anything from him.

Never demanded he touch you back.

You just… let him be.

So, eventually, Jason started testing the waters.

Little things at first.

Brushing his fingers over yours when you handed him something.

Letting you lean into him without stiffening.

Bumping his knee against yours just to see if you’d smile.

(You always did.)

And maybe—just maybe—he liked it.

The first time he actually tried to be affectionate, it was awkward as hell.

You had fallen asleep on the couch next to him, curled up under his jacket.

Jason had been pretending to watch TV, but really, he had been stealing glances at you, wondering how the hell you could sleep so easily around him.

And then—on impulse, before he could talk himself out of it—he reached out.

Hesitant. Slow.

Brushed his fingers along your wrist, barely a touch at all.

And damn, he felt stupid.

He had literally fought crime lords, taken down whole gangs, and yet here he was, treating something as simple as touching you like it was life or death.

But then—then you shifted.

Murmured something incoherent.

And, still half-asleep, you turned into him—head resting against his shoulder, breath warm against his collarbone.

And Jason—Jason froze.

He had no idea what to do.

He should move. He should wake you. He should do something.

But all he could do was sit there, heart hammering, as you sighed and relaxed against him.

Like he was something safe.

Jason Todd had never been anyone’s safe place before.

And damn it—he liked it.

After that, it got easier.

He started returning your touches, little by little.

A hand on your back when you walked through a crowded place.

Hooking a finger through your belt loop to keep you close.

Even—on rare occasions—pressing his lips to your temple when he thought no one was looking.

And he loved the way you reacted.

The way your breath hitched when he brushed his knuckles over your cheek.

The way you’d glance up at him, surprised and soft, every time he pulled you just a little closer.

The way you melted when he let himself be vulnerable.

It was addictive.

And maybe—just maybe—Jason was getting used to it.

One night, you were curled up next to him, scrolling through your phone, half-draped over his lap.

Jason was pretending to read, but mostly, he was just thinking about how nice you felt against him.

Warm. Soft. Real.

And before he could stop himself, he shifted, running his fingers over your arm—slow, gentle.

You blinked, glancing up at him. “What was that for?”

Jason hesitated.

Then, in a rare moment of honesty, he muttered—

“…Dunno. Just wanted to.”

Your face softened.

Then, to his utter surprise, you teased—

“Wow. Affection? From Jason Todd? I should write this down.”

Jason groaned, rolling his eyes. “Never mind. Forget it.”

But you just grinned, sitting up and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Never.”

And Jason—Jason just sighed, hooked an arm around your waist, and let himself stay.

[rosaeh]

i watched the northman (2022), and i don't know if im just obsessed by jason or what, but amleth remind me so much of him at some point in the movie.

like he thrives for revenge, alright ? willing to do anything to got it. but then he meets olga (reader) and realises she's much more worth fighting for. is willing to get hurt —maybe even die— if it means she's safe.

and he tells her he hasn't felt close with anyone since his childhood before her.

hardened man, shaped by hate, but he softens around her. give up his plan on revenge for her —well at first at least, but jason would give it all up.

«you sacrificed yourself so i could flee.

— and you came back for me.»

let's not talk about what happened after (this is why i said at some point)

[harpersdragons]

Theft in the Family, Chapter 7

This is the final chapter, and I’m a little sad it’s over. This was fun to write, definitely one of my favorites.

Words: 3448

The rest of the weekend passes peacefully. Jason and Damian run out to grab some groceries—dressing in old league gear, since he guarantees the Bats will still be looking for him. League gear is still conspicuous, to the Bats and civilians alike, but the hope was Gotham is weird enough most people wouldn’t bat an eye.

They spend the rest of their time in peace at the small cabin, reading (he’d picked up another book or two as well) and just generally taking a rest day.

By the end of the night, Jason felt suitably relaxed—despite the bone-deep exhaustion. He still hadn’t slept near enough in the past couple of days.

Jason is cleaning up the kitchen—making sure everything is in order so they can leave early in the morning—when he feels Damian lightly tug at his sleeve.

“What’s up, Habibi?”

“You are coming with me tomorrow, correct?”

Jason glances down, seeing Damian’s wide, hopeful eyes. He smiles softly. “Well, I have to take you there, don’t I? You can’t get all the way there by yourself.”

“No, you are coming in with me, you are staying.”

Jason sighs and crouches down to level with him. “Dames, I can’t stay, we’ve been over this. Bruce doesn’t want me. Even if he did, I’ve made too many mistakes. I’ve killed, hell, I took you from him. He’s not gonna let me back in his home.”

Damian stares at him consideringly, his green eyes narrowing in thought. “Well if that’s the case, he doesn’t want me either.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ve killed! My body count is almost as high as yours!”

And if that doesn’t make Jason despair for this child—

“It’s different, bud. You were, are, a child. You didn’t have a choice. I, on the other hand…” He trails off, staring at some point of Damian’s shoulder.

He doesn’t regret his decisions, not really.

Crime Alley will only respond to one thing: more violence.

It’s taken over so completely, simply following the Bat’s plan and locking criminals away and hoping for reform, it would never work.

The only way to change Crime Alley is to fight fire with fire. The gang leaders, the instigators of the violence, speak one language. He must respond in kind.

He has to protect the innocents there, the ones who are stuck in the vicious cycle.

He gives chances to those who deserve it.

He protects the kids, the ones who are cast aside by the rest of society as worthless, just because they are from Crime Alley.

He became who he needed when he was a kid.

So no, he doesn’t regret it.

He does miss his family. He regrets that his decisions have severed any connection he might have been able to have.

Though, some may argue that his death had already done that.

Or before that, when Bruce flat out told him he’s not Jason’s father.

Jason does not have a family.

Not anymore.

Except Damian.

Jason shakes himself back to his conversation. “I can try, kid, but I can’t guarantee it’ll go well. I can’t guarantee I’ll stay longer than brunch.”

Damian brightens, ducks in for a quick hug, and then darts off. Jason smiles to himself as he gets back to cleaning.

He wants to get to the manor early, early enough no one but Alfred will be awake.

It’s not until much later that night, when he’s laying in bed unable to sleep, that the reality sinks in of what he just agreed to.

He just agreed to turn himself in.

He’s turning himself in, in a couple hours, to the man who can—and probably will—lock him in Arkham.

He’s agreed to submit himself to the rejection, to the pain of being told he’s not family, of seeing his family lock him in a cell, in the same building as his murderer.

He takes a shaky breath, looking down at Damian’s still form. The kid isn’t in a cuddly mood, so he’s curled up on the other side of the bed.

He’ll do it. He’ll do anything for Damian, but the weight of knowing what’s about to happen settles in him, makes it impossible to sleep.

He spends the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, counting down until they have to leave.

Brunch is at 11, but everyone will start waking up and filtering into the kitchen around ten. Alfred will start preparing food around 8:30 or nine. Jason will probably aim to be there at seven, so they should leave around 6:30 if they’re taking the (stolen) car.

Jason prods Damian out of bed at promptly six in the morning, having been out of bed himself for a while and making breakfast. He guides the sleepy kid to the kitchen, cleaning up his mess as Damian eats. Before they leave, Jason methodically puts his gear and weapons on. Bruce may have an idea of who he is, but that doesn’t mean he has to confirm it.

By the time they get to the manor, Damian is nearly asleep again. He ends up picking Damian up and carrying him to the door, steeling himself before knocking.

He’s had hours to come to terms with his fate.

He’ll survive, Arkham is a revolving door. If he gets locked up, he can break out.

He takes one more steadying breath before the door opens, and Alfred stands before him. The older man’s face softens as he takes in Damian practically asleep on Jason’s shoulder. He ushers the two indoors, shutting the door behind them.

Jason makes to walk straight to the kitchen, only to be stopped by Alfred’s raised eyebrow. “Now I know you remember our weapons rule, Master Jason. Kindly disarm and leave your weapons on the table.”

He did remember. However, walking into the kitchen and facing the Bats completely weaponless is the last thing he wants to do right now.

“Sorry, Alfie.” Jason sets Damian down, then begins unstrapping all his obvious weapons—that is to say, only his swords and guns, and maybe one additional knife. Maybe he can get away with a few concealed ones.

Alfred clears his throat just as Jason steps away. “Am I to expect this is all you’re carrying right now?”

Jason turns back sheepishly, though most of his expression is covered by his mask. “Yeah?”

Alfred pins him with an unimpressed look. “Hm. I expect at least 5 more weapons on that table.”

Jason deflates, and takes out a few more knives. That’s most of what he’s carrying, he has a few darts and shurikens, plus an additional switchblade, but that’s not near enough to be comfortable.

“Hm.” Alfred finally turns and heads towards the kitchen, gently guiding Damian along. “Ideally you’d lose that suit too, but I suppose that’s too much to ask. I hope you aren’t expecting a fight, because I’d hate for the kitchen to need remodeling.”

“They don’t know my identity yet.”

“And so the full suit is required?” Alfred leads Damian into the living room, quietly instructing the child to lay down on the couch.

“Alfie…” Jason’s heart rate picks up at Damian leaving his line of sight, but he doesn’t protest. And yes, the full suit is required.

“Fine, fine. I expect you all to be on your best behavior.”

“Tell that to the Old Man…” Jason mutters.

“Now I know I taught you to speak clearly, young man.”

Jason clears his throat, then speaks up, “Nothing. Sorry, Alfie.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Do you want help preparing the crepes?”

“That would be lovely, my boy, it has been far too long since I had competent help in the kitchen.”

Jason smiles under his mask, and carefully sheds his gloves and cloak, leaving them on a chair. Alfred’s eyes catch on his mangled fingertips—side effect from digging his way out of the pine box—but they move on quickly.

It’s easy to fall into a rhythm with Alfred again, and it’s not long before they have the crepes prepared and all that’s left are toppings. He smirks as he makes Bruce’s plate, throwing the butter and lemon on haphazardly, then carefully sprinkling the sugar in a distinctive outline.

Alfred frowns disapprovingly at him, but otherwise doesn’t say anything. Jason sets the plate at the head of the table, where Bruce has sat as long as Jason has known him, and returns to help Alfred with the rest of the plates.

He takes a lot more care with his brother’s plate—despite Dick’s monstrosity of a topping choice—especially Damian’s. He painstakingly picks out all the blueberries from the fruit mixture, much to Alfred’s amusement.

Damian wanders in as they finish laying out the plates, coming straight to Jason and burying his face in his side. Jason wraps one arm around his shoulders as he helps Alfred clean up.

Bruce comes in next, heading straight to the coffee machine and almost tripping over Damian.

Jason scoops his brother up and glares at Bruce, grumbling as he retreats out of his way. It takes a laughable amount of time for Bruce to become aware of the additional people in his kitchen.

He’s been leaning against the counter, practically glaring at his coffee, before he seems to startle and realize Jason’s standing across from him with Damian on his hip. Bruce directs his glare at Jason, and snatches Damian from his grasp—attempts to, anyway. Damian tightens his grip on Jason’s neck and lets out a muffled whine at being pulled away.

“Back off, jackass.” Jason growls. “I brought him back, take what you can get.”

“Language, Master Ja—” Alfred’s voice is sharp as the reprimand cuts off.

Bruce’s gaze sharpens as he glances from Alfred to Jason.

“What is going on here?”

“Your son has been returned to you, safe and sound, Master Bruce. Focus on that and go sit down.”

Bruce’s demeanor sours further, somehow, and he sulks over to his chair.

Jason rubs Damian’s back gently. “Time to wake up, kid, it’s almost time for brunch.” Damian shakes his head, trying to burrow deeper into Jason’s hold. “C’mon, you love crepes. There are no blueberries, I promise.”

Damian makes a huffing sound, but doesn’t move.

“Work with me here, Habibi, they’re gonna think I drugged you.”

“Well if I wasn’t before, now I am.” Bruce interrupts.

That finally gets a reaction out of Damian, who shoves out of Jason’s grip and flips to the floor. He levels a scathing glare at his father, a near perfect imitation of Bruce’s own glare. He doesn’t say a word as he takes a seat at the table, eyeing the bowl of blueberries set out suspiciously.

Jason chuckles as he crosses the room, ruffling his brother’s hair. “I made sure there were no blueberries on yours.”

“Tt.”

Bruce glances from his plate, to Alfred, and finally to Jason.

“You are Jason.”

“For fuck’s sake, can we not?”

Bruce sighs, all traces of anger dissipating. He pushes out of his chair and steps towards Jason until they’re nose to nose. “Take your mask off.”

Jason raises his chin, refusing to back down. “No.”

“Jason…”

“No. You don’t get to boss me around, Old Man. I’m pretty sure you have a few other birds around here that just looveee taking orders. I did my time.” Jason almost flinched at the words coming out of his own mouth. That sounded too close to reminding Bruce he should be locked up.

“Robin,” Bruce growls. “Take off your mask.”

Jason does flinch this time. “The fuck? I’m not fuckin’ Robin!” He shoves at Bruce’s chest, trying to create space between them.

Bruce goes easily, his posture softening. “My robin, my son. Always.”

Jason tilts his head, watching Bruce for a second. Then he turns and walks out the backdoor, into the garden. He keeps walking, heading deeper into the woods surrounding the property. At some point, he stops and hoists himself into a tree.

Fuck Bruce.

Fuck them all.

Except Damian, of course, but that was obvious.

How can Bruce call him son now?

How, when he refused to acknowledge Jason was his son before he died?

Jason’s not a Wayne now, maybe never was, but he’s not the boy he was when he died. Whatever he is now, he’s just the monster that crawled out of the grave.

Jason picks at a thread in his pants, staring absently into the distance. At some point, he hears Bruce calling his name and looks down. He’s standing under the tree, looking pleadingly up at Jason.

“Fuck off.”

“Jason, please, can we talk about this?”

Jason doesn’t answer, petulantly ignoring Bruce. He doesn’t know how long he sits in his tree, but eventually he’s dragged out of his head by a sickening cracking sound. He stiffens, trying to minimize his movement, while also looking for a way to grab another branch.

He can’t find one, and just as the branch gives way underneath him, Jason pushes off and tucks into a roll as lands.

A hand grabs his arm and yanks, and Jason prepares for the fight, readies himself for blows. He swings, but another arm pins his hands to his sides and tugs him into Bruce’s chest. Jason struggles for a second, before he goes lax. Bruce shifts his grip, letting Jason’s arms go. One of his arms comes up to clutch at Jason’s head, the other wrapping firmly around his waist.

Jason buries his face in his father’s shoulder, arm’s gripping desperately at his soft sleep shirt.

“Sh…Jaylad, I got you. No need for apologies, you’re alright.”

Jason didn’t even know he was speaking, let alone mumbling ‘I’m sorry’ repeatedly into Bruce’s shoulder.

After a bit, Bruce tugs gently at Jason’s hair, pulling his head back enough to make eye contact. “Can I take your masks off?”

Jason shrugs, averting his gaze. “Might as well.”

Bruce carefully unlatches the half mask, then peels the domino off. His thumbs skate over Jason’s cheeks, tears brimming in his eyes. “You’re home.” His voice is soft, reverent.

Something in Jason breaks a little, and he dives back into his father’s hold.

“Just…just don’t put me next to him. Please.” Jason doesn’t know if Bruce heard him, or understood him with the way his face is pressed into his neck.

He can feel Bruce tense under him.

Shit, shit, shit, he shouldn’t have asked, shouldn’t have reminded him—

“What?” Bruce tries to pull him back again, but Jason resists, gripping him tighter. “What are you talking about, Jay?’

“In Arkham…preferably you’d put me in Blackgate or somethin’, but just…just don’t put me next to the clown. Please.” Jason’s voice cracks and gets thicker with the tears in his eyes.

Bruce inhales sharply, “No, no, I’m not locking you up. I just got you back, sweetheart, what makes you think I’d willingly lose you again?” He tightens his grip, lowering them to the ground.

Jason grips even tighter, fighting against the tears and the sobs trying to break out. “You…you didn’t want me…”

“I do, I do, Jay, Sweetheart. I promise, you are welcome here. I want you to stay here with us. Why do you think I don’t?”

“You said you weren’t my father, and then I died, and I’m not that same boy, and you didn’t even want him, so how could you want me?”

“I messed up big time, then, but I promise you. You are my son, and I want you here. You understand? I don’t care how much you’ve changed, you came back. I will always be grateful for that.”

They stay like that for a while, and eventually Alfred comes out to get them.

“While I’m glad you two have worked out your differences, without bloodshed, might I add, the food has long since gone cold, and I must insist you come inside.”

They both stand together, Jason’s masks dangling from one of Bruce’s hands. The other arm is wrapped tightly around his son’s shoulders. They enter the kitchen together, and Dick and Tim have finally made their way downstairs. Dick is happily munching on his spinach and pesto monstrosity of a crepe.

Damian gets out of his seat and comes over to them, glancing from Jason’s tear stained face to Bruce’s. “You’re upset.”

Jason tugs him closer, “I’m good, kid, I promise.” C’mon, let’s go eat.” Jason and Bruce take their seats, and Jason feels true peace, for the first time in a very long time.

After, once the kitchen is clean and everyone’s moved to the family room, and Jason has taken off his armor and stripped to his undersuit, he asks Bruce how he found out who he was. Everyone’s sprawled out on various furniture, Dick is aggressively cuddling Damian. He’d mouthed at Jason to let him know he was next, but he’s not too worried. He can always tickle him to get him off. Jason is half laying on Bruce, letting his dad hold him again.

“It was a bunch of little things. The way you spoke, the way you protected Damian. I could see your influence on Damian’s mannerisms, plus he had your book, that I thought for sure was lost in Ethiopia. You called me Old Man, your reactions are the same. It just took me a second to put it together. The final straw, though, was the crepes. Alfred would never let them look that sloppy, especially not when everyone else’s were perfect. And you wrote out ‘FU’ in sugar, Jay, it was pretty obvious.” Bruce hugged him closer. “Alfred would never, and the list of people he allows in the kitchen is short. My very hurt, very angry son being one of them, well, he would.”

Jason let his head fall on Bruce’s shoulder, slumping down into his father.

“I don’t think I can stay here all the time. I don’t know if I can stand to stay here at all.”

Bruce sighs, “That’s ok, but you have a room here if you ever want it.”

“I want Damian some weekends. I can’t just leave him.”

“He has to have some stability, Jay, we can’t uproot his life all the time.”

“I refuse to leave him behind!” Jason struggles to sit up, his outburst drawing the attention of the others in the room.

“Then visit him here!”

“You don’t get full custody of him! I practically raised him! If you don’t agree, I’ll just randomly kidnap him.” He crosses his arms stubbornly.

“I would let him, Father.” Damian pipes up.

Bruce just sighs. “Fine. We can talk about it. Later.” He tugs Jason back into his arms, “I seem to remember saying you haven’t been sleeping. Time to remedy that.”

Jason huffs. “I’m fine, asshole. Not even tired.”

That’s a bold faced lie, but they don’t need to know that.

Bruce pins him with a disbelieving look. “Right. And I’m Superman.”

Dick snorts, “You wish.”

“Not helping, Dick.”

“Wasn’t trying to.”

“Come on, Jay, just take a nap. You’re safe here, Damian’s safe here.”

Jason deflates, “Maybe a little one. But I have to leave soon!”

“How did you get here?” Tim asks.

“The car? Did y’all not notice it or something?”

“Car? What car?” Dick sits up, almost letting go of Damian. “Wait. You stole the car?”

“Y’mean my car? Yeah, I took it. Security was shit, by the way. It was super easy to get in here.”

“You had Barbara’s help.” Dick deadpans.

Bruce smiles at his kids, watching them bicker.

“Same difference.”

“Better not let her hear you say that.” Tim contributes.

“Anyway. Yeah, I took my car.” Jason leans back, further into Bruce. (Sue him, the man is comfortable). “Oh, B, one more thing.” He twists to face his father.

“Yeah, Jaylad?” The look on Bruce’s face is stupidly fond.

“Do not put Damian in the Robin suit until he is at least—and I mean the very minimum age—14. 16 is preferable. He can train, I don’t give a shit, he’s gonna do that anyway. But if you let him in the field, I’m shooting you and taking him with me.”

“Hey, I was Robin at eight!” Dick glares at Jason.

“Yeah and look how you turned out.” Jason glares right back. “I mean it, Bruce.”

“Wasn’t planning on it, besides, Tim is Robin until he decides for himself that he’s done with it.”

“Good.”

WIth that, Jason relaxes and lets himself doze off, surrounded by family, and totally at peace. There’s still a lot to work out, but for now, it’s enough. Damian is out of the League’s hands, Jason was somehow welcomed home, everyone is content. It’s better than he could have imagined.

[killerplink]

DEVOTION

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

Plot: A fight with Jason gets heated—sharp words, stubborn tempers, neither of you backing down. But when the tension snaps, it turns into something else entirely. Something raw, desperate, and messy.

Words: 10k

CW: established relationship, 18+, smut, argument, angry/make-up sex, oral sex (m+f receiving), praise, teasing, rough sex, squirting, creampie, aftercare, domestic fluff, a bit of angst

The apartment door slams behind you both, the sharp sound echoing in the quiet space. Your heels clack against the hardwood as you stalk toward the bedroom, too pissed to even look at him right now. Jason follows, his heavy boots thudding after you, that cocky swagger in every step even though you're very clearly fuming.

"Are you really gonna be mad all night?" he asks, tone half lazy, half exasperated.

You whip around so fast your hair flies over your shoulder, finger already pointed at his chest. "Yes! Jason, I swear to God, you're fucking impossible!"

His brows shoot up, that infuriating smirk tugging at his mouth. "What'd I do now, doll?"

"What'd you do? Are you serious?" You step closer, eyes flashing, and jab a finger into his chest. "You almost started a fight at the restaurant! Over nothing! Just—someone bumped into me, and suddenly you're ready to crack skulls like you're still some street kid with nothing to lose, except you have everything to lose, Jason! I have everything to lose!"

That softens his smirk, just a little. But it doesn't disappear, not entirely. "Baby, I had it under control."

"No, you didn't!" Your voice breaks on the words, frustration and fear tangled up too tight in your chest. "You never have it under control when you get like that. You stop thinking. It's like you don't even care what happens to you."

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "You're bein' dramatic."

"Oh, fuck you." You turn away, arms crossed tight, nails digging into your own skin like you can hold yourself together if you just squeeze hard enough. "I'm not being dramatic, Jay. I'm scared. Every time you act like your life doesn't matter, it scares the shit out of me because your life does matter. To me."

That knocks some of the wind out of his cocky sails, but true to form, Jason Todd never backs down that easily. "I can handle myself, baby. I've been in worse fights before you even knew me."

"And maybe that's the problem!" You spin around again, hands flung wide. "You're so used to throwing yourself into danger like you've got a death wish, you don't even think about the people who love you, who have to watch you do it. Who have to fucking wait and hope you come home in one piece."

His jaw clenches, that sharp edge of defensiveness flashing in his eyes. "I came home tonight, didn't I?"

"Barely! If Dick hadn't dragged you out of there—"

"—I would've walked out just fine on my own," he cuts in, voice hard, like he's this close to losing his temper too.

You both stand there, breathing hard, anger seeping through every pore. Your heart is hammering against your ribs, anger and fear and love all tangled into a knot you can't untie. And goddamn him, even now, with his blood still running hot from almost throwing down, with that cocky little glint still in his eye—he looks good. Messy hair, jaw clenched tight, that black shirt stretched over his broad chest, his hands flexing like he still has adrenaline to burn.

You want to shake him. You want to kiss him. You want to scream until your throat hurts.

Jason exhales, slow and heavy, like he's trying to ease some of that heat out of his chest before you both say something you can't take back.

"Baby," he says, quieter now, "I'm fine."

Your throat closes up. "For now."

He takes a step closer, hands sliding to your waist, fingers curling into your dress. "I'm not goin' anywhere, pretty girl."

You shake your head, eyes stinging. "You can't promise that."

Jason sighs as he leans down, forehead tipping against yours. "What do you want me to say, huh? That I'll never lose my temper again? That I'll play nice and walk away every time some asshole gets in my face? That's not who I am."

"I know," you whisper. "But it's who I wish you could be. Just for me."

That hits somewhere deep, somewhere tender he doesn't let many people see. But instead of softening, Jason leans into the heat instead because that's how he knows to handle fear, with fire.

"C'mere," he mutters, dragging you into him, arms wrapping tight around your waist. "You wanna fight with me? Do it right here, baby. Get it out of your system."

You shove at his chest, and he catches your wrist, twisting you into him like a dance, his breath warm against your ear.

"Or," he says low, voice all gravel and heat, "you can find a better way to work out all that attitude."

"Fuck off," you snap, but it's weaker now, your anger unraveling into something messier, hotter.

He chuckles, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "C'mon, pretty girl. You're pissed, I'm pissed, and you're standin' here looking like that." His hands slide down, grabbing your ass hard through your dress. "We both know exactly how this night's gonna end."

Your breath catches, nails curling into his chest again, not pushing this time, just holding on.

"Still mad at me, baby?"

"Yeah."

"Good." He grins against your mouth, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. "Let me make it up to you."

Your hands land flat on his chest, shoving him back, catching him off guard enough that he stumbles two steps out of the bedroom. And before he can say a damn word, you slam the door right in his stupid, handsome, reckless face. Not locked, just shut, because locking it feels too final, too mean, and you're pissed, but not that pissed.

Jason stares at the door for half a second, then his forehead drops against it with a low thud, and he knocks his head against it once, twice, just hard enough to feel it.

"Fuck."

He didn't mean to ruin the night. He never means to ruin shit when it comes to you. But the moment that asshole's hand brushed against your ass—innocent or not—it flipped a fucking switch in him. And maybe that's fucked up, maybe he's got a million unresolved issues tied to losing everyone he's ever given a shit about, but you?

You're his. His girl, his future, his everything, and seeing someone else's hand anywhere near you sends him spiraling into that ugly, possessive part of himself that only you've ever managed to soften.

And yeah, maybe the guy didn't mean it, maybe it was just a crowded restaurant and accidents happen, but Jason's not the kind of man who plays it cool. Not when it comes to you. Not when he loves you so much it hurts sometimes, sitting right there under his ribs like a bruise he can't stop poking.

He presses his palms to the door, wishing he could just rewind the whole night—go back to you looking so pretty at the restaurant, all smiles and soft touches, letting him steal kisses between courses. You'd been happy. And then he fucked it up. Again.

Inside the bedroom, you sit on the edge of the bed, fingers curled into the sheets, trying to hold back the sting in your eyes. You won't cry—you won't—but your throat's tight, and your chest aches, and the night feels like it's unraveling right between your fingers.

Tonight was supposed to be fun. It's Tim's fucking birthday, for God's sake. The restaurant had been beautiful, the food actually good for once, the atmosphere soft and warm with all your friends laughing and talking and teasing each other.

And then some random guy brushed past you on his way to the bathroom, bumping your hip, and Jason went feral. You love that he's protective—God, you do—but Gotham is full of crazy assholes, and you don't want him starting a fight with someone who might pull out a gun and blow his brains out over a misunderstanding.

The thought makes your stomach churn, fear sliding ice-cold down your spine, and you have to shake it off before it eats you alive. You stand, fingers reaching behind you to unzip your dress, and it slides off your body in a whisper of fabric, pooling at your feet. And that's when you catch your reflection in the mirror, and yeah, no wonder he couldn't keep his hands off you all night.

The lingerie underneath? It's not the kind you wear every day. This is the good shit—black lace and thin straps, sheer panels teasing the curves of your tits, a matching thong barely covering anything, thin enough to show just how wet you already are.

Because for all the shit he's pulling tonight, Jason's still your hot-ass, broad-shouldered, cocky as hell boyfriend, and your pussy? She does not hold grudges.

You're still mad. You still wanna shake him until his teeth rattle. But you also want him to fuck you so hard you forget why you were even mad to begin with.

You sigh, tug open the bedroom door, and march straight into the living room, chin high, steps confident even though your knees are still a little weak from all that adrenaline. And, yeah, maybe from how fucking good he made you cum this morning.

Jason's slouched on the couch, head tipped back, hands dragging down his face, and when he hears your footsteps, he looks up, and freezes.

His eyes rake over you, slow and dark, tongue darting out to wet his lips like his mouth's gone dry. "Jesus Christ."

You cross your arms under your tits, pushing them up just a little higher. "What? Cat got your tongue, big guy?"

His gaze flicks from your face to your tits to the sheer lace stretched over your hips, and the way the thin strip of fabric between your legs is already dark with how wet you are.

"You're tryin' to fuckin' kill me," he mutters, half to himself, half to you.

You cock a hip, all attitude, even though your pulse is hammering. "Thought you liked a challenge."

Jason pushes up from the couch, moving slow, shoulders broad and tense, every line of him saying he's holding himself back—barely. "You're still mad at me."

"Furious," you agree.

"And you're standin' there looking like that."

You glance down at yourself, trailing a finger over the top of your bra, down the center of your stomach. "Yeah. What are you gonna do about it?"

He's on you in two steps, one hand cupping the back of your neck, the other grabbing a handful of your ass, yanking you flush against him. "Gonna fuck the attitude right outta you, baby."

"Promises, promises."

He kisses you hard enough to steal your breath, hands already roaming, already tugging at the straps of your bra, already ready to tear you apart and put you back together again, but you're faster. You grab two handfuls of his shirt, spinning him around and shoving him back onto the couch. He goes down without a fight, grinning like the cocky bastard he is, because you both know you can't actually budge him unless he lets you.

But fuck, does it turn him on when you try.

Jason sprawls into the cushions, legs spread, hands braced on his thighs like he's daring you to climb on top of him, but instead, you drop to your knees between his legs. His whole body tenses, chest rising slower, breath catching because you—all pissed off, all attitude, all tits spilling out of that black lace bra—are kneeling right there, looking up at him like you're about to ruin his fucking life.

And for once, Jason Todd has nothing to say.

You reach for his belt, slow and deliberate, dragging the leather free of the loops with a sharp tug, and you swear you see his fingers twitch. He's already getting hard, already pressing against the front of his jeans, already so fucking easy for you.

The buckle clinks as you undo it, popping the button next, tugging the zipper down with a sound that seems louder than it should be. And then you pull his jeans and boxers down just far enough to free his dick, and—fuck.

He's so fucking big, already thick and flushed, veins standing out along his length, and a bead of precum clings to the slit, catching the low light. Your pussy throbs on sight alone, clenching around nothing, still sore from the last time he was inside you.

Jason's hand lifts, fingers reaching for the back of your head—because of course he wants to grab your hair, guide your mouth, fuck your throat—but you slap his hand away, sharp and quick.

"No touching."

He freezes like you've just short-circuited every thought in his head. "What?"

"No. Touching." You wrap your fingers around the base of his cock, giving him one slow, punishing stroke, twisting your wrist just the way he likes. "You wanna act reckless? You wanna scare the shit outta me? You wanna start fights over shit that doesn't matter? Then you can sit there with your hands to yourself while I handle this."

Jason's jaw clenches, shoulders tight, every muscle in his thighs twitching, but he obeys. Barely. His hands grip the edge of the couch so tight his knuckles go white.

You lean in, licking up the underside of his cock in one slow, wet drag, ending with a kiss to the tip that leaves your lips shiny with precum. "You're such a fucking idiot, you know that?"

"Yeah, baby," he rasps, voice already rougher. "I know."

You pump him slow, fingers squeezing just right, thumb swiping through the slick at his tip before you slide down again.

"What if you got yourself shot tonight, huh? What the fuck am I supposed to do if you get yourself killed because you can't stand someone breathing in my direction?"

"Fuck." His head tips back, throat flexing, cock leaking even more into your palm.

"Who's gonna love me the way you do? Who's gonna fuck me if you're dead, Jason?" You squeeze his dick just to see his hips jerk. "Who else knows how to ruin me like you do?"

"Baby—"

"No. Don't talk." You flick your tongue against the tip, barely a taste, before you sit back on your heels, jerking him slow and mean. "You don't get to talk, you reckless, possessive, stupid fucking man."

His abs tighten, hands still white-knuckling the couch, and his cock twitches in your grip, a fresh bead of precum sliding down the side. "You love that I'm possessive."

You glare up at him, lips curling. "I do. But not when it puts you in danger, asshole." You kiss the tip again, softer this time. "Not when it makes me scared I'm gonna lose you."

Jason's breath stutters, and you see it. That crack in his tough-guy armor, the one only you ever get to see. But you don't let him soften.

Not yet. Instead, you drag your tongue along the underside of his cock again, pumping him faster, twisting your wrist just right, watching his thighs tense and his hips fight not to thrust up into your mouth.

"Keep your hands there," you murmur, voice all sweet and mean at once. "And maybe—maybe—I'll let you cum down my throat."

"Jesus fuckin' Christ."

His head falls back, a bead of sweat sliding down his neck, and you know you've got him right where you want him.

Jason yanks his shirt over his head, tossing it aside, not even bothering with unbuttoning it, because if you're gonna make him suffer, the least he can do is give you something to look at. And fuck, do you look.

Your hands rest on his thick thighs for a second, gaze dragging over every inked inch of him—the dark ink across his chest, the jagged lines along his ribs, the script down his arms that you've traced with your tongue a hundred times before. He's so fucking hot, all muscle and attitude, sprawled out, dick rock hard in your grip, glistening with spit and precum.

"Enjoyin' the view?"

His voice is pure gravel, but there's a waver in it, like he's already hanging by a thread.

"Shut up."

You lean in, dragging your tongue along the underside of his cock again, tracing that thick vein with the tip of your tongue until you reach the head, circling it slowly before you take him into your mouth, lips stretching, jaw aching already, but you don't stop. You never stop.

He's too fucking big, he always is, but you try anyway, sinking lower, feeling the weight of him press against your tongue, the blunt head nudging the back of your throat.

"Greedy little thing," Jason mutters, hands twitching, and you see it. The instinct, the need to grab your hair and fuck your throat until you're crying.

But you slap his thigh sharply. "I said no touching."

"Baby—"

"No."

You sink back down, hollowing your cheeks, sucking him deep until your throat spasms around the fat tip, gagging. Tears prick your eyes, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth, but you fucking love it. Love the way his thighs tense, love the way his dick jumps on your tongue, love how fucking desperate he looks.

Jason's chest heaves, fingers curling into fists at his sides. "You're evil."

You hum around him, the vibration making him swear under his breath, and you pull off with a filthy pop, a string of spit connecting your mouth to his cock before you drag your tongue up the side again.

"Yeah? And what's that make you for loving it?"

"Completely fucked."

You grin, all teeth, and take him back into your mouth, bobbing your head faster, sucking him down until you gag again, drool dripping down your chin, slicking his cock even more. Your thighs press together, your pussy throbbing, panties soaked through. You can feel it, the sticky mess between your legs, the ache in your cunt, the way your body needs him, no matter how mad you are.

Jason groans, deep and low, and you glance up at him through wet lashes, seeing the flush on his chest, the tension in his jaw, the muscles jumping in his stomach. He's so fucking close already, you can tell, and every time he tries to lift a hand, you slap it back down, keeping him helpless beneath you, all that strength and power completely useless unless you let him use it.

"Baby, please." His voice cracks, and it's the hottest fucking thing you've ever heard.

You pull off one more time, stroking him fast and messy, your spit-slick hand gliding easily along his length. "Please what?"

"Please lemme touch you."

You shake your head, licking up the underside again, tongue teasing his slit before you suck the head back into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks until his hips buck, just once, just enough to choke you again. You swallow hard, tears sliding down your cheeks, and his dick throbs so hard you can feel it on your tongue.

"Be good," you murmur around him, voice muffled and obscene, "and I'll let you cum."

Jason's head falls back, a broken groan ripping from his throat, and you know you've got him. You sink back down, taking him as deep as you can, lips stretched tight around the fat width of his cock, spit and precum slicking your chin as you work him with all the devotion you can muster. What you can't fit—and there's always part of him you can't fit—you stroke with your hand, fingers gliding over the thick base, your palm sticky with drool and his slick.

Your tongue works the head, lapping up every drop of precum he leaks, tasting that salty, addictive tease of what's coming, and you fucking love it. You flick your tongue against his slit, suck gently on the sensitive tip before you sink down again, sucking hard, cheeks hollowed so tight your jaw aches, but you don't fucking care.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," Jason groans, his voice wrecked, head tipped back against the couch, muscles tight like he's holding himself together with sheer fucking will. "You're perfect, baby. Mouth so goddamn good—fuck, you always know how to suck me just right."

The praise makes your pussy clench hard, heat flooding your belly, and you double down, bobbing your head faster, working him with both your mouth and hand until your throat burns and your jaw trembles. Every time you pull back, you leave a messy trail of spit and precum glistening along his length, but you dive right back in, tongue swirling around the head before you take him deep again.

"Look at you," Jason breathes, his voice low and rough. "So fuckin' pretty like this. My perfect girl. You love this dick, don't you?"

You hum around him, the vibration making his whole body twitch, and he groans so low it vibrates in your chest. You pull back just enough to gasp, "Love it, Jay. Best fucking dick I've ever had."

"Yeah?" His grin is sharp, dangerous. "Then show me, baby. Show me how much you love it."

Challenge fucking accepted. You take him deep again, swallowing around the head, ignoring the gag reflex that flares up as you press lower, working him into your throat until your nose brushes the skin at the base of his cock. You gag again, spit bubbling past your lips, but you don't stop. You fucking love how heavy he feels on your tongue, how thick and hot and perfect he is, filling your mouth like he was made for it.

Jason's fists clench at his sides, his whole body trembling with restraint. "So good for me, baby," he mutters, voice cracking with it. "So fuckin' good. My pretty, filthy fucking girl. Takin' me so deep—fuck, 'm gonna cum, baby. Gonna fill that perfect mouth."

You moan around him, and that's it. His hips jerk, cock swelling, and then he's cumming, thick ropes of cum spilling across your tongue, hot and salty and so much, it makes you whimper as you swallow, throat working hard to take it all.

He always cums a lot, his balls emptying in pulse after pulse, and you keep sucking, milking him through it, letting every drop slide down your throat until your belly feels warm with it. His cock throbs against your tongue, so sensitive it makes his hips twitch every time your tongue flicks over the head, but you don't stop until you know he's completely spent.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, voice rough and almost shaky. "Gonna kill me one of these days."

You pull back slowly, licking your swollen lips, wiping the mess from your chin with the back of your hand, and grin up at him, all fucked-out satisfaction. Jason pulls you right into his lap, and you gasp, hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself.

His hands slide down to grab your ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh, grinding you down against his cock, still hard and slick with your spit, and you moan when you feel the thick length press up against your soaked lace panties.

"Fuck," Jason mutters, dragging you along his cock again, feeling how drenched you are even through the lace. "That pretty pussy misses me already, huh?"

"Jay," you murmur, voice soft, needy, and when you lean in, he catches your mouth in a kiss—hot, messy, all tongue and teeth, licking into you like he's starving for your taste.

He groans low when he tastes himself on your tongue, dirty and possessive, and you whimper into his mouth, hips moving on their own, grinding down against him, chasing friction.

You break the kiss to breathe, forehead resting against his, and your fingers stroke the hair at the nape of his neck as you whisper, "Do you love me?"

Jason's hands flex on your ass, holding you tighter, and his voice is low, earnest when he says, "You know I do, baby. Love you so fuckin' much."

You lick your lips, eyes dark with want. "Then fuck me like you mean it."

His eyes flash—something feral, something wild, and before you can say anything else, he's moving, standing up with you in his arms like you weigh nothing before he lays you down on the couch, his jeans and boxers kicked off in one rough move. He kneels over you, hands already tugging your bra down until your tits spill out, and he doesn't even bother unclasping it before he's on you.

"Love these tits," he mutters between kisses, licking over one nipple, sucking it into his mouth before letting it go with a wet pop. His tongue flicks over the other, sharp and teasing, before he closes his lips around it, sucking hard until you gasp and arch into him. "So fuckin' pretty, baby. Could spend all day suckin' on these."

You tug at his hair, breathless, moaning when he drags his teeth over your nipple, just the right amount of rough. He leaves a trail of messy hickeys down the curve of your tits, marking you like the possessive asshole he is, and you swear your pussy gets even wetter from it.

He kisses down your stomach, hands already hooking into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down just enough to get access to you. "Love this body," he murmurs, licking over the waistband before kissing your hipbone. "Love this pussy. Love you, baby."

You whimper, spreading your legs instinctively, and he groans at the sight of your panties clinging to your soaked folds, the lace darkened with how wet you are. His fingers trace along the edge of the fabric, barely touching you, just enough to make your thighs twitch in frustration.

Then his tongue flicks out, teasing you through the fabric, just the lightest drag of warmth over your clit, and you jolt, hips twitching up, chasing more.

Jason hums, amused, as he pulls back, blowing cool air against the damp spot where his tongue just was. "So fuckin' wet for me already," he mutters, voice wrecked, his breath hot against your cunt.

His fingers slide down, pressing against the soaked lace, rubbing slow, lazy circles over your clit, just enough to make you ache but not enough to satisfy.

Your hips stutter, desperate for more friction, but he doesn't give it to you. He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, his scruff scratching at your sensitive skin, and then, another flick of his tongue, this time firmer, tracing over your clit through the thin barrier of lace.

"Jay—" Your fingers tighten in his hair, trying to pull him closer, but he only chuckles, the vibrations making you tremble.

"You love this, don't you?" His voice is thick with hunger, fingers still rubbing slow, teasing circles over your clit. "Love bein' all messy for me, panties soaked, beggin' for my mouth..."

He leans in again, dragging his tongue over you, pressing the fabric against your cunt, making it cling to every swollen, aching inch of you. Then his teeth close around the lace, tugging just enough to make you feel it before letting go.

Your thighs tremble, your body desperate for more, but he just keeps playing with you, running his tongue along the slick fabric, soaking it even more, his fingers pressing right against your entrance, but never giving you what you need.

"Jason—" you whimper, pushing up against his mouth, but he only smirks, pressing another teasing, barely-there kiss over your clit.

"Patience, pretty girl," he murmurs, eyes dark, voice rough.

He finally hooks a finger into the crotch of your panties, pulling them aside to bare you to him, and then his mouth is on you. Hot, wet, tongue sliding through your folds before fucking into you, slow and deep, licking you open like he's savoring every drop.

You moan his name, thighs trying to clamp around his head, but his big hands grab your thighs and hold you open, spreading you wide like he's got all the time in the world to devour you.

"Keep 'em open, baby," he growls, voice muffled between your thighs. "Wanna see this pussy when I eat you."

He fucks you with his tongue, nose brushing against your clit, and every time you try to roll your hips or squirm away from the intensity, he holds you down and just keeps going, messy and obscene, spit and slick dripping down to the couch beneath you.

Jason groans into your pussy, the sound vibrating against your clit, and he sucks. Soft at first, just enough to make you gasp, before he latches on and really sucks, lips wrapped around that sensitive bundle of nerves, tongue flicking against it, over and over, relentless.

"F-Fuck—Jay—" Your voice is all breathy, wrecked, your fingers pulling at his hair, but it only spurs him on.

He hums again, mouth still latched to your clit, and then drags his tongue down, lapping at your folds, hot and messy and so deep you feel it in your gut. He groans like he's starving for you, like he could live off this alone, tongue pushing inside again, fucking you slow and deep before dragging up to swirl around your clit.

And then he does it again. And again. And again.

His hands squeeze at your thighs, holding you open, keeping you spread, his thumbs rubbing slow circles into your trembling skin, soothing even as his mouth drives you insane.

"You taste so fuckin' good, pretty girl," he rasps against your soaked cunt, his lips slick, his chin glistening with your arousal. "Could eat you for hours."

He presses a soft kiss right against your clit before flattening his tongue, licking a long, slow stripe up your pussy, gathering every drop of slick before pushing his tongue back inside you.

You keen, legs twitching, and he groans into you, hands tightening, like he can feel you dripping for him.

"Goddamn, look at you," he mutters, breath hot against your cunt as he pulls back just enough to admire the mess he's making of you. "Drippin' down my fuckin' chin, baby—"

The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth on you echo in the room, filthy and desperate, and all you can do is whimper and take it.

When he pulls back just enough to suck your clit into his mouth again your whole body jolts, and he hums in satisfaction, eyes locked on you as your mouth falls open on a gasp.

"C'mon, baby," he murmurs against you, every word vibrating against your skin. "Cum for me. Wanna taste you."

It hits you hard, your back arching, thighs trembling in his grip as you cry out, body clenching tight before it melts into pleasure. You swear you see stars, the intensity making your head spin, and he groans low in his throat as he licks you through it, sucking every drop you give him, cleaning you up with his tongue like a man fucking starving.

He doesn't stop until you're trembling, oversensitive and gasping for breath, your hands tugging weakly at his hair, begging for a break. When he finally pulls back, his mouth and chin are glistening, and he wipes his face with the back of his hand, grinning down at you like the devil himself.

"Goddamn, baby," he mutters. "Tastes even better when you're mad at me."

Jason flips you onto your stomach like you weigh nothing, handling you exactly the way you love—rough enough to remind you how much stronger he is, gentle enough to show he'll never actually hurt you. And you already know what he wants, so you arch your back, pushing up onto your hands and knees, glancing over your shoulder with a bratty little smirk that makes his jaw clench.

His hands slide down your sides, slow, deliberate, before they settle on your hips, fingers digging in just to hear you gasp. Then he grabs the lace of your panties, tugging them down over your ass, baring your soaked cunt and the mess he already made between your thighs.

"Fuck," he mutters, palming your ass, squeezing and spreading you open to get a better look. "Always so fuckin' pretty back here."

The first slap lands sharp, making you jolt forward, your slick thighs trembling. The sting blooms hot across your skin, and you whimper, but it only makes you arch deeper, pushing your hips back toward him.

Jason watches, transfixed, as your pussy clenches around nothing, dripping slick onto his cock when he presses the thick head between your legs. He's still hard, precum leaking from the swollen tip, and you rock your hips, rubbing your soaked folds against him until he curses under his breath.

"Needy little thing," he grits out, guiding his cock to your entrance. "Can't even pretend you're not desperate for me."

He starts pushing in, splitting you open slow, and the stretch knocks the air from your lungs, leaving you trembling under him. "Oh, fuck—"

"Always so fuckin' tight for me," Jason groans, one hand stroking down your stomach, feeling the way your body stretches to take him. His fingers slip lower, over your clit, slick and swollen, and you shiver all over when he rubs slow circles over it. "Goddamn, baby."

You rock back, taking him deeper, moaning as your pussy clenches down hard around him. He curses, leaning over you, chest pressed to your back, and murmurs low in your ear, "You want me to fuck you like I mean it, huh?"

You nod frantically, words catching in your throat, and Jason groans, pulling back just enough to grab your hips, steadying you before sliding in deeper, bottoming out with one slow, brutal thrust.

He gives you a second, like he always does, letting you adjust because he knows he's big, knows he's a lot, and he loves you too much to hurt you.

But you're impatient, your body burning with need, so you glance back over your shoulder, panting, "Thought you said you loved me."

His jaw tightens, a flush spreading down his chest, and he growls, "I do."

"Then fucking prove it," you challenge, and that's it, the last frayed thread of his self-control snaps.

Jason's hips slam into yours, driving his cock so deep you see stars, and you cry out, fingers scrambling for purchase against the cushions. His hands grip your waist, holding you still so all you can do is take it, body jerking with each brutal thrust, wet sounds filling the room every time his cock splits you open.

Your cunt grips him like a vice, soaked and clenching around him, dragging him back in every time he pulls out, and the slick slide is so obscene, so messy, it only makes him fuck you harder. His hips snap against your ass, the slap of skin on skin echoing, and you bury your face in your arms, moaning his name like a prayer.

"Still wanna fucking die, you idiot?" you gasp between moans, glaring at him over your shoulder, and Jason groans, dropping one hand to slap your ass again.

"Shut up," he pants, driving in deep enough to knock the air out of you. "God, baby—you're so fuckin' wet for me."

"Because you're—you're so fucking stupid," you sob, half-scolding, half-moan. "What if—what if you get yourself killed, and who the fuck's gonna fuck me like this?"

"Jesus Christ," Jason groans, the filthy confession sending a sharp pulse of heat straight to his cock, making it throb inside you. "No one, baby, no one else is ever gonna touch this pussy."

He fucks you harder, deeper, grinding into you until you're shaking under him, toes curling, nails clawing at the couch. Every thrust punches little gasps from your throat, and you can't stop talking, can't stop scolding him even as he's fucking you stupid.

"You love me?" you pant, voice high and breathless.

"Love you so much, baby," he groans, leaning over you, lips against your ear. "Love you, love this body, love this perfect fuckin' pussy. All mine, baby. All fuckin' mine."

"Show me," you whisper, voice shaking. "Show me how much."

Jason's hips snap forward, hard enough to drive you into the couch, and you moan his name, cunt squeezing tight around him. "I'll show you, doll," he pants, sweat dripping down his back. "I'll show you exactly how much."

His hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, spreading your ass, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave marks tomorrow, and you'll love every fucking one of them. Each thrust is brutal, his cock sliding in and out of your soaked pussy, so slick with arousal and his precum that it drips down your thighs, making a mess.

"Look at this greedy fuckin' pussy," he groans, thumbs spreading you open wider just so he can watch. "Suckin' me in like you missed this dick."

"I did," you gasp, fingers clutching at the couch cushions. "But you're still a fucking idiot."

Jason grits his teeth, hips snapping forward hard enough to shove you up the couch, your knees scraping against the fabric. Your slick little cunt grips him tight, soft and warm and soaked inside, milking his cock every time he drags back just to slam back in. Precum leaks from the swollen tip, mixing with your slick, and every thrust pushes it deeper, making you feel so full you can barely breathe.

The couch creaks under both of you, the whole thing rocking with the force of his thrusts, and Jason can't tear his eyes away from the way your ass bounces every time his hips smack into you. Your skin glows, sweat-slick and gorgeous, and he can see the way his dick stretches you open, disappearing into your perfect pussy over and over again.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, almost to himself. "You're perfect. This pussy's fuckin' perfect."

"Damn right it is," you pant, pushing back against him until you're stuffed full all over again. "And if you get yourself killed, who the fuck is supposed to fuck me like this?"

That ticks him off just right this time. His hand shoots out, grabbing the back of your neck, not to hurt, but to hold, to control, and he hauls you upright, your back pressed flush to his broad chest. You gasp, legs shaking, the stretch of his cock inside you deeper, hitting that sweet spot that makes you cry out.

"Who said I was goin' anywhere?" he growls against your ear, hand sliding up from your neck to wrap gently around your throat. "You think I'd leave you, baby? Fuck no."

His other hand finds your tits, fingers tugging at the bra you still hadn't taken off, yanking the cups down completely so your soft skin spills into his hand. He palms your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers, and you moan loud, head tipping back onto his shoulder.

"You love me?" you whisper, breath hitching with every thrust.

"You know I do," he pants, fucking up into you, hips rolling slow but deep, stuffing you so full you swear you can feel him in your throat.

"Then fucking show me," you challenge, rocking your hips down to meet him.

Jason groans, fingers tightening on your throat just a little, enough to make your cunt flutter around him. "I am," he mutters, mouth hot on your neck. "Fuckin' you so good no one else could ever touch you— no one else could make you this wet, this fuckin' messy."

He shoves you back down, face to the cushions, ass in the air, spreading you wide so he can see everything. Especially the way your slick pussy stretches around him, sucking him back in every time he pulls out, shiny with your wetness and his precum.

"Fuckin' shit, baby," he groans, watching his cock slide in and out of your perfect little pussy. "You're fuckin' drippin'."

"Because you're that good, asshole," you snap back, voice muffled by the cushions.

Jason slaps your ass hard enough to make you jolt, cunt squeezing down on him so tight his vision blurs for a second. "Yeah? Then why the fuck you talkin' so much?"

"Because you're a fucking idiot," you sob, back arching when he drives in deep. "You don't—you don't need to start shit every time someone looks at me, Jay. You're the only one who gets to fuck me like this, don't you know that?"

Jason groans, hands tightening on your hips as he slams into you harder, hips snapping, driving you into the couch so deep your knees nearly buckle.

"I know, doll," he pants, voice wrecked. "I know, fuck—I just love you so much, I can't stand anyone else even lookin' at you."

"Then—then fuck me harder," you gasp, tears in your eyes from how good he feels, how perfectly his thick cock fills you up, dragging against every sweet spot inside you. "Fuck me so good I can't even think about anyone else."

Jason yanks you up again, your back flush to his sweat-slick chest, his cock buried so deep you swear you feel him in your fucking lungs. His big hand cups your jaw, turning your face toward him, and he kisses you messy, tongue sliding between your parted lips like he's starving for the taste of you. It's sloppy, wet, both of you panting into each other's mouths, sucking on tongues, biting at lips.

You moan into his mouth when his free hand finds your clit, two fingers rubbing sharp, relentless circles over the sensitive little bud. It's too much, too fast, your cunt already stretched wide and soaked around him, every rub of his fingers making you clench down tighter.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, breath hot against your cheek, hips snapping up into you so hard you bounce. "You're so fuckin' wet—you're drippin' all over my dick."

His fingers don't slow down, and you can't do anything but take it, legs shaking, cunt squeezing around him, your swollen clit throbbing under his ruthless touch. The heat coils low in your belly, sharp and fast, climbing so high so fast it almost scares you.

"Jay—fuck—wait, I—"

Your hand flies down, grabbing at his wrist, trying to ease him off your overstimulated clit, but he's not budging, the muscle in his forearm flexing as he presses down harder.

"No," he growls into your ear, voice wrecked. "You wanted me to fuck you like I mean it? This is what that fuckin' means, baby."

His dick pounds into you mercilessly, every thrust dragging against your sweetest spot, thick and hot and leaking inside you, smearing precum along your fluttering walls. You're soaking him, so slick you can hear the obscene squelch every time he sinks in to the hilt as he rubs your puffy little clit.

Your whole body locks up, spine arching, mouth falling open as you cum so hard it knocks the breath out of you, that sharp edge of pleasure tipping you into freefall. Your pussy clamps down on his cock, tight and trembling, and Jason fucking moans, jaw clenched, hips stuttering as you soak his dick with wave after wave of hot, slick arousal.

But he doesn't stop.

"Gimme more," he pants, fingers ruthless on your clit. "C'mon, baby, you can do it, show me how messy you can get."

"Jason, I—fuck—fuck—"

Your thighs quake, eyes rolling back, and when he starts to slap over your clit lightly, it hits like a live wire—your whole body seizes, cunt pulsing around him, and then it happens.

You fucking squirt, hot and sudden, a slick rush spilling from your cunt, drenching both of you in a messy gush that soaks the couch, his thighs, your thighs—every inch of skin that's pressed together—leaving your pussy glistening, clenching around his dick as your juices drip down to the cushions. It's a mess you didn't even know you could make, and Jason loses it.

You both knew you could squirt when you were drunk off your ass, but this? This was all him. And you're both wrecked with it—you, boneless and trembling, him, harder than fucking steel inside you, completely gone for you.

"Holy fuck, baby," he groans, voice somewhere between awe and pure hunger.

Your whole body shakes, tears spilling down your cheeks from the sheer intensity, overstimulated to the point of pain-tinged pleasure, and Jason kisses you through it, swallowing your sobs and moans right from your tongue.

It's still so messy—hot, wet, open-mouthed, tongues licking into each other's mouths, tasting sweat and spit and you, and he groans deep in his chest like you're the best thing he's ever had.

His cock keeps sliding into your soaked, fluttering cunt, so slick it's almost effortless, but you're still so tight, sucking him in greedily. His fingers finally ease off your clit, stroking instead of circling, soothing instead of torturing, but his kiss stays just as hungry. Desperate like he's trying to memorize your taste, the way you moan into his mouth when you can barely even catch your breath.

"Baby," he murmurs between kisses, breathless and tender and filthy all at once. "You're so fuckin' good for me. Love this pussy—love you."

Jason's lips break from yours, sliding down your jaw, over the curve of your throat, hot breath ghosting over your pulse before his mouth seals against your neck. He sucks hard, tongue flicking over the skin, leaving a bruising, sloppy mark.

And the whole time, his hips keep working, dragging his thick cock in and out of your soaked, swollen cunt, slow but deep, hitting every spot that makes your toes curl.

"Fuck, Jay—" you whimper, head tilting to give him more of your neck, hands clutching at his wrists, his arms, anywhere you can reach to steady yourself.

He hums low in his throat, all smug and wicked, and you can feel him smirk against your skin. "You want my cum, baby?"

You moan loud, nodding so fast it makes him chuckle.

"Of course you do," he murmurs, voice low and gravelly, kissing his way up to your ear. "This needy little pussy loves my cum, huh?"

"Yes," you gasp, writhing against him, trying to push back and take him deeper, to make him give it to you.

But he just teases, slowing his thrusts, dragging every inch out before pushing back in so slowly, letting you feel just how thick and hot he is inside you. "Thought you were mad at me, pretty girl."

"I am," you snap, but it's breathless, your earlier fire softened by the way he's fucking you so deep and slow, pulling every sound he loves right out of your throat.

"Yeah?" he smirks, tongue licking over your racing pulse. "Then why should I cum inside this perfect little pussy if you're still so fuckin' mad?"

"Jason—" you whine, pushing back harder, but his hand holds you steady, thumb pressing into your hip, controlling the pace no matter how desperate you are.

"Gotta convince me, baby," he taunts, voice all low and syrupy-sweet, fingers sliding down to your clit just to flick it, making you jolt and clench down hard on his cock. "Why should I fill you up, huh? Gimme one good reason."

"Because I need it," you gasp, fingers clawing at the couch cushions. "Need you to cum inside me, need to feel it—fuck—please, Jay."

"Need it?" He grins against your neck, biting just hard enough to make you yelp. "Sounds like my girl's not so mad after all."

"I am—"

"No, you're not," he cuts you off, fucking into you a little faster, just to hear the pitch of your voice climb. "You just like actin' tough until you're full of my dick, huh?"

You nod frantically, pride shredded, nothing left but raw, aching need. "Yes—yes—God, yes—please, Jay."

"Please, what?" His cock drags against your sweet spot with every thrust, his fingers circling your clit again, faster this time. "Say it, baby. Tell me exactly what you want."

"Want you to cum inside me," you sob, back arching, thighs trembling. "Want to feel it dripping out—want to be so fucking full of you, Jay, please—"

That does it. His grip tightens as he snaps his hips forward, fucking you deep, no more teasing, just hard, filthy thrusts, skin slapping skin, his cock driving into your slick little cunt until the wet noises echo louder than your breathless moans.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, forehead pressing to your shoulder. "Gonna give it to you— gonna fill this perfect pussy up."

You moan his name like a prayer, clenching down so hard it makes him stutter, and then he's gone, hips jerking, cock throbbing deep inside you as he spills, hot and thick, cum flooding your pussy in pulse after pulse after pulse.

It's so much—the heat of it, the way his dick twitches inside you with every spurt, and fuck, you feel everything. The way his cock pulses, the way his cum paints your insides, so deep, so full, your body reacts before you even realize, pleasure slamming through you again, white-hot and all-consuming.

"Oh—fuck—fuck—"

Your whole body trembles, seizing up as you arch, as your walls clamp down hard around his dick, the overstimulation pushing you over the edge again, even sharper this time.

Jason groans, choked and wrecked, because he feels it. The way your pussy flutters, grips him like a vice, milking him, dragging out his orgasm as another thick pulse of cum spurts deep inside you.

"Shit, pretty girl—fuck—"

His voice is hoarse, breathless, hands locking onto your hips as he bucks up, rutting into you with slow, desperate rolls, like he's trying to fuck his cum deeper.

You're soaking him, your release gushing around his dick, slick dripping down to his balls, making everything filthy as you keen, breath hitching, body trembling. The pleasure is so much you can't stop shaking, can't stop gasping, every little twitch of his cock sending more sparks crackling through your limbs.

Jason groans again, deep and raw, his fingers digging into your skin, keeping you right where he wants you, his cock still buried inside, still throbbing, even as his hips slow, his whole body shuddering against yours.

"Jesus Christ, baby—" He swallows hard, head falling forward against your shoulder, voice thick, half-slurred. "Damn near killed me."

But he doesn't let go. He won't. His arms curl around you, holding you close, keeping you locked against him, cock still nestled deep, even as his cum drips out, thick and hot, making a mess between your thighs.

You both shudder, your pussy milking him for everything, his cock twitching, still so sensitive it makes him groan low in his throat as he grinds against you, lazy and slow. You're so full you leak around him, creamy slick dripping down his balls, sticky and hot, smearing where your thighs press together.

It's messy, obscene, perfect, and he loves every second of it.

He kisses your shoulder, still panting, his hand sliding up your stomach to cup your tits, lazy fingers playing with one nipple. "Still mad, baby?"

"Maybe," you mumble, face buried in the crook of his neck, completely fucked stupid.

Jason's laugh rumbles low in his chest, warm and rough and just so him, his lips pressing to your temple in a lazy, affectionate kiss. "You're a terrible liar, doll."

His cock slips free from your fluttering cunt with a slick, obscene noise, your pussy clenching reflexively at the sudden emptiness, already missing him even with his cum still leaking from your swollen slit. It smears down your inner thighs, dripping onto the couch cushion below, and Jason watches it like a man obsessed, fingers tracing over the slick mess he made of you before finally easing you down against him.

You whine, soft and spent, but you don't fight it when he turns you gently, pulling your smaller body right on top of his, the perfect little puzzle piece to his broad, muscular frame. Your skin feels like it's buzzing, every inch of you overstimulated and tender, but his hands are so gentle.

Big palms soothing up and down your back, warm fingers tracing lazy circles along your spine. His lips find your temple again, softer this time, and the two of you just breathe, hearts still pounding, somehow falling into the same steady rhythm.

You nuzzle into his neck, breath warm against his skin, and for a while, the only sound is both of you catching your breath, bodies molding together.

After a long, quiet moment, Jason's voice breaks the silence—rough, hesitant. "I'm sorry."

You blink up at him, your face blissed-out and sleepy, limbs heavy, but you still reach up, cupping his cheek, thumb brushing gently over the scar there. His hand comes up to cover yours, his palm dwarfing yours as he lifts it to his mouth, kissing your palm, his lips warm and soft.

"I'm sorry too," you murmur, voice soft, but Jason just shakes his head.

"Nah," he says, eyes flicking up to the ceiling like it's easier to talk to that than to you. "It was my fault. I just..." he trails off, breath hitching slightly, and for a rare moment, Jason Todd looks nervous.

You wait, patient and quiet, until he finally sighs, his grip on your hand tightening just a bit. "I never had this kind of love before," he says, voice so low you almost miss it. "Ever."

Your heart aches, and you squeeze his hand back, silently urging him to keep going.

"And yeah, I don't—I don't know how to behave sometimes," he admits, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. "I know it's wrong to be so fuckin' possessive. To assume you're mine just because I want you to be."

"Baby," you whisper, brow furrowing, but he keeps talking, like he has to get it all out before he loses his nerve.

"It's selfish and stupid," he says, frustrated with himself. "But I just... I never felt this way about anyone before. And it's fuckin' terrifyin', but it's also the best goddamn thing that's ever happened to me."

Your chest aches, soft and warm and so full of love for this man who's only ever known how to fight for what he wants, and now he's fighting himself, just to figure out how to love you right.

You tilt his chin until he's looking at you again, your eyes wide and soft and just a little stunned, because yeah, Jason's softer with you, you know that. But this? This vulnerability, this naked honesty, this is rare. This is the part of him no one gets to see.

"What are you talking about, baby?" you whisper, thumb tracing his lower lip. "I'm yours. You don't have to doubt that."

His eyes darken, something vulnerable flickering beneath the heat. "Yeah, but—"

"No 'but'," you cut him off, leaning down to kiss him—soft, sweet, no heat this time, just love. "I am yours, Jay. You don't own me, but I belong to you. And that's my choice."

His arms tighten around you, almost crushing you to his chest, but you don't complain. You just melt into it, letting him hold you like he's afraid you'll slip through his fingers if he lets go.

And yeah, maybe your pussy's still throbbing, and there's cum dripping down your thighs, and you both reek of sweat and sex, but right now? Right now, all that matters is this.

You shift slightly on top of him, just enough to press your lips to his chest—soft, lingering, right over his heart. It's steady beneath your mouth, a quiet, strong beat that reminds you he's here. And you hold onto that, breathing him in as you kiss him again, even softer this time.

Jason's hand slides up your back, fingers weaving into your hair as he cups the back of your head, guiding you up just enough to press a kiss to your forehead. It's so gentle, so sweet, and your chest aches all over again, tears pricking at the back of your eyes.

"I'm sorry I said I want you to change for me," you murmur, voice quiet and a little hoarse. "I didn't mean it like that. I just..." you sigh, fingers tracing idle patterns over his ribs. "I knew what I was getting into when we first met. I knew. And I thought that over time, it would be easier to just... I don't know... get used to the idea that one day you might not come home."

His hand tightens slightly in your hair, not enough to hurt, just enough to let you know he's listening.

"But it's not," you whisper, voice cracking slightly.

"I know," he says softly, his lips finding your temple again.

You exhale, shaky and uneven, and your voice wavers when you say, "I just want you to promise you'll always come back to me. I can't lose you, Jason. You're the only person in my life I've ever loved like this, and I just... I can't—"

The words catch in your throat, and you almost sniffle, but Jason's already there, tilting your chin up until you meet his gaze. And fuck, the way he looks at you—like you're everything, like you hung the goddamn moon—it almost breaks you.

He can't stand seeing you cry. Not like this. Crying because he fucks you stupid? Sure, any day of the week. But crying because you're scared of losing him? That kills him a little.

His thumb strokes along your cheek, brushing away the tears threatening to spill. "I promise, doll," he says, voice low and steady and so fucking sincere it hurts. "I'll always come back to you."

You nod, swallowing hard before you nuzzle back into the crook of his neck, letting his warmth wrap around you like a shield. His arms tighten around you again, holding you like you're his lifeline. And maybe you are.

And yeah, there's still mess between your thighs, and the couch probably needs to be burned after what you just did to it, but none of that matters right now. All that matters is this. Just you and Jason, skin to skin, hearts pounding in sync, holding onto each other like the world outside doesn't exist.

After a quick cleanup—you both do what you can with the poor couch, but honestly, there's only so much scrubbing that'll save it—you end up in the shower together, lazily soaping each other up with that vanilla body wash you love. Jason grumbles about how it's too sweet and not him, but the second you press your slick, warm body against his under the spray, he shuts up real fast.

Wrapped in clean clothes, smelling like dessert, you curl up on the couch, freshly dressed in one of his worn-out t-shirts that hangs off your shoulder and a pair of cotton panties. Jason settles next to you in his sweats, bare-chested, all warm skin and ink as you tangle yourself around him like the needy gremlin you are.

A box of shitty pizza rests between you—a sad, greasy excuse for a meal, but somehow perfect for tonight—and some trash reality show plays in the background, the kind that makes you both question humanity.

Jason glances at you, his arm stretched around your shoulders, fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin. "So... we good?"

You roll your eyes, groaning dramatically, before leaning over to chomp a massive bite out of his slice, despite the fact you're already holding your own.

"You little brat," he mutters, shaking his head, but there's no real heat in it. If anything, the way he smiles at you—soft, warm, a little exasperated—makes your chest feel too small for your heart.

You just flash him a smug grin, mouth full of stolen pizza, and lean your head on his shoulder, sighing happily. "We're good, Jay."

And yeah, the couch will never be the same, and the pizza's objectively terrible, and the show's giving you both secondhand embarrassment. But with you curled into him, his arm wrapped around your waist, and your bare leg hooked over his thigh, Jason figures he might just be the luckiest motherfucker in Gotham.

[plethorawrites]

Jason Todd who is used to being in control because for so long he had absolutely no say in his life. He has too many trust issues to let anyone else make decisions or even really consider their opinions as more than complaints about his own thoughts or plans.

But not when it comes to you.

With you, he's nodding along to Every. Single. Idea.

Because he knows you have no ill intentions, no ulterior motive or disrespect. All you have, is his best interests in mind. Something he didn't feel like anyone else ever did.

Your disagreement wasn't mocking or insulting, it came from a place of love. You worried. You didn't want him doing anything reckless, not because you doubted him, but because you couldn't stand to lose him.

Even the small things, the stuff he usually struggled with, like sleeping in the same room as other people or wearing anything that showed the scars on his arms, became easier with you. You actually, somehow, liked his snoring. It wasn't annoying to you, it was just a sign that he trusts you enough to actually fall asleep in your arms.

That was the kind of vulnerability he didn't know he was even capable of.

He needed control. He needed to hold you, not to be weak and have you wrap your arms around him. He needed to protect of you, not have you run a damp cloth over his wounds like an injured puppy. He needed to comfort you, not cry into your chest while you fussed with his hair.

But he could never manage to force himself into that box he lived in around everyone else. The mindset came so easily to him around his family, around strangers, around nearly the entire world. He was calloused, mean, emotionless.

Until he came home to you and he could shed that false persona and be the man he truly was—who craved laying his head in your lap to hear you read to him, who prioritized his comfort over convenience, let himself feel even if that meant being in pain. He could only do that because he knew you'd be there when his guard slipped.

He needed control, yes. But he needed you more.

[popipopipopipopipo000]

Okay, i need to get this out of my system. I’d LOVE if someone who actually knows how to write uses this as a prompt.

We all know that Jason loves to read, specially the classics. He loves Jane Austen with all his might.

But what I have not seen in fanfiction is the fact that he’s also a writer. I don’t think he’d be a published one, but he definitely would love to write whenever he got the chance.

He used to love writing reports, doing homework, studying in general about everything and anything, specially about the arts. He was a great writer until—you know, he died.

I don’t think that habit stopped for him. Jason isn’t good with vocalizing his feelings and thoughts, but he’d be great at doing so writing them down, ink and paper. Whenever he feels conflicted, angry, sad, happy, expectant, nervous, scared… he’d write it down. It would help to canalize his feelings, specially since the majority of his life after being brought back was spent alone.

Remember that time Jason wrote a letter to Barbara confessing his feelings in one of the comic runs? (Then it fell down and got sweeped away lol) Well, imagine he did that with someone he really REALLY loved.

He’d write love letters, countless love letters to the one he loved but he’d always keep them in secret. He’s too shy and scared to let you read them because you might think he’s being childish. He’d write everything he loves about you, his thoughts on you, on himself, what he would do for you, what you mean to him. Confessing his love in each one of them, again and again, with the type of vocabulary you’d find in pride and prejudice. Some poetry would be thrown in there too, using metaphors to explain your beauty in and out.

Jason is short on words whenever he has to say them, he thinks it lacks the same redundancy as them written. They lose their true value because they’re lost to the air, lost to the memory after a certain period of time. But ink doesn’t fade away as easily, it can last for centuries and be intact if well maintained. Just like his love for you. He wants it to last, to not be lost in time.

[breedingreading19]

TW: Gunshot wounds and blood

It was late, probably around 1 am, as Emma danced around in her kitchen blaring some random playlist off her phone, wiping off bits of flour and cinnamon into her trash can that she pinned up against the cabinets. Off in her own little world till she heard a knock on her window, after a year and a half of knowing Jason Todd, most would stop jumping at the sound but Emma still jumped dropping the small trash, making puffs of flour coat the bottom of her black yoga pants and a light dusting on the floor.

"Thanks, Jay. Can't text or call first no, you always have to scare the shit out of me" She mumbles under her breath walking up to her bedroom, hearing her dog barking at him but quickly hurrying to the window not seeing him in eyesight. Looking out, seeing Jason all dressed up in his Red Hood get up but sitting stiffly on her fire escape, clutching his shoulder. Unlocking the window, she steps out loudly.

"Jay!" She quietly exclaims, kneeling down to look more closely at him.

"Hey, you’re a sight, mmhm, for sore eyes. Can I get a hand?" He mumbles tensed up in pain.

"Yeah..." She says bending down putting her arm under his attempting to support him up but it takes a moment as they both hear some slight creaking coming up the lower end of the stairs. "C'mon, someone’s coming" She whispers into his ear, before heaving him up onto her body essentially and him nodding his head against her shoulder as he reaches for his pistol on his right hip. Pulling it out and reaching past her shoulder, using it to steady his aim, it failing pretty quickly as her heart rate speeds up and her body begins to shake hearing people being thrown up against the bricks and over the rails, Jason taking a deep breath before pulling the trigger. Emma holds her breath trying to not move.

"Get inside. Em. I’ll be in a minute" He whispers weakly

"No, you need to get that looked at" She replies harshly, "Let’s just go inside if they don't see us they won't know you’re in my apartment"

"Blood trace, babe. I gotta take em out now" He says take a few more blind shots before hearing a masculine voice echoing up the stairs.

"It’s me asshole, stop shooting. They’re taken care of" It yells up. Jason visibly relaxes.

"You followed me?" He called back as the man finally got close enough Emma could turn her head a bit and see a well-built man in a black spandex suit with blue lines running up the arms and legs with a giant bird in the middle of his chest.

"Um.. Hood, you need to get patched up c’mon, your... friend can come in" Emma breaks in feeling more warm blood oozing onto her skin. Jason nods him grunting as he climbs into the window quickly getting licked by the familiar dog. Emma and the new man followed through, Jason flops down onto the bed before ripping his glove off and stuffing his finger into the bullet wound. Biting his lip watching the man look around the room, as Emma ushered the dog into the bathroom before closing the door as she quickly grabbed the first aide kit she put together months ago, It was more or less a gunshot wound kit stuffed into an old first aide box. Running out of the room, closing the door in her poor puppies’ face, seeing Jason already taken his helmet off and it laying beside him on the bed and his shirt and cracked plating being thrown on the floor.

“I told you not to follow me” He says obviously annoyed at the man as Emma sat down beside him and sat out all her items. Pouring anti septic onto some gauze.

“Yeah, how would that have turned out for you?” He replies equally annoyed

“Before the two of you start fussing” Emma exclaims pulling out gloves and tweezers looking at the both of them. “How many bullets and what kind?”

“1, standard 9mm, my chest piece just got shattered by…. OH fuck! No warning?!” He yells as she begins patting the outside wound with the wet gauze as it burns away the bacteria already trying to set in.

“You saw me bring the gauze to your chest don’t act like you didn’t” She throws back at him both looking at the man as he starts laughing.

“You must be the nurse? Emma, right?” He asks as Jason winces as Emma brings the tweezers into the hole and pulling out the bullet

“Um yeah, how…?” She asks not looking at him focused on the job in front of her, propped up on her knees beside of him trying to be level with his shoulders her spare hand placed on his chest stabilizing herself.  

“He’s my brother. Alfred told him” Jason explains quickly closing his eyes

“Oh, um Hi. Theres drinks and snacks in the kitchen, uh make yourself at home.” She says unsure quickly turning her eyes to him and then back.

“Thanks, but I won’t stick around long just wanted to make sure he was okay, and also make sure he wasn’t coming back out. Bats said to take the night off, rest”

“No way, fuck you and him! I took this case because of…” Jasons yells but stops and chews on his words looking at Emma now stitching up the hole. “Because of the people involved and the two of you want to kick me off of it because I got shot, I’m finishing it, tonight!”

“No, you’re off the case because it’s done, Bats called the cops to arrest them” He says pointing out the window as loud sirens can be heard around the building and voices echoing inside through the window. Jason lets out a humph before rolling his eyes.

“Whatever, just get out of here Boy wonder”

“I think you mean thank you, but Emma it was nice meeting you. Thank you as well for helping my asshole of a brother.” He says walking to the window again, as she nods her head and waves, wrapping Jason’s shoulder up. “Oh, by the way, Nightwing or Dick Grayson if I ever see you around” He adds before jumping out of window disappearing into the night. Emma’s face contorts for just a moment realizing who this was, Nightwing. While never seeing him in person she knew the name, the connection between him and Batman and all the robins. Emma had known about what had happened in Ethiopia all those years ago, Jokers heinous beatings, Jason’s bitch of a mother, if you could even call her that, but Jason didn’t just have a connection to Bruce Wayne and Wayne Intercorps as a whole but also Batman. She blinked her eyes for a few moments as she turned to close up her supplies, but the thoughts didn’t leave her mind. It had only been a few weeks since she met Pennyworth, and she decided to let most of it go. Jay’s life was complicated from the endless nights of patrol to save the city to the odd amounts of money he seemed to have flowing at the seams to the elephant in the room since the first time they met, as she struggled to take off his several layers of chest protection only to find the autopsy scar littered down his chest. He was nearly passed out from blood loss from a laced bullet wound. Nothing had ever made her think about Jason and the Red Hood being connected though, not on a personal level, not on the level that made Nightwing his brother. ‘Nightwing his brother’, she repeated in her head. Nightwing is Dick Grayson also Bruce Waynes’s son, Nightwing was also rumored to be Batman’s son as well, but that would make Bruce Wayne, Batman. Her eyes blinked once more as her hands betrayed her as she went to put the cap on the peroxide but instead the bottle tipped spilling onto her pants. Taking a deep breath as the cold seeped, finally hitting her pants and hearing Jason’s obvious annoyance as he mumbled something under his breath. She took a deep breath before turning to look back at him.

“I’m glad you’re okay” She mumbles just above a whisper he stops his annoyed commentary as she spoke and a smile barely crossed his face with a hint of the crinkles as the corners of his eyes.

“Yeah… me too… and he’s right, thank you for always being here for me.” He adds in before focusing on her face for a moment and reaching his hand out to cup her cheek. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, um nothing just spilled some peroxide but let me worry about that” she said shifting around to face him, twisting the cap once more before laying it down behind her

“That’s not it” He replies his eyes giving off his disbelief as she shakes her head

“I’m fine really” She replied before leaning in and kissing his cheek and moving her lips over his. Their lips moving against each other, her other hand moving to his good shoulder before moving it down to the little bit of fat the man kept at all right around his midriff, but the second her hand applied any pressure she could feel the hard muscles underneath. Groaning slightly into her mouth his hands made their way to her hips, grasping onto the plush before moving her into his lap, never once breaking the kiss. Hands moving across each other’s bodies as Jason lays back bringing her down with him as his hands begin to slither up her shirt feeling the soft satin bra she bore underneath. A few moments later a muffled husky howl and scratching can be heard from the bathroom as Emma pulls away laughing to herself.

“Cock blocker” Jason fake fusses turning his head to the door. Emma once again shakes her head before getting out of Jason’s lap as he groans a bit, putting his head on the bed.

“Oh, stop being a baby. You need to rest anyway.” She says walking over to the door not bothering to put her shirt back on. Letting the ball of pure fluff and crack energy out of the bathroom as she begins to jump up on Emma.  

“I would have been resting, and sides when did you graduate from medical school?” He chimes in standing up from the bed and walking over to grab some clothes that he had left here over many times patch ups or just nights spent in this bed.

“Haha, remember that the next time you want to know what medicine to take when you have a stuffy nose” She replies with fake laughter watching the dog run over to him and barking at him as she sat patiently beside him. He pulls his fresh shirt onto his body with a few grimaces of pain before turning and rubbing her head as a dog smile spreads across her face. “And you say I spoil her” Emma adds in as she grabs her t-shirt and unclasps her bra before sliding her shirt back on.

“You do but I can’t make it any worse”

“Whatever, if you give them another hour you can have some homemade cinnamon rolls”             

“Yeah, how about some cinnamon rolls and a conversation about my family since you met Dickwad already” Jason says running his arm through his hair. “And Bruce has been bugging me about bringing you around”

“Oh?” She says grabbing the first aide container and walking it back to the bathroom. “So do I pretend I do or don’t know your odd playboy billionaire father is also the terrifying batman or are those card out on the table these days?”

“So that’s why you looked like that? You figured it out from Dick” he says as she walks back into the bedroom.

“Yeah, yeah… I also kind of was kicking myself for not realizing it a week ago” she adds putting her hand on her hip.

“It’s alright, you’re not supposed too. Bruce told me I should tell you but I was waiting for the better time, but Dick ruined that, as he does most things.”

“So cinnamon rolls, more family secrets and eventually I meet your family? Which I know from the news is not small” she says walking over to him and pulling on his shirt a bit as he wraps his arms around her waist pulling her into his chest.

“Not even a bit, but you tell me when your ready and then I’ll talk to everyone about when” She nods her head looking up at him

“Well come on I gotta put them into the oven hot stuff” She pulls away a bit pulling him to the kitchen as he playfully rolls his eyes as they both walk out of the bedroom with the husky in close trails behind.

[neontiger]

me. I'm the kitty

prompt from twt!!<33