#jason todd can ruin me

[smutinlove]

ᴊᴀꜱᴏɴ ᴛᴏᴅᴅ—ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴀʟᴘʜᴀʙᴇᴛ

—You know what this is. For my fellow Jason Todd lovers, this is for you.

✯A = Aftercare (What they're like after sex)

This man can either be rough or soft. But most of the time, he is rough. But he also loves taking care of you. After sex, he'd run a bath for you or give you a well-deserved massage while whispering something along the lines of, "You did so good, love."

✯B = Body part (His favorite body part of yours)

He is a total thigh man. He loves your thighs. Jason loves seeing you wear short shorts that show off your thighs. He also loves it when you sit down and your thighs quadruple in size. It always gets him in the mood.

✯C = Consent (He's a gentleman)

He will NEVER do anything to you without asking first. Jason would hate to see you hurt, especially if he hurt you. He couldn't live with himself if he were the one that hurt you.

✯D = Dirty secret (Very obvious)

Whenever you're out or not around, he'll raid your closet and masturbate using a piece of your clothing. (He is a major horndog)

✯E = Experience (How experienced is he?)

He's had a few flings and hookups before he died. He's experimented with a few things. (Toys etc..) He's a very experienced person. Jason's a quick learner when it comes to you as well. He knows what you feel uncomfortable and comfortable with.

He's occasionally asked Dick or Bruce for advice as well. (Bruce would probably avoid the question and say he needs to go on patrol or something. But Dick would definitely answer and questions from Jason.)

✯F = Favorite position

Missionary. He loves seeing you squirm and moan beneath him while he fucks you until you can't walk straight. And if he's in an extra special mood (jealous/angry) his hands suddenly find their way to your neck, giving you a rough squeeze and ramming into you like it's his last day on earth.

✯G = Goofy (Is Jason more serious or just goofy?)

It depends on Jason's mood. Sometimes he'll make jokes and tease you. But mostly, he's serious and into the moment. And when he's angry or frustrated, he always feels better when he hears you scream his name and moan.

✯H = Hair (Does the carpet match the drapes?)

Jason keeps himself neat. He occasionally has a bit of facial stubble. And he may or may not have a bush down there. But if you want him to shave, he will. He's good like that.

✯I = Intimacy (How is he during the moment? Romantic aspect)

I feel like Jason would get a bit uncomfortable when he feels vulnerable. But during sex, he's definitely more rough and does his best to ask how you are.

Jason struggles with showing his emotions and expressing his feelings, but it's something he's working on.

But when you're not having sex, he knows you. Jason is great at reading your feelings. He knows what you want and don't want. He will always want to make you happy and remind you that you're loved.

✯J = Jacking off

(Mentioned in dirty secrets) He really only does it when you're not around. Most of the time, you are the number one thing on Jason's mind, causing him to get hard and have to do something about it.

✯K = Kinks

Size kink - He has a major size kink. He's around 6 feet and he loves the feeling of being bigger than you. He loves towering over you and randomly picking you up, feeling your figure against his chest.

Choking - After he was thrown into the lazarus pit, his grew. A lot. He became stronger as well. He loves the feeling of having control over you. The way you squirm under his grasp makes him feel powerful.

Orgasm denial - He loves to see you beg. Jason wants you begging for even the slightest bit of release. It makes him

✯L = Location (Fav place)

He isn't picky. He will bend you over a sink at your local Arby's if it meant he could fuck you. But Jason loves fucking you in the shower. Him seeing you squirming and moaning under him as he fucks you in a tight secluded space does something to him in so many ways.

✯ M = Motivation (What turns him on)

Jealousy. He absolutely hates it when you talk to other men. He's very possessive over you. The idea of you even taking a small liking to ANYONE pisses him off.

Arguing/bickering. This man loves chaos. It's his natural home. And whenever you two fight, it gets him hard. And that leads to angry makeup sex.

✯N = No (Turns offs)

Gun/knife play - NEVER. He would hate to put you under that kind of thing. Jason would never dream of hurting you. And he grew up in one of Gotham's crime alleys. He knows all the disgusting things that happen.

Threesomes are a no. He hates sharing, especially when it comes to you. The slightest thought of it angers him. He also does not want anyone else to look at you.

✯O = Oral (Preferences in giving receiving, skill, etc..)

This man knows how to eat pussy. He'd eat you out like it's his last meal. He's good at it. He knows what makes you scream. But Jason also doesn't mind being given head. He teases you, calling you a "good girl" and he praises you when you swallow his come.

✯P = Pace (is he fast and rough? slow and gentle?)

It'd depend on his mode really. But he likes to fuck you hard, but he knows how much you can take. He'll definitely hold your hand. And later on, he'll run you a bath and take care of you.

✯Q = Quickie (his opinion, how often etc..)

He'll never say no to a quickie if you two are down bad. But Jason prefers to take his time with you. He wants you screaming and begging for release. He just loves to tease and make fun of you.

✯R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He's not much of a risk-taker. (He def can't be an entrepreneur.) If you want him to try something new, you'd have to beg. And it would take a long time for him to actually warm up to it. He'd be okay to use restraints if it's okay with you. But he would never put himself in a submissive position.

✯S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go? how long?)

It would depend on his mood, really. He could definitely go for a round or two if it's just casual sex. But if he's angry or jealous? You will not be able to walk for a few days minimum.

✯T = Toy (do they own toys? do they use them? do they use them on their partner?)

Jason would NEVER use them on himself. He hates feeling submissive and losing control. But on you? Definitely. I feel like he would definitely use handcuffs on you just to stop you from moving your hands so much when he's devouring your cunt.

✯U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Jason motherfucking Todd is the biggest tease ever. He will touch you everywhere but where you want him too. He wants you begging for him. Jason wants you screaming his name, begging him to touch you where you want him too.

✯V = Volume (how loud they are, etc...)

Jason isn't really loud. You'll hear an occasional grunt or low moan coming from him. But he will definitely pull your hair and give you an occasional reminder that HE is the one pounding into you.

✯W = Wild card (random headcanon for character)

Jason wants to dominate you. Period.

✯X = X-ray (what's happening under those clothes?)

his cock is def 8-9 inches. no explanation needed.

✯Y = Yearning (sex drive)

Jason definitely has a high sex drive. He would definitely fuck you all day.

✯Z = Zzz (sleep)

He doesn't fall asleep until you do. He wants to make you feel comfortable and protected. He's a gentleman (most of the time) frr.

»»————<3———-««

im def going back into my jason todd phase. maybe i'll do one for dick and bruce. <3

anyway this took so long to write and im tired. VERY TIRED. maybe jason can tuck me into bed and give me a kiss?

[hanshenrykcd]

[moonilit]

I was reading The interview of Judd Winick about his characterization of Jason Todd in the book Under the Red Hood 2006, and he mentions what Jason feels about each of the other bat siblings, and Dick:

And I was like, Wait, I know another pair of Siblings where one feels like they were show by their parents they weren’t good enough or fit enough for them, and end up developing a superiority complex to compensate. Using the other sibling as a punching bag, attacking them and doing everything in their power to hurt and inflict pain on them. In a way they are exciting Vengeance for what their parents made them feel like by hurting their ‘favorite child’.

“YOU DONT HAVE WHAT IT TAKES” “YOU ARE PATHETIC AND WEAK” and so on

RIP (or hell) REDHOOD og characterization, you were one Crazy mf and we could had evil sibs team up with you lmao.

(The evil nightwing jason only for vibes no clue about the actual plot. Thank you)

[gaywineauntsstuff]

Don’t argue with me and I refuse to elaborate

BatBrats as hozier songs

Dick:

-Angel of small death and the codeine scene

-empire now

Jason:

-take me to church

-eat your young

Tim:

-it will come back

Here is where the I won’t elaborate is the the strongest

-too sweet

Damian:

-arsonists lullaby

- shrike

[helldritch6211]

If i re wrote red hood outlaws + arsenal n red would you want to see snippets of that or would you roast me on a pike?

[noassamoas]

But nothing's ever what it seems

You made me hate being fifteen

[angstandhappiness]

Neat

Jason is “No grave can hold my body down, I’ll crawl home to her”

Dick is “In the end, I’d tell them ‘put me back in it’ “

Damian is “I’d suffer Hell if you’d tell me”

Tim is “I slithered here from Eden, just to hide outside your door”

Steph is “Honey I’m taking no orders, I’m gonna be nobody’s soldier”

Cass is “My life was a storm since I was born, how can I fear any hurricane”

Duke is “ All that we intend we build on sand, and we begin again”

And Bruce, finally, is “ Wasteland, baby, I’m in love with you. That’s it.”

[luv-lock]

Jason Todd is a smoker .⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀⠀💭

Jason who keeps a pack of cigarettes in the inside pocket of his jacket, right next to a picture of you he swiped from your desk. Not that you’d ever know, because he’s carefully folded it so only he can see your smile.

Jason who refuses to share his lighter with anyone else. It’s not just because it’s his—it’s because your initials are carved into the side, along with a heart he scratched there himself. He says it’s “dumb” and “just a thing he did while bored,” but you know he’d gut anyone who tried to touch it.

Jason who keeps a special pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket, only for you to see. Each one has a faint, lingering trace of your perfume. He doesn’t even smoke them half the time; he just holds them between his fingers and breathes them in when he misses you too much.

Jason who pulls out a cigarette and pauses, twirling it between his fingers, staring at it with a crooked grin before muttering, “Doll wouldn’t like me smoking this.” He lights it anyway, because he knows you’ll scold him later, and he loves the way your hands curl into fists when you pretend to be mad.

Jason who has a habit of resting the cigarette between his lips while he leans against his bike, waiting for you to finish work, but doesn’t light it until you’re there to steal it from his mouth for yourself. He doesn’t even complain when you do; he just watches, smirking as your lipstick stains the filter. “You’re ruining my tough guy image, doll,” he’ll tease, but his grin says he loves it.

Jason who asks you to hand him a cigarette, just so he can watch your fingers curl around the box. He doesn’t even need one half the time. “C’mon, princess, humor me,” he drawls, leaning back like the cocky bastard he is.

Jason who presses the cigarette to his lips, then stops halfway. “Wait—kiss me first,” he says. “You know it doesn’t taste right if I don’t get one from you.”

Jason who only smokes half a cigarette before flicking it away, mumbling something about how it’s not worth finishing if it doesn’t taste like you.

Jason who hoards all the lipstick stains left behind on the filters, collecting them in a small tin in his room like a damn psychopath. When you find it, he just shrugs. “Don’t judge me. It’s art.”

Jason who lights up only after brushing his lips over yours first, muttering, “You’re the only good thing I wanna taste tonight.”

Jason who keeps your perfume on the nightstand and spritzes it on the collar of his jacket before stepping outside for a smoke. He breathes it in between drags, imagining you’re standing there, rolling your eyes at his bad habits but still staying close.

Jason who buys the most obnoxiously expensive cigars whenever he’s on a mission far from Gotham, not because he likes them, but because he knows they’ll get your attention. “Go on, princess, try it. I know you’re curious,” he’ll say, holding the cigar to your lips like it’s a dare.

Jason who never lets the ash hit the ground when you’re nearby. He stubs it out before you can complain about the smell or give him that look. God, that look—you’re worse than Alfred, but he can’t help loving it.

Jason who swears he doesn’t have an oral fixation, even though he constantly brushes his thumb over his lower lip while watching you. He murmurs, “You’re more addictive than nicotine, you know that?” right before he presses the cigarette back to his mouth, eyes never leaving yours.

Jason who grins every time you scold him for the habit, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “Don’t worry, princess. I’m addicted to something much worse than nicotine.” And he doesn’t have to say it, because the way his eyes lock on you, like you’re the only thing that matters, tells you exactly what he means.

Jason who will smoke less if it makes you happy, even though it drives him insane when you ask him to. Says something like, “I’m already a dead man walking, doll. What’s the harm?” But he’ll throw the pack away when you glare at him because he knows you’re right, even if he won’t admit it.

Jason who once tried to quit because you asked him to, and lasted three days before he came back to you, shaking and desperate. "I’ll quit, baby, I swear. Just... just give me time, yeah?" You held him, kissed his temple, and told him you didn’t care as long as he was okay. He’s never loved you more than he did in that moment.

Jason who tastes like smoke and leather when he kisses you—rough and familiar, like coming home after a long day. Who always holds your face a little too long after, like he’s trying to burn the memory of you into his mind.

Jason who, in a rare moment of vulnerability, tells you he only started smoking again after he came back from the dead. "It reminds me I’m alive," he says, exhaling smoke into the moonlight. You lean in, press a kiss to his jaw, and tell him he doesn’t need the cigarettes to prove that.

Jason who tells himself he’ll quit someday. For you. But tonight isn’t that day. So he lights another cigarette and mutters your name like a prayer, the smoke curling around him like a ghost.

Jason who keeps one cigarette in his bedside drawer, untouched and pristine, because it’s the first one you ever kissed for him. He doesn’t smoke it. He never will. It’s a reminder that you’re his, just like every other damn thing in his life.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[killerplink]

FRENZY

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

Plot: You are so drunk. Tipsy isn't even the right word anymore—you're in that sweet spot: warm, loose, and desperate for him.

Words: 4,8k

CW: established relationship, 18+, smut, drunk sex, praise, overstimulation, squirting, creampie, rough sex, aftercare, domestic fluff

Jason sprawls against the bed, shirtless, hair tousled from where your fingers tore through it earlier. His broad chest rises and falls with steady breaths, but his eyes—dark, heavy-lidded, locked on you—burn. He looks wrecked and so fucking gone for you, jaw tight, lips parted just enough to show how much you've undone him.

Your legs tremble as you straddle his hips, back to him, thighs spread wide over his. His dick is buried deep inside you—thick, hot, stretching you open—and even after all this time, it still steals the air from your lungs.

"Fuuuuck," you moan, head tipping back. "So big, Jay."

Jason groans, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. His cock throbs inside your dripping cunt, and fuck, he loves this. Loves watching you ride him like you own him, your pretty pussy clenching around him so tight it has him seeing stars. Creaming all over his dick like that, goddamn.

His voice is rough, strained. "Baby, you're—"

But you're already moving again, rolling your hips slow, savoring the burn, the stretch, the way he fills every inch of you. His cock drags against your walls, stroking all those sweet, sensitive spots inside, making you gasp.

"Shit," Jason breathes, his fingers flexing on your waist.

His thighs tense beneath your hands—strong, solid—and he fights not to thrust up and ruin you too fast, too soon. God, the view is fucking criminal: your ass bouncing, that needy little cunt swallowing him whole. You're so wet, slick noises filling the room each time you grind down, and he can feel it. Feel how messy you are, how you're dripping down his length, even without looking.

"Fuck, fuck—" His breath catches as you rock harder, faster, back arching. "Jesus, baby, you're so drunk."

"Mm-hmm," you hum, drunk and needy, grinding down just right.

Jason's head drops back, jaw clenching as your movements speed up—each bounce making your ass jiggle, driving him insane. His hips jerk up to meet you, punching a sharp, broken moan from your throat.

"Goddamn," he rasps.

Fucking perfect. Your cunt squeezes him so good, so fucking good, making his grip tighten, his control slip. Every drag of your pussy is like heaven and hell—hot, wet, and dangerously addicting.

"So good, huh?" you slur, looking over your shoulder with that fucked-out smile he lives for.

You grind down again, angling your hips just right, and he's the one moaning now—deep, guttural sounds that make your stomach flutter. Jason growls, losing it. His hands clamp down on your waist, helping you move, guiding you to bounce faster, take him deeper.

"Just like that, doll. Fuck—yeah, just like that."

"Jay," you whimper, head tipping back, vision blurring. "Fuck, baby, s'so deep—"

"Yeah?" His voice is pure gravel, rough with need. Christ, the way you clench around him, so greedy for his dick. "Tell me how good it feels, baby."

Your breath hitches. God, you love when he makes you say it, makes you talk, makes you own it. Makes you admit just how desperate you are for him, how wrecked you feel with every thick inch stretching you open, leaving you no choice but to surrender to it. You love how it strips you bare, how he doesn't let you hide, doesn't let you play coy, not when you're dripping down his cock, not when your walls are fluttering around him.

It's embarrassing, but in a good way, because you know he's memorized the way your voice shakes when you beg, and you love giving him that—handing over every little piece of your pride until all that's left is you, fucked-out and trembling, just for him.

"Feels so g-good," you moan, hands sliding up to squeeze your tits. You arch into your own touch, whining as you tease your nipples. "You're so big, Jay... fuck, stretching me so good—"

That's it. Jason snaps. His grip tightens, bruising, hips thrusting up to meet you hard. His cock slams into you deep, hitting spots that have you seeing stars.

"Fuck, baby."

His voice is wrecked, but he lives for this: for you, drunk on him, taking every inch like you need it. Watching your pussy milk his cock, so messy, so fucking wet—it's too much.

But you're too lost, too drunk, too needy, and too far gone. You keep fucking yourself on his cock, overstimulated beyond reason—three orgasms already tearing through you, leaving you a shaking, needy mess—but it's not enough. It never is with him. Not when you're drunk like this, mind hazy, body warm, everything buzzing with that sweet, dizzy desperation. You need more.

Jason's got the view of a lifetime: the curve of your back arched perfectly, your ass bouncing as you ride him, thighs shaking from overstimulation. His hands grip your hips, fingers pressing bruises into your skin, and he swears he's never seen anything more perfect.

He can't see your face, but he doesn't need to because he's memorized every inch of you. He knows exactly what you look like when you're lost in pleasure: lips parted in messy moans, eyes fluttering shut, that fucked-out expression that drives him insane.

His jaw clenches. You're wrecked—completely ruined—but you still want it. Still riding him like you'll die if you stop, your thighs trembling, cunt gushing with every bounce. His cum from earlier, thick and warm, mixes with your slick, dripping down over his balls, making a mess of both of you.

"Look at you," Jason grits out, voice a low growl. "Fuckin'—shit, baby—you're insatiable."

His hands slide down, rough palms dragging over your waist, hips, ass. Goddamn, that ass. Perfect. Round, jiggling every time you drop down on him. He can't help himself—smack. His palm cracks against it, sharp and hot, making you yelp before moaning louder, grinding down harder.

Your thoughts are a disaster.

So good—so fucking good—can't stop—don't wanna stop—his dick's so big—God, I'm so full—so full—need more need more need more—

Jason groans, hips jerking up to meet you. "Fuckin'—baby, touch that pretty little clit for me."

"Fuck—yes, baby—just like that," Jason groans, voice fraying at the edges.

His voice is rough, wrecked, commanding. He loves making you do it, especially when you're drunk like this. You're always bolder, shameless and so fucking hot, giving him everything he wants without hesitation. And just like he knew you would, your fingers find it.

Your swollen, puffy clit, so sensitive it makes your whole body jolt. The second you touch yourself, your pussy clamps down on his cock, tight and fluttering, squeezing him so good it knocks the breath from his lungs.

His grip tightens on your hips, guiding you, helping you ride him faster, rougher. You're moving like a woman possessed, chasing something you can't even put into words, just need need need.

Your moans are wild, loud, messy, filthy. You don't care. Can't. Not when every thrust has his dick grinding against that perfect spot inside, stretching you so wide it borders on overwhelming. God, you're soaked, slick squelching around him, spreading down your thighs, making everything wet, hot, and obscene.

Jason's mind is equally wrecked, focused entirely on how you feel, how you move, how filthy your moans sound. His palm smacks your ass, sharp and satisfying, and you cry out, cunt pulsing around him again.

"That's it, baby," he growls, voice wrecked. "Fuckin' take it."

And you do—God, you do—like you can't get enough.

Jason's chest heaves, sweat slicking his skin. Jesus fucking Christ, he's close, but he can't look away. Can't stop watching the way your cunt takes him, milking his dick with every roll of your hips. And that sweet little clit, that he just knows it's glistening under your fingers, your hand working it just like he told you. Obedient. Perfect.

"Yeah, baby—fuck, keep goin'," Jason growls, voice pure wreckage. "Look at you, ridin' me like you're starving for it. So fuckin' greedy, shit—"

Your body burns, thighs shaking, every nerve ending lit up and sparking. You don't know what's hotter: the filthy things he's saying or the way his cock fills you, dragging against your soaked, sensitive walls. All you know is you need it, you need him.

Your voice breaks on a sobbed moan, head falling back. "J-Jay, fuck, feels so good... 'm gonna—gonna—"

And Jason—eyes locked on where you're connected, where your messy, drenched pussy is wrecking him—just grins, breathless and feral.

"Cum for me, doll."

Your fingers work faster over your clit, desperate, chasing that high that's been simmering just beneath the surface. Every thrust of his cock pushes you closer—deeper, harder, rubbing right against that perfect spot inside. Your body tightens, thighs shaking, breaths coming in broken, high-pitched gasps. Almost there—so close—fuck.

And then it hits you.

Your orgasm crashes over you, a blinding, white-hot wave that steals the air from your lungs. Your pussy clamps down on him hard, squeezing and pulsing around his cock like a vice.

It's intense, overwhelming, sparks firing through your entire body as you sob out his name—"Jay, fuck. Oh my God—"

"Fuck, baby, look at you—"

Your hips jerk uncontrollably, fucking yourself through it even as pleasure burns through you. Your clit throbs under your fingers, hypersensitive but you don't stop, can't, not when it feels this good. Slick gushes around him, soaking his cock, dripping down your thighs in messy, filthy streams.

Your mind is a mess—so full of him, so fucking good, can't get enough—and Jason feels it. The way you clamp down on him, how your walls flutter and squeeze like you're trying to pull him even deeper.

His voice is rough, wrecked, and it feeds the fire still flickering under your skin. You keep grinding, riding out every pulse, every aftershock, until your body's trembling, overstimulated and soaked in bliss.

Your breath stutters, hips finally slowing, but your pussy still twitches around him, milking every last bit of sensation.

And you can't stop moaning—messy, breathless, still drunk off him. "So good—fuck, Jay, love your dick—"

Your fingers keep rubbing over your clit, each swipe sending electric jolts straight through you. It's throbbing, pulsing under your touch, but you don't stop—you can't—not when his cock is stretching you open so perfectly, thick and hot, dragging against every sensitive spot inside you.

Your rhythm turns sloppy after a few minutes, hips stuttering, thighs trembling with exhaustion. Jason notices immediately. Of course he does. His hands tighten around your waist, and before you can protest, he pins you in place and fucks up into you—hard, deep, fast.

"Fuck, baby," he growls, voice wrecked.

His thighs flex beneath your hands as you brace yourself, nails digging into his skin. Every thrust punches a moan out of you, high-pitched and desperate. His dick drives into you relentlessly, so deep you swear you can feel it in your stomach.

Jason's brain is a haze of lust—so fucking tight, so warm, clamping down on me like she doesn't wanna let go. Your slick coats him, making everything filthy and wet. He watches your ass jiggle with every thrust, sees how your pussy's creaming all over his dick, and it's driving him insane.

"Jay, fuck, fuck—" You're slurring now, alcohol and pleasure tangling in your head. "So good, so big, baby... fill me up, please—"

That wrecks him.

His pace gets rougher, hips snapping up fast and hard, balls slapping against your soaked cunt. He grunts, jaw clenched tight, chasing that peak. Almost there. Fuck. You're squeezing him so tight, walls fluttering around his cock, sucking him in. He can feel it, you're close again, but so is he.

Then, fuck, he cums.

It hits him hard, shoving his dick as deep as it'll go and holding you there while thick, hot spurts of cum flood your needy, drenched walls. You feel it, feel him, how his cock pulses, how his cum gushes into you, filling you up, sticky and warm.

He groans, deep and guttural, hips jerking through it, fucking you through every wave of his orgasm. His mind blanks out, just you, just this, overwhelmed by how good you feel wrapped around him.

"Shit—baby—fuck," Jason pants, still moving, dragging it out until he's spent, cock twitching inside your soaked, cum-filled pussy.

And you? You're gone.

Still rubbing your clit, whimpering, mumbling out filthy praises between breathless moans. "Love your dick, baby. Fucking perfect, fills me up so good—need it, need you—fuck—"

Your words are messy, drunken, filthy, but he loves it. Loves how wild you get, how shameless you are when you're like this.

And he can't stop watching—your ass bouncing, his cum dripping down your thighs, your cunt still greedily milking him for every drop.

You whimper as Jason stills, his cock buried deep inside you, thick and hot, stretching you out perfectly. Your body trembles, aching, nerves on fire, but it's not enough, you need more. You glance over your shoulder, eyes half-lidded and lips parted, voice barely a murmur, soft and pleading.

"I wanna cum again, baby... please."

Jason doesn't hesitate. He never does when it comes to you.

A low groan rumbles from his chest as he sits upright, one strong arm winding tight around your waist. He keeps you right where he wants you: dick buried inside your dripping, overstimulated pussy, pressing your back flush to his chest. His breath is hot against your ear, lips brushing your temple, and then—fuck.

His free hand slides down, fingers slipping between your trembling thighs. He finds your swollen, sensitive clit and teases, circling it slowly, making you shudder against him.

"Yeah, doll?" His voice is low, rough in your ear. "Still wanna cum again, huh? Greedy little thing."

You moan, hips giving a weak roll, but he pins you in place with ease. His cock stays deep, so deep, pulsing inside your fluttering walls as he drags his fingers through the slick mess leaking from you both. Warm cum oozes out of your cunt, spilling around his cock and dripping onto his thighs, his balls, and fuck, that just makes it worse. Makes you needier.

Jason's fingers stay on your clit—puffy, sensitive, throbbing—and keeps rubbing slow, tight circles, gathering more of the mixed slick. "So hot, baby," he murmurs, lips grazing your temple.

You let out a needy little moan, hips twitching, but his arm around your waist keeps you still. Keeps you right where he fucking wants you.

"So greedy," he murmurs, his fingers pressing down a little harder, rubbing just right. You gasp, muscles tensing, back arching against him. He feels every tiny squeeze, every flutter of your cunt around his cock. "So sensitive, so fuckin' good for me. Keepin' my dick inside this pretty little pussy, squeezin' me so good, aren't you?"

Your head tips back against his shoulder, lips parting, but nothing comes out except a soft, wrecked sound. Your mind is blank, nothing but white noise and Jason Jason Jason. His cock is still inside you, thick and pulsing, stretching you wide as he keeps you there, his fingers rubbing your swollen clit with devastating precision.

His cum leaks from you, thick and warm, dripping down where you're still connected, and Jason sees it. Feels it. His breath shudders, his grip tightening, and fuck, he loves this.

"Look at you," he rasps, dragging slow, lazy circles around your throbbing clit. "So fuckin' desperate. So perfect, baby."

You whimper, thighs twitching, nails digging into his forearm. It's too much, but not enough, never enough. You don't care how overstimulated you are, don't care that your body is trembling, aching. You just need to cum again.

"You gonna sob for me, baby?" Jason's voice is low, teasing, rough as he rubs you harder, just how he knows you like it. "Gonna let me get you there again? Wanna feel you shake for me, doll. C'mon, pretty girl, let me have it."

Jason's fingers don't stop. If anything, he presses harder, rubbing your throbbing clit in those perfect, tight little circles that make your entire body tense, trembling against him. His arm around your waist locks you in place, cock still buried deep in your fluttering cunt, and you're a mess—soaked, overstimulated, clinging to him like you'll fall apart if he stops.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs against your ear, voice like dark velvet, warm breath fanning over your skin. "C'mon, doll. You're gonna cum for me again, aren't you? So good for me. So fuckin' pretty when you fall apart like this."

You sob, your body shaking, legs quivering as you press back into him. "Yes—God, yes—please, baby, I need—"

"Shh, pretty girl," he soothes, nipping at your jaw while his fingers keep working you, relentless and precise. "I know what you need. Let me give it to you, huh? Let me feel you soak my dick, doll."

Your breath hitches, your world narrowing down to the heat coiling in your gut, the burning need tightening, tighter, until it snaps.

Your orgasm hits like a freight train—toe-curling, mind-numbing, ripping through you with such intensity you sob, shaking as your body locks up. Your cunt clamps down on his cock, gripping him, milking him, slick walls fluttering as your vision whites out. Heat floods through you, and then—fuck.

The pleasure crashes into you, violent and all-consuming. Heat pools low in your belly, that molten coil snapping as you moan, sobbing out his name—"Jason, oh fuck..."—and then you gush, your release spilling out around his cock in a sudden, messy rush.

It's hot, wet, and relentless, soaking his lap, dripping down his thighs, splattering the sheets beneath you. Warmth pools under you, spreading between your legs, the slick mess seeping into the sheets.

You can feel it, sticky and slippery, dripping down both of you, coating his skin, soaking his hand where he keeps working you through it. Your thighs tremble uncontrollably, the mess spreading as you keep gushing, overstimulation leaving you gasping.

God, he loves this. Loves how fucking wet you get for him. Loves how you can only ever do this when you're drunk—a sloppy, soaked little mess, gushing all over him—and honestly? He doesn't get how that works, doesn't understand why it only happens then, but fuck if he cares. It's hot as hell.

Christ, you're soaking him—his lap, his thighs, the sheets—all of it. He can feel it, warm and sticky, dripping down both of you. Squirted all over his dick, his hand, the mess absolutely filthy.

He should probably be concerned about how wrecked you are, but all he can think about is how you gush for him, how you fall apart so perfectly in his hands. Messy. Soaked. Perfect.

"Fuck, baby—fuck, look at you—"

His voice is strained, hungry, eyes dark as he watches you soak him, his grip tightening when he feels you gush around his dick. His hips jerk up, pushing that thick head deeper, brushing your cervix again just to hear the way you whimper. God, he lives for this, for you losing yourself, cunt pulsing and fluttering around him, slick dripping everywhere.

His fingers don't stop. Slow, deliberate circles on your clit, drawing out every last shudder, every last shake until you're whimpering, nails digging into his arm, fresh tears pricking at your eyes from the sheer overload.

"That's it," Jason murmurs against your ear, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Ride it out, pretty girl. I've got you. Fuck, you're incredible. So messy, so fuckin' hot."

And it's not just the mess, it's you. The way your body shakes, the way you sob through the overstimulation, how your cunt keeps fluttering, clinging to his dick. How you lose yourself so completely, pretty little head thrown back against his shoulder, breath hitching in broken gasps, mind blank except for him.

Jason's fingers slow, easing the pressure on your clit until he's just tracing soft, lazy circles, helping you ride out those last tremors. Beneath you, the sheets are ruined, soaked through. His lap is a mess, cock still buried deep, his own restraint hanging by a thread as he watches you—so wrecked, so beautiful.

"Look at this fuckin' mess you made," he whispers against your skin, smirking against your temple.

His words melt into your overheated skin, sending a shiver down your spine. Your chest heaves, breaths ragged, sob slipping past your lips as your cunt pulses, fluttering helplessly, still aching for him.

"Pretty little thing, soakin' me like that... Fuck, I'll never get enough of you."

Your body melts into him, spent, every muscle trembling, heart pounding against your ribs.

"Hey," he murmurs, voice a low rumble against your ear as he presses a warm, tender kiss to your temple. "You okay, baby?"

His hand soothes over your skin, grounding you while you sniffle, legs weak, cunt still twitching with aftershocks. You can't do anything but nod, body limp, still buzzing with heat.

His dick is still buried deep inside, stretching you wide, and your pussy flutters, oversensitive and soaked. You nod, half-embarrassed, half-overwhelmed, but Jason keeps soothing you, thumb brushing soft along your hip.

After a few minutes, he shifts, careful, and eases you off his cock. You whine, empty and aching, and your body shudders as his length slides out, sticky with both your releases. Cum leaks out of you in a slow trickle, coating your inner thighs, and your stretched cunt twitches, pulsing as air rushes in.

"C'mere," Jason chuckles, guiding you into his arms like you weigh nothing.

You don't even move—you collapse, boneless and wrecked against his chest. His skin is warm, solid, and you nuzzle in, cheek pressed to those broad, muscular pecs.

His hand rubs slow circles along your back, voice soft. "You did so good, pretty girl."

But then—of course—he grins. "Fuckin' soaked the sheets, huh?" he teases.

You groan, pouty and drunk, burying your face in his chest. "Jay... I ruined them.."

"Nah, baby, fuck the sheets, we'll just wash them," he says, lips against your hair, voice satisfied. "That was hot as fuck."

Your sniffles turn into a soft, bashful laugh, still too gone to argue, but Jason? He loves you like this. Soft, fucked-out, messy, curled against him with his cum dripping out of you. His heart is full, mind stuck on the image of your cunt gushing around him, soaking him completely.

You tilt your head up, gaze blurry and soft, lips swollen and pink from how much you've bitten them, your chest still heaving. Jason's eyes drop to your mouth, and—fuck—he can't help himself.

"C'mere," he murmurs again, and before you can think—before you want to—he's leaning down, catching your mouth with his.

The kiss is messy, hot, his tongue licking into you, claiming every soft, sweet sound you let out. You whimper, body melting, and let him, lips parting under his like you were made to. His mouth devours you—warm, demanding, tasting like lust and need, and you moan, the sound spilling into him.

Your thoughts? Fucked. Hazy and lost in him. God, you love him. Love his lips, his hands, his dick, everything. He's everywhere, everything, and you can't think, don't even want to. All you know is Jason. His heat, his taste, the way his hand cradles your jaw like you're precious, even as his tongue fucks into your mouth, hungry and needy.

Jason's head? Gone. Fuck, he loves kissing you. Loves how soft you are against him, how your lips cling to his like you need him to breathe. His chest tightens with it, all that fierce, aching love. God, he loves every inch of you. Your messy hair, your swollen lips, the way he knows your cunt still throbs, sticky and wrecked.

And you—God—you kiss him back, hungry, slow, like you never want to stop. Your fingers curl into his hair, and he groans, hips twitching because fuck, you always get him like this.

His mouth moves against yours—slow, claiming. And you? You let him take whatever he wants. The kiss stretches on, turns messy, filthy, tongues sliding together in a wet, heady tangle.

His dick, hot and rock hard, presses against your belly, sticky with remnants of cum and fresh precum already leaking out, but you don't care. All you want is him. His mouth, his heat, the way his fingers keep you close, holding you like you belong there.

Your drunken mind spins. God, how does he taste this good? How is he still so hard after wrecking you? But then his tongue sweeps into your mouth again, and thinking becomes impossible.

His brain is fucked, caught between how good you taste and how your warm skin drags against his aching dick. God, you're soft, you always are, and the heat of you—fuck. He can feel the smear of slick and cum between you both, messy and hot, and he loves it. Loves how you don't care, how you just keep kissing him, hungry and needy, your fingers digging into his hair.

Your chest presses close, nipples hard and brushing against him, and his dick throbs, precum smearing your skin as you grind up a little without thinking, chasing that heat. Neither of you pull away, tongues sliding, breaths hot and mingled, until your lungs burn. You pant into his mouth, fuzzy, heart pounding, body buzzing from him—his touch, his taste, the love spilling between lust and haze.

And still, you kiss him.

Until you're breathless, lips swollen, hearts racing. Until you both slow, soften, mouths parting with one last lazy swipe of his tongue, his hands steady on your waist, yours tangled in his hair.

His forehead drops to yours, breath warm, shaky. Your mind? Spinning. His thoughts? A mess. And between you? Heat. Love. Need.

But for now... just you and him. Breathless. Close. Jason pulls away just enough to press a lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips soft, breath still warm against your skin. You melt into him, arms curling tight around his torso as your cheek rests against his sticky chest, body still buzzing, heart slowing. His fingers trace lazy patterns along your spine, soothing you with those gentle little touches that always calm you down.

When you look up at him, your eyes hazy, face flushed, and that bratty little pout he loves makes an appearance. He chuckles because he just can't help it—God, you're adorable.

"What do you want me to order?" he asks, voice still rough from kissing you stupid.

Your voice goes all soft, that particular tone you get every time you want food, and he knows what's coming.

"Can we get pizza?" you murmur, blinking up at him with wide, pleading eyes.

He laughs, genuine, fond. "Yeah, baby, we can get pizza."

Your eyes brighten, that tipsy happiness radiating off you like warmth. "With extra cheese?"

"With whatever you want," he grins, thumb brushing your cheek. "Say it and I'll get it for you."

But then your pout deepens, lips plumping up in that way that makes him wanna kiss you all over again. "But we need to clean up first..."

He snorts, shakes his head. "Nah. I need to clean you up first. And the sheets."

His gaze flicks to the bed, still soaked from earlier, and he grins, teasing. Your eyes widen, face heating up, and you whine, "Jay, stop that—"

Smack. His hand lands on your ass playfully, and you yelp, swatting at him with a giggly, half-hearted shove.

"Brat," he says, grinning.

"But you loooove me," you sing-song, drunk and smug, eyes sparkling.

"You know I do, baby," he murmurs, softness bleeding into every word. He leans in, playfully nips the tip of your nose, making you giggle all over again. "C'mon," he says, "let's get movin'."

Later—showered, clean, and still tipsy—you're curled up against him on the couch, a box of demolished pizza on the table, extra cheese and all. You'd insisted on finding something to watch, flipping through garbage TV until settling on some random show neither of you cared about.

He knew you'd fall asleep. Knew it. But you'd pouted when he suggested skipping it, so here you are, your head on his chest, breath evening out, body warm and soft against his. His arm drapes over your shoulders, pulling you closer, and he glances down to find you completely gone, lashes fluttering against your cheeks.

And God... he wouldn't change a damn thing. Not the mess you both made of the sheets. Not the pizza crumbs on the blanket. Not the soft little snores escaping you as you nuzzle in closer, like you're meant to fit there.

This? This is it. You and him. Laughing. Loving. Messy, loud, quiet, bratty, perfect.

Jason smiles, presses a kiss to your hair, and lets you sleep, his heart full.

Yeah, he wouldn't trade it for the fucking world.

[smutinlove]

i can fix jason i swear

one touch and he'll be a saint frrr

his trauma will just go away

(ill be traumatized)

[queeniewithabeanie]

The Parade Performer

Dpxdc Prompt #18

Every year Gotham hosts a parade where performers dress up as Gotham villains and go riding on a parade float around town while gothamites throw anything they can manage at them. These performers are paid an obscene amount for going through the abuse of every person living in Gotham. The more hated the villain the more the performers are paid, so obviously being the Joker pays the most.

Though, this doesn't matter much because every year the Joker kills the person that plays him during the parade.

So obviously Danny Fenton, a broke runaway that has already died once decides to be the Joker for the Gotham Villain's Parade.

Danny hates clowns.

Everyone in Gotham hates clowns, so he isn't special in that regard. No, he's special in that his hate for clowns does not stem from the Joker.

It's that specialty, along with the fact that he's used to people hating him his home town never really liked his protection, no matter how much they needed his help , and that he needs money to help him survive Gotham that has lead him to become a parade performer.

He joins a very short line of people who are desperate enough to dress as the worst Gotham has to offer.

He's the only one that's there for the role of the Joker.

All the people there look at him like he's a dead man walking.

He sits down and allows the makeup artist to turn him into an unrecognizable monster. She looks at Danny like she is stabbing a knife into his heart—which for all intents and purposes she is.

As he stares into the mirror he allows a change in his previous statement. He was turned into a monster for sure, but there was nothing unrecognizable about the man that had hurt every single person in Gotham City in some way.

He steps onto the float and prepares himself mentally. Whatever they say, whatever they do, they don't mean it about him. They are just taking out on him what they can't do to the man that has ruined so many lives.

Danny stands still as rotten tomatoes are thrown his way. He stands as still as a statue for all of the insults. The only time he moves is when knives and bullets rain upon him, he doesn't plan to die, not to misplaced anger.

He gets his money, it's enough that could last him into retirement. It doesn't matter too much as he is kidnapped 3 days later.

The Joker beats him with a crowbar, smashes all of his bones into pieces, and televises the whole event.

"This is what happens to those that mock me," he says, "There's only one Joker and that is me."

Danny knows he won't die, he doesn't have bones for the crowbar to break.

Red Hood doesn't know that. Jason Todd just sees a desperate kid that's about to get killed on live TV.

He loads his gun, find's the murderer that's haunted his dreams, his death, and his life. He shoots, no Bruce to stop him.

He picks up the kid and brings him to a safehouse. Jason is too late for the kid the same way Bruce was for him. He has no pulse, no breath entering his lungs. He deserves a peaceful resting place.

And then the kid's eyes open and Jason's world is turned upside down.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

“I’d let you if you asked.”

Jason Todd always had a habit of being in your space. It's something you didn't mind, but it is something you kept note of. He leans towards you, head angled down to catch every sound that comes through your throat, observing every twitch of your muscles with a sharp, intent gaze.

But even if he always seems to linger in your shadow, even if his eyes darkened with the desire for something more, he was careful. He never touched you before you touched him, and he always caught himself, when his fingers instinctively reached for you.

Something as simple as a hug, a brush over the back of your hand, a tousle of your hair, he denied himself over and over again. It was almost frustrating to see him denying himself something you never held back from him.

He melts into every hug you give, relishes when you thread your fingers together, nearly drops to his knees every time you kiss his cheek.

But then he'll falter, when you pull away, like he's snapping back to reality. He'll remind you that he's not good. In not so many words, he tells you he's poison. That he'll end up ruining you. Breaking you.

You think he's silly for it, because Jason Todd is nothing but good. But you indulge him, brushing the stray strands of hair falling into his face back, "I'd let you, if you asked."

He blinks at you, eagerly leaning into your touch, with dumbfounded eyes, "You would?"

You smile at him, devouring the way his eyes flutter when you do, "I would. If you want to ruin me, all you have to do is ask."

He frowns a little, his hand raising to rest on top of yours, keeping your palm pressed to his cheek, "I don't want to ruin you."

"Then ask for something else," you encourage, voice soft and fond.

"Can I kiss you?"

It makes you laugh, maybe he's not so scared of you after all. The hope doesn't leave his eyes when you do, and you're more than happy to answer him, "Yeah. You can kiss me, Jason."

He's quick to take advantage of your agreement, and it turns out, Jason's kisses are just as sweet as he is.

[fir3flytv]

JASON TODD didn't want a dog. He lived in an apartment with you, with one bedroom, a tiny kitchen and a living room that looked like the furniture decorated in it would fall apart at any moment.

But one day, he comes home to you, sleeping in your bed with a little bull mastiff puppy on his side of the bed. He stares at the dog for a few moments, before going to take off his Red Hood outfit, as though that would make the situation disappear. When he comes back, the dog was still there. Of course.

Gently, Jason shakes you awake, giving you a pointed look. "Got anything you want to share with me, babe?" He asks, eyes trailing down to the dog, still asleep on the bed. A sheepish smile crosses your face. "I can explain?" You say, though it comes out more like a question. "I was volunteering at the animal shelter and found him. He didn't like being with the other dogs in cage but they didn't have enough space to isolate him." "So you thought the best plan was to bring home a dog that can grow to be 150 pounds?" I scoffs lightly. "No, no! I'm fostering him. Just for a little bit," You say quickly. "I thought since he's still a puppy he would be adopted quickly, right? So we won't have to make space for when he gets that big." Jason lets out a soft sigh and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before speaking again. "You're too good," He murmurs softly. You smile up at him and return the kiss onto his cheek. After a few moments, Jason clears his throat and looks down at the puppy, still sprawled out onto his side of the bed. "So where am I going to sleep?" ... JASON TODD sucks at being a foster. He's terrible, horrible, even. If you were to look up 'How to not foster a dog', they would just show his face. It wasn't that he neglected the dog. He could never. He took him out on runs, fed him good food, washed him, played with him. Everything a dog owner could do. No, the reason Jason was so bad was because his first ever foster dog turned out to be a foster failure. Every time someone came by interested in adopting the puppy, Jason would be in your ear, whispering to you that it didn't seem like they knew what they were doing, or that the puppy wouldn't like living with them. Every. Single. Time.

It wasn't till the three month mark of fostering the pup, having moved to a more spacious apartment, that Jason popped the question.

"You know," He starts suddenly while the two of you were on the couch, eating Chinese take out with the dog resting on the floor nearby. "No one here seems to be right for Buster." Buster, his name for the dog. He's used it so much he actually started responding to it. "There's someone, I'm sure," You counter, taking a bite of your food. "I know there is," Jason counters. Just as you open your mouth to tell him that makes no sense, he cuts you off. "Us. We're right for Buster." "Think," He says, reaching out to grip your hand. "For three months, we've had him, we've moved with him. He has his spot in the bed, we've worked him into our schedule. He's happy. Why ruin that?" "So you want to adopt him?" You ask, making sure you understood just exactly what he was saying. It felt too good to be true. "Yeah, I do," He says with a small smile. As soon as he finishes speaking you practically lung at him, tackling him into a hug while whispering small 'thank you's. The action makes Buster jump up and want to join in on whatever is going on, leaping onto the couch and sniffing at the two of you, his massive head bumping you both. In that moment, Jason knew he made the right choice. This felt right. It felt good. It felt like home. You, him, and your giant dog.

[cupidsworstcrime]

Jason Todd x f!reader

smut below the cut , im a freak

Jason's chest heaves under your palms, his shirt rucked up just enough to show the sharp cut of his abs, the way they twitch as you work him over. He’s leaned back, head tilted, mouth slack with pleasure, a low groan rumbling up from deep in his throat.

“You’re killing me, babe,” he rasps, voice rough and shaking. His hand fists in your hair, not pulling, just anchoring—like if he doesn’t, he’ll float away.

You hum around him in response, slow and deliberate, taking him deeper, letting spit and precum drip from the corner of your lips in thick, messy strings. His thighs tense. He’s so close—so fucking close—and you want it. You want him to lose it.

He jerks when you swallow him whole, when your throat tightens just right. A sharp gasp leaves his lips. “Fuck, fuck—’m gonna—”

You pull off just as he spills, thick and hot, catching every drop on your tongue, letting it pool heavy in your mouth while he groans through gritted teeth, watching with wide, wild eyes.

“Jesus…”

You crawl up his body, straddling his lap, one hand on his jaw to steady him as you lean in close.

And you spit it into his mouth.

Jason whimpers, eyes fluttering shut as he takes it—lets it roll off your tongue and onto his, messy and obscene and full of unspoken hunger. He grabs your hips, bruising grip keeping you pressed against him, cock twitching again between your bodies despite just finishing.

“You’re fuckin’ disgusting,” he breathes when you pull back.

But he kisses you hard anyway, deep and needy and filthy with the taste of himself still on your tongue.

“Mine,” he growls against your lips. “You’re so fuckin’ mine.”

Jason’s eyes are blazing when he licks his lips, tasting himself off your tongue—his pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling like he just ran a marathon.

Then he flips you.

Fast. Rough. Your back hits the bed with a bounce, and he's already between your thighs before you can catch your breath. Hands gripping your knees, he shoves your legs up and apart, spreading you open like he owns every inch—because he does.

“You’re fuckin’ dirty,” he growls, mouth right against your cunt. “Spit my own fucking cum into my mouth and looked proud of it.”

He doesn’t waste a second—tongue diving in like a man starved, licking and sucking through your slick folds, groaning like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. He eats you like he means it, nose nudging your clit, tongue fucking into you until your back arches off the bed and your moans turn into broken little cries.

And then—just when you think he’ll slow down—he doesn’t.

He pulls back with spit-slick lips, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like he’s pissed about it. “Need to feel this pussy, baby,” he mutters, already lining himself up. “Already leaking for me, shit��”

One deep thrust—and he’s in, bottoming out hard enough to steal your breath. You claw at his shoulders, his name tumbling from your lips over and over like a prayer.

Jason bends over you, hand wrapped around your throat—not squeezing, just there, firm and possessive.

“You like feeding me my own cum?” he pants, rutting into you hard, deep, obscene. “Then you’re gonna love what I do to you next.”

You can’t even speak—just nod, whining, nails dragging down his back as he ruins you. His thrusts are brutal, unrelenting, thick cock dragging against your soaked walls again and again until you're sobbing his name.

He leans down, presses his forehead to yours, and his voice goes low—so tender it hurts.

“Should’ve told you sooner how much I love you,” he breathes, kissing the corner of your mouth. “You’re it for me, baby. You own me.”

And then he slams into you again—once, twice—and you shatter around him, cumming with a cry that has him following right after, filling you deep, possessive and raw.

He stays buried inside you, forehead still pressed to yours, as he whispers soft, trembling, “Mine. You’re mine.” He licks the drool from the corner of your mouth like its the only drink he's had in months, "And I'm so fucking yours."

Oh, Jason lives for this moment—when you're completely wrecked beneath him. Eyes hazy, lips parted, skin flushed and dewy with sweat. Your limbs loose, twitching now and then like your body’s still trying to process the waves of pleasure he dragged out of you.

You're soft and silent, blinking slow, mouth open but no words coming. And he loves it.

“Look at you,” he whispers, brushing damp hair from your face with a surprisingly gentle hand. “Fucked you dumb, didn’t I?”

He kisses your cheek, then your jaw, letting his fingers trail down your trembling thigh, voice dropping to a low, worshipful murmur.

“Such a good girl for me. Took it all—my cock, my cum, my fuckin’ mouth on you—you let me own you.”

You whimper, just barely, and he groans like it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard.

“You can’t even talk, baby. Can’t even tell me how good it felt, huh?” He smirks, presses a kiss to your pulse. “Don’t need to. I felt it. Felt this greedy little cunt choking on me, so fuckin’ desperate.”

He moves his hips just a bit, his cock still buried inside you, and you twitch violently with overstimulation. He shushes you softly, brushing his lips across yours like he’s soothing a fever.

“That’s it, baby. You did so good. Took everything I gave you. Let me feed that slit my cum like a good girl. Let me fuck it right back into you.”

His voice is tender, but filthy—soft praise laced with possessive filth that makes your body ache.

“This pussy’s mine now, y’know that?” he breathes against your ear. “So fuckin’ sweet. So fuckin’ perfect. Made to be ruined by me.”

He slides his hand under your ass, holding you close, cock still buried deep.

“Not lettin’ you go, not after that. Not ever. Gonna keep you like this—fucked stupid, filled up, pretty little mouth all open, eyes all glassy. Mine.”

You make a soft, broken noise—somewhere between a whine and a breath—and he kisses your temple with so much reverence it makes your chest hurt.

“I love you,” he murmurs like a secret, like a vow. “Even when I fuck you like this. Especially when I fuck you like this.”

Then he whispers, “Say it when you can, baby. I’ll wait.”

Jason melts the second he sees those tears.

Your breath hitches, body still twitching around him—cock still half-hard inside you, his release sticky between your thighs—and then your lip trembles. Just once. But that’s all it takes.

Tears well up, slide down your flushed cheeks, and Jason freezes.

“Hey—hey, baby, shh, it’s okay,” he whispers, instantly pulling you into his arms like you’re something fragile he’s terrified to break.

You’re still crying, too overwhelmed to explain, hiccuping softly, your whole body spent and limp. But he knows. He knows it’s not bad. Just too much. Too intense. You gave him everything and now you’re unraveling.

Jason cradles you, one hand stroking your hair, the other smoothing over your back. His voice drops to a low, gentle murmur—warm, reverent, soothing even as it stays just a little filthy.

“Sweet, pathetic thing,” he murmurs into your hair, kissing the top of your head. “Fucked you too good, huh? Made this pretty brain all fuzzy…”

You nod into his chest, tears still slipping down, and he sways you a little, grounding you with every whisper.

“S’alright. You’re mine, doll. I’ve got you. You don’t gotta think, don’t gotta speak. Just cry if you need to.”

He cups your jaw gently, tilts your tearstreaked face up to him, brushing a thumb under your eye.

“Still the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he says, like it’s sacred. “Even like this. Especially like this. So fuckin’ good for me, gave me everything.”

Then he kisses you—slow, soft, just a press of lips. Like he’s sealing a promise.

“You don’t have to be strong with me. You don’t have to hold back,” he whispers. “You belong to me, and I’ll hold you through all of it. Even when you break.”

You let out a choked, broken sound and he hums.

“Shh… I know, baby. I know. Just breathe. You’re safe. You’re mine.”

And he rocks you slowly, murmuring sweet nothings while you fall apart in his arms—protected, loved, his.

He fucking hates it—hates the way your voice trembles, how your lashes flutter like you’re embarrassed. How you whisper, "sorry I cried..." like it's something to be ashamed of.

He's already looking at you like you just broke his heart.

He sits up a little, arms still wrapped around you, and his brows pull together—not in anger, but something worse. That kind of wounded softness that comes when the person he loves most doesn’t realize how deeply he cherishes them.

“No,” he says—firm, quiet, serious. “Don’t you ever apologize for that.”

You try to look away, but he gently turns your chin back, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw. His eyes search yours, steady and full of quiet devotion.

“You cried because you felt everything,” he murmurs. “Because I pushed you that far, because you trusted me enough to let go. That’s not something you say sorry for.”

He kisses your cheek—right where your tears dried—and his voice goes softer.

“I want all of you, babe. The strong, the sweet, the messy. The part that sobs when it’s too much. That’s my girl. That’s mine.”

You swallow hard, blinking fast, and he shushes you—pressing your face into his neck, rubbing your back in slow circles.

“Next time you cry like that?” he whispers, lips at your temple. “I’m gonna tell you how beautiful it is. How much it turns me inside out knowing you let yourself fall apart in my hands.”

Then he adds, with a soft, sinful smirk you feel against your skin:

“‘Cause you crying on my cock? Baby, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You gasp, flustered, and he chuckles—low and warm, pulling you closer.

“Yeah, there she is,” he says, kissing your shoulder. “No more apologies. Just let me love you, every way you come.”

fun fact: i am the biggest whore for the spitting thing... like its just so fucking pathetic and UGH need it

[porcalinecunt]

𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐅 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑!

🪽ᯓᡣ𐭩 jason meets a single father, desperate for a chance at love again. little did you know, you’re right up his alley! ~

⋆˚࿔ FEATURING . . 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ JASON TODD X MALE! READER

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° . cw — ftm!reader, dilf!reader, red hood! jason in mind, age gap [reader is in his 30s while jason is 23] mentions of divorce, sexting, doggy style, implied size differences, breeding, jason wants to knock you up so bad omfg

[・:。author’s note ! 「 ✉️ 」・𓂃 ࣪˖ this was lowkey a little self indulgent but can you blame me? no. now shush and enjoy <3

ᥫ᭡. — jason todd never really cared about his dating life, and really why should he? getting blown up, resurrected and busting some heads open keeps a man busy! if he’s not dealing with black mask’s goons or the bat himself, you can find him in the nearest diner enjoying his own company. that is of course..until he laid eyes on you.

ᥫ᭡. — alone and pretty, you sat at the bar stood a couple feet away from him. staring down at the empty pit of your dark coffee, you’re heart heavy and tears threatening to spill out. jason, while having a hard outer, still had a little heart to scotch over and struck up small talk with you. after all, he did say it himself that he is a good listener! after some innocent chatter, you finally allowed the friendly face to fall and began to vent to the stranger. you’re recent yet messy divorce from your ex-husband, the juvenile drama he brought, the exhausting routine of juggling work with your daughter—wait. you had a daughter?! jason eyes widened, finally allowing himself the realization. you were one hell of a dilf! <3

ᥫ᭡. — despite being nearly a decade apart in age, you looked so damn good. tired eyes peering upwards at him with that adorable, gentle smile. fuck, you were so small compared to him. he could’ve easily picked you up and threw you over his huge shoulders and just take you away, back to his place. his bed. he couldn’t stop the lewd images from flooding his head, you taking his girth in that pretty mouth or face down while he dicked you down doggy style. you’d make the prettiest noises while he breeds your pretty pussy full, only to flip you onto your back and ass fuck you until you ruin the sheets.

ᥫ᭡. — fuck it. he thought to himself as you walked out of the diner happier then before, and with his number too! the next few weeks, every text the vigilante sent you made you feel more in love then your last marriage could’ve gave you. of course, the conversation didn’t stay innocent for long. soon, jason began to open his texts to pictures of you in the sexiest lingerie, you’re legs spread open to show off your needy cunt. strip tease pictures at your workplace’s restrooms in your uniform, and the audios…you’d send him a particularly lewd audio of you fucking yourself with one of your many sex toys you’ve stashed away, moaning jason’s name and begging him to come over and satiate your neglected desires. safe to say, he drove like a madman to your house the next night your daughter is with a sitter.

“o-oh jason! don’t stop please..!”

just like the way he wanted, you face down and ass high up for him to fuck your cunt stupid while you moaned like a bitch in heat. your cute cheeks were littered with his giant handprints from his harsh spankings. you were fuckin’ perfect.

“mm keep talking baby, takin’ me so well like a good little boy yeah?”

jason knew the comedic irony of calling you, an older man, a little boy. yet the name made you clench around his girth with a sigh of pleasure leaking through your drooling lips. you loved that name, a lot. something that snapped the rope of control in two, unleashing an insatiable nature that only existed in his disgusting fantasies.

jason pulled out, grabbing you by your upper body before practically manhandling you onto your back. before you could even make a noise, the young man pressed his whole weight against yours and sunk his cock into you until he was already balls deep. taking it from behind was a challenge in itself, yet he outdid himself once again as a strained moan tore itself out of your throat.

“shhh..” jason’s shushes tickled your ear, drowning out your shakey whines. “relax baby, can’t fuck a baby in you if your squirmin’ like that.”

oh..oh shit. it was enough to have you clench around his girth as he snapped his hips against yours with an unforgiving pace. a pace that spoke more then whatever came out of his mouth. nothing but promises of another baby, a sibling for your little girl from a man you met in a diner not long ago.

“just like that! like that ja..son! oh god!”

nails raked against the bare skin of his back as your felt that familiar yet distant feeling of your orgasm inching closer and closer, eyes rolled to your brain as jason kept spewing out profanities and coos of faux sympathy.

“shiiit, can’t believe you’re husband left you baby. i would’ve knocked you up every chance i got, treat you like a damn prince..”

he was right, you’re husband never gave you sex this good nor did he spoke such words that went straight into your cunt. every praise, every groan and grunt jason let out pushed you closer and closer..until you finally snapped.

“j-ja-SON! MMM FUCK!”

you gushed all over the vigilante’s cock as he painted your pussy white, breeding you until you couldn’t hold another drop in. the pleasure could’ve damn well nearly killed you as you laid there near unconscious and panting like a dog. jason, however, was only getting started.

“don’t think i’m done with you yet boy..it ain’t over till you’re kid has a sibling.”

© porcalinecunt 🪽ᯓᡣ𐭩ྀི do not steal, translate, or use my work and claim as your own.

[milkingtonthethird]

BATBOYS’ reaction to you asking to paint their nails

WARNINGS: fluff, gn!reader, but you wear nail polish

NOTE: DUKE IS HERE. EVERYONE SAY HI DUKE

Bruce Wayne:

- You’re doing your own nails when he walks in.

- Clearly you’re bored, or something, because he can easily pay to get them done professionally.

- He approaches you, gently lifting your hand to inspect.

- “Pretty,” he murmurs, followed by a kiss to your knuckle.

- You grin. “Can I do yours?”

- He considers, even though there’s already a denial on the tip of his tongue. But, it doesn’t come out, because you look really excited at the thought.

- He agrees. And it’s lame.

- A clear top coat. That’s all he’ll let you do.

- Bruce Wayne can’t be seen with sparkles on his hands, even if he doesn’t care what the media thinks.

- He believes it’s too feminine for him.

- They’d probably be chipped immediately given how handsy his nighttime life is, anyway.

- Still, it’s something—you’ll take what you can get.

- He actually comes to you every few days so he’s able to keep it on.

- He does try on black at some point. It looks odd on his large, calloused hands. That’s just him, though.

- The top coat is too unnoticeable for anyone to comment, but his kids are smart, observant.

- “Why are your nails shiny?”

- “Because it makes them happy.”

Dick Grayson:

- He really likes watching you do your nails and is very satisfied when you do a color he recommends.

- Said color most of the time is blue.

- You’re waiting for the polish to dry when you ask, “You want me to do yours?”

- Grayson is open-minded, but he’s also utterly in love with you, so obviously he agrees.

- You’d both have black on your thumbs and pinkies, with that iconic vivid blue on the rest.

- Unfortunately, colliding his fist into jaws and his training does get in the way of keeping them nice.

- Which means he gets spoiled with your attention even more as you fix them. Yay!

- He’s lowkey cocky when he takes down criminals with it on.

- “LOL I just kicked your ass with nail polish my partner put on” ahh mf.

- He’s incredibly defensive if anyone teases him.

- They’re basically insulting you, too.

- They eventually stop because he’s dead serious.

Jason Todd:

- “You look better with it,” he would say upon the offer.

- But he’s equally bored. He’ll agree.

- Black. Pure black. Black hole black.

- He’d make an edgy comment about how it’s his “soul” or whatever.

- He actually kind of likes it. It fits his aesthetic.

- Beats people a little harder if they happen to chip it.

- He’ll let you add a small, red matching heart on a finger.

- Preferably middle. It’s his favorite one.

- He would make snide comments when he’s fighting.

- “They did my nails so pretty, don’t you think?” (Morseo his “fingerless gloves” era.)

- Not that they’d notice. His knuckles are being too personal with their face.

- He’d be like Dick. Why is simple nail polish just so fuckin’ funny?

Tim Drake:

- He won’t necessarily be interested in polish, but rather small designs.

- Like a little flower, or a heart.

- Super simplistic stuff that has him smile when he looks at it.

- You did, as cheesy as it is, a Red Robin one time.

- May or may not have taken forever.

- He’s genuinely sad if they get ruined. You worked hard on them.

- He’d probably apologize because clearly it’s his fault—heavy sarcasm, by the way.

- You remind him that it gives you an opportunity to do more.

- He probably would ignore whomever made comments that weren’t compliments until they apologize.

- He hasn’t talked to Jason in a while.

Damian Wayne:

- “Don’t you have your own nails?”

- You’ll offer to bathe Titus for the rest of the year, and suddenly he’s sitting on your floor while you put a tacky hot pink on him.

- He lets you do whatever, because he doesn’t keep it long. He’s just not into it.

- But if he isn’t doing anything, he won’t take it off until he has to.

- Him texting Jon about how stupid he is with cunty ass nails.

- No one finds out. It’s his little secret.

- And then Bruce forgets to knock one time during a session.

- “Father,” he greets flatly, not looking up.

- You’ve never seen the Batman so…confused.

Duke Thomas:

- He’d be in the same boat as Tim—simple designs.

- Ones that make something with both of your nails together. Like a heart.

- He let you do acrylics one time for shits and giggles.

- “How do people…do things?”

- He’s been trying to open a can of soda for the past ten minutes.

- He keeps the designs absolutely pristine, somehow.

- He’d avoid doing certain things, but he also has crazy luck.

- He’ll bring you new ideas.

- He wears it with pride in public.

- If anyone brings it up in a mocking manner, he’d say, “I think you’re mad because you’re single and I’m not.”

- The time Jason did it, he’d sulk, because Duke’s right. He is mad.

doing their makeup