#jason writes fanfiction

[phoenixgrl1412]

DpxDC - Danny Phantom Comics Idea

I've seen a few posts where Danny and the others are huge fans of the Justice League and of certain members. Like, having posters and getting autographs and having merch. Or knowing a hero's entire public history.

But what if some of the Justice League members were the fans, and the Danny Phantom universe was a comic series in the DC universe? And many of the JL heroes grew up on the Danny Phantom comics, which inspired them to become heroes.

I'm imagining Clark Kent, Barry Allen, and even Bruce Wayne grew up in the height of "Phantom mania", when the comics were at their most popular and the phandom was reaching peak numbers. There was also talk of a television show and movies on the big screen. The comic run during their childhood is widely regarded as one of the best runs/timelines, and is the same as DP Universe we know.

The "Phantom mania" as it was called, happened before superheroes/vigilantes, villains, and metas were a thing. And once all of that did became common place, civilians stopped reading that genre. People didn't want to read about real life, they wanted an escape, and the Phantom comics were not that. There were still phans, of course, but not enough to keep the series profitable.

The Phantom comics were not the only hero comic happening at that time, but they did outlast the rest as the writers/whoever else refused to quit working on it until they had no choice. Unlike most hero comics of the time, the writers were able to give the Phantom comics a somewhat rushed and imperfect ending, giving some closure for the series. The comic issues covering the Phantom Planet incident are widely debated by the phandom, with some treating them as canon while others regard it as bad fanfic (for the purpose of this AU, I'm leaning towards Phantom Planet not being canon to the DP universe, but an attempt by the writers of the DC universe to give the series closure when so many other hero comics ended in the middle of a story arc that would never be finished).

There were a few attempted reboots of the Phantom comics, but were poorly done and so different from the "best" run and of such poor quality that they were all flops. The serialization that happened when Clark, Barry, and Bruce were kids is considered to be the last/best/official version of the comics.

For those three, and for other heroes too, the character of Danny Fenton/Phantom and his journey in becoming a hero is such an integral part of how they develop as heroes.

Does Bruce get the idea to become a vigilante/hero thanks to his childhood comic book hero, Phantom? If so, you can't prove it. And so what if he based some of Brucie Wayne's antics on things that Danny or his friends did, you can't prove that either.

(You also can't prove that he dressed up as Phantom for Halloween two years in a row. Alfred can though, and he threatens to pull out the pictures to show the batkids when Bruce is being particularly stubborn.)

For Barry, it's the lab accident. He goes through something similar to what Danny does in his lab accident in the comics (lots of electricity and either chemicals or ectoplasm). Barry struggles with coming to terms with his accident and accepting his new abilities. He isn't sure what to do at first, but he gets reminded of the Phantom comics from when he was a kid. And yeah, Danny isn't real, but his story is still an inspiration and a source of comfort.

Barry rereads through the comics shortly after his accident, and the beginning issues hit home in a way they hadn't before. Danny Fenton had a traumatic lab accident, just like Barry did. And while Barry wasn't half dead, he did come out of his accident with incredible new powers, just like Danny. Those first issues, where Danny is struggling in figuring out his new normal and learning about his abilities through trial and error, resonate with Barry. There are his fears, laid out in print for all to see. Every argument Barry has with himself about what to do with his powers is also there, and it's comforting to know that someone else, even a fictional character, gets it.

Barry decides to become a hero and calls himself The Flash. If his very first (and short-lived) costume design was black and white, and not his now-icon red and yellow, you can't prove anything.

The scenes where Danny is bullied by Dash, after Danny has his powers, might resonate with Clark more than the other bits. Maybe Clark takes the interpretation, as some of the phandom does, that Danny doesn't fight back physically because, with his powers, he could seriously hurt Dash if he did. Maybe he could even kill him if he wasn't careful. And Clark, who at the time is struggling with his own emerging abilities and identity as an alien, rereads his childhood comfort series and sees those scenes. And Clark understands in a way he didn't before, the fear that he could hurt someone accidentally with his strength. And seeing Danny struggle with being accepted by his parents and the town, but knowing he had the unconditional support of his friends and his sister, helps Clark accept himself.

And years later, when he meets his clone, Conner, Clark is infinitely more prepared for the situation and actually handles it well.

And if Clark refers to Lex Luthor as a fruitloop after that, well, only the phandom will understand.

(Lex is furious when it gets brought to his attention. He isn't a phan, but he grew up during that era and couldn't avoid the comics or people talking about them. He resents the implication that he is anything like Vlad Masters, because Lex is clearly more successful. Obviously. But he can't exactly sue Superman for comparing him to a children's comic book villain. Or can he?)

At some point, maybe after a debrief or something, a few of the Justice League members are chit chatting. They somehow start talking about nostalgic things from their childhood. Flash brings up the Phantom comics, and is surprised to learn that Superman and Green Lantern are also fans.

Wonder Woman and Martian Manhunter are unfamiliar with the series, prompting a long conversation about the series and its importance. Superman agrees to lend the pair the first issues to see if they like it.

Meanwhile Batman is just standing in the shadows, wanting to participate in the phandom conversation going on but he can't because it isn't something Batman would do. He eavesdrops instead, making a mental note to acquire another set of the comics for himself.

Bruce's set of comics from when he was a kid, was discovered by a young Dick Grayson. Dick was Robin at this point in time, but the mythos surrounding Robin hadn't been fully developed yet. Dick fell in love with the series, which was one of the only comics to feature a teen hero, like himself. I'm not saying that Dick's love of puns and banter came from Danny, but I'm not saying it didn't.

And does Dick use these old comics he stole from Bruce to bond with his new siblings? Absolutely! He introduces them to Jason first, and they spend hours reading and rereading them together. Jason is the one to discover Danny Phantom fanfiction, and shares it with Dick, who is thrilled to have new Phantom content and something else to bond over with Jason. Dick eventually convinces Jason to write his own, and Jason bounces ideas off of Dick.

(Neither is aware that Bruce overhears one of these conversations and seeks out Jason's fanfic. He reads it and subscribes, and leaves a review that Jason gushes about for weeks).

(And After, when Jason is back but is so, so angry, Jason finds that Danny Fenton is even more relatable then he was before. Where else would there be a character who is half dead and makes death jokes? Reading those comics with Dick are some of the memories that he can look back on without seeing green.)

Tim knows about the comics, when Dick drags them out, but he isn't really a phan. He does like the tech though, so some of his leisure projects are trying to recreate the weapons or making a PDA he can hack the pentagon with. He says he doesn't have a favorite character because he isn't as obsessed with it as Dick and Jason, but he totally does. I want to say it would be Tucker, but that feels like a cheap take, so maybe it is one of the ghosts. Or maybe Dani?

Now, Damian isn't too interested in the story of Danny Phantom, the Halfa Hero. It is his first introduction to comics and that storytelling format though, and Damian is a fan of that. He goes on to learn about other comics and manga, but the Phantom comics will always hold a sense of nostalgia for him as they were his first. And Dick forced Damian to read them with him, and Damian does look back on that forced-bonding fondly, even if he would rather stab himself than admit it. He absolutely makes fanart or a fancomic for Dick for his birthday one year, but makes Dick swear to never show it to anyone else or reveal that Damian drew it.

Dick has put a picture of it in the family chat before Damian is even done talking.

-----

All this being said, please imagine all the chaos and fangirling that would arise if post-canon Danny, from the DP universe, somehow ended up in the DC universe and in front of the Justice League.

[nana-mizu-shiki]

Is Giving The Sane Vibe As:

Brother in Bruce 💀💀

Also Pt.5:

Wayne Family Social Media - The Waynes on Twitter Masterpost

IThe Waynes Profiles

1 - The butts match

1.5 - The butts match

2 - Tim Drake, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, is told he needs to be “more professional” on Twitter. He disagrees and choses chaos instead

3 - Confession time

4 - Batman has a sugar daddy?

5 - Tim Drake-Wayne/Sleep , 20k words, slowburn, angst, enemies to lovers

6 - Batkids tweet highlights

7 - Red Hood and Arsenal

8 - Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson-Wayne and Jason Todd-Wayne read your thirst tweets

9 - Duke gets verified!!!

10 - How Damian deals with online hate

11 - Private Account tweet highlights

12 - Batkids tweet highlights 2

13 - The Wayne’s decide to be chaotic on Twitter

14 - Bullying Lex Luthor, a family bonding experience

15 - Batkids tweet highlights 3

16 - Private account tweet highlights 2

17 - Love triangles are OUT, time for a love square

18 - Wayne kids being gay on twitter

19 - The Wayne kids interactions with Gotham’s rogues

20 - Human Disaster Tim Drake-Wayne

21 - Bats and friends

22 - Human Disaster Dick Grayson-Wayne

23 - Siblings, am I right?

24 - Human Disaster Stephanie Brown

25 - Human Disaster Cassandra Wayne

26 - So about that coffin

27 - Human Disaster Duke Thomas

28 - Human Disaster Bruce Wayne

29 - Human Disaster Damian Wayne

30 - Human Disaster Jason Wayne

31 - Disaster Family: The Waynes

32 - The Bats are ever so slightly unhinged (lie)

33 - Manors haunted.

34 - Broose

35 - The Waynes really just say things

36 - This is me admitting defeat. I cannot keep on thinking of names of chapters.

37 - The (older) batkids have nailed this social media thing if you ask me

38 - Dickie, are you okay?

39 - The struggles of being a (really rich) single parent

40 - *Squints at writing on palm* The Wames everybody!

41 - These are Bruce’s ‘babies’ btw

42 - Bruce is high (on painkillers), what could go wrong?

43 - *chuckling awkwardly* uh what

44 - the waynes are suffering but not really

[speakingtruthfully]

Dead on main writing prompt: Jason gets dosed by a rogue and accidentally exposes his and Danny's relationship......

“And this GIW kidnap ghosts?” Batman asks.

“Totally, Dad.” Jason nods. “But you can’t tell anyone I’m a ghost!” Jason claims.

“You don’t want them to get you?” Diana questions.

“Me?” Jason scoffs, “I don’t give a fuck about me. I just don’t want them to get Danny again.” He says in a duh kind of tone.

“Danny’s a ghost?” Dick asks in shock.

Jason smiles again, “He’s a Halfa; like me.”

“Two Halfas exist?” Zatanna asks sounding shocked.

Jason laughs, “Don’t be silly. There are four of us: Me, My husband, My husband’s clone, and that one asshole.”

“You and Danny are married!” Dick yells.

“Yes, Dickwing. My husband and I are in fact married.” Jason states.

“Why didn’t you invite me to your wedding?!” Dick doesn’t do a very good job hiding the hurt in his voice.

“I will invite you to the human one.”

“Wait, your wedding was a ghost one?” Dick asks.

“Duh.” Jason nods, “we’re only legally married in the Ghost Zone.” Jason then quickly adds, “Or Infinite Realms.” Jason shrugs, “Whatever you want to call it.”

“You’ve been to the infinite realms?” Constatine asks.

“Yeah.” Jason laughs. Then, stops as if realizing something, “Oh, My God.” He looks at his older brother, “Big Bird, Did I tell you that I met Jane Austin? Because I fucking met Jane Austin!”

“That’s- great, Little Wing.” Dick says in shock.

[gothamite-rambler]

Duke Thomas: What’s your biggest fear?

Jason Todd: That I’ll never be good enough for anyone.

Tim Drake: Everyone hates me and talks about me behind my back.

Dick Grayson: Vampires.

Jason Todd: ...

Tim Drake: ...

Dick Grayson: I got turned into one once and nearly killed peoples. It's a bloodlust, you never know when you'll be fully quenched and every non-vampire is a succulent vessel... But I'm not a vampire anymore and that is in my past.

Dick eats his apple after that.

*silence*

Duke Thomas: Holy crap stick, Batman.

Tim: Can I change my option to Dick Grayson?

Jason: Same.

[everwalldigan]

Bruce: *waking up in a hospital that he drove himself to after having a heart attack and telling absolutely nobody* hey…

The entirety of the batclan looking over him with Dick in the centre, an absolute terrifying grin on his face:

Dick: hello Bruce, nice evening isn’t it? Got something to share with us?

Edit: the fic is now out on ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/57780508

[squipa]

baby, i want some of your love

aka how you healed him

———

jason todd wears glasses now.

jason never really took care of himself after dying. his body was so hopelessly out of rhythm, everything slightly wrong and out of place. his bones creak underneath his skin, his muscles, which had nearly rotted and decayed, could never quite figure out how to relax. sometimes he’d forget to breathe, or blink, the actions no longer involuntary, and before you? he didn’t have it in himself to care. his health had fallen to the least of his worries.

but you were always so worried about him. you noticed things about himself he hadn’t even realized, how he winced when he chewed with the left side of his mouth, how he squinted at street signs whenever you went on walks, how his muscles were always tense until you massaged them into relaxation. you pointed them out, pouting whenever he’d shrug it off. to him, it was nothing, he was used to the pain, the inconvenience; he didn’t consider his own wellbeing important enough to pay any mind to.

to you, it was torture. watching the man you loved so dearly treat himself with so little care had you ruined. all you wanted for him was happiness and safety, for him to have what he had given you so freely, what he guarded himself from so intensely. he didn’t realize how much you cared until he noticed how much you finally pushed him to treat himself better.

“i scheduled you a dentist appointment.” you said, matter-of-factly setting down a few documents in front of him begging his patient history. he looked up to you, eyebrow raised, entirely confused. you answered his question before he could even think to ask it. “you wince when you chew.”

he wouldn’t say no to you. despite his disdain regarding the idea of a check up, he went. you came with him, fiercly speaking a language of medicine he didn’t understand. when he left the dentist, you gave him a lollipop. “i’m not five.” he ate it anyways, savoring the taste between strawberry-stained lips as you drove him home.

he stopped noticing when you made him appointments to get shots, or when you subtly slipped the card of a dermatologist behind the picture of you he kept in his wallet. he started actually caring about what he did to his body— gut health and all that. yes, he was jacked, his body had been built like a machine ever since it had patched itself back together in the lazarus pit, but he couldn’t remember the last time he ate a piece of fruit.

he didn’t realize how much better he felt until dick pointed it out for him. “you got glasses?” he asked, pointing to the thick black frames that sat on the bridge of his nose.

he nodded. he does wear glasses. he has silver caps on two of his teeth. he has a nice layer of body fat covering his muscles because he eats three well-balanced meals a day. he has a standing appointment with a chiropractor every other wednesday at two, and another with a therapist on mondays at one. he gets a checkup every six months and goes to the dentist every four, he’s been to the dermatologist three times in two years, he has all of his shots up to date, he takes vitamins in the morning and he sleeps at least five hours every night.

he cares about himself. he puts effort into making sure he stays healthy— and at first it was for you. only for you, to ease your constant worry about him. but now it’s second nature, your guiding hand has healed him, made him want to stay alive and healthy and whole, not for just you, but for himself.

the moment the realization washes over him of just how much you’ve given him, he rushes home and tells you in no less than a thousand ways just how grateful he is to have your love.

———

[harbours-lighthouse]

Jason Todd with a gf who isn't good at replying to messages. It's not that you mean to be rude, it's just that you're busy and often you forget about the notification that only lights up your phone's screen for half a second. Besides, if what you're being sent are memes and random tiktoks, then those can wait. But when Jason Todd jumps into the picture? That habit of yours is a problem. At the beginning, you were on top of things, replying in a timely manner—then you got comfortable, and the habit crawled back into your life. The first time you let a message from Jason go unanswered for nearly an hour, you were left with your door hanging off by a single hinge, the wood splintered. You purse your lips together, watching the door sway precariously. Awkwardness bubbles inside your chest, though you're half-convinced it's more of the desperate urge to laugh at the ludicrous situation you're in.

Turning slowly to face Jason with your hands on your hips, you grimace at the tense line of your boyfriend's shoulders and the tightness around his mouth.

"Um...well," you clear your throat. "We know that the door isn't okay, but are...you...okay?" Jason's sigh is laced with a wariness that's bone-deep and you wince, face scrunching as regret stabs through you. You throw him an apologetic, weak smile. "Sorry..." It's safe to say that you put in the effort to consistently answer Jason's texts, purely because you'd rather like your door to remain intact, and to prevent your boyfriend from using his body as a battering ram to get into your apartment.

© harbours-lighthouse 2025 / i do not give permission for my work to be reposted, translated, or fed into ai. all works belong to me unless stated otherwise.

[indulgentdaydream]

headcanons with attractive things jason does 😭🫶

anon i have GOT YOU

When he sits on a couch, no matter if you’re on too or not, that man is SPREAD

Arms wide and resting on the back of the couch. Manspreading his thighs wide open. A relaxed expression on his face. Maybe a book in hand.

When moving in for a kiss, he cups your face with his left hand first. Then strokes his thumb on your cheek twice while actually kissing you.

Every. Single. Time. Doesn’t matter where or when. If it’s just a peck or y’all are making out, that’s what he starts it with.

Kisses on the back of your neck if he’s walking past you and you’re looking down.

Also will keep his hands resting on your hips if standing behind you.

He’ll swear UP AND DOWN that he means nothing by it. That it’s just a habit. But will keep a hand on your thigh while driving a car. Not even sexual. Just comforting.

Opening doors for you and guiding you through with a hand on the small of your back

You’re both sleeping in the same bed? He’s dead asleep. Usually isn’t. But with you, for sure he is.

And if you slip out of his reach while he is dead asleep, he’s reaching out and dragging you back like a lost teddy bear. And he’s asleep the whole time

When you’re out eating or at a bar and he’s getting a bit anxious with all the people around, he’ll play footsies with you under the table

Got so intense once he accidentally knocked the table over and you two got kicked out

This man LAUGHS

No one talks about how Jason’s laugh (may have a fic in the works about it. I’ll finish it if y’all ask)

I’m not talking “he chuckled” or “he grinned” or “his shoulders shook with silent laughter”

I’m talking about how this man tosses his head back before leaning forward, clutching his stomach with one hand, the other reaching for some part of you to grasp as you laugh along with him. How his laughter is deep and BOOMING. It takes up a whole room. Echoes across the street. Enters your ears and melts into your blood stream and goes immediately to your heart which picks up its beating to make sure to get it to the rest of your body. How he straightens up again, his face split in a grin, eyes opening again while he has to wipe away tears of laughter, his body still shaking with it.

I want to make jason todd genuinely laugh and if the sound makes me go deaf then so be it because at least i was able to hear the most beautiful sound in the universe

I’m sorry this got off topic but

He wears glasses when he reads and that’s hot too i guess

[rose-writes-for-march]

March for More: Names

MASTERPOST

"...Do you need a pad or tampon or something?"

Danny, Jason's roommate, blinks and sputters in confusion from where he sits on the floor in a pool of blood, "Wh-what??"

Jason pauses, wondering if he had been wrong about Danny wearing a binder around the dorm, but no. He and Danny had been roommates for a while and Jason knew a binder when he saw one. So, why is he... oh shit.

"Shit, are you bleeding out right now?" Jason fumbles to take off his jacket, trying to hurry into the dorm so he can help. "Just- wait a sec, I've got a first aid kit."

Danny only stares, a hand pressed tight to his ribs where he's either been cut or shot and shit, Jason needs to see it to know what he's working with. "I- you don't need to-" Danny tries to say as Jason settles in front of him, but Jason only sets down the kit and glares until his roommate moves his hands.

"Shit," Jason hisses as blood begins leaking out of what is clearly not a stab or gunshot wound but something fucking gruesome and... Holy shit, did someone torture him, what the fuck? Jason shakes off the thought, grabbing antiseptic and stitches and gauze—fuck this is gonna suck.

As he works, Danny sits still, practically lifeless, and if it weren't for the occasional hiss or flinch, Jason would think he'd completely disassociated. And if it weren't for the blood on his hands and the gasping body below him, Jason would probably already be out the door. Searching, hunting, killing whoever the fuck did this.

What Jason is stitching up right now isn't just typical Gotham street crime, isn't a stick-up gone wrong or a hit and run or a gang war, no. This is intentional, like being tied down in a crumbling building and beaten and broken and teased with the salvation of passing out. Jason would know.

He shakes his head, this isn't the same. Danny, sitting in front of him and breathing shakily, is alive. He's alive, and whoever did this won't be soon enough.

"Names. Give me their fucking names, Danny."

[dxckgrxsonx]

Between his Teeth

Pairing - Jason Todd x (F) Reader Words - 2.1k Warnings - SMUT 18+ - Explicit Sexual Content - Biting Biting BITING!! - Lil mention of choking - Unprotected Sex - Multiple Orgasms - (F) Receiving Oral - Possessive!Jason - Overstimulation - Swearing - Crying - Dirty Talk - Fluff at the End :) Notes: Happy New Year! it’s been awhile since i've posted anything of a decent length so um?? hi?? Not sure how im feeling about the quality of this but inspiration struck and here we are! i hope you enjoy <3

MASTERLIST

**

Here's the thing: there are nights in Gotham where patrol slows down. It's not a regular occurrence, something more akin to an irregularity really–but it happens. And when it does you're faced with an interesting quirk, a personality trait most would consider concerning.

Or dangerous.

Jason Todd gets bored.

His baseline as standard is marked unnatural. The death of a child recognised and reversed. Murdered soul poured back into what feels like a brand new unmarked body–everything once recognizable to him lost by a pool of Lazarus green. A pool on some nights he can still taste like bile in the back of his throat.

Patrol slows down and Jason finds himself molar deep in something terrifyingly restless.

Sometimes, the fight never materialises and Jason, who's been fighting across two different lifetimes, doesn't quite know how to react in the face of it. There's always been a cathartic edge to combat, a catch and release that leaves him breathless and exhilarated all at once. Adrenaline is one hell of a defence mechanism, swells right up to the top of his head, and if there's no decompression at the end of it his skin buzzes, eyes glowing bright and haloed in Lazarus green.

And so when patrol gets slow, Jason seeks out the brilliance of release by fucking you absolutely stupid.

**

He’s got two stupidly talented hands and they’re touching you everywhere.

The base of your spine, the shivering curve of your waist, two fingers hooked into your smart mouth to wrench every little sound out of your chest. His cock is thick and heavy and every thrust into your spasming cunt burns like he’s tearing you open.

“Fucking Christ–” A heaving, half delirious whine vibrates against his fingers like a phantom echo of your voice and Jason grins when your eyes roll into the back of your skull. He grins because taking you to pieces like this is the absolute best, most unbelievably satisfying way to burn through the frightening magnitude of energy stirring in his veins. “Ugh shit! Are you coming again? You greedy little thing.”

He can feel you squeezing at his cock, your pussy clenched up so tight it’s almost like fucking his own goddamn fist.

Jason pulls his fingers from your mouth–the digits now dripping in spit–and curls them oh so sweetly around your throat. He tightens his grip, forces you to work for your breath and the drag of air under his palm forces blood to swell up to Jason's head.

He watches you carefully, catalogues the curve of your mouth, the way your eyes roll into the back of your skull, the bliss and trust you tuck under his skin.

Fingers flex tighter and your mouth moves but instead of words, he gets a low, drawn out moan.

“Of course you are. You just can’t help it, can you?” He pulls his hand up and away from your throat, grabs firmly at your chin, and you jolt like a live wire, eyelids fluttering, thighs shaking horribly around his hips. Pressing forwards, Jason grunts at how wet you are, the base of his cock ringed in your creamy arousal. “You can take it though. You will take it. Just for me, because you’re such a good girl.”

A broken noise drags up your throat and Jason gets the flaring urge to have something–fucking anything–between his teeth.

It's not the first time he's looked at you and clamped his jaw around the desire to mark you. The possessive flicker igniting something of near biblical proportion in his veins. You're something wonderful. A person he adores beyond measure.

There's times you look at him like he's everything and it makes him feel brand new, born into a universe where home is nothing but you and your two hands that have never once hurt him.

He thinks the urge comes from that, comes from the desperation of wanting to broadcast you as his, of never wanting to be apart.

Your head tips back, throat bare, and Jason doesn’t hesitate–not even for one single second–a feral sort of thing bubbling up from the bottom of his spine.

He bites you.

He bites you so hard your vision collapses in on itself, existence bursting into a kaleidoscope of colour.

Jason sinks his teeth into the sensitive skin above your pulse point and you choke as if he’s slipped a knife underneath your rib to steal your breath. You choke and you clench up so tight around his cock he can’t fucking move.

Your knees draw up in a desperate attempt to wedge between you, back arching into the bed. You twist your hips against his weight and you grab at his shoulders, his hair, nails scratching a long line down his back, but Jason simply renders you immobile, reminds you he’s buried balls deep in your pussy and has no intention of being anywhere else.

It’s not quite pain, but it’s a blunt sort of thing at the very edge of the scale and blood rushes up under your skin to greet each indent left behind. The sting of it detonates something permanent in your psyche, life unmoored between his teeth.

Jason pulls back and he licks at his teeth, there’s no blood, but the action alone makes you swelter nonetheless. You think it might be the look on his face, the flicker of something promising devastation in his eyes.

“Fuck you.” It’s your own voice, breathless, trapped between aggravation and arousal. “How am I supposed to cover that up?”

Jason drags his fingers down to your cunt and rubs at your fat, swollen clit. Every thought fractures apart in your mouth, vowels and consonants splintering into pieces that dissolve on your tongue. You know that’s what he wanted. You don’t care.

“You’re mine.” Jason says, like that in itself is an explanation. “You’re mine and no one else’s.”

The bite mark on your throat looks brutal even to his own eyes. A perfect match to every tooth in his mouth. Your skin is starting to puff up a little, irritation blossoming into a wicked bruise. Jason hums–mostly to himself–and fucks into you hard enough that there’s an obscene squelch of your pussy every time he bottoms out.

You’re perfect. You’re his. He wants you to come again.

“I can’t. Ah fuck! Not again–” The pitch of your voice climbs when his pace fails to falter, sticky fingers still strumming at your clit. He can feel it throbbing despite you coming twice already, and he wonders how many he can get out of you this time. “Jason–I don’t think…I can’t.”

“That’s it, empty that pretty little head of yours. You don’t need to think, y’just need to keep squeezing that sweet cunt around my cock, yeah? You’re so wet for me, and you know what that means?”

A sobs works free from your mouth, thighs clenching tight around his strong hips, each thrust into your peach flesh cunt makes Jason feel like he’s bursting out of his own skin. You close your eyes in the face of pure, overwhelming pleasure and he can see how wet your lashes are.

“Ugh–no don’t–” A whimper hooks into the back of your throat. “Don’t fucking say it.”

Jason grins, half wicked, even though he knows you can’t see it, “It means you like this, little bird. You might complain and try to get away, but your pretty little pussy can’t lie to me.” Your face screws up. Jason fucks you harder, his thick thighs smacking against your ass. He pauses his movements on your clit and listens to the pitch of your whine wobble in disappointment. “You want to come again, don’t you? Hm. No. You need to come again.”

“Nooo.” You try, embarrassment flustering up your neck. “I can’t. Please. S’too much.”

Your eyes blink open and Jason thinks it’s so sweet when you’re on the verge of tears whilst he’s fucking you. Your hands reach out to grab his shoulders, to search for comfort, and you cry out his name when he touches your poor, oversensitive clit. Jason licks at the mark on your throat, his tongue catching against the swell of your near broken skin and your cunt tries to force him out.

"Let me fuck your pussy, sweetheart. Don't push me out like that."

Another desperate cry when he forces your pussy to yield to his powerful thrusts and you suddenly gush around his cock. Wetness soaks his thighs and Jason huffs in amusement when he hears you heave in a strangled breath, then sob, tears streaming down your face.

You’ve never done that before.

By the time he’s finished–by the time he’s worked through the insistent pulse of pure restlessness and settled back into what he considers a post patrol, or postcoital haze–he thinks he’ll make you do that once more at least.

**

Jason quietly appears behind you the next afternoon as you glance in the mirror, gentle fingers probing at the huge mark splattered on your neck.

His approach is eclipsed by silence and you’re struck with the awe of how quiet he can be when he wants to. The talent and skill that must go into knowing how to plant yourself so no sound escapes your trajectory, it’s staggering, and slightly alarming.

You can easily trace the outline of Jason’s bite and there’s a heavy sort of discomfort when you touch it; the sensation of pressing on a bruise in the early stages of healing, not painful but heavy and aching, impossible to ignore.

The corner of Jason’s mouth twitches upwards when your face flickers into a slight flinch, almost like he wants to smile in a self-satisfied sort of way–how typical of him to find satisfaction in something that has you labelled as owned (loved) but you meet his reflection in the mirror and settle on a half-hearted scowl.

“You’re a real dick, Todd. You know that?”

Tugging the neckline of your hoodie up, you just barely manage to cover the mark.

“It’s hard to take you seriously when you’re not wearing pants.” Jason points out, redirecting the conversation by eyeing you appreciatively. “And I don’t remember you complaining about it last night.”

Memory sparks-your own desperate, fucked out voice flaring to the forefront-and you feel heat splash up your throat.

Ducking your head to avoid Jason's stare seems like a good idea, but you know with absolute certainty that he'll request you look at him regardless–he might even press a finger under your chin to tilt your head up–all because he wants to watch you fumble over your words like an idiot.

“Yeah, uh–that’s because you fucked me stupid.” He grins wolfishly at that, then his eyes flash with either an idea, or interest. Both of which are dangerous. “Whatever you’re thinking of doing…don’t.”

Smoothing his hands from your waist, down to your hips, then the curve of your ass, Jason drops to his knees behind you. Your stomach swoops, the beat of your heart slipping temporarily out of rhythm. He hums thoughtfully and presses a kiss to the small of your back, then tugs your underwear to the side so one cheek is bare.

Confusion kicks up in your head, brain following one thread whilst Jason in typical fashion follows his own, “You've already eaten me out at least once today, for the love of fuck give me a break. Aren't you tired of eating me out?”

Jason positively growls.

"Don't ask me stupid questions." He grumbles, his tone nothing but a hard edge. "I'll never get tired of tasting your pretty cunt."

You figured that out already. Waking with his head between your thighs, talented tongue lapping at your swelling clit until you sigh his name so prettily, falling apart as he holds you open by sheer force. Reminded again when you settle down for lunch in the kitchen and Jason sits you on the counter so he can nose at your slit, mouth wrapping around your sensitive clit and sucking until you cry.

Sometimes he might as well be dating your pussy and not you.

You feel the warmth of his breath for a single, shining moment, "Then what the hell are you doin–"

He bites you.

On your goddamn ass cheek.

“There. Now you can’t complain because the only person who’s going to see that is me.”

Spinning around in retaliation you glance down and level Jason with a glaringly unimpressed look, “Yeah, congratulations. But you’ve failed to consider one very important thing.”

“No I haven't." He scoffs, rolling his eyes. "What else is there to consider?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to sit down?”

**

[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."

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.

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

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—"

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.

"Fuck, baby, look at you—"

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.

[hiroyildiz]

Fanfic idea:

When Jason inexplicably gets out of his grave and starts wandering the streets of Gotham it's not Talia who finds him, it's John Constantine.

Jason: *Zombying*

Constantine: Ah! A zombie!

Jason: *Holds his hand*

Constantine: Ah! Attachment!

Tim: What'cha got'cha there mr. Magic User who isn't supposed to be in Gotham?

Constantine: *Holding a dangerous artifact he stole from Tim's house*

Constantine: *Shoves Jason forward* The old Robin.

Tim: Holy overreaction, magic man.

Featuring tired-single-mom-of-two Constantine™, magical side of Jason, Tim's house full of cursed artifacts, League of Assassins in distress and bat-kids making Bruce re-evaluate his life choices by getting involved with sorcery.

[gothamite-rambler]

Jason (crossing his arms with attitude): What are you going to do? I refuse to apologize.

Bruce stared at Jason in shock, and in his anger, he made a decision that every parent dreads.

Bruce (stern tone): You are grounded!

Jason (this is a whole adult, defiant): You can't ground me!

Bruce (firmly): Grounded!

Jason (shouting, confused): But I don't even live here!

Bruce turned Jason around and pointed to the stairs leading to his old room. Jason was too stunned to respond.

Bruce (stern, but calm): Tonight. Your room. Grounded!

Jason (stammering): I- I- Wait- This isn't fair!

Bruce (scolding parent voice): I'm very disappointed in you. Now go to your room. I'm only doing this because I care for you. Grounded.

Jason (face turning red with anger and sadness): This is some bullshit!

Jason stomped upstairs and slammed the door to his old room. The sound of random items being tossed around echoed through the house.

Bruce (indifferent): He'll work it out of his system. I'm going to bed.

Dick (looking at Tim, then Bruce as he heads upstairs): Did you just ground a 23-year-old?

Tim (surprised): And did it work?

Bruce: You forget I'm Batman.

masterlist

[delusionsofgrandeur13]

“jay—” 

the sentence you somehow thought you could form dies in your throat as your breath shudders in your lungs. 

“yes, my love?” your roommate, jason todd, looks up from where he’s happily situated: between your thighs. his attention now divided, you’re mercifully granted a break. you gulp for air, your hands over your face. 

“i just need—” 

“what? what do you need?” he cuts you off, impatient that you’re pulling him away from what he’s been so dutifully working on for probably an hour..if not more. “you want me to stop?” jason teases, rubbing a warm, calloused hand over the meat of your thigh. “does it feel too good?”

“w-what?” confused, you shake your head. “i don’t—”

“i think you need someone to worry about you for once, huh?” he raises an eyebrow at you, causing your cheeks to heat as your hands fly back up to your face. “what, you don’t agree?” 

you open your mouth to argue, then close it. then open it again, thinking. 

“mm. that’s what i thought.” your roommate smirks at you, turning his gaze back onto the part of you that’s still pulsing with heat from his ministrations. his chin’s slick from how much time he’s spent tongue deep in your pussy. 

but he wants more. 

wants to feel your hands in his hair again, gripping as he draws orgasm after orgasm out of you. wants to feel your thighs tight around his head, your self-control wavering as your back arches off the mattress, again and again. 

wants nothing but to breathe you in as he presses feathery light kisses to your puffy clit, watching you squirm from the barely-there pressure of his lips. 

wants you, all of you, the happy, sad, messy, angry, loving, caring, beautiful you,

—but jason: dead and revived, beaten and bruised, silent and steadfast, your jason, can’t always put that into words, can he?

so he wants you to feel it, really feel it:

in the way he pats your thigh lovingly as he runs his tongue through your folds, over and over. 

in the way he carries you to bed when you fall asleep on him in the living room. kisses your forehead as he tucks you in.

in the way he brushes your hair out of your face before he grabs you by the cheeks and your lips meet. 

in the way he knows your favorite, well, everything. 

in the way he’s always holding your hand when the two of you walk anywhere.

in the way his pupils always widen, huge and blown out, when he looks at you, making your heart pound in time with his as he holds your gaze. 

in the way he washes your hair in the shower, 

makes your coffee in the mornings, 

buys and arranges flowers for you,

wears that cologne you like,

knows the sidewalk rule, 

kisses your forehead,

laughs with you,

smirks at you,

loves you.

and yet you two are.. 

you two, and you both worry. 

of course, you both worry. 

he worries he’s not enough for you—

his lifestyle, his history..how could he ever be what you need? how could he give you the life you deserve?

—and you worry you’re a little too much sometimes. 

a man like that? with his past, his present? and yet he takes care of you like it’s the easiest thing in the world. like he could do it in his sleep. 

all you know is that he doesn’t have to worry, shouldn’t have to, because whatever, or however much he thinks he wants something, you want it just as much..if not more. 

and what you want next? to make it official? to really, truly, make him your jason?

well. 

how could he refuse you?

[squipa]

the boy is mine (MDNI!)

aka professional eater jason todd (warnings: smut, edging, period sex, mentions of vaginal sex, lots of pussy eating, not proofread)

———

jason todd is a munch. he eats you like a man possessed, he quite literally cannot get enough. you taste so good, so sweet, and it kills him every time, getting to swirl is tongue around your swollen cunt. “god, ma, your pussy was made for me.” he’ll say, his voice muffled between your legs. and god, he’s good at it. he has spent countless orgasms learning what makes you feel good, what makes your thighs shake and squeeze around his head, what makes you yell those pretty little moans the loudest.

he has to prep you before sex every night, that’s just a fact. he knows you would just about split in half if you tried to take his cock without an orgasm and a half making you nice and wet for him. the pleasure of eating you out is for him just as much as it is for you. getting to nibble and suck on your sloppy wet cunt makes his cock go hard faster than anything else. he’s careful to extend the moment as long as possible, swirling his tongue around your fold, sucking your clit until he’s made you a dumb, moaning mess. he pulls back right as you’re about to cum, a cruelty that makes you whimper out a soft “jay, please.” your desperate little whines make him even hornier, and he makes sure to make you beg a few more times before letting you finish all over his face.

he especially loves it when you’re on your period, he insists you taste even better. you were embarrassed at first, even tried to tell him to wait until the week was up, but that just wouldn’t do. “sweetheart,” he would say, the thought of waiting for you too heavy a burden to bare, “you’re suffering bad enough. let me make you feel good.”

you couldn’t refuse that, and true to his word, he made pure ecstasy course through you, orgasm after orgasm. so now, when you’re on your period, he loses himself in your pussy, making you cum countless times until your forget your name. he doesn’t pull away, not when you pull his hair, not when you beg for him to stop, not when your little cunt squeezes so tightly around his face he can’t breathe. no, he’ll only lean back, his face dripping with an addicting mixture of your slick and blood, when he’s satisfied.

———

first smut on the blog… like and subscribe for more

[ebodebo]

"Come to bed," Jason calls out, his voice a low murmur as you stand in the bathroom, carefully brushing your teeth. 

He’s lounging shirtless in your shared bed, the sheets barely draped over the sweatpants he’s wearing.

"I'll be there in a minute," you call back, your voice muffled by the toothbrush in your mouth.

He groans at the response, and you giggle.

You're sporting his oversized, worn-out tee that reads, "Property of Gotham City," paired with just a set of daring red panties.

You can feel his eyes on you, his gaze like a warm caress on your skin. In the mirror, you catch him stealing a cheeky view of your panties as the shirt rides up, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

“Bad boy,” you playfully scold, reaching for a magazine on the back of the toilet and holding it up to browse through.

He throws his head back against the headboard, overwhelmed with despair. "You’re killin’ me, Baby."

You let out a chuckle as you rinse out your mouth, quickly wiping it clean with a towel. Suddenly, you freeze, your eyes locking onto a new article that catches your attention.

You grab the magazine from the counter, feeling the paper crinkle in your grip as you turn to face Jason. He sits upright, his relaxed demeanor radiating an easy confidence.

"Listen to this," you say, clearing your throat with a cough before adopting a playful, sultry news anchor tone as you begin to read the article.

"Red, Hot, and Ready: The audacious vigilante, Red Hood, knocks the charming Nightwing off his pedestal in Gotham Time’s Sexiest Vigilante Poll," you teased, drawing nearer to him.

“Uh-huh. You done?” He drawled, a playful spark dancing in his eyes.

"The majority of pollers found Red Hood's enigmatic presence rather…” you pause, shifting onto the bed and positioning yourself to straddle his lap as you draw closer to him.

His hands find their way to your hips, raising an eyebrow as you lean in closer, holding his gaze without breaking eye contact.

"…alluring," you finish, as Jason makes an amused face. 

"That was…captivating," he sarcastically says, his tone dripping with dry humor.

"I can't believe my boyfriend is a celebrity," you say with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Can you still love a nobody like me with your towering  status?" You question, with a sarcastic inflection that's hard to miss.

"It'll make me look more humble than I already am, so yes," he jokes.

You laugh. "Yes. Oh, so very humble."

He laughs softly as his hands slip beneath your shirt, his fingers gently gliding over your bare skin. You lift the magazine again, your eyes quickly scanning the 'Poller's Insight' section.

You can’t help but chuckle, clearly entertained.

"Oh my God. When asked what pollers thought of his rather blunt demeanor, they responded, ‘It’s hot. Like really, really hot,’" you say, grinning widely, your eyes locking back onto his.

“Why are you laughin?’” He asks, adopting a mock-serious tone, his eyes filled with admiration as they gaze intently into yours.

"It's just, so...hilarious," you sputter.

"You jealous you got some competition now?" He quips, fingers greedily gripping the fat of your hips.

"Hah! I'd like to see someone try to deal with you, especially in bed," you cackle.

"You wound me," he jests, with mock outrage.

You grin, casting the magazine aside, bringing your hands to sqeeze his cheeks. "You know what I mean. Baby, you're insatiable."

"I just can't get enough of you," he utters, his pupils dilate as he peers at you.

He is the spitting image of devotion. 

"You're so...perfect," you murmur, finger running down his cheek to easily trace the outline of his lips. "So perfect."

"Seems you're the only one to think that," he mutters, his fingers tracing random shapes into the skin on your hips, eyes moving to glance at your lips.

"That's alright," you begin, tone just above a whisper as your eyes flick over his shamelessly hone in on your lips. 

"You'll be just my perfect boy."

He inhales a deep breath, his fingers stop moving, and his eyes flick back to yours in an instant. You give him a light smile, lightly moving your fingers against his cheek.

He dips his head forward, lips brushing against yours. You lean into him, hand resting on the nape of his neck. His hands move to grip your waist, holding you in place as the kiss becomes more fervent.

You grip the hem of your shirt, pulling it up slightly before Jason pulls it back down. Your protests die on your tongue as he slips his tongue in your mouth, fingers moving to fiddle with the waistband of your panties, easing them down behind your knees.

He pulls back, reaching for his sweatpants and boxers, which are stretched over his thighs. "Nah. Leave it on. Wanna fuck you in it," he finally mumbles.

Jesus Christ. 

"Okay," you mechanically say, already breathless.

You would do just about anything he told you to.

He grips your waist tight, moving you so you hover over his erect cock. "Ready, Baby?" He asks, eyes locked on yours. 

You grip his shoulders. "Ready," you affirm.

He hisses as he slides his cock into you with much ease. You let out a pathetic whine at the contact. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his hot breath fanning against your skin as he grunts, helping you move against him. 

"Ride me, Baby. Ride me," he breathes into your neck.

You let out something of a moan and whine as you place one of your hands over one of his hands positioned on your waist, and the other stays gripping his shoulder for support. 

Your hips move back and forth, his rising to match your rhythm. He leans his head back, releasing an anguished moan in the process, his fingers digging into the fat of your hips.

"Am I doing alright?" You ask with only slight apprehension. 

"Yeah, Baby. Doin' so good—so good," he amends through labored breaths. 

"Yeah?" As you speed up the pace, you retort, desperate to make him feel good. 

"So fuckin' good," he groans, throwing his head and hitting the bed's backboard as you sit completely on him, his cock slipping deeper into you. 

Leaning down, you press a kiss to his Adam's apple as you go up and down on his cock, occasionally grinding down to give your clit some more stimulation. 

His fingers dig into your flesh with much pressure. "Fuck, Baby. I'm gonna—" he grunts.

"Yeah, me too—me too," you affirm, grinding yourself against him until you're wailing his name and he's mumbling curses.

You rest your forehead against him, both of your chests heaving, and sweat gathering around your temples. "We should do that—" you begin, catching your breath "—more often."

He lifts his eyes to look at you, his mouth contorting into a cheeky smile. "I'll do anything you want, Baby," he affirms through ragged breaths. 

"See, you are perfect," you jest, releasing a stifled laugh.

He playfully rolls his eyes, hands moving to get a handful of your ass, grinding you into him a little. You moan at the contact, still sensitive.

"And insatiable," he smirks, flipping you onto your back.

You ready yourself for a long night and can't find it in yourself to be mad about that. 

a/n: another self-indulgent fic🤰<-me rn divider!

reblogs & comments are encouraged!