real cool world

𐙚 hmmfghm imagine you two are cuddling and you just take his hand gently , guide it to your mouth , and slowly wrap your mouth around two of his fingers purely for the love of having his thick fingers filling your mouth ,,

𐙚 he doesn’t even blink at first, just sighs and lets his hand go heavy and relax , adjusting his position so you're comfortable . his thumb casually strokes your chin or traces your lower lip while you do it , completely content with the quiet intimacy of it .

𐙚 during sex jason todd will stick his middle and pointer in your mouth to shut you up ,, and because he loves the look of you with his fingers in your mouth

𐙚 he loves the contrast of his calloused, scarred knuckles pressing against your wet tongue, muffling your loudest noises when things get more intimate .

𐙚 sometimes he'll love to pull them from your mouth and watch as your spit forms strings from his fingers to your mouth ,,

𐙚 he’ll hold his hand just an inch or two away , forcing you to look at the mess you made together . he'll smirk , completely fascinated by the sight , before leaning down to press a heavy , kiss to your lips to taste himself on you .

𐙚 mmhhfjmm jason todd making you clean off his fingers after having them deep inside you ,, maybe while calling you good or calling you gross knowing either way it'll turn you on more

𐙚 "suck 'em clean for me," he'd murmur, hooking his hand under your jaw to tilt your head back . he absolutely loves playing with your head like that ,, shaming you one second with a low , teasing "look at you, absolute mess," and then praising you the next with a rough "good girl/boy" when you follow instructions perfectly .

𐙚 he laughs when between your legs watching you try to take his fingers as deep as you can in your mouth while soft tears prick at the sides of your eyes ,, he knows you won't stop even if you cry and gag which is why he loves you all the more

𐙚 that low , vibrating chuckle hits right against your thighs . he'll use his free hand to gently wipe the tears from the corners of your eyes , entirely captivated by how dedicated you are to your fixation , even when your body's natural reflexes kick in .

𐙚 jason todd stuffing his fingers haphazardly while teasing you to watch your reaction while you struggle to keep your whines and moans in ,, maybe even making you repeat how good you are while following it up after your failed attempt with "don't talk with your mouth full"

Because you couldn't even make it to the altar, could you?

Just standing there in the middle of the aisle, dressed in white, with your bouquet shaking in your hands and tears slipping down your cheeks faster than you can catch them with a pitiful tissue - making a complete, watery mess of yourself in front of everyone you love. Mascara threatening to betray you. Bottom lip wobbling. Breath hitching so pathetically you can barely even explain what's wrong because - nothing is wrong - and somehow that only makes you cry harder.

You even have Bruce Wayne, of all people, looking like he's about two seconds away from stepping in to help. Probably a little concerned you're about to bolt after he dropped half a million dollars on this wedding.

And of course Jason is moving before anyone else can.

Stepping down from the altar, black dress shoes clicking sharp against the floor, expression gone soft with an immediate sort of concern - maybe a flicker of something else beneath it, too.

Because for all his teasing and dramatics, there's probably still some ugly little part of him that wonders if you've finally come to your senses. If maybe - at the worst possible moment - you realized you don't want this. Don't want him.

He finally reaches you, looking down at you with those pretty emerald eyes, all that roughness in him gone soft in a way that almost makes you cry even harder.

"Too much of a crybaby to marry the likes of me?" His voice comes out with that low, gravelly little rasp - teasing, but fond - like he's trying to coax you back down to earth. Already holding your face before you can get out some watery, offended little reply, thumb sweeping carefully beneath one eye, then the other, catching tear after tear on the pad of his fingers.

"Don't tell me you're backing out on me now, baby," he mutters under his breath - quiet enough that it's just for you - while his hands keep working so patiently at your face, wiping away the wet heat of your tears only for more to replace them a second later. Trying to make you laugh when you're too busy sniffling and gasping for air to do much of anything else.

One hand comes up to cup your jaw - warm and calloused and careful against your damp skin - while the other settles at your waist the second your knees start to wobble. Holding you steady without making a spectacle of it.

Letting you clutch fistfuls of his suit jacket hard enough to wrinkle the fabric. Smear your tears all over the lapel - and probably a little snot too - and still not caring in the slightest because it's you.

And when it all starts to feel too big, he leans down until his forehead nearly brushes yours and murmurs, soft enough to melt straight through you,

“C’mon, baby. I got you.”

And then, of course, he walks you the rest of the way.

Not because people are staring at your little crashout or because things have gone awkward and uncertain.

But because there's simply no universe where Jason Todd is going to watch you fall apart on your wedding day - and not come get you himself.

So he guides you the rest of the way down the aisle, arm firm around your waist, your hand tucked tight around his, his thumb still brushing stray tears from your cheek every few steps while you shuffle along beside him - all sniffly and glassy-eyed.

Your veil catching softly behind you.

The room around you going warm and hazy and distant until it feels like it's just Jason - just the steady weight of him beside you keeping you from floating away.

Right before you finally reach the altar, he leans down one last time, mouth twitching at the corner, and murmurs in that low, amused voice of his,

"You done being a crybaby?"

Only for you to start crying even harder.

Which, okay, entirely his own fault.

When it's finally time to kiss the bride, you can bet he's kissing those watery little tears away too. Slow and sweet, a little smile pressed into it, like he can't quite believe he actually gets to keep you - gets to be the one wiping your tears away for the rest of his life.

Because if you are going to sob your way through marrying Jason Todd - the least he can do is hold you through every second of it.

“I barely coughed.” 

He says, even while knowing his scratchy voice gives him away instantly. You hop off the bed to take the heated blanket Jon offers and lay it over your grumbling boyfriend.  

“He’s been sniffling and coughing all day, but I finally got him to take some meds.”   

“Which was a waste because I have the immune system of a-” 

His sentence is cut off when Jon sits on the bed --his weight dipping the mattress almost comically-- and leans over him to place a hand on his head. Damian lays there frozen and Jon, oblivious as always, gives a hum.  

“You're burning up, and your heartbeat is faster than usual. Seem pretty sick to me.” 

You snicker from behind Jon, watching your boyfriend’s flustered face turn into a scowl. He huffs and turns over so he doesn’t have to face either of you.  

Jon gives you a concerned look and you only shrug, crawling into bed next to your lover and getting comfy under the sheets.   

“Now that you’re here, you can help me keep him in bed, so he actually gets some rest.” 

You prop your head up on your hand and softly poke at Damian’s face, watching his sharp eyebrows scrunch and his lips pout. In all your years dating him, he’s only gotten sick a few times and every time rendered him an irritable, miserable mope of his former slightly less-irritable self.   

“Right. Good idea.”  

Jon slips off his shoes and then his shirt and then reaches for the button of his jeans. You pat Damian on the shoulder to make him roll on his back so you’re both watching the half-kryptonian, neither saying a thing lest he stop halfway through shoving his pants off.  

It's only when he's hopping around with his jeans stuck on his ankle that Damian speaks.  

“What are you doing?”  

Jon pauses, looking up at you both, his glasses askew. “I can’t sleep in outside clothes.” 

You meet your boyfriend’s eyes for a silent moment.  

"Ah, of course.” “...Obviously.”  

You both telepathically decide not to mention the fact that he could just go fetch his own pajamas in Metropolis and be back in a second, or that he has extra pj's in your drawers from the other times he's slept over. 

He places his glasses on the bedside table and clambers onto Damian's other side, spooning the former vigilante from behind while you keep him snug to your chest. You take a few moments to shuffle around and get comfortable before settling into a quiet, calm state of existence.  

Your legs are an incomprehensible tangled mess, Jon's arm rests under your head and Damian rests his head in your warm chest, all kept close together by Jon's strong arm reaching over Damian and resting on your lower back. The faint sound of Gotham traffic a few stories down and slow breathing is all that fills the room.  

Your fingers lightly card through Damian’s dark hair, catching Jon’s lidded eyes.  

“Thanks for coming, Jon.” 

Damian gives the quietest, shortest little hum in agreement, shuffling back a bit so he’s closer to Jon’s chest, who pulls you closer in response, warm fingers lightly brushing where your shirt has ridden up and sending heat all the way up your spine. 

“Don’t thank me.”  

He gives a warm smile, and nuzzles a little closer to Damian, who shivers slightly, fingers digging gently into your waist. You realise it might be a little overwhelming for him to be squished in the loving embraces of the two people he- 

“It’s just what best friend's do for each other.” 

You hide your grimace in your boyfriend’s hair, he hides his frustrated sigh in your chest.  

ᯓ★ 

The sun was blazing hot, the sand was worse, but neither could beat the sight of Damian Wayne stepping out of the waves; toned muscles flexing as he sweeps a hand through his wet hair, droplets slipping down his abs and past his swim trunks, his well-defined thighs flexing with the strain of stepping through wet sand.  

Jon let himself stare longer than he usually would, only turning away when he hears you clear your throat. His neck snaps towards where you lie on your side next to him on the blanket you're sharing, giving him a smug look. 

“Good view, huh?” 

Jon’s eyes widen, flicking from you to your boyfriend and back to your growing grin.  

“Yeah, we’re lucky the weather’s really great today and the waves! Nice waves!” 

Your smile only gets more cat-like, but you hum in agreement.  

“Very nice waves.”    

You both silently watch Damian walk up to your little set up on the empty beach and collapse next to Jon, cocking his head at the man. 

“Why is your face so red, Kent?” 

The second man of steel stammers for an answer before you pipe up from his other side.   

“Yeah, Jon? Did you put on sunscreen?”  

"Uh, yeah. I mean, no. I don't really need-" 

Before he can stammer any more, you're already getting your sunscreen out your beach bag and shuffling closer. His heart and stammering halt when you straddle his hips, uncap the tube and place a tiny pea of the white cream on your palm. 

You take a little with your finger and dot some on his red cheeks and across the bridge of his nose while Jon tries desperately not to stare at your chest, including the faint love bites that travel down your swim top.  

He can’t see Damian smirking at him, but definitely hears it in his voice.  

“Didn’t know Kryptonian’s could get sunburnt.” 

Before Jon can fumble through an answer, you pass the sunscreen to Damian.  

“Well, he’s only half Kryptonition.” 

Damian takes it and moves behind Jon to start massaging sunscreen into his tense shoulders. Jon clears his throat, avoiding your eyes.   

"I didn't know you guys were so... sun conscious." 

Your thumbs trace over his red hot cheeks, making him look you in the eyes.  

"Only because we care about you.” 

The sun reflects in his eyes, you feel his shoulders relax under your boyfriend’s skilled touch and his eyes ease shut as you rub soft circles on his red cheeks.  

“I care about you guys too.“  

You dip your head just a little closer, almost close enough to touch noses.  

“You’re such good friends to me.” 

You're glad his eyes are still closed so he can't see you deflate like a balloon. Damian's pained groan from behind him causes him to open his eyes again and give you a raised brow. You sigh, pat his shoulder and slip off his lap.  

ᯓ★  

Jon’s eyelids are heavy, sleep still weighing on his mind as he tries, though lazily, to remember where he is.   

"-and we have to be subtle about it." 

"You think we've been subtle?" 

Jon blinks the haze away, the hushed conversation only barely registering in his mind. 

“This is tiring, Beloved.”  

“I know, but we can’t overwhelm him.” 

“We won’t, we’ll explain-” 

The conversation stops abruptly when the couch creaks with his weight as Jon adjusts his sore body.  

He groans and stretches, wincing a little as his joints pop with the strain. He hears someone approach and feels fingers gently comb through his hair.  

“Did you sleep well?” 

He nuzzles into the touch, nodding his head with a croaky hum and mumbles something like, "HwamIhere?" 

He hears your chuckle, the sound making him smile. 

“You flew in here after a mission talking about an inter-dimensional imp or something and then collapsed on the couch. You looked pretty knocked up so we let you sleep and changed you out of your suit for you.” 

He doesn't even register the last bit of that, too caught up on how disappointed his mom would be if she heard he barged into a friend's home and took up their space without even asking! 

“I’m sor-” 

You completely stop him in his tracks with a playful kiss in his forehead before he can finish. 

“Don't apologize, Kent. We're glad you came to us.” 

You grab his wrists and pull him up off the couch.  

“Dami’s almost got dinner ready.”  

Jon's never heard a better sentence in his life. He hangs weightlessly on your shoulders as you walk over to the kitchen so he doesn’t have to use his still unconscious legs.  

You lean against the kitchen counter and Jon’s head leans against your shoulder as you both watch your lover in his element. You can help but smile, remembering how awful he was at cooking or really any house chores when you started dating. 

“If you two would stop gawking and set the table, that would be helpful.”   

You both huff in amusement, but do as told. Jon floats over to the cupboard, taking out three bowls and placing them on the counter.  

“Come and taste this.” 

Jon floats over to Damian, who holds out a steaming spoon for him. Jon slips at the soupy contents and lets out a moan. Damian scoffs, eyes rolling but smile unhidden. He lifts Jon's chin slightly,   

“Good?” 

 Jon’s eyes widen a little but he nods wordlessly and Damian gives a short hum before turning back to his stove. The half-kryptonian speeds over to help you set up the table as Damian finishes up the rest of the food.  

Soon, all three of you stuffing your faces with soup and buttered bread sticks. Both you and Damian can tell there's something on your friend's mind by how quiet he is. He only speaks after his second serving, swirling his bread stick in his almost empty bowl.  

“So uh, I have a date.” 

Neither you nor Damian react immediately, save for the look you throw each other from across the table. You pipe up with a smile you hope looks more genuine than it feels.  

“That’s great! Do you think it’ll go well?” 

Damian rolls his eyes as if to say, "Real subtle." and you shoot him a glare. 

“Well, he’s nice and I think he’s into me.” 

He hears Damian scoff and mumble, “Nice?” under his breath. He also hears you kick his foot under the table.   

“If you’re nervous, we could join you. For emotional support.”  

You shrug as if it’s a normal thing to bring your two best friends along for a first date. He rubs the back of his head.  

“Thanks, but I think you guys scared away my last date.” 

You scoff awkwardly, Damian doesn't look up from his soup. 

“What? That’s ridiculous.”  

“She wasn’t worthy.”  

You glare at Damian from across the table and Jon just gives you a raised brow, gesturing to your boyfriend.  

“Okay, fine. But it’s just because we want the best for you.” 

You place your hand in his, giving him a very cautious smile. 

“Because we love you.”  

Damian gives a short nod down at his soup and Jon feels his heart warm and his cheeks flush. 

“Jeez, I love you guys too.”  

His thumb strokes the back of your hand, he looks like he’s glowing.  

“I’m lucky to have you guys as frie-” 

Damian roughly sets down his bowl, cutting him off before Jon can utter the word. You give him another glare, one that he returns this time as Jon looks between you with concern written all over his face.  

You win the staring match when Damian lifts his bowl back up to angrily slurp at the rest of the contents.  

“We’re lucky to have you too.” 

 You pat Jon’s hand and Damian grumbles all the way back to the kitchen to wash his dish and sulk for the rest of the night.  

ᯓ★ 

The moon is high in the sky, a random movie is playing on the tv, and Jon has once again found himself stuck snuggly between his two best friends.  

You were already attached to his bicep not even a minute into the movie, curled into his side. 

Damian’s on his other side, arms crossed, thighs spread apart lazily. Jon’s been trying not to stare at where his pajama shorts have ridden up, the heat of his skin burning where his thigh presses against Jon’s. His head tips back against the couch, lidded eyes gazing at the screen with a bored look.  

Safe to say, Jon can’t seem to focus on anything going on in the movie. Especially not when your fingers idly trace up and down his forearm like that.  

“so... how did your date go?”  

It’s quiet for a moment as Jon thinks up a proper answer. He shrugs,  

“It was nice.” 

It’s always just nice, if even that.  

That might not have been the proper answer because he can feel both of you looking at him and then look at each other and then look at him again. He hates it when you do that, it makes him feel more left out than if you guys just kissed in front of him. Not that he thinks about that often. 

Damian shuffles a bit at his side, his arms flex ever so slightly as he readjusts. 

“What happened?” 

He’s trying to sound nonchalant but both Jon and you know how protective he can be and how out of hand that can get. Jon shakes his head and answers a little too quick. 

“Nothing! Nothing happened.”  

He shoves his hands in his lap, keeping his eyes on the screen. There’s another short silence and Jon just knows you’re doing the couple telepathy thing again. 

You take one of his hands in yours, in the gentle way you always do.  

“Is there going to be a second date?”   

Jon bites the inside of his lip, shrugs and gives a noncommittal, "Maybe." 

His date texted him a few hours ago asking about just that, but he doesn't want to tell you why he hasn't responded yet. You nod slowly and take a deep breath.  

"Y'know, we could help you out? Give you some advice?" 

He wants to laugh. He already knows you can’t help him because you’re the problem. He can’t go on a date without thinking about how he’d rather be hanging out with you and Damian or wondering if you’d like the person or imagining your lips or Damian’s hands instead of the person he's supposed to be on a date with. 

He hasn't gotten laid in ages because the last time he did, he almost said both your names and the guilt almost ruined him.  

He huffs an awkward laugh,  

“I don’t need advice.” 

Damian scoffs and Jon whips his head around, 

“Clearly your dates would disagree.” 

Jon gawks and turns to you, clearly looking for some backup, but the only thing you offer him is a pained expression and a shrug. Damian continues,  

“Your string of failed dates has become embarrassing to watch. You clearly need help.”  

Jon goes to argue again but stops himself with a scoff when he realises there's no point. He rubs his palms into his eyes, already burning with embarrassment. You place a hand on his shoulder. 

“Its okay to be nervous on a date, Jon. We can at least help you feel more...experienced.” 

He throws his hands up,  

"I am experience-" 

"I know. But maybe you just need more practice?" 

He turns to you, searching your face for what that could possibly mean. You're biting your lip in a way that's clearly meant to be hiding some excitement behind it, your hand moving down his arm.  

“Damian’s a good kisser. He could show you.” 

Jon’s eyes go so wide you have to stifle a laugh, waving your hands placatingly. 

“Just for practice, obviously.”  

He spins his head around to Damian when he hears the man’s huffed laughter.  

Damian has his head tilted back against the couch, waiting with a confident smirk. His eyes flick down to Jon’s lips making the man's shoulders tense and his heart stumble.  

“I don't- Well if- I mean-” 

Damian rolls his eyes, and without drawing it out further, pulls Jon by his collar into a hard kiss. Jon makes a high-pitched yelp sound against Damian's lips, one that almost matches your stifled scream of excitement as Damian keeps him close, deepening the kiss.  

When Damian pulls away you can tell it’s too soon for both men. They look forward at the TV, Jon blinking with his mouth agape while Damian schools his face into a deadpan expression.  

“That was terrible.”  

“What?!” 

You can’t help but laugh, only making Jon's embarrassment burn brighter. 

“You don’t reciprocate enough. Just stayed still like a dummy and made me do all the work.” 

Jon holds his hands out in exasperation, more offended than he should reasonably be. 

“That's because I wasn’t expecting it!” 

“Are you expecting it now?” 

Damian takes his jaw and turns his head towards where you've been patiently waiting your turn ever since they separated.  

You give him a moment to back away before meeting his lips, softer than Damian, just getting a taste before diving deeper. He slowly melts against your lips as you deepen it, reciprocating every kiss with his own. His hand stays on your back, keeping you close when you mumble against his lips.  

"Terrible. Needs lots of practice."  

You hear Damian scoff and Jon lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched sound as your boyfriend nips at his neck, trying in vain to leave any marks on the Half-kryptonian's skin. You feel Damian making his way up Jon's neck and pull away, letting Damian have another taste while you work down his neck. You hear Jon moan into the kiss as Damian bites down on his lower lip, trying to get him to open up so Damian can slip his tongue into his friend’s mouth. You slowly start unbuttoning Jon's sleep shirt, each button revealing that toned chest you just have to lay kisses on, trying not to get distracted by the growing tent in his pants. 

When you get to the last button, Jon pulls away from Damian, panting even though he doesn't need to breathe air.  

"You guys don't have to do all this just- just to help me get a date." 

There's a second of silence before both you and Damian let out frustrated groans. Damian grabs Jon's face, looking him in his big blues.  

"Are you serious?" 

Jon doesn't answer and you sigh wearily, playing with the waistband of his plaid pajamas.  

"We'll have to make it more obvious, Dames." 

Damian takes one hand and, without breaking eye contact with your stupid, oblivious, beautiful friend, he takes your hand and grabs Jon's half-hard cock. 

The man hisses, looking down at where you both cup him over his pajamas and Damian squeezes harder, grabbing him by the jaw to meet his eyes again.   

"Call me your friend again, I dare you." 

Jon can only let out a pained groan. You feel his cock twitch in your hand, the wet spot worsening.  

"Oh, he liked that." 

Damian huffs in snide amusement. He backs away from Jon, looking down at you and suddenly, Jon seems to realise how truly fucked he is when Damian leans down to meet you in a sweet kiss.  

He watches the way you both seamlessly trade positions, your hand leaving his cock so Damian can palm him at his own pace while you kiss up his neck. He tries to lean back and relax, but Damian’s hand is so warm and strong, and your lips are so soft and they mumble so gently against his neck. 

“Are you feeling overwhelmed?” 

He nods, unable to say much else with his heart in his throat. He's been dreaming of this for so long and, of course, when it somehow is finally happening to him, he can barely react with anything other than choked sounds.  

“That's okay, we just want to make you feel good.”  

You hold both his cheeks in your hands, he stares up at you like a deity who came down to bless him.  

“Jon,” You place a kiss on his forehead, “Can we do that?” 

He swallows, noticing that Damian's hands have stopped moving, waiting for his answer. He swallows and then nods his head rather dumbly, lifting his hips from the couch so Damian can slip his pants off. 

“Good boy.” 

Jon’s cock twitches. Damian murmurs, “He liked that.” before giving a soft kiss to the his swollen pink tip, smearing the generous amount of pre down his shaft and working him up from the base with the deft hands of an artist and doctor.  

Jon lets out absolutely debauched moans, tipping his head back against the couch and pinching his eyes shut, all while feeling your gaze watching his every reaction. You play with his hair idly, and when Jon's eyes flutter open and meet yours again, all pretense of being the good cop in this situation has evaporated. 

“Kissing is far from the only thing he's good at, but you knew that already.” 

Jon's barely cognizant enough to understand what you're implying and just when he does, Damian's tongue on his cock wipes any cognitive function left, turning him into a whining mess under his two most loved people.  

His hips buck up just slightly as he nears his first release of the night. You keep one of his thighs wide open with your knee, not taking your eyes off his pretty face for even a second. His eyelashes flutter, his lips part and his curls bob with every thrust of Damian's. He feels everything at once; Your fingers in his hair, your lips fluttering softly against his cheeks, Damian's hands, his fingers, his mouth.

Just when his moans reach a crescendo, just when you know he's reached his peak, Damian lifts both his head and hands, leaving Jon's cock bobbing in the air with no stimulation, ruining the man's orgasm completely. 

"Damian!" 

Both you and Jon cry, Jon out of painful betrayal and you out of amused shock. Damian watches the man struggle without a lick of sympathy, wiping his hands on Jon's shirt. 

"Serves him right for putting us through all that." 

Jon lets out a broken whine, not helped by your barely stifled laugh.  

Damian holds out his hand for you and you take it, letting him lift you from the couch and off to your bedroom, calling back,  

"Come, Jonathon. Don't be dramatic." 

You can hear Jon's pained groan from down the hall. No doubt asking any higher being for mercy. 

ᯓ★ 

The room is dark, air still cooling down from a very eventful night. Three bodies lay in tangled sheets, Jon in the middle while you and Damian huddle into him for warmth using his chest as a pillow. It's been quiet for a while, Jon's fingers gently trace your hip and up Damian's back. 

"So...does this mean I should cancel that second date?" 

In unison, you and your boyfriend shoot up to look him in the eyes, expressions holding a cocktail of emotions; anger, exasperation, bafflement, mostly anger. 

He lifts both hands in surrender, a self-satisfied grin on his face. 

"I'm kidding." 

He's then assaulted with pillows and yelled at by both his lovers and almost sent to the couch for the rest of the night. 

ᯓ★ 

Pink, blue, black…

You huffed as you rummaged through the same drawer for the third time, hoping what you were looking for would magically appear between the mess of cotton, polyester, and lace.

The bedroom was a complete mess; drawers drawn open, half-empty because you’d carelessly thrown their contents out trying to find the piece, some bras landed on the floor, some shirts on your velvet vanity stool, and there was a pile of skirts and dresses forming atop of the bed.

Your eyes scanned the room again, trying to catch even the slightest glimpse of the intense, scarlet red you were desperately trying to find.

Your reflection stared back at you from the mirror—hair styled to perfection, black dress hugging your figure, and your lips painted a deep red color that was supposed to match the lingerie you’re wearing under the dress.

You had the bra, the only thing missing were the panties.

It was a special night, your two-year anniversary with your boyfriend, and Jason—who always makes it clear he’s not a fan of lavish and over-the-top dates—had surprised you with a reservation at this fancy steakhouse in downtown Gotham with a rooftop lounge that overlooks the city and has live jazz music playing the whole night.

You wanted to surprise him back, wearing the delicate, red, lacy lingerie set you know is his favorite, so that at the end of the night—in the backseat of the car, on the couch in the living room, or wherever he decided he wanted to take you—, you could feel his breath hitch and watch him lick his lips as he undressed you.

Besides, as stupid as it sounds, that set holds some type of sentimental value.

You bought it over a year ago, it’s a high-end designer piece that caught your eye the moment you stepped into that luxurious, ridiculously expensive boutique. It cost you an arm and a leg—you remember contemplating if it really was worth going broke for as the saleswoman talked about the quality of the materials.

You decided to buy it before you could think too much about it, swiping your card through the terminal and almost wincing when you saw the money deducted from your bank account.

It was more for Jason than for you anyway, and that’s what convinced you. It was a few days until his birthday, and you wanted to wear it as one of the many gifts you planned on giving him.

That night, straddling his lap as he laid on the couch, you saw his pupils dilate, watched him suck in a deep breath and pull his bottom lip between his teeth as he took off your dress. You decided that it had been completely worth the money.

It’s also the only set that’s made it through more than three wears—since Jason seems to have a kink for ripping fabric off of you, but apparently he’s decided he likes this one so much that he can be a little more careful with it. He almost always asks you to keep it on as he fucks you.

You really didn’t want to—it was supposed to be a surprise—but after checking the clock and seeing it was almost time to leave the apartment, you stepped out of the bedroom and into the living room to ask the only other person who could have any idea where your panties were.

“Jason, have you seen—”

Well…

There was your answer.

Jason sat on the couch, legs spread as they always are—no matter how much you scold him for his manspreading—, wearing a burgundy dress shirt that had you impatient thinking about the moment when you finally get to unbutton it.

His gaze was focused on the book perched on his lap, and in the gutter of said book—between thin, black ink-stained pages—were your panties, their red color bright against the yellowed paper.

You simply sighed, it was your fault honestly.

You started it a few months ago, Jason had taken a night off patrol and vigilante duty, and Cass had kindly offered to cover for him—watching over Crime Alley and the other places he usually took care of so he could spend time with you.

It was almost 2:00 a.m., your cheek was pressed against his bicep—because there’s nothing you love more than resting your head on your boyfriend’s muscles—, your legs shifted beneath the sheets to tangle with his, the soft cotton felt cool against your flushed skin.

Jason’s left hand was busy playing with your hair, twirling the strands around his scarred fingers while his right held the book he was reading.

He’d made you orgasm more times than you could count in a single night and you were convinced that you were completely satisfied.

Until you teared your eyes away from the ceiling to look at him, and he looked so cute and hot and sexy with his drugstore glasses perched on his crooked nose, and his brows had that furrow of concentration, and his thick lashes fluttered as he read through whatever greek tragedy he was so focused on, and his pretty lips formed the cutest pout you’ve ever seen on someone.

The sight made you feel that familiar heat between your legs—the one that appears whenever you see Jason doing practically anything.

You peppered kisses on his naked, glistening chest—still covered with a thin layer of sweat—, your fingers tracing down the lines of his abs and his prominent V-line until they reached the hem of the sheet—the only thing covering his lower body.

Jason breathed out your name, his heartbeat sped up under the touch of your lips, and he tried telling you about how he was in a really interesting part of the book, attempting to convince you to wait—but he didn’t make any real effort to stop you.

You looked up at him through your lashes, tongue darting out to trace one of the scars on his chest. You told him you couldn’t wait—and that it was his fault for making you so horny.

Picking up the pair of baby pink panties he’d tossed somewhere on the floor when he slipped them off of you, you took the book from his hand and placed the lacy garment on the page he was reading before closing it and handing it back to him. Your eyes never left his as you did so, and you had to bite your lip to hold back your giggles.

Jason’s eyes were wide as he took the book from you, his expression completely dumbfounded, and you swear that’s the most adorable he’s ever looked.

For you, Jason’s a weak, weak man. He could never deny you anything—trust, he’s tried.

And after that, you didn’t need to do anything else to convince him. He simply placed the book back on the nightstand beside the bed and rolled his eyes.

“You’re insane,” he scoffed, “and insatiable.”

You didn’t bother trying to defend yourself, it was true after all. You simply smiled in victory as your hand slid under the sheets.

Since that night, you never saw that pair of panties again—a shame, truly, it was a beautiful pink—and a few more disappeared from your underwear drawer to be found in the bookshelves.

“Jason,” you sighed. “I’ve been looking for those panties for like an hour!”

Jason looked up from his book—a dystopian novel you forgot the name of—, smirking when he caught sight of you with your arms crossed, wearing the dress he’d bought you specifically for your anniversary date.

“You look nice,” he whistled, looking you up and down shamelessly.

“Can you please give me my panties back?” You walked up to him and extended your hand out, expecting him to return your underwear.

“No,” he almost laughed, “I need my bookmarks.”

That made you roll your eyes, and before you could process it, Jason wrapped his hand around your wrist and pulled you into him so you were sitting on his lap.

“Besides,” he whispered into your ear, his voice carrying that teasing, smug tone you would never admit turns you on, “why do you need panties?”

“You know what would be a nice anniversary gift?” He continued, fingers teasing the skin of your thighs through the glossy fabric of your dress. “You not wearing anything under that dress.”

short n sexy mini fic for my baby jason todd while i work on my beach date with dick grayson one-shot 🤭

sorry if this was kinda ass, the idea was better in my head, still hope you enjoyed!!

thanks for reading!! likes, comments, follows, and reblogs are always appreciated!!

please do not copy, translate, repost, or feed my work to ai (especially this!!)

images from pinterest

dividers by @strangergraphics !!

Jason loves watching you wreck yourself on his dick before he even fucks you. You're on your knees, lips stretched tight around his cock, drool dripping down your chin as you take him deep, gagging when he presses against the back of your throat. His fingers tangle in your hair, guiding you, ruining you as he grunts, watching your messy, desperate struggle to please him.

And you are desperate. The way you bob your head, working your tongue under his shaft, flattening it against the thick vein along the underside, the way you hollow your cheeks, humming just to hear him curse under his breath, the way your thighs press together because you can't help it.

"Fuck, baby, look at you," he groans, voice ragged, a smug smirk pulling at his lips. The bastard. "So damn pretty with your mouth full. Gettin' me all wet, huh?"

His grip tightens in your hair when you try to pull back for a breath, forcing your nose right back into the skin at the base of his cock. You choke on it, sputter around him, and his abs tense with a low, filthy groan.

"That's it, baby. Take it. I know you can."

His voice is all need and heat, that low rasp that always gets your thighs rubbing together just from the way he talks. And fuck, he's so thick, it always feels like your mouth is stretched to the limit around him. Heavy on your tongue, velvety soft skin dragging along your lips every time he rocks his hips. Precum smears warm and salty against the back of your throat with every shallow thrust, leaking so much you swear he's teasing you on purpose.

You can't tell if you're more drunk on the weight of his dick in your mouth or the way he sounds, like he's two seconds from losing it and fucking your throat until he's spilling every drop straight down it.

Your hands are trembling against his thighs, fingers digging into the muscle as you breathe through your nose, spit pooling in your mouth while you let him use you. And Jason? He looks fucking wrecked. Head tipped back, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring like he's trying to keep it together but failing. His hips roll forward slow, fucking your mouth with lazy thrusts, savoring every single second.

But you love it. His praise, his dick, the way your jaw aches and your throat burns and your heart flutters every time he guides you back down with that big, rough palm. You love how messy he lets you get, how greedy he lets you be. And yeah, maybe you also love how hard he gets just by watching you ruin yourself on his cock.

"Messy little mouth," he mutters, looking down at you. "You like it like this, huh? Like bein' full of my dick, doll? Bet your panties are soaked already, aren't they?"

You blink up at him, teary eyed and flushed, and the softest little whine bubbles from your throat around his cock and fuck if that doesn't nearly snap his restraint clean in half.

"Jesus Christ," he groans, head tipping back for a second, fingers flexing in your hair. "Such a good fuckin' girl for me."

Your whimper vibrates around him and he feels it. He sees how desperate you are, how your pussy is probably dripping already. And it is. Jason chuckles, tugging your head back until his cock slips free, leaving you gasping, saliva connecting your lips to the tip in a little string before it breaks.

"God, I should film this," he pants, his thumb brushing your lower lip. "Let you watch how dumb you look fuckin' your pretty mouth on my dick. You'd love that shit, wouldn't you? Fuckin' droolin' like a desperate little thing."

Then he's pushing back in, slow but deep, watching your lips stretch wide around him, the corners of your eyes welling up as your jaw quivers, throat tightening in reflex when his dick slides right past that soft, choking point. He groans again—deep, possessive—and this time there's no teasing in it, just raw hunger.

The soft, wet sound of it, the messy little gasps and wet clicks when he fucks into your mouth makes his cock twitch. His hips roll forward slow, controlled, but there's nothing soft about it. He feeds you his cock in slow, thick strokes, watching your lips strain, your breath stutter as he starts fucking your mouth. You moan, choked and needy around him, and he feels it vibrate down his shaft, feels it all the way in his gut.

Your eyes flutter, tears spilling over when his hips snap forward just a little sharper, his balls brushing your chin. His dick is a fucking mess—slick with your drool, precum smeared along the thick vein on the underside, shining every time he drags it back over your tongue. Spit strings from your lips when he rocks out, then sinks right back in, wet and heavy on your tongue.

"Shit, yeah... there she is," he rasps, eyes blown wide with lust as he takes in the sight of you—glassy eyed, panting, wrecked just from sucking his dick.

It's filthy. Sloppy. And he fucking loves how your spit coats him, how you're gagging just a little, nose scrunching when the head hits the back of your throat again. Loves the little shivery sounds you make when your jaw is stretched to the limit, lips swollen and slick.

But just when you're choking a little sweeter around him, eyes glassy and tongue flicking against the underside of his cock, he tightens his grip in your hair and pulls you off with a wet pop. He groans, jaw clenched like it physically hurts to stop. Because fuck, he'd love nothing more than to stuff your throat full and blow his load right down it, watch you swallow every drop while you blink up at him, all pretty and ruined, but he'd rather cum inside you.

"C'mere."

Before you can respond or process what's happening, Jason's got you on the couch on all fours, back arched, ass in the air, completely at his mercy. You don't even notice him sliding your panties down until they're halfway down your thighs, the fabric sticking just a little from how wet you are. He hums behind you, one big, warm hand squeezing your ass before he slaps it, the other dragging the lace the rest of the way down.

"Fuck, baby," he mutters when he feels how soaked they are before he even touched you. "You're already drippin' for me."

Then his hand slides in, rough fingers gliding right through your puffy folds, and your moan is needy and breathless and embarrassingly loud. The way he touches you isn't fast or hard, but it wrecks you, sends heat crawling up your spine like fire.

His hands spread you wide, thick fingers dragging through your dripping pussy before he moves higher, teasing over that tight little hole with slow, lazy circles.

"You ever let anyone touch you here before, pretty girl?" he murmurs, almost mocking as he presses the pad of his thumb against it, not quite pushing in.

But he knows the answer. Doesn't matter what you say, no one's touched you like he does. No one's ruined you like this.

You whine, pushing back against him, but he chuckles, pulling his hand away completely, leaving you empty, aching. Then his cock is there, heavy, dragging through your slick, getting nice and messy before he taps the head against your clit, making you jerk.

"God, you're so fuckin' wet," he groans, giving your ass a sharp slap, watching the ripple with hungry eyes. "What, all that just from suckin' my dick?"

He lines himself up, teasing your entrance, pushing in just the tip before pulling back out, making you sob. "C'mon, baby. Beg for it."

You do, because you need him. Because you're dripping down your thighs, desperate, clenching around nothing as you push your hips back, trying to take more.

But your brain isn't working anymore, not really. Not when he's talking to you like that, not when you can feel the fat head of his cock nudging at your entrance, dragging back through your slick, over and over again.

"Jay," you gasp, your voice high and wrecked and so fucking needy. "Please, I—fuck, I can't—"

He grins behind you, slow and smug. His hand comes down hard on your ass again, then smooths over the sting with a lazy rub, palm kneading over the soft curve before giving it a squeeze that's just shy of mean.

"You can't what, pretty girl? Think? Breathe? Speak full fuckin' sentences?"

"Jay," you gasp, brain melting the second he grinds the head of his cock against your soaked little hole again. He's right, you can't even form a full sentence, just raw, needy noises spilling out as your fingers curl into the couch. "Please—please, fuck, I need it—I need you—"

He groans at the sound of your voice, all soft and shaky, fucked out already when he hasn't even given it to you yet.

"Yeah?" he mutters, rubbing slow, lazy circles around your entrance with his cock, just barely dipping in, never deep enough to satisfy, just enough to tease. "What do you need, baby? Gotta use your words."

You whimper, dropping your head down, back arching as you try to fuck yourself back onto him. "Need you inside," you cry out. "Need you to fill me up—please, I can't—need it so bad, Jay, please..."

"Goddamn," he mutters, watching you shiver under him. His hand grabs your hip tight, holding you still, making sure you can't get it until he gives it. "You're so fuckin' cute when you beg. My pretty desperate girl."

You're trembling, mouth open, eyes stinging with how badly you need it. He's still teasing, still giving you just the tip, still watching you fall apart like it's his fucking job. And it kind of is.

"Jay—" your voice cracks, ruined and raw, your whole body shaking with pure fucking frustration. "Just fuck me already."

He freezes, then laughs, one of those full body chuckles. "Oh, now you've got a mouth, huh?" he teases, cock twitching at your entrance. "So fuckin' needy you forgot your manners."

But he gives in, finally, because you're soaked and shaking and clenching around nothing, and he can't take it either. Jason grunts, grabs both your hips, and in one slow, deep stroke, he sinks in, splitting you wide, bottoming out until his thighs press flush against yours.

"Fuck," he groans, voice wrecked as he grinds in deep, letting you feel every thick, pulsing inch. He leans over you, one hand curling around your neck, the other slipping under you to toy with your soaked clit. "That's it, baby, takin' me so fuckin' good. Lemme hear you."

And when you cry out, back arching as he starts to move, dragging almost all the way out before slamming back in, his voice turns soft, almost sweet.

"There you go," he purrs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, thrusting deep, hitting that spot that always makes your legs shake. "That's my good girl."

Then he bites down—hard—right where your neck meets your shoulder, making your breath hitch and your pussy clamp down around him. The sting of it sends sparks across your skin, but before you can whimper, he licks the spot, his tongue wet and warm as he soothes it.

He doesn't stop moving. His hips roll into you in deep, wet thrusts, his cock sliding in and out with ease, coated in your slick, every inch of him drenched and glistening. You can hear it, that messy slap of wet skin on skin every time he fucks you harder, chasing the little fluttering squeeze of your cunt around him. He's soaked already, every thrust a wet, obscene slide that leaves your skin sticky and your body buzzing.

Jason can feel your body responding to every twitch, every clench, the way your hips push back like you're chasing more even when he's giving you everything. He knows your pussy better than anyone, knows just how to angle his hips to make you sob, and it's got his head spinning.

You're so soft, warm, and so fucking tight, and the way you squeeze around him every time he hits that spot has him gritting his teeth, sweat prickling at his temples. His fingers rub tight circles over your clit, relentless and greedy, matching the pace of his thrusts, just rough enough to make your thighs start trembling beneath him.

He watches you fall apart and thinks it's the prettiest sight he's ever seen. Your flushed back, your open mouth, the way your hips keep pushing back to meet every thrust even when you're already shaking.

And underneath it all, one thought claws through his brain on repeat: mine. His thrusts get rougher, hips slapping against your ass with filthy, wet smacks. You can't even brace yourself properly, so your fingers claw helplessly at the couch cushions, trying to hold on while he fucks you through the next wave of pleasure building low and tight in your belly.

Jason leans in close, chest heavy on your back, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "That's it, baby, just like that."

Your legs shake, your whole body is humming, every nerve ending lit up like he's fucking you raw with nothing but praise and dick. He knows exactly how to wreck you, how to draw it out, how to keep you right on that edge.

You sob against the cushions, voice muffled, brain barely able to string thoughts together. It's too much but it's not enough at the same time. You need more, need him, need all of him.

He bites your shoulder again, then licks over it, soothing the sting, voice warm and ragged against your skin.

"Takin' it so fuckin' good for me, doll. You're perfect like this, y'know that? Lettin' me fuck this tight little pussy, lettin' me fill you up."

Your moan breaks in your throat, choked and high pitched, your body jolting with every hard thrust. His hand is still on your clit, rubbing fast, tight circles that make your thighs shake. You can't even think, you're just trying to stay upright while Jason pounds you into the couch.

"Look at you," he mutters, breath hot against your ear, "clutchin' the fuckin' pillows like they're gonna save you. So fuckin' messy for me."

You're so fucking close, and you know exactly why. Because sucking his cock gets you soaked every time, and you're still worked up from earlier, from how deep he fucked your throat, from the way he moaned for you while you gagged on him. And now he's splitting you open, stuffing you full of the same dick you were drooling over a few minutes ago.

Every stroke makes your pussy clench tighter around him, needy and hot and soaking him all over again. His dick is drenched, sliding in and out of you so easy, wet and loud and filthy, stretching you open until you're gasping with every thrust, stuffed full of every inch.

"Fuck, baby," he groans when you clench around him, "you feel that? You hear that shit? You're so fuckin' wet for me I can't even think straight."

Your pussy flutters around him at the praise, and he grunts, deep and desperate, his hips stuttering just slightly when he feels it. Christ, he loves how you always melt when he talks to you like this.

"Shit—squeezin' me so fuckin' tight. You gonna cum for me like this, huh? Gonna let me feel you lose it?"

You don't even mean to moan like that but God, it just rips out of your throat, high and desperate and raw when it hits you all at once. Your back arches, mouth falling open, gasping around broken little sobs as your orgasm crashes through you.

Your clit throbs hard under his touch, and your thighs tremble like they might give out. You're soaked, dripping around his cock, creamy slick coating his shaft every time he fucks back in. It's messy. So fucking messy. You can feel it on your skin, on your thighs, between them, wet and warm and filthy, just how he likes it.

"That's it, baby," Jason groans, still right at your ear, his voice gone hoarse, "that's my girl. Fuckin' look at you."

He groans again when your pussy clamps down around him, pulsing with each wave of release. He feels every flutter, every slick, tight squeeze, and it drags another low, wrecked sound from his throat.

"Goddamn, you're so fuckin' tight when you cum."

You're barely breathing, still twitching under him, and that's when he finally lets go, hand slipping from your clit, the other loosening from around your neck. You collapse against the couch cushions, boneless and wrecked, lips parted around soft whimpers.

Jason pulls back a little, straightening up behind you so he can watch, hands gripping your hips, thumbs digging into your skin as he fucks into you slow, deep, wet. His eyes are locked on the way your pussy stretches around his dick, swollen and soaked.

"Fuck," he mutters, "I could watch this pussy fuckin' swallow me for hours."

He gives your ass a hard slap, watches the way it jiggles, then spreads you wider just to see it better: his glistening cock sliding in and out of your fluttering hole, dripping with slick and still twitching from how hard you came.

"You feel that? Still fuckin' twitchin' around my dick. You're not done, doll, are you?"

You moan again—loud, needy—your voice cracking as you look over your shoulder at him, lips slick with drool, eyes glassy and blown wide. You're still trembling from your orgasm, still dripping around his cock, and yet you're pushing back into him.

You fuck yourself on him clumsy, desperate, your thighs shaking with the effort, the angle messy, sloppy, obscene. The way your ass bounces back against his hips with each weak, greedy thrust is downright pathetic.

"Jay..." you whimper, breath hitching, "More. Please. Need your cum, baby."

Jason lets out the filthiest moan you've heard tonight, low and guttural and fucking wrecked. His hands tighten on your hips as your pussy flutters around him on purpose, squeezing him with every word, every plea, and he feels it.

"Yeah?" he pants, "you want it that bad, pretty girl?"

You nod frantically, bottom lip trembling, moaning as more drool slips down your chin.

He breathes out a broken "Jesus fuckin' Christ," right before one hand slams flat between your shoulder blades, pushing you down hard into the couch cushions.

Your cheek presses into the fabric, the friction grounding you even as your thoughts spiral. Then he starts to move, fucking into you deep and fast, no more teasing. Every thrust knocks the breath from your lungs, the rhythm so unforgiving that you can't do anything but take it. His cock drives into you again and again, stretching you wide, splitting you open, dragging slick noises out of your body that make him groan every damn time.

He watches it all, can't even look away—the way your cunt stretches for him, how soaked you are, how your folds cling to every inch when he pulls back. You're gripping him so tight, and he feels every flutter, every greedy little squeeze when your pussy is trying to drag him right back in.

And fuck if he doesn't give it what it wants, rolling his hips slow, deep, just to see the way your wetness sticks to his cock when he slides out, messy and obscene. Every sound, every little tremble of your thighs, just pushes him closer to the edge, makes him slam back in harder, deeper.

"Fuck," he mutters, jaw clenched, sweat dripping down his chest as he keeps pounding into your soaked, twitching hole. "You hear that shit? Hear how wet you are for me, baby?"

You're moaning nonstop, mouth slack, drooling on the cushion beneath you as your eyes roll back, voice going higher and more broken with every thrust. His cock feels so deep, so thick and hot and heavy inside you, and your pussy is fluttering again, slick gushing around him, your body already trying to give him another orgasm.

And Jason can feel every spasm, every wet pull of your pussy as you squeeze him tighter. His grip on your back tightens, holding you down, keeping you right where he wants you.

"You want my cum? Huh, doll? Gonna fill this pretty pussy up, make it drip outta you just so I can push it back in with my dick. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

You let out the filthiest sound yet, sobbing through your moans, nodding, choking on a little gasp when his dick hits that spot that makes your toes curl. Jason groans again, sharp and strained, wrecked by how good you feel around him—hot, soaked, clenching, and he knows he's close.

He can't take it anymore, not when you're dripping around his dick and begging for his cum like that, so fucked out and sweet and needy he can barely think.

He slides a hand up your back, rough palm dragging along your spine until it curls around the back of your neck. Not tight, not mean, just firm, because he needs to feel you, keep you close, keep you his. He tugs you back gently but without room to resist, until your spine is arched against him, until your ass is flush to his hips and your back is pressed to his sweat slicked chest.

"C'mere, baby," he pants against your ear.

His other arm wraps around your waist, locking you in place, and then he's using his free hand to finger your clit again, fast and messy, rubbing tight little circles over that swollen bundle of nerves, making you jolt with every pass of his fingers. He doesn't stop fucking you, not even a little. His hips keep snapping up into you, hard and fast and so deep, fucking you through every shake and sob that escapes your parted lips.

You gasp, head falling back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering open just enough to look up at him, and he looks fucking wrecked.

Dark hair a mess, jaw clenched, cheeks flushed, sweat glistening on his neck, his eyes burning before he kisses you. Sloppy. Wet. Filthy. His lips crush against yours, tongue sliding in deep, moaning into your mouth like he needs the taste of you to survive. The kiss is all teeth and spit and desperate little gasps between breaths, your mouth falling open for him over and over again as he fucks you harder, deeper, chasing the way your walls pulse around his cock.

You can't even kiss him properly. You're so wrecked, all you can do is moan into him, lips twitching and trembling, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth as your clit throbs under his fingers.

Jason groans into your mouth, biting your lower lip, sucking it between his teeth for a second before licking over the sting like he can't stand to be gentle, can't stand not to devour you. But you don't want him to.

And the whole time, he doesn't slow down. His cock is soaked, sliding in and out of your tight, dripping pussy like it's his fucking job. Each thrust gets filthier, wetter, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room, your slick making obscene noises with every move.

"Fuck," he pants against your lips, hips grinding up into you with a sharp snap, "You're gonna make me lose it, baby. You feel that?"

You whimper, arching into him, legs trembling, so close to breaking again, so close you can barely speak. Your whole body is trembling, legs shaking, fingers gripping his arms while he keeps fucking into you from behind, every inch of his cock dragging through your soaked, fluttering walls. You're making the sweetest little wrecked sounds under your breath, lips swollen and spit slick from that last kiss, eyes glassy with need.

"G-God, Jay—"

It comes out in a gasp, all breath and slur, barely coherent. "Y-you—fuck—you feel so good..."

He groans, lips brushing your temple as he keeps moving inside you, hips slamming up fast and needy.

"Yeah, doll?" he pants, voice wrecked, shaky from how tight and hot you are around him. "You're fuckin' meltin' around my dick, huh?"

You nod like your brain is not even wired right anymore. "Y-yeah... fuck, yes, yes—please, fill me up, Jay, please, I need it, need your cum, baby, please—"

Jason grits his teeth with a sharp hiss, dick throbbing deep inside you at the sound of your voice, all broken and begging and gone. His messy, needy girl, so dick drunk she can't even think straight. That high little whimper in your throat when he grinds in just right, when he presses his fingers harder over your clit, making your pussy spasm around him? He fucking lives for it.

"Shit," he breathes, hand still moving over your clit in tight circles, his hips slapping against your ass. "Fuckin' love when you sound like that, baby. You hear yourself? Can't even talk, huh? So fucked out, so pretty like this. Mine."

You're babbling, hips twitching, tears prickling in your eyes, your moans pitchy and wrecked as he hammers into you. His rhythm is getting sloppy, the pace stuttering, every thrust a little deeper, a little rougher, desperate.

And then, your orgasm hits like a wave. Your clit throbs under his fingers, your pussy clenches around his cock and you cry out loud, sobbing his name as your walls spasm and flutter, so wet and tight and pulsing around him that he nearly loses it right there.

"F-fuck—"

Jason's whole body jolts, hips jerking as he buries himself deep to the hilt, one last shaky thrust before he lets go. He cums hard, cock twitching, thick ropes of hot cum spilling deep inside your cunt, filling you up until you can feel the heat of it dripping down your thighs. His fingers dig into your skin, his forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath ragged against your skin.

"Jesus—fuckin' hell, baby," he gasps, still twitching faintly inside you.

Your thighs are shaking, your breath is stuck in your throat. Your mind is completely blank except for the feel of his cum dripping out of you and the way he's keeping you pressed against him.

His breath is hot against your shoulder when he finally moves again, mouth brushing lazy kisses along your damp skin. He's still buried deep inside you, cock twitching, your cunt swollen and soaked from how hard he just fucked you.

His arms wrap around your waist, keeping you snug against him. "Good, pretty girl?" he mumbles against your skin, voice warm and all fucked out.

You nod, your body still trembling a little as you sink back against him. "Mhmm," you manage. "So good."

Your hips shift instinctively, a tiny grind back against his dick and fuck, he gasps. You both feel how sensitive he is, how your sore, fluttering pussy tightens just a little around him, slick and warm and still dripping with both your cum.

"More, baby," you whine breathlessly.

"Jesus," he hisses, teeth catching your skin as his fingers grip your waist tighter. "Don't fuckin' do that, doll. Gonna make me lose it."

But you can't help it. Your body is greedy for him, always has been. Even now, with your thighs trembling and your cunt already stretched wide, full, aching, you want more. You always want more with Jason because it's never just the size of him or the way his dick hits so deep you see stars.

No, it's the way he touches you like you matter, the way he learned every part of you. The way he's been obsessed with your pleasure since the very first time he had you moaning under him, soaked and begging.

You grind again, just a little. Another tiny roll of your hips, needing the drag of his cock against your raw, oversensitive walls and he groans like you're torturing him. You are.

His dick twitches again inside you, still hard, still so thick and perfect, nestled deep in your wet, clenching heat. You're throbbing around him, your slick walls fluttering with every breath, hugging his cock perfectly. Even after all this time together, even after countless nights of being fucked dumb by this man, there's just something about him—his hands, his mouth, his voice, the way he praises you, how he looks at you like he's still stupidly in love. And he is. That's why Jason never stops making you feel wanted, safe, loved, never stops making you feel good.

And right now? Your body wants more. You gasp when you bend forward again, both hands bracing against the couch cushions, your body practically melting back into position. Jason's still buried inside you, hot and thick and so deep, and even that small shift has your pussy clenching hard around him, slick and sensitive. He groans behind you, his head tipping back for just a second like he's trying to breathe before his eyes drag down your back to your ass, spread wide, twitching a little, glistening. And he can't stop looking at it.

You're leaking, dripping around his cock, messy and swollen and so pretty he wants to sink to his knees just to watch. His hands tighten on your waist, and then one drags down, fingers gathering a smear of his cum from where it's pooled at the base of his dick. He knows what he's doing before he even lets himself think about it.

"God, baby," he breathes, voice all heat, "look at you."

And then he slides that slick finger up between your cheeks, slow, dragging it over that tight little hole, and the noise you make? That sweet, sudden moan from deep in your chest? God, he nearly fucking loses it. You tense instantly, pussy clamping around his dick, and he groans.

"Shit," he mutters, voice rough and breathless. "You like that, baby?"

You whimper, high and needy, and push back against him, just like you did earlier, ass pressing into his hips with this desperate little roll. "Y-Yeah..."

He doesn't think, just moves. One slow push of his finger, just the tip, just enough to feel that tight resistance give under him. And fuck, the way your whole body shudders, how you arch for him, legs trembling, he watches the reaction ripple down your spine and groans.

"Yeah, doll?" he asks again, softer, coaxing, even though his cock is throbbing inside you, twitching at how soaked and warm you still are. "That feel good?"

You nod, whining, voice fucked out and breathless as you try to rock your hips again, his cock dragging against your still pulsing walls, his finger teasing in just a little deeper. You look fucking wrecked, needy and messy and glowing under the low light, your body begging for more like you can't even help it.

And Jason? He's about to lose his shit. He knows he's thought about this. Late at night, in the shower, on those long patrols where he can't stop remembering the way your ass looks when you're bouncing on top of him while you're taking his dick.

He's thought about it so many times—just touching, just teasing, just wanting to see how you'd react—but he's never done it. Never dared. Because the last thing he'd ever want is to push you too far, make you feel like you owed him anything, make you uncomfortable. That's never what this is about.

But the way you're moaning? The way your body shivers when he slides his finger in a little deeper and starts gently moving it in and out, just barely? Christ. You're soaking him again, your pussy fluttering and greedy, trying to pull him in deeper, walls so warm and wet and perfect.

He pulls his cock out almost all the way, just to watch, just to see how you clench, how his cum leaks out of you in slow drips. And then he pushes back in, slow and deep, both of you moaning, because he slides in so easily, snug and slick and tight all at once.

Jason doesn't even get the chance to move—doesn't get a chance to pull his hips back, set a pace, nothing—because the second he's buried inside you again, you start fucking yourself back on his cock like you've lost your goddamn mind.

You gasp, hips rolling, clumsy and desperate, grinding down until you're taking every thick inch of him with this slick, messy slide that makes your body tremble. His cock stretches you open, dragging over every spot inside you that makes your legs shake and fuck, it feels so good you don't even care how wrecked you sound.

And then there's his finger. You'd never thought you'd be into this. Not with the way your exes treated you, like your body was some puzzle they couldn't be bothered to figure out, all selfish hands and no patience, making you feel like it was your fault when it didn't feel good. They'd never cared. Never tried. They'd barely been able to fuck you right, much less... this. But Jason?

Good fucking lord. Jason touches you like he wants you to come apart, like your pleasure is his favorite thing. Like making you feel good is some kind of fucking art form, and he's been studying for it his whole life. The way his finger works into your ass, slow and careful, his hand steady on your hip while you fuck yourself back on his cock? The way he moans every time your pussy tightens up around him?

Yeah, you're never gonna get enough of this man. He groans behind you, rough and wrecked, his thumb pressing into your hip, holding you steady even though you're grinding back on him so desperately it's making his thighs tense.

"Jesus, doll... fuckin'—look at you," he rasps. "So goddamn greedy. You just can't help yourself, huh?"

You moan, loud, pitching forward a little on shaky arms as your walls flutter around his cock—and his finger. And it's filthy, the way your ass clenches down around him every time his finger rocks in, the way your sloppy pussy grips his dick so tight it makes him groan through his teeth.

He swears under his breath, head dropping forward as he watches you bounce back on him. You're so fucking insatiable, and it's driving him fucking insane. The noises you let out? These desperate, whiny, punched out moans every time you push back and grind down? Yeah, the neighbors are definitely complaining tomorrow. Not that it's the first time.

And not that Jason gives a single fuck. Because right now, he's got his perfect girl fucking herself on his dick, soaking him, whining for him, moaning like she wants the whole goddamn building to hear. And all he can do is hold your hip tight, finger your ass slow, and praise you for it.

"Who would've fuckin' thought. My pretty girl, so goddamn desperate to get both these holes stuffed full."

His words make you clench—around his cock, around his finger—and he feels it, the way your pussy flutters and grips him tight.

And fuck, his dick? Soaked. You're creaming all over him, slick making a filthy, messy ring at the base of his cock every time you grind back down, every time you fuck yourself onto him. His skin is slick with it—yours too—and you're both a goddamn mess.

He watches you get sloppy with it, sees how your thighs tremble, how you whine under your breath but you're still so fucking needy. Still chasing it like it's the only thing you want. And it fucking is.

Jason grins as he gives your hip a tight squeeze. "Maybe lemme fuck you, baby," he mutters, "really fuck you."

And he does. One slow pull back, his cock dragging over every swollen, soaked ridge inside you before he sinks in hard, hips smacking against your ass with a sound so sharp it makes your breath hitch.

His free hand holds you tight at the waist, steadying you. The other one is still teasing your ass, finger working slow inside you until Jason shifts his grip, spreads his fingers wider across your hip. His thumb hooks just above the curve of your ass, spreading your cheeks a little more, just enough for him to tilt his head down, let a thick bead of spit drip right between them.

It lands warm on your skin and you shudder, a broken moan punching out of your throat as your pussy clamps down around his dick, squeezing him so hard he swears under his breath.

"Fuck, that's it," Jason groans, snapping his hips forward again, his cock splitting you open on a wet, filthy slide.

And God, the way you take him, slick and swollen, your cunt clenching so tight it drags over every vein on his dick. The sound of skin slapping against skin, thick and obscene, bounces off the walls, the couch creaking under you both.

The sight of his cock sinking into your messy pussy, slick dripping down his balls, that obscene little stretch every time he pushes in? Yeah, that's about to break him.

"Jay—fuck—don't stop, baby, please..."

Your voice cracks every time his hips snap forward and you don't even know if you're making sense anymore. At this point, it's just a string of yes, please, more, fuck tumbling out.

"P-please... feels so g-good..."

Your words come out all stuttery, cracked at the edges, spilling out between breathless little whines every time his cock slams deep, every time his finger works a little further inside your ass.

"Look at you," he pants, voice low and rough, "so fuckin' pretty like this. Can't get enough, huh, baby?"

He can't believe how desperate you are right now—how you're dripping down his cock, pussy fluttering around him—and all it took was his spit slicked finger easing deeper in your ass while he fucks your cunt open, dragging his cock over every spot that makes you whimper.

You're a goddamn mess. Sweaty, clenching, rocking back into him like it's all you know how to do. His hand tightens on your waist, pulling you back to meet every hard, punishing thrust.

And fuck, seeing you like this? Head tipped forward, moaning for him, mouth hanging open as you babble out wrecked little pleas between gasps? He's fucking losing it and fast.

"Goddamn, baby," he breathes, hips snapping forward hard enough your whole body jolts, "fuckin' takin' it like my good girl... so fuckin' perfect for me."

He means it. Means every word because even after all this time, even after all the ways he's had you, the way you fall apart for him like this, the way your pussy grips his dick so tight, soaked and swollen and perfect, you're his. All his.

"Y-Yes—right there, fuck—"

Your voice breaks on a moan, high and sharp, and then you fall apart. It hits you fast and mean, your whole body tensing before it shudders, legs shaking under you as your pussy clamps down around Jason's dick, hot and pulsing and so fucking wet. Your walls flutter, squeezing him in desperate, spasming little aftershocks, slick gushing around him with every twitch of your hips.

And your ass? Fuck, your ass clenches around his finger, tight and perfect, your whole body so wound up you're gripping him everywhere. Jason moans, rocking his hips in slow, deep thrusts just to feel your puffy walls milking his dick desperately.

And shit, the way you're shaking, gasping, whining his name like you need him even after cumming that hard? Jason's right on the edge. Because fuck if it doesn't tear him open every single time, seeing you fall apart for him like this, knowing it's his dick, his hands, his praise wrecking you.

His stomach tightens, hips grinding in deep as his own orgasm builds hot and thick in his gut. "Fuck—"

It rips out of him right before his hips jerk forward, burying his cock deep inside you. You feel the hard throb of his dick as it twitches deep in your cunt and then hot, thick spurts of cum flood your spent little hole, warm and sticky and so much.

You gasp, a whiny little "God, yes—" tumbling past your lips as your walls clench down around him, sucking every drop.

His whole body tightens with every slow, dragging spurt of cum—your pussy fluttering around him, sucking him in deep—and you keep moving, pushing back in tiny, shaky little rolls of your hips, fucking him sloppily through it, milking him for everything he's got.

"Jesus—" he hisses between his teeth, hips giving a few messy, uneven thrusts before he finally empties the last pulse inside you.

And when he eases his finger out of your ass, slow and careful, you shudder all over, whimpering.

"Shhh, doll," Jason murmurs, leaning over your back, his mouth finding your sweaty skin in soft, soothing kisses. "It's okay. Breathe for me, yeah?"

You nod, cheek squished against the couch cushions because Christ, you can barely hold yourself up—body limp, legs trembling, everything hot and heavy and soaked. And he stays there with you, wrapping his arms around your middle, his lips brushing over your shoulder, your spine, anywhere he can reach, soft kisses pressed into every inch of damp skin while his palm rubs your side.

"Good girl," he whispers, voice soft against your skin.

You whimper, soft and breathy when his dick twitches inside you, your body giving a little involuntary shudder and Jason hums, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before he slowly pulls out.

You moan at the feeling, wrecked and overstimulated, your pussy fluttering around nothing. Jason lets out a soft, breathless chuckle behind you.

"Don't do that, doll," he murmurs, giving your hip a gentle squeeze. "Or I might fuck you again."

"Don't even joke right now," you mumble, your voice hoarse and so, so wrecked.

He huffs a soft laugh and then flops down on the couch beside you, big arms reaching for you, easing you into his side with a gentleness that makes your heart clench. He tugs you right against him, hooking one of your shaky legs over his hip, his palm splaying warm and steady over your thigh.

You bury your face against his chest, nuzzling into the warm skin there as you try to shift your leg off him, murmuring, "Jay, I'm dripping..."

And you are. You can feel it. His cum, thick and warm, leaking slow from your sore, fucked out pussy, sticky between your thighs.

Jason snorts, "Yeah, well, I don't give a fuck, baby. We'll wash up."

His hand slides up your back, rubbing soft, slow circles between your shoulder blades. "Just relax for me."

You do. Little by little, your body melts against his as he keeps holding you close, kissing your damp hair, your cheek, the soft skin of your temple, his thumb rubbing soothing strokes over your spine while your heart finally starts to slow.

You can't help the way your thoughts spin, soft and hazy, floating on that warm, fucked out high. Because God, this side of Jason? The soft, tender, sweet aftercare, the way he holds you? You love it so fucking much.

You hadn't expected this when you first got together. Like, you'd figured he'd be good in bed just from the way he'd kiss you, figured he'd wreck you six ways from Sunday. But this? The way he takes care of you after? The kisses, the soft touches, the whispered praises while he helps you come back down? You didn't think he'd have it in him. But fuck, does he ever.

You're still shivering. A little from the way he fucked you open, your body wrecked and overstimulated, and a little from the chill hanging in the air now that the sweat is cooling on your skin but Jason clocks it instantly.

He doesn't even give you a chance to blink before he's shifting under you, one strong arm wrapping around your waist as he hauls you right on top of him, chest to chest, your legs falling limp around his sides.

"Jay—" you squeak, breath catching in your throat, giggling when your weight settles on him.

You're basically a rag doll at this point, and even if you wanted to fight him on it... yeah, that's not happening.

You manage a weak little swat at his chest, your palm making a soft thud against his damp skin. "God, you're impossible."

But you don't move. Fuck, you melt against him, burying your face right into the warm crook of his neck because well... it's Jason. Human furnace. Walking radiator. His arms are snug around you, broad chest rising and falling beneath yours, heart beating steady like a drum.

Your pussy is still dripping, a slow, sticky slide between your thighs, but you don't care, and he sure as hell doesn't either.

Jason huffs a soft breath, his arms tightening just a little, his hand splayed across your spine. "I love you so fuckin' much, pretty girl," he mumbles against your temple. "You're fuckin' perfect, you know that?"

You hum against his skin, brushing your nose along the line of his neck before tilting your head up just enough to catch his eyes and a soft, cheeky smile tugs at your lips. "You literally said I'm a pain in your ass this morning."

Jason snorts. Real, genuine. His chest shakes with it as his hand glides up your back. "Nah, I was just teasin', baby."

He ducks his head a little, lips pressing against your forehead. "You're perfect."

And the way he looks at you—eyes soft and open, the faintest curve of a smile on his lips—God, it's like you hung the fucking stars in his sky.

You can't help it. The giggle bubbles right up out of you. And Jason's heart? Shit, it fucking stumbles because this is everything to him. You, soft and smiling in his arms after he's spent himself inside you, still trembling a little but safe, his. He can't get over it. Can't get over you.

The way you trust him with your body, your heart, the way you laugh like that? He's so gone for you it's not even funny. You shift against him, a lazy little scoot that drags your slick skin over his, until you're close enough to reach his lips. And without even thinking, you lean in, pressing soft, sleepy kisses right over that stupidly pretty mouth of his. Just a soft brush at first, barely there.

Jason blinks down at you, eyebrows lifting, mouth twitching at the corners, trying so hard to look unimpressed. That lazy, cocky drawl slips out, rough around the edges.

"Fucked you that good, huh?"

You nod, lips still ghosting over his, and your soft little giggle is muffled against his mouth. You don't even try to deny it, why would you? You know what you sound like. Wrecked, floaty, breathless.

He huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head. "You little shit."

But his hand comes up, big and warm at the back of your head, fingers sliding into your hair and when he pulls you back down, his mouth meets yours in a kiss that's nothing like the teasing.

It's deep. Hot. His lips move slow, but there's nothing soft about it, nothing casual about the way his tongue brushes against yours, slick and hungry, dragging a quiet moan from your throat before he swallows it down His tongue brushes against yours, a smooth, wet glide that makes you shudder all over again and your pussy, traitorous as ever, throbs.

God. You can feel your walls clenching around nothing, raw and slick, a slow, aching pulse right between your legs. You don't even care how sloppy it gets. The wet glide of your lips, the little sounds of your mouths working together, his soft groans when you suck on his tongue, your needy whimpers when he tilts his head and deepens it until you can't even tell where your breath ends and his begins.

You kiss like that for minutes. Long, drawn out, open mouthed kisses that leave you dizzy and boneless in his arms, your legs limp around his waist, your hips squirming without meaning to when his other hand slides down and grips your ass, big palm squeezing hard enough to make you whimper.

Your sweaty skin sticks where you press together, slick thighs half spread over his hips, your chest pressed against his warm, steady heartbeat. You finally break the kiss with a little gasp, your lips tingling, both of you breathing hard like you'd just run a mile instead of making out like horny teenagers on your couch.

You barely manage a soft, breathless, "Love you, Jay."

Jason doesn't even hesitate. He leans in, presses the lightest kiss to the tip of your nose—so fucking soft, like you aren't both a sweaty, fucked out mess on the couch—and murmurs, "Love you too, doll."

You smush your cheek right against his, nuzzling in like some sleepy cat while your arms drape lazily around his shoulders.

"Ready to go clean up?" he asks, voice low, lips brushing your temple.

You let out a pitiful little whine. "Nooo..." you stretch the word out, all soft and pouty, barely moving. "I'm tired..."

Jason lets out a quiet snort. "I'll carry you."

You nuzzle deeper into the curve of his neck like a stubborn little gremlin, mumbling, "Nooo..."

He huffs and smacks your ass with a firm slap that makes you squeak. "We're sticky as fuck, baby."

You pout against his skin, voice all sleepy and dramatic. "Don't care."

Jason scoffs. "Yeah, you absolutely do, pretty girl."

His hand slides up your spine, rubbing slow, soothing circles like that'll make you move somehow.

You let out a soft little huff, your lips still pressed against his jaw, and mumble, "Maybe..."

He shakes his head, biting back a grin. "Alright. Five more minutes, then I'm scoopin' your cute ass up and haulin' you straight into the shower. Yeah?"

You hum against him, all soft and small. "Yeah, okay."

He sits there, holding you close while your body melts against his—bare skin sticky with sweat and cum, hair damp, your soft little breaths warming his throat—and he feels it again. That quiet, bone deep thud in his chest because sometimes? He still can't believe it.

Can't believe you're this soft with him. This clingy and sweet and trusting, curling up in his arms and rubbing your cheek against his. And he never thought he'd have this, never thought he'd let himself want it in the first place, really. This messy, domestic, heart aching more he'd always told himself wasn't in the cards for a guy like him. But here he is.

Jason Todd. Sitting on a pink ass couch he didn't pick with the prettiest girl he's ever known sprawled on top of him like some warm, sleepy kitten while he rubs your back and breathes you in and feels his chest go all soft and stupid over how fucking much he loves you.

And maybe that shouldn't surprise him after everything. After all the shit he's been through—dying, for fuck's sake, coming back and crawling his way through hell and heartbreak and fights he never really won. After walking away from Bruce, from everything he thought he was supposed to be.

He really figured he'd be on his own for a good while. Not forever, but long enough that this? A girl who loves him like you do? Who calls him Jay, kisses the tip of his nose like he's worth something, falls asleep half draped over him since the first night you spent together? Yeah, he never fucking thought he'd have that.

Not until you came along—soft, stubborn, sweet as hell—and wrecked every single wall he built without even trying. Your stomach picks that moment to let out the loudest, most pathetic growl and Jason huffs a laugh right against your temple.

"Okay," he snorts, pressing a kiss there, "I think that's our cue for cleanin' up, baby."

But you just let out a soft, miserable whine and mumble, "But 'm comfy..." all pitiful, nose still nuzzled into his neck like you've got no bones left in your body.

He chuckles under his breath. "Don't be a brat," he says all fond even as his hand comes down in a playful smack against your ass that makes you squeak.

And before you can protest any more, he's already shifting under you, dragging both of you upright on the couch.

You cling, of course. Arms around his neck, legs around his waist, your soaked pussy pressed right up against his abs as you bury your face against his shoulder with a sleepy little groan. And God, Jason swears under his breath because you're still fucking dripping on him, but does he care? Not even a little.

If anything, his big hands cup your ass even tighter as he stands, hauling you up with him, carrying you around while you're leaking cum down his stomach.

"Jesus, doll," he murmurs with a crooked grin as you hang onto him like a sleepy, clingy little monkey, "you're real committed to this whole limp noodle thing, huh?"

You hum against his neck, arms tightening around him and he huffs, heading straight for the bathroom with you wrapped around him, flipping the light on with his elbow, maneuvering around like he's done it a hundred times before.

When he finally tries to set you down so he can reach for the shower, you just whimper and cling tighter, legs squeezing around his waist.

Jason groans, amused. "You gonna make me wrestle you off, doll?"

Your answer? A sleepy little shake of your head as you smush your face against his neck again.

He lets out a low hum as he waits for the water to warm, shifting just enough to bury his face in your hair, arms full of you, one hand firm under your ass, holding you steady against him. And yeah, maybe he could be a little shit right now. Maybe he should be teasing you for clinging to him, but instead, his other hand just rubs slow circles up and down your back.

Because no matter how much Jason likes to act like he's all gruff and mean, you've got him so fucking soft for you it's honestly embarrassing. You sigh against his neck, nuzzling in, and he just holds you closer.

After a minute, when the steam starts slowly curling up around both of you, Jason reaches out with his free hand and checks the water with his knuckles. Warm enough.

"C'mon, pretty girl," he murmurs, giving your ass a gentle squeeze.

"Okay," you mumble softly.

He sets you down carefully in the shower, hands lingering on your waist as you wobble a little on unsteady legs before stepping in right behind you, arms slipping around you again.

"You okay, baby?" he murmurs against your temple.

"Yeah," you hum, leaning back into him, letting him hold you up.

"How's your throat?"

Your shoulders lift in a tiny shrug. You're still a little floaty—warm, wrung out, and sore in all the right places—and you're honestly not even sure how your throat feels right now, but you have to admit that it's kind of sore. And he knows it.

"I'm gonna make you some tea after this, yeah?" he says as his hands smooth over your stomach, big palms rubbing gentle circles over your skin.

You nod sleepily.

"Good girl," he praises under his breath, letting one hand linger on your belly while the other reaches for the body wash, keeping you tucked against him as you stand there, still a little shaky on your feet.

Jason works slow, steady, hands smoothing over your skin with that quiet, unhurried care that always makes your chest ache a little. He starts with your shoulders, massaging soft circles into your skin as he works the body wash into a light lather. Every so often, he dips his head and presses a sweet, warm kiss to your shoulder, your nape, the side of your neck, little soft touches that have your eyes fluttering shut, your muscles going loose under his hands.

"You're so fuckin' good for me," he murmurs, that low voice that's meant just for you.

You make a tiny sound, swaying a little on your feet again and Jason can't help the soft chuckle that rumbles low in his chest when your stomach lets out another grumble.

You squint over your shoulder at him, trying for a glare but ruining it with a wide, sleepy yawn.

He smirks, all soft teasing. "You tryin' to tell me somethin', pretty girl?"

"Shut up," you mumble, leaning back into his chest anyway.

And God, he fucking loves this. He keeps his hands gentle, working over your arms, down your sides, rinsing you off slow. Then he reaches for the shampoo, getting a little in his palm before carefully working it through your hair, his fingers massaging your scalp with this ridiculous, feather light touch that has your knees damn near buckling.

And it hits you again like it always fucking does. For a guy built like a walking brick wall, with hands big enough to snap a man in half, Jason's hands are always so fucking gentle with you. And maybe you should be used to it by now, but you're not, and neither is he.

Because while he washes you, Jason is watching every little twitch of your body against his, every soft sigh you let out, every sleepy little sway and all he can think is fuck.

This life you've built together? The late mornings, the soft kisses, the dumb arguments over who burned the damn toast, the fucking and the sweet aftercare and the way you crawl into his lap like you belong there? He wouldn't trade a goddamn second of it.

You cling to him like you always do, arms around his waist, cheek pressed against his chest while the warm water rinses the last of the soap suds off both your bodies. You press lazy kisses to his skin, right over his heart, and Jason huffs a soft laugh, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head.

"Real fuckin' clingy today, huh?" he teases, but he kisses the top of your head anyway.

You hum, nosing at his chest. "Mmhmm."

When the water finally cools, he reaches around you to shut it off, steps out first, grabbing a thick towel off the rack before holding it open. You blink at him, all soft and sleepy, and he smiles.

"C'mere, pretty girl."

You shuffle forward, and the second your feet hit the mat, he's wrapping you up tight, tucking you in like a warm little burrito. Then he grabs another towel, slinging it low around his waist before taking your hand.

You toddle after him, your damp feet making soft sounds against the floor as he leads you back into the bedroom. The big towel swamps your frame, your brows pinched in sleepy little furrows and your lips stuck in a soft pout, and Jason has to bite back a laugh.

God, you look so fucking cute like this. He gives your hand a little squeeze before letting go, walking over to the closet. You plop down on the edge of the bed with a soft huff, the towel still bundled around you while you watch him pull out a pair of panties, some fluffy socks, and one of his old t-shirts, the faded black one you always steal.

He tugs on a pair of boxers, glancing back at you when he turns around just in time to see you sitting there like the sleepiest little thing alive, bundled and pouting, blinking slow like a worn out kitten and his chest fucking squeezes.

He crosses the room, drops down to his knees in front of you, and presses a soft kiss to your knees before he starts unwrapping the towel.

"Stop lookin' at me like that," he mutters, all fake gruff. "You're gonna kill me, doll."

You giggle, kicking your legs a little as he dries you off gently, moving slow like you'll break if he's too rough. Once you're dry, he slips the socks on your feet, smoothing his hands up your calves before standing up again.

"Arms up, baby."

You lift them—barely—and he snorts, tugging the oversized shirt down over your head, letting it fall soft and cozy over your body before helping you into the panties.

"Perfect," he says, leaning down to kiss your temple. "Come on, let's feed your gremlin ass."

You trail after him to the kitchen, shuffling your feet, wearing his damn t-shirt like it's armor. And of course, the second you get there, he spins, grabs your hips, and hauls you right up onto the counter.

"Jesus, Jason!" you squeak, grabbing at his shoulders. "Why are you like this?"

He quirks a brow, all smug as he steps in between your legs, hands sliding slow over your bare thighs. "Like what?"

You huff, giving him the best scowl you can muster right now. "Stupid."

His grin pulls wide, and it's pure trouble. "That so?"

And before you can open your mouth to fire back, his hand tips your chin up, his thumb brushing soft over your jaw as he leans in slow, mouth ghosting over yours, just barely there until you let out a tiny, involuntary gasp. That's all it takes.

His mouth slants over yours, hot and hungry. His tongue pushes past your lips, claiming, licking into you like he's got every right and you don't even fucking fight it. You melt, arms sliding up around his shoulders, fingers curling into his hair as he kisses you deep, mouths moving messy against each other, your soft little moans swallowed right up.

You don't even realize how close your bodies are until you feel it. That slow, lazy grind of his hips, his dick getting hard again. You whimper, your thighs squeezing instinctively around his waist when the swollen head of his dick presses against your sore, aching pussy. The fabric drags right over your clit and you whine, trying not to melt on the counter even though you're wrung out and boneless.

"Jay—" you pant, breaking the kiss, your forehead resting against his.

"What?" he says all innocent, eyes sparkling like the bastard he is.

"You're such a fucking problem," you breathe, trying to glare but failing because your thighs are twitching and your cheeks are flushed.

You open your mouth—ready to tell him off, ready with something sharp—but you don't even get the chance before he bites the tip of your nose. Gentle, but still enough to make you yelp.

"Jason!"

And he's already pulling back, laughing under his breath as he adjusts his half hard dick through his boxers and strolls toward the fridge like nothing happened.

"Now you're just an asshole," you mutter, rubbing your nose with a pout.

"Yep," he tosses over his shoulder, already pulling out leftovers like he didn't just kiss you stupid and grind against your wrecked pussy.

He moves around the kitchen with way too much efficiency for a man who just fucked the soul out of you not half an hour ago. You watch him with your arms crossed over your chest, still sitting on the counter like the world's poutiest little menace, and every time his eyes flick your way, you hold his gaze, giving him your best scowl, but it only makes him huff a laugh under his breath.

He grabs a wooden board from the cabinet, starts piling on slices of ham and a few hunks of that fancy cheese you like. Not that he'd admit it, but he knows the brand by heart now. Cuts up some apples, tosses on a handful of grapes, throws in some sliced cucumber and those mini peppers you always snack on. He digs out your favorite crackers from the back of the cabinet, the ones he may have called "cardboard ass health crap" the first time you bought them, and now he stocks them like it's his personal mission.

While the water heats on the stove, he keeps sneaking glances at you—your pouty little self, sitting there with your legs swinging, bottom lip jutting out, your damp messy hair falling into your eyes like some pissed off kitten.

God, you're a menace sometimes. Always have been. But you're his menace, so he never complains.

He makes your tea, stirs in the honey and a splash of milk the way you like it, sets it aside to cool and without a word, he crosses back to you. You blink when his arms slide under your thighs and around your back, lifting you right off the counter with ease.

"Baby—"

"Uh-uh," he hums, pressing a warm kiss right to your forehead. "Don't even start with me, pretty girl."

You go soft in his arms instantly, arms sneaking around his neck as you nuzzle your face into the side of his throat with a little huff. He carries you straight to the couch, sitting you down carefully before snagging the blanket off the backrest and wrapping it snug around your shoulders.

"Stay put," he murmurs, tapping your nose.

And before you can get all bratty again, he's already headed back to the kitchen. Jason comes back with the plate and your tea, settling down beside you. You don't even have to move, he tugs you right up against his side with a little grunt, drapes his arm over your shoulders, and shifts you half into his lap until you're practically blanketed by his big ass body.

"Alright, c'mere," he murmurs, nudging your head to rest on his shoulder. He presses a kiss into your temple, voice dropping low and soft. "C'mon, baby. Drink for me."

You roll your eyes because of course he makes even tea sound like an order, but you lift the mug anyway, sipping slow. The second the warm liquid hits your throat, you melt with a soft, grateful hum.

Jason grins, smug as hell. "Yeah, that's my good girl."

You nudge his side with your elbow, and he chuckles, grabbing a slice of apple from the plate and holding it out for you. You take a bite right from his fingers with a little mhm, chewing happily while he just watches you.

And of course, because he's him, "Y'know," he drawls, casual as can be, "you got real fuckin' loud when I had my finger up your ass earlier."

You nearly choke on your tea. "Jason!"

He snorts, all shameless, watching you sputter as your face goes up in flames. "What? Thought you liked it, baby."

"I did—" you hiss, swatting at his chest with the hand not holding your mug, "—now shut the fuck up and feed me."

He snorts again, all teeth and smug grin, and gives your thigh a little squeeze. "Brat."

But he still grabs a cracker, tops it with some cheese and ham, and holds it up for you and you take it happily, chewing with a satisfied little smile like the spoiled girl you are.

By the time an hour rolls by, the board is picked clean, your tea mug is empty on the coffee table, and you're deadweight against his chest, your soft little breaths puffing against his neck while your arms stay tucked tight around his middle.

Jason glances down at you with a quiet little huff, adjusting the blanket so it's snug around your shoulders. You barely even stir, except to nuzzle closer, one leg hitched over his like you're trying to fuse into him. Christ.

He shifts, grabbing the remote with his free hand and flicking through whatever trash is on this late—some dumbass reality show with more bleeped out words than actual dialogue—but his mind is a million miles away.

He groans under his breath, scrubbing a hand over his face as his dick gives a familiar, very inconvenient throb against the soft cotton of his boxers because he can't get the sight of you out of his head: hands gripping the couch like your life depended on it, hips arching back, your voice wrecked and all needy as he fucked you open. The way you'd sobbed his name, begged him not to stop.

He sighs, eyes dropping back down to you.

And you're just... out. Completely gone. Mouth slightly open, already drooling on his chest and somehow, still the cutest fucking thing he's ever seen. His.

“I'm taking you home,” his voice is still tight but it's much softer than when he had been talking to Bruce.

“Okay,” you mumble  and let him wrap an arm around you as he pulls out his grapple. Your arms instinctually wrap around his neck and you get a glance of the Batman slumped with regret.

You don't blame Bruce. Everything He said was true. You knew the risks of the job. You just couldn't understand why Jason was so agitated about the matter. You were hardly even hurt.

It doesn't take long to get to your apartment building. Jason lets you shimmy the window open and slip in before he follows, closing and locking it behind him. He tugs his mask from his face and lets it drop to the ground.

You're about to ask him what the issue was but he's pulling you to the bathroom. A squeak escapes you when he picks you up and sets you on the bathroom counter. He doesn't even react beyond his jaw ticking as he pulls out your first aid kit.

“Jason, I'm fine,” you say gently. He pauses but ultimately ignores your words. You wince at the antiseptic against the cut on your cheek and you watch his jaw clench again.

“What's wrong?” You finally ask rather than try to placate whatever mood he was in. 

Jason scoffs, “what's wrong? What's wrong? You're hurt and you could've died all under Batman's divine code.”

“It's a scrap, Jason,” you huff, “trust me, I've had a lot worse.”

Jason's hands settle on the counter on either side of your hips. You can tell he's biting his tongue and you wish he would just yell at you about being reckless. At least you'd know what he was upset about. 

Instead he goes back to your cut, rubbing a healing ointment across it. You wait, thinking he'll say something, anything but you should know better than to expect that much. 

“Jason,” your stern now and his angry eyes meet yours, “you cut that man's hand off.” It's a statement but the question lingers in the air. Why?

“He touched you,” he starts and you jump in.

“He didn't do anything.”

“He hit you,” he adds and you open your mouth but he talks over you, “he hurt you and he shouldn't have. He deserved to lose that hand.”

“You can drop the act,” you tell him, “you don't have to play at protective boyfriend anymore. No one's around.” You say it like a reminder in case he forgot.

“That's not what this is about,” he grumbles, pushing off the counter to lean against the wall across from you. 

“Then what else could it be about?”

“He shouldn't have touched you,” he reiterated and you want to rip your hair out.

“So what? That shouldn't matter to you. It was part of the job. Shit happens and you make do.” you retort

“You don't get it do you?” Jason's voice suddenly sounds small and it tamps down your brewing anger though not entirely.

“Don’t do this, Jason,” you press a hand to your injury free cheek.

“Do what?” He sounds nearly as defeated as you feel.

“This.” You gesture between you two, “like what we have going on is reason for you to act out brashly. You didn’t have to cut off his hand, don’t use me as your reason to get violent. Our relationship is contractual. It isn’t real.”

“You really are a piece of work, aren’t you?” He scoffs at you before stepping back into your space, cornering you where you're sitting on the counter. 

You're about to bite back but then he’s kissing you. Your eyes widen at the suddenness of it. It wasn’t new, you two had kissed before, all for show of course. This was different. He pulls back and looks you in the eye, hand cradling your jaw.

“Tell me if that wasn’t real.” His voice sits between a goad and a plea. It nearly makes you sick. You shake your head and pull his hand from your face.

“Don't do this, Jason,” you push him away from you and slide off the counter, “I don’t know what's wrong with you but I don’t want any part of it.” You complain as you leave the bathroom and head for your bedroom. Jason follows close behind and you can still feel the residual anger lingering off of him.

“Nothing’s wrong. Maybe I just want to be honest with you.” You outwardly scoff at the notion while you pull more comfortable clothes out for yourself. 

“Just because what we have started as a deal doesn’t mean it’s not real,” he continues to argues.

“Bullshit,” you mutter under your breath. 

You feel agitated with the conversation, with what he's trying to do. It hurts more than anything. He corners you against the dresser when you turn around. You glare up at him.

“Maybe,” he shrugs, “don't you want to find out.” 

There's a beat of silence as you stare at each other, you in agitation and him in cocky question. 

He was right, part of you wondered what it would be like if what you had was real, if you could easily cross an intimate barrier without it messing up your life.

You grab at the collar of his kevlar vest and pull him forward, pressing your lips to his.

“I'm upset,” you pull back to say before pressing back into him with heat. He takes what you give him and returns it, kissing you back hard. 

His hand returns to its early spot on your jaw, tipping your head to deepen the kiss. His other hand curls around your waist to tug you against his body. He pulls back panting against your lips.

“And I'm angry. What about it?”

“What?” You forgot what you said, what had even happened. All you could think about was Jason kissing you the way he was and how he stopped. 

He grins down at you and tugs softly at a strand of hair, “going dumb on me already, babe?”

“No,” you blink at him and remember that you were upset with him, “you shouldn’t call people dumb, Jason. It's mean.” 

“Mean? I think you like it when I get mean,” his head dips into the crook of your neck and you're thankful for it or else he would've seen the flush on your cheeks at the way he clocked you.

Your gratitude is short lived as he starts pressing soft, sweet kisses to your neck. A hard contrast for the way you two had been kissing previously.

“Think you like it when I tell people off, tell them they can't touch what's mine. You like when I hurt them for doing it  anyways.” 

You shiver at the words pressed into your skin and your body slumps slightly. You can feel the hard press of his armor against you and you feel him slowly hardening up in his pants. 

His knee works its way between your legs, prying them apart and he presses up. The hem of your short dress rises with it, revealing more of your thighs. His hand moves from your waist to the meat of your hip, pressing you down on his leg.

Your breath catches and your head tips back. His kissing moves down the column of your throat. When he meets the junction of your neck, he starts sucking a bruise, teething lightly at the area. A quiet sigh leaves you at the pressure.

“You're not upset with me. Right, sweetheart?” He mumbles against your skin.

You try to blink away the haze that was starting to cover your mind. You could not be this easy.

“Just because I like it doesn't make you my boyfriend.” Your words tip into a gasp as his canine digs more into your skin.

He finally pulls back to give you a predator-like grin, “no, of course not. But you want me to fuck you like I am?”

“I don't want you to do anything like your my boyfriend.” You scoff, “cause you're not actually my boyfriend.”

“Semantics,” he shakes his head at you, “So what? You want me to fuck you like a stranger then? Use you the way I want, yeah?”

You gap at his crude way he speaks but your thighs press against his and your hips shift on their own. He openly laughs at you, a dark thing that makes your body want to grind down on the thigh neutrally placed between your legs.

“Oh, I should've known,” he says lowly as his hand moves from your jaw to press against your collar, thumb swiping across your throat like a threat, or a promise, “pretty little thing like you would be a slut.”

You flush in an instant, body warming and you can feel yourself clench around nothing.

“You're such a jerk,” you say weakly before tugging him back to kiss you. It's soft like the kisses to your neck and his hands are no longer pushing or pressing. You feel confused about it.

“On your knees,” he says when he pulls back and you're startled by the demand. He must sense your surprise because his hands leave you to hover instead and his voice neutralizes, “unless you don't want to.”

You squint at him over the remark, over his actions. You were so confused. Was he angry or just horny? was he trying make this real relationship or did he want to fuck and be done?

“Jason,” you steady yourself as you say his name and his leg slips from between yours. You keep a hand on him so he doesn't bolt.

“What do you want? And please be honest with me. If you're angry with Bruce, the universe or whatever and you're trying to blow off steam, that's fine but I need you to tell me if that's what this is.”

“It's not and it is,” he starts.

“Jason,” you say his name in scold. His hands come up to hold at your arms, bordering the line between gentle and harsh.

“Let me finish, okay?” You nod in concession and he continues, “I am angry and I do wanna blow off steam but I don't actually want to just use you, sweetheart. I care about you, you hear me?”

You can hear the vulnerability in his voice, the way he wants you to understand, and you can hear the residual anger on the edge of it. You want to ask about it because you still don't know what he’s upset about. But he’s got you all worked up now.

“Don’t leave,” you tell him, “in the morning or when we're done. We have to talk about this, us. Okay?”

He hesitates and a look of surprise crosses his face, like he didn't think you would okay any of this. He nods, “Okay.”

“Promise me, Jason Todd.” 

“I promise I won’t disappear,” he confirms.

“Good,” you murmur. Your hands grab his and you drag them back to where they had been before, “I like when you touch me and I like when you're a little mean. It’s okay.”

“Yeah?” He steps back close, his hands pressing firmly. You nod as he leans back in and kisses you again. It starts soft, a thank you without words but it doesn't take long for it to amp back up, tongues sliding against each other. His hand at your hips slips down to palm at your ass, pressing you against him and dragging your dress up slightly. He groans, teeth nipping at your bottom lip as he pulls away from you. He gives you a meaningful look and you tilt your head at it in question.

“On your knees,” he repeats his earlier words. He watches you instead of asking if you were okay with it this time. You smile at him and watch him visibly relax. 

You nod and slowly sink down, back dragging slightly against the dresser, until you're face to face with the swelling bulge in his pants. You look up and, boy, is that a sight.

Jason stares down at you, eyes previously filled with anger slowly being filled with lust. His hands grip at the top of the dresser like he's trying to stabilize himself.

You stare at him and stare at him. He doesn't say anything, no further instruction beyond, getting on your knees. You know there's an implication of what he wants you to do, your eye level with the thing, but really he should be clearer.

You spread your knees wider and wider til they hit the edge of his boots. He finally blinks, eyes dropping to your spread legs but he still doesn't say anything. 

You press your hands into your thighs, slowly dragging up. One hand moves up to your stomach and then to your boob. You squeeze at it lightly.

Your other hand slips between your legs. You palm at your own cunt and then let your fingers find your clit over the fabric of your panties. 

You make a show of it, head tipping back against the dress, back arching and your hips shifting forward against your hand. You let out a sigh and close your eyes, hoping that'll goad him. You lose yourself in it for a moment, enjoying the feeling. 

You freeze at the hand wrapping around your throat, nothing tight but enough that you notice. You open your eyes to find Jason squatting in front of you.

“You're such a brat,” he murmurs and it has you pressing down on your clit, another sigh leaving you.

“Am not,” you complain as his free hand pulls your hand from between your legs. He squeezes a little more at your throat and you pout at him instead of saying more. 

With no more commentary from you he lets go of you and stands. He starts undoing his pants. As you watch, you let your hand. slip back between your legs.

“Don’t,” he snaps sternly and your hand pauses before it can make a landing anywhere, “hands behind your back, sweetheart. Can't trust you not to touch when you're not supposed to.”

“But-” 

“Come on, be a good little brat for me and listen. If I need to punish you, I'm going to make it hurt." His words are dark and heavy and you remind yourself that he was angry. It makes your tummy flutter anyway. You listen to him, arms moving behind your back. You still pout though.

He finishes undoing his pants and then tugs them done enough for him to pull his cock out. He squeezes at the base of it and strokes up, a spurt of precum leaking out. He was thick and you could already feel the ache in your jaw. 

He steps forward, trapping you back against the dresser again, towering over you. He lightly taps the pink tip of him against your lips.

“You know what I want. Be good for me, yeah?” 

You slip your tongue out slightly from your lips to lick at the tip of him, the salty taste spreading there. You hear him take a shaky breath, hips shifting forward slightly. 

You let him push in past your lips, mouth opening wide. You close your eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of him in your mouth. A hand combs through your hair gently and he slowly uses it to pin your head against the dresser. You open your eyes and look up at him, mouth full of him.

“There she is. Enjoying yourself?” He asks. You hum at the question. He moans quietly and slips more into your mouth. You can feel him just on the edge of your throat and you fight the urge to gag.

“Then suck. You're wet and warm but I need a little something more than that.” He tells you, hand tightening your hair before releasing entirely. He pulls back until only the tip of his cock sits in your mouth. 

You tighten  your lips around him and do as he asked , sucking and hollowing your cheeks. You bob your head slightly with the motion.

“Shit, that's it,” he mumbles and you're not too sure he's talking to you. You peek up to watch him. His hand holds the dresser tightly again. His other hand, you realize, hovers by your head. Your eyes track his face as you sink more of him into your mouth. 

You watch him bite down on his lips, feel the twitch of his hips. Everything held back. You’d pout about it if you could. You hum around him again and his hips jump forward.

You can't fight the suddenness of it and you gag as he presses into your mouth. Your hands leave your back to clamp down on his thighs. He pulls out of your mouth and you gasp, swallowing down the gag sensation. 

“Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to.” Jason rushes out his hand slips to cradle your jaw tipping your head up, “you okay?”

You wipe at the drool on your chin and blink back the wetness in your tear line, “I'm okay, just startled me.” 

“I'm really sorry,” Jason repeats and you laugh because only Jason Todd would apologize after you willingly sucked him off.

“Jason, I'm okay, really. I kind of liked it, I think.” His thumb that was stroking at your cheek stops and you flush at your own admittance. It was true. You had felt it low in your belly, cunt clenching at the intrusion to your throat.

“You're insane,” he mutters under his breath and you would've believed he felt that way if you didn't watch his dick twitch at your words. 

“I'm being vulnerable with you and you call me insane. I can't believe you,” you playfully scoff. 

He rolls his eyes, “still a brat.”

“I'm not a -” a startled noise leaves you as he suddenly picks you up off the ground and over his shoulder. You yelp when he smacks a firm hand against your ass.

“You are a brat,” he drops you on the bed with a bounce. He leans toward your face, noses nearly touching, “a cute one though.” 

You lean the slightest bit forward waiting for a kiss but then he pulls away. You press forward more, trying to follow him and he pushes you back with a hand to your shoulder. He grins at you as he does so, a salacious thing that makes you squirm.

“Do me a favor, sweetheart, take your clothes off.” He tells you. He pauses for a moment and you nod. He moves to finally take off all of his gear. Instead of listening, you watch as piece by piece, the Red Hood disappears and you stare at Jason Todd. 

It's as he pushes down his pants, now entirely naked for your viewing pleasure that he turns to you, still fully clothed. 

“I know you're a bad listener sometimes but this is starting to get excessive.” He chides.

“You didn't kiss me and I just wanted to watch. You're so hot, Jason.” It's Jason's turn to blush. The sensual red on his cheeks turns to an embarrassed flush creeping up his ears and down his chest.

Instead of saying anything, he steps forward to kiss you where you sit on the bed. A pleased hum leaves you as you kiss him back in spite of the odd arch of your neck. 

His hands land on your shoulders and slide down your arms. He pauses the kiss to tug you to stand. You let one hand press against his scarred chest and the other slips up and into his hair, pulling him back in for a kiss.

The kiss warms you as does his wandering hands, down you body, squeezing at your waist and you ass again. Then they move down to the hem of your dress. He smooths up, hands pressing intentional at the skin underneath. He breaks the kiss to pull the slip like fabric off of you and then he takes a step back.

“Lace?” he asks as he eyes you. You shift on your feet suddenly understanding the way his skin flushed when you stared. 

“It was a nightclub dress, so I wore nightclub underwear.” You mumble. 

“Nightclub underwear? What does that mean?” He laughs under his breath and makes you reach to smack at his arm.

He grabs your hand before it makes an impact and uses it to spin you around and press you against him. You can feel his cock pressing against the lace on your bum.

“Is it because you wore a slutty dress so you have to wear slutty underwear too?” He breaths into your ear as he presses a firm hand to your belly to make it easier for him to grind against you. His other hand presses against your ribs just under your bra.

“It's not slutty underwear, Jay.” You try to complain but the mass of his arms and hands around you make it hard for the words to be stable. 

“Not slutty,” he scoffs. His hand from your rib moves up and pinches at the lace and the skin underneath, “I can see right through it.” 

Your breath hitches at the pinch, chest arching just slightly. Your head tips back to lay against his shoulder. He takes the opportunity to mouth at the skin of your neck. His fingers halt their pinching and his entire hand squeezes at your boob. 

“It's okay, sweetheart. Makes it easy to sneak a peek.” He breathes against your skin. His hand on your low belly slips down under the waistband Of you underwear. 

You wrap your hand around his wrist, not pushing or pulling, just holding onto something. His hand slips lower, skimming over your clit to press his finger into your folds.

“Baby, I haven't even touched you and you’re already wet. Choking on dick really got you going, huh?” he chuckles against your ear.

“Shut up,” you whine out as his finger gather slick and presses it against your clit. He moves in slow circles. His hand that was groping at your tit slips under the lace to pinch at your nipple and you twitch in his hold.

“Oh, that was threatening,” he condescendingly coos at you. His foot slips between your legs and kicks them wider.

“What're you-” you cut your self off as he slips his finger down and up into your cunt, you clench around it.

“Gotta get you ready, sweetheart,” he kisses at your cheek and you jaw a gently thing that doesn't match the way his finger fucks up into you, “don't want to hurt you when I finally sink into you.”

Your hand tightens around his wrist as he presses a second thick finger in with his other and the rest of you sags against his chest at the stretch.

“You'd probably be into that, though,” his hand moves to your other boob, pinching hard at the nipple hidden under the lace and you wished he would just take your bra off. 

“Why do- do you think that?” You manage out, breath panting. 

“Wouldn't you like to know.” The teasing tone makes you giggle in spite of the way he has you and you can feel him smile against your neck. His hands slow, no longer pinching at your nipple, hand gently pressing against your chest instead. 

“I like the way you laugh,” he murmurs and presses a gentle kiss to your neck and you think he's not so angry anymore.

“You literally have your fingers stuffed inside of me.” You say lightly and you grind down slightly against his hand and inadvertently against his cock pressed against you. He whimpers and presses his nose to your neck where he had previously kissed. 

“Can't I just compliment you?” He mumbles as his fingers slip from your cunt. You clench at the emptiness. 

“Thought you were fucking me like a stranger cause a pretty little thing like me would be a slut,” you repeat his earlier words using quotation marks with one hand. 

“Jesus, what did I get into with you?” He mutters and you go to laugh again. It dies in your throat when he pushes your top half forward. you catch yourself with your hands before you face plant into the bed. 

He tugs down your underwear and you press your thighs together at the sudden exposure of your sex. Jason clicks his tongue. His hands press into the skin of your ass and he uses his thumbs to spread your lower lips. 

“Don't get shy now, sweetheart.” he tells you darkly. 

You wish you could see him but the low lighting in the room makes it hard no matter how you crane your neck. A gasp leaves you suddenly at drip of warm wetness slipping down your cunt.

 One of his hand leaves your ass and you feel his head of his cock press into you. He swipes across your cunt and to your clit, spreading your slick around. Your fingers tightening into the comforter and you attempt to wiggle your hips back against him. His other hand finally leaves your ass to hold at your hip, stalling your shifting.

“Easy, babe. I'm getting there.” You open your mouth to tell him off because now he's just teasing you. 

A choked gasp leaves your parted lips instead as he presses just the head of him into your cunt.  A groan leaves him as he pushes in more only to pull all the way back out again. the thumb of the hand holding your hip presses soothing circles into your skin. 

He presses his chest against your back when he leans into your ear, “gotta relax, sweetheart. Let me in.” He kisses at your shoulder as he stands back up again. 

He notches his cock at your entrance and pushes the slightest bit in again. His free hand slips under your hip and presses light circles into your clit. You sigh at the touch and the stretch as he pushes more and more into you. 

“That's it. Your doing good,” he mumbles, “my sweet girl doing such a good job.” His praises have you squeezing your eyes shut . 

It’s when he gives your clit a particularly harsh swipe and he slides in completely, his hips pressed to your ass, that your arms give and you face plant entirely. A hiss escapes you and your body tenses at the sudden pain from your injured cheek hitting fabric. Jason stops all of his movement.

“What's wrong?” He asks as he pulls back  and you gather in your mind that he thinks he’s hurt you, pressed into you too quickly. You manage to turn your head to your uninjured cheek and bring a hand up to his at your hip.

“I'm fine!” your words come out in a mewling sound due to the feeling of him sliding out of you. You puff out a breath of air, “please don't pull out, Jason. It was just my cheek. I laid on the wrong one.” You manage to explain and he stills his moving, nearly completely out of you.

“Shit, I thought I hurt you sweetheart.” He breathes out and you can hear the worry in his tone.

“No, it's just- well your so fucking thick. arms gave out.” You admit. His hands tighten again and he pushes all the back into you, splitting you open. You claw at the blanket and whimper at the fullness of him.

He leans back over you again and you swear you can feel him even deeper. Your body can't decide if it wants to press back against him more or crawl away, hips twitching at the pressure.

“Sorry, baby,” he kisses your neck and shoulder, “I should've accommodated for you.”

You only have the wits to mumble out, “huh?” before he’s pulling back up and taking you with him. His hand presses at your chest below your throat like he had before, back arching from how he holds you. His other hand stays at your clit, rubbing at it lightly. The new arch of your back, the stretch of him and the press of his fingers has you moaning quietly.

He pulls out of you barely and uses the leverage he has on you to fuck back into you. You cry out and, with nothing to hold on to, your hands latch on to his forearms. He repeats it over and over, strokes pressed into you harder and harder.

The air smells of sex, your bodies sweaty and you feel slick making a mess of your thighs. You can hear Jason, quiet against the back of your shoulder, moaning and mumbling things you can’t make out.

A broiling heat grows low in your belly. You press your hand down Jason's forearm to meet his fingers pressing against your clit. You feel him hum against your skin as you move his fingers the way you want them.

“Stuffed full of cock and still a brat about getting what you want,” he says weakly pressing his forehead against the back of your neck. You can tell he's trying to keep up his facade of anger and possessiveness but falls flat. 

His hand slides, intentional or not, you're unsure, up from your chest to your throat holding you there. Your cunt clenches around him and you feel his thrusts stutter. 

“Fuck,” he drags his nose up the back of your neck, “need you to touch yourself, please. Touch those pretty tit's for me.” You can’t tell if it's a request or a demand but how were you supposed to argue with that, especially when his hand tightens lightly around your throat in a way that makes you keen.

You keep your hand pressed to his at you clit but drop the other to your breast, dragging the lace cup down and squeezing at it. As you move to pinch at your nipple, Jason sinks his teeth into the meat of your shoulder, harder enough to bruise your skin. It stings but it tips you over the edge you hadn’t realized you were teetering on.

A gasped moan escapes you at the suddenness of it. Your entire body tightens, your cunt, your hands, and your knees give out . You're sure if Jason hadn’t already had his hands on you, you would have collapsed. Jason doesn’t stop thrusting into you, doesn't stop stroking your clit despite the way you claw at his hand. It’s only when you start twitching, body jerk against his touch that he lets up.

He stills to a stop inside you, still thick and pulsing. His hands ease from sensitive areas to gently lower you down on the bed. It’s only once he's pulled out and is gently manhandling onto your back that you hear him speaking to you.

“You're okay, sweetheart. Did so good. Came so pretty. Could listen to your sounds all the time…” and he keeps going, sweet nothings whispered against your skin as you settle onto the bed, bra quickly discarded.

His hands massage your body, mostly at your hips where you can still the imprint of his hand gripping you. It's when he sits back on his knees,  to apparently inspect you based on how he’s looking, that you notice that he’s still hard.

“Jason?” You say, reaching a hand for him, even though you feel like a wet noodle. He takes your hand and playfully swings your hand back and forth. You barely have the energy to laugh at childish motion.

“You’re still- you can keep going,” you breathe out because while you can barely feel your legs you'd happily let him sink back into you just to feel the stretch, “if you want to, of course.” You add quietly, splaying your legs slightly. His eyes dropped to your heated center between your legs and you think he gets distracted though you don't have to be a mind reader when his cock does the talking for him.

He shifts, hands gently pushing your legs wider before meeting your eye, “You're sure?” 

You nod at his concern, pressing yourself more into the bed and closing your eyes. You feel him move again to hover over you, the heat of his skin radiating into yours. You feel him guide himself back in and push in slowly. A weak sound leaves you and your hips twitch but your body eases into the stretch much easier the second time around. 

Hips pressed together, you wait for him to move, to get himself off so you two can go to sleep. He surprises you instead, pressing tender kisses to your cheek. He stays there, soft and slow, pulling away just a breath to move lower to the edge of your lips. One of his hands gently drags your knee to sit on his hip and he caresses your thigh from there. 

His hips finally move and instead of a dragging thrust like you expected he just grinds against you, his pelvic bone pressing against your clit. Your back arches at the sensation, hands grappling for his shoulders. His kisses move to the junction of your jaw and your neck, still soft.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your ear before he continues kissing your skin like you're something precious. You twitch with each grind his hips, cunt fluttering at sensation as he presses his weight atop, burying his face into your neck.

“So close, baby, so good .” You barely hear as his grinds turn into short thrusts. Your nails digging into his shoulders while his kisses against your skin turn wet and sloppy.

He gives one finally thrust back into you and moans, his hands dimpling into your skin. You feel the warmth of him seeping into you as he settles atop you, a steady weight.

You slump as he stops moving the stimulation ceasing. You feel hazy but not lost. You can feel Jason, warm and heavy on top of you. It grounds you in a way you hadn't anticipated.

The hands that you had scratched at his back and shoulders with slides into his hair, twirling the sweaty locks between your fingers while you listen to his breath, slow and steady.

Your mind drops at the warm soft atmosphere, a sleepiness creeping into your mind. You would probably fall asleep if Jason wasn't starting to become uncomfortably heavy in his position atop you and still inside of you.

“Jason?” You voice weakly as you card your hands through his hair. You feel more than hear his hum against the skin of your collar.

“Too much?” You say it like a statement and a question rolled into one, unsure if that's the phrase you're looking for. Your hips ached from where they were pinned open by him and you feel a seated stickiness where you two meet.

He shifts up in his forearms to look down at you. You wish this was yours all the time. That Jason wouldn't get so lost in his own turmoil and just say what he wanted to say to you.

“Did I go too far?” He asks, “I didn't hurt you, did i?” 

You lazily smile at his worried tone, “I feel great. Just couldn't breath and sticky.”

He blinks down at you and you wait for the salacious comment you're sure he's going to make. You wait for his crooked smirk and ego that you hate to admit your into sometimes.

He surprises you, leaning down and pressing the softest, sweetest kiss you think you've ever received to your lips. Once, twice, three  times before he's moving backwards, cock sliding out of you. 

You whine, thighs twitching at the emptiness that follows. You can feel yourself clenching at the feeling, can feel the ooze of his cum leaving you. It makes you fluster despite the way he had you a few minutes prior.

Jason kisses at the skin of your rib, lower than you thought he'd be with your eyes closed and then kisses at your hip. Your thighs twitching closed at his southward movement.

“Easy, babe,” he says, keeping your knees apart. You feel his fingers slip through your folds collecting the leaking fluid only to bring them up to your clit. Your whole body jerks at the sensation, too much and not enough all at once.

“Jason,” you whimper in complaint and he just coos at you, rubbing circles into your clit til your panting again. An edge of warmth works its way up your spin and you dig your hands into the sheets.

You make the mistake of opening your eyes to look at him again expecting a cocky grin at how easily he's working you back up.

It's not there. No, instead you find something near reverent as he stares at you and it makes you squirm more than his hands on you. You close your eyes again and throw your arm over them for good measure to hide from his affectionate gaze. 

He takes it as a challenge, wiping up more cum to press against your clit. It has you keening, hips pressing up against his hand. His lips return to your skin moving back up to your breasts. He breathes across your nipple and your back arches, chasing him.

“Jay, please,” you beg as you feel your orgasm creep closer and closer. You feel it then, the barest hint of that stupid smirk against your skin. He envelops your nipple with his mouth, free hand coming to grasp at your other breast.  

He sucks lightly and you feel your legs begin to shake. He presses harder against your clit and his teeth make an appearance, skimming your nipple. You gasp a choked cry from your throat as your body curls in on itself and away from the stimulation as you cum, stars shining in your eyes.

Jason eases his touching, pressing kisses to your skin wherever he could reach, “sorry, just need another from you. Did so good, you sound so pretty.”

You shiver at his affection, a harsh change from the way the evening had started but you don't hate it. The warmth of him leaves and you don't have it in you to open your eyes or move your arm.

It's after a minute of silence and finally coming back down from your high that you gather yourself. Your body aches as you sit up to look around the dark room. 

“Jason?” Your voice sounds a little hoarse and entirely too weak for your liking. 

“Jason?” You try again, stronger, as you pull your sheets to cover your rapidly cooling body.

 A heaviness settles over your body. Maybe Jason hadn't meant what he said. Maybe he just wanted sex to cool his anger and be done. Maybe he didn't keep his promises. 

Your thoughts pause when you hear movement through the open doorway. Your eyes make out the shape of Jason In the dim, a hunched over look that you knew he got when he felt out of place. Something you were used to seeing when the bats gather as civilians.

He pauses at the edge of your bed once he sees you. His flickered down to your now covered body. 

“I, uh, i got a bath running for you, unless you want to just sleep or you know it's whatever.” He stumbles over his words and the sudden nervousness of Jason Todd makes you laugh. Like he hadn't just dicked you down ten minutes ago.

“A bath would be nice,” you say after you watch his features droop a little from your laughing, “I don't think I can walk though. Need a big strong man to carry me.” You flop back on the bed, wincing at the pressure of your thighs.

“That's pretty anti feminist of you,” he playfully chides as he pulls the sheet from your body and tucks his arms under you.

You gawk at him as he lifts you up. A startled laugh leaves you, “what?”

He laughs at your reaction, fingers digging playfully at your ribs where he holds you.

“I'm kidding, sweetheart,” he noses at your hair and presses a kiss there. You're starting to like this quiet affection from Jason. Not a show for anyone else but the both of you.

It's only once he's eased you into the still filling tub and stepped back that you realize he's found his boxers.

“You're not going to join me?” you ask timidly, eyeing him. He smiles at you and squats down, pushing your sweaty hair from your face and tucking it behind your ear. 

“Bathtubs a little small, don't you think?” Your eyes close at the touch of his hand but you pout at his words.

“You really gonna let that stop you?” You goad and slide an eye open to see if you've tempted him enough. He catches you and grins, cheeks dimpling.

“Well when you put it like that.” He rolls his eyes but complies with your request. 

You slide forward in the tub as he steps out of his boxers and sits in the water behind you. You promptly turn off the water spout, not needing more with Jason's added body mass. 

Jason's wet hand creeps up your spin and you take it as a sign to settle back against his chest between his thighs. His knees sit above the water on either side of you and you use them as an armrest as you settle your head against his clavicle.

One of his hands settles on the edge of the tub and the other, against your belly, massaging the skin lightly. You close your eyes enjoying the warmth, the steam and Jason.

“Are you still angry?” You ask, remembering the drastic change from the beginning of the evening versus now. His hand pauses on your skin but his fingers tap like he's thinking.

“I wasn't angry,” he admits quietly, “I was scared.” He stops there and you don't push. You'd have to talk about it either now or in the morning.

After a moment of silence, he continues, “I was scared you'd get hurt or worse and you'd never know…” he trails off and you take his hand at your stomach squeezing at his fingers.

“It's okay, I know. You don't fake the way you look at me, Jason.” You tell him, you tip your head to the side trying to meet his eye. He squeezes your fingers back and brings his other hand up to cradle your jaw. 

“That's a cheap shot.”

You snort at the comment, “I don't fake the way I look at you either.” You press up to kiss where you can at his jaw.

“Oh really? You like me or something?” He teases hands shifting to hug you. He tips his head to kiss your forehead. 

“Don't be mean to me,” you breathe and it makes his arms tighten.

“I thought you liked that.” He coos against your skin.

“Not right now, handsome. Be sweet to me” you murmur, eyes sliding shut. 

His thumb presses into your shoulder, rubbing soothingly, “okay, sweetheart, I can do that too.”

****

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