#pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeeee

you’d told him to stay still, to be good, and fuck if he isn’t trying. his thighs tremble under your touch, muscles taut as you drag your nails down them, slow and teasing, before circling back to his cock. it’s thick and heavy in your hand, leaking against your palm, the tip flushed an angry red. you swipe your thumb over it, smearing precum, and he chokes, hips jerking off the couch before he forces them back down.

“fuck—fuck,” he grits out, head tipping back, throat working around a swallow. his chest heaves, sweat-slick in the dim light, and you can’t resist leaning down to lick a stripe up his length, slow and filthy. his groan is wrecked, hands fisting the cushions so hard the fabric threatens to tear.

“look at you,” you murmur, lips brushing the sensitive spot just beneath the head. “so pretty like this. all mine.”

he whimpers, high and desperate, and you can see the way his resolve cracks—the way his fingers twitch like he wants to grab you, to shove you down and take what he needs. but he doesn’t. he just takes it, lets you tease him until his legs shake and his breath comes in short, punched-out gasps.

you don’t let up. you swirl your tongue around the tip, tasting salt and heat, before sinking down, down, until his cock hits the back of your throat. his hips jerk, a strangled “shit—!” tearing from his lips, and you pull off just to watch him unravel a little more.

“please,” he begs, voice ragged, fingers twitching like he’s aching to touch. “c’mon, baby, i’ve been good—fuck, i’ve been so good—”

you hum, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock, stroking slow. “yeah? you wanna come?”

he nods frantically, lashes fluttering, and you can feel how close he is—the way his thighs tense, the way his stomach clenches. but you don’t give it to him. not yet.

instead, you lean in, pressing a kiss to the inside of his thigh, and whisper, “then beg for it.”

“please,” he whines, hips jerking up into your touch, but you tighten your grip just enough to still him. his breath comes in short, sharp gasps, fingers twisting in the fabric of the couch like he’s holding himself back from grabbing you. “fuck—please, sweetheart, i need it—need you—”

you drag your tongue over the head of his cock, slow, teasing, and he chokes, back arching off the couch. “god, please—i can’t—please let me come,” he sobs, voice cracking, and you can see the way his chest heaves, the way his abs tremble with the effort of holding back.

“such a pretty mess for me,” you murmur, kissing the tip before pulling away entirely, watching the way his face crumples in desperation. “c’mon, jay. one more time.”

he sobs out a laugh, ragged and wrecked, but his voice is nothing but raw need when he whispers, “please, baby—i’ll do anything, anything, just—fuck—let me come—”

and who are you to deny him when he asks so nicely?

you finally take pity on him, wrapping your pretty lips around his cock and sinking down in one smooth motion, taking him all the way to the back of your throat. his back arches off the couch, a broken cry tearing from his throat as his hands fly to your hair—not pushing, not forcing, just holding, like he’s scared you’ll disappear and leave him in such a state. his thighs tremble under your palms, muscles taut as bowstrings, and you can feel the way his stomach clenches, the way his breath comes in ragged, punched-out gasps.

“gonna—fuck—” his warning is slurred, voice thick with pleasure, but you don’t pull away. you hum around him instead, the vibration wringing a choked-off sob from his chest, and swallow him down until his thighs shake and his grip turns desperate, fingers twisting in your hair. his hips jerk up involuntarily, seeking more, always more, but you press him down with a hand on his stomach, keeping him pinned to the couch as you work him over with slow, filthy drags of your tongue.

he’s babbling now, curses and pleas spilling from his lips in a wrecked stream—“please, please, oh god, fuck—”—and you can taste the salt-bitter precum on your tongue, feel the way his cock twitches against it, so close. his abs flex under your palm, his whole body coiled tight like a spring, and when you hollow your cheeks and suck just right, his fingers tighten almost painfully in your hair, his voice cracking around your name as he spills down your throat with a shuddering groan.

you milk him through it, tongue pressing flat against the underside of his cock, swallowing every last drop until he’s whimpering, oversensitive and boneless against the cushions, his chest heaving like he’s just run a mile. you don’t stop until he’s tugging weakly at your hair, until his breath is coming in ragged gasps and his legs are twitching with the aftershocks. and when you finally pull off with a soft pop, his dazed, half-lidded gaze meets yours—full of something awed and reverent, like you were the one who had hung up the stars in the night sky. his hand reaches for you, clumsy and shaking, thumb brushing your swollen lips like he can’t believe you’re real.

“c’mere,” he mumbles, voice wrecked, tugging you up his body until you’re straddling his waist. his arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against him, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck with a shuddering sigh. his lips are warm where they press against your skin, lazy and open-mouthed, like he’s trying to kiss you without moving an inch.

“love you,” he slurs, half-delirious, fingers tracing idle patterns on your back. “fuck, love you so much.”

you laugh, soft and fond, carding your fingers through his sweat-damp hair. “i know, jay.”

he nips at your collarbone in retaliation, but there’s no heat behind it—just the quiet, contented rumble of a man who’s been thoroughly ruined. and when you shift to kiss him, slow and sweet, he melts into it like he’s got no bones left, like you’ve unraveled him down to his very core.

his breath is warm against your lips when he murmurs, “you’re never lettin’ me live this down, are you?”

you grin, biting his bottom lip just to hear him whine. “not a chance, my love.” jason swore he was in heaven for a second.

(´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

jason was everywhere.

big, warm palms sliding up your thighs, calloused fingers tracing the dip of your waist, his touch burning through the thin fabric of your clothes. he’s relentless in the best way—mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, teeth scraping just enough to make you shiver.

it hadn’t even been an hour since your little rendezvous on the couch, but now the two of you were tangled in bed, limbs woven together like you’d never known how to exist apart. his knee nudged between yours, his hips pressing down just enough to draw a whine from your throat.

"you took care of me earlier," he murmurs, forehead resting against yours, breath warm and uneven. "let me take care of you now."

his mouth finds your throat again, tongue dragging slow and wet over your pulse. you gasp, fingers twisting in his hair, tugging just to hear the way his breath hitches.

“jason—”

“yeah, sweetheart?” his voice is rough, wrecked already, lips brushing over your skin like he’s savoring the way you tremble for him. “tell me what you want.”

you don’t even know where to start. not when he’s looking at you like that—eyes dark, lashes fluttering, lips parted and glistening. not when his hands are so careful, so reverent, like you’re something fragile. something holy. the same hands that break bones and pull triggers, the same hands that caught you when you stumbled into his life years ago, the same hands that learned you like a scripture—each touch a whispered prayer, each scar a verse only they could trace.

“you,” you whisper, arching into him. “just you.”

he lets out a shaky breath, nose brushing against yours. “you got me. always.”

and then his mouth is on yours again, slow and deep, his tongue sliding against yours like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you. his hands slip under your shirt, thumbs brushing over your ribs, and you can feel the way his fingers tremble—like he’s holding back, like he’s afraid he’ll ruin you.

“jason,” you murmur against his lips, hands sliding down to grip his wrists. “i’m not gonna shatter.”

he huffs a laugh, but it’s breathless, uneven. “could’ve fooled me.”

you roll your eyes, but your heart stutters when he leans in, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. then your jaw. then your throat. each one lingering, tender, like he’s trying to map out every inch of you with just his lips. his. all his.

“seems like i'm not doing enough,” he mutters, playful, teeth grazing your collarbone. “what’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours?”

“just wonderin’ how the red hood got so good with his mouth,” you tease, gasping when he bites down in retaliation, his teeth sharp against your skin.

he pulls back just enough to smirk at you, all sharp edges and boyish arrogance. “years of practice, darlin’. (liar. it's only been a year.) and you—” his hand slides down your stomach, fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants, “—you’re my favorite subject.”

your breath catches. “flatterer.”

“nah,” he murmurs, kissing you again, slow and filthy. “just honest.”

his touch is deliberate, unhurried, like he’s got all the time in the world to learn you. to worship you. his hands are gentle when they push your shirt up, when his palms slide over your bare skin, warm and rough and perfect. you shiver, biting your lip when his thumb brushes over your nipple, the touch feather-light, teasing.

“so pretty,” he murmurs, voice low, worshipful. “fuck, look at you.”

you flush under his gaze, under the way his eyes drag over you like he’s starving. like he’s trying to memorize every beauty mark, every curve, every hitch of your breath. his mouth follows the path of his hands—lips pressing against your sternum, your ribs, the soft swell of your stomach. each kiss feels like a brand, like a promise.

“jason,” you whine, hips lifting off the bed when his teeth graze your hip bone.

“i got you,” he soothes, hands sliding under your thighs, pushing them apart just enough to settle between them. his breath is hot against your inner thigh. “just let me take care of you, yeah?”

you nod, fingers tightening in his hair, and then—

his mouth is on you, hot and wet and perfect, and you swear you see stars. he’s relentless, tongue working slow, then fast, like he’s savoring every sound you make. his hands grip your thighs, holding you open, and when you glance down, his eyes are locked on yours—dark, desperate, like he’s drowning in you.

“fuck,” you gasp, back arching off the bed. “jason, please—”

he hums, the vibration making you whimper, and then his fingers are there, pressing inside you, curling just right. your hips jerk, a broken moan tearing from your throat, and he groans against you like it’s the best sound he’s ever heard.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, lips brushing over you before sucking gently. “let go for me, baby. wanna feel you.”

you do.

your thighs tremble, your back bowing off the bed as you come, his name a prayer on your lips. he doesn’t stop—not until you’re squirming, oversensitive, hands pushing weakly at his shoulders.

when he finally pulls back, his lips are slick, his chin glistening with spit and you, and he looks so fucking proud of himself that you can’t help but laugh, breathless and giddy, your thighs still trembling where they bracket his hips.

“shut up,” he grumbles, but he’s grinning as he crawls up your body, pressing a sloppy kiss to your mouth. you can taste yourself on his tongue, and it should be gross, but it’s just—jason. yours.

his hands slide under your thighs, hitching them higher around his waist, fingers pressing into the soft flesh there like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight. the first brush of his cock against you has you both gasping—him in a sharp, punched-out exhale, you in a shuddering whimper that dissolves into his mouth. he’s hot, almost feverish where he nudges against you, and the drag of him is just shy of too much, too soon.

“fuck,” he breathes, forehead dropping to yours, his voice ragged with something like reverence. “you’re—shit, you’re really—”

you know what he means. you’re stretched, prepped, dripping for him, but the second he starts pushing in, it’s like lightning up your spine, white-hot and dizzying. his hips stutter, his fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave marks, and the stretch burns just right, just enough to make your toes curl. when he bottoms out, his entire body shudders, a broken noise catching in his throat like he’s the one being ruined. you both groan in unison, your nails scraping down his back as he presses in deeper, like he’s trying to carve out a space inside you and stay there forever.

“jesus,” he chokes, hips twitching like he’s already close. his lashes flutter, his mouth falling open, and you can feel him—thick, hot, right there—and it’s too much and not enough all at once.

you claw at his back, arching. “move, c’mon—please,”

he does, slow at first, dragging himself almost all the way out before sinking back in with a broken sigh. his kisses are messy, uncoordinated, lips dragging over your jaw, your throat, like he’s trying to map you by touch alone. “so good,” he mumbles against your skin, “fuck, you feel—fuuuck—”

but then his rhythm starts to falter, his thrusts turning uneven, and you can tell he’s holding back, his muscles coiled tight. you dig your heels into his ass, urging him deeper. “jason. please.”

something snaps.

one moment he’s gentle, almost sweet, and the next his hand is pinning your wrists to the bed, his hips slamming into yours with a force that punches the air from your lungs. you cry out, but he swallows the sound with a kiss, his tongue pushing past your lips as he fucks you into the mattress.

“that’s it,” he growls, his voice rough, wrecked. “take it, c’mon—taking me so well, wanted you like this, wanted to ruin you—”

you’re so close you can’t think, can’t breathe, his name spilling from your lips like a mantra. his pace is brutal now, the bed creaking, his sweat-slick skin sliding against yours. and when his hand tangles in your hair, giving it a firm tug, it’s over—you’re coming with a sob, your body clamping down around him, and he follows with a groan, his hips stuttering as he spills deep inside you.

for a second, all you hear is his ragged breathing, the way his heartbeat thunders against your chest. then he collapses on top of you, boneless, his lips brushing your shoulder. his weight is warm, grounding, and you wrap your arms around him, fingers tracing idle patterns down his spine. he shivers, pressing closer, his breath slow and uneven against your skin.

“...holy shit,” he mutters, voice rough and wrecked.

you laugh, weak and dazed, and he huffs against your skin, pressing one last kiss there. like a promise. like a secret. his fingers skim your side, tender now where they were desperate before, and you melt into him, sighing as his thumb brushes over your hipbone.

“stay,” you murmur, barely a whisper.

he doesn’t answer—just nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his exhale warm and steady. and really, he doesn’t need to. you already know.