A little heads up - smut, degration, praise, boobs, bottom jason todd, submissive jason todd, edging, crying, cuddling
It was like a dream dating Jason, really. He bought you flowers every week, was always ready to go out with you but if you preferred to stay home then that's what you did. He made really good food, had interesting hobbies, had general respect for everyone, and was just a gentleman through and through.
But these past weeks your relationship has turned. Your arguments are way more common. You keep worrying about him because he never answers his phone when he’s on patrol or texts you back when he promised you.
That’s exactly why you’re mad at each other right now. You made him promise to text you yesterday doing patrol right before you went to bed so you didn't have to worry, but of course he didn't text.
You could argue back and fourth about the topic forever.
“It was one text! You could type one little text saying, “I’m alright” or “goodnight” OR LITTERALY ANYTHING!
“I forgot, I already told you. I never use my phone on patrol, and I texted you when I got home”
“I was asleep! And it was 4am!”
You could'nt take this anymore, so you ran into your shared bedroom, closed the door and sat on the bed reading a book to get a break from the constant arguments.
Jason comes storming into the bedroom a little later, only letting out a small grunt when he sees you. But he doesn't say anything, he pauses for a second to look at you before opening the closet and pulling out a duffle bag.
And to your surprise he starts packing, packing all his things.
You stand up and walk over to him
“Jason! Where are you going?”
He doesn’t look at you, just keeps shoving clothes into the duffle with rough, angry movements. His jaw is clenched so tight it aches. Finally, after a beat of suffocating silence…
His voice is low. Flat. No emotion—but that's worse than yelling.
You gently touch his shoulder trying to get his attention.
“Why! Where are you going? When are you coming back!?”
For a second, he stops packing. His broad shoulders tense under your palm, and you can feel the coiled anger vibrating through him. But he still won’t turn around.
"...I don't know," he mutters, voice rougher now. "Not coming back tonight."
He yanks a black hoodie from the hanger and shoves it in with too much force, the zipper of the duffle groaning in protest.
Your eyes grow wide and sad, the amount of clothes he’s packing will last for weeks almost. You don’t want him to go for so long.
That name, Jay, hits him like a punch to the gut. He freezes, duffle half-zipped, one hand gripping the fabric so hard his knuckles bleach white.
Slowly, so slowly, he turns his head just enough to glimpse at you. Green eyes. Tired. Angry, but not at you, not really.
For a split second, something cracks in that hardened expression. The same boy who once cried when you kissed him after patrol comes through for a heartbeat.
"...We fight every damn day," he says quietly. "I'm tired."
You look at him with concerned eyes and gently touch his arm again.
“I know, I'm sorry… it's been hard for both of us, but you can’t just give up and leave... please don’t… I'm just so worried for you”
His breath hitches slightly when you touch his arm. That small, soft contact unravels something in him. The anger wavers.
He finally turns fully to face you, duffle forgotten on the floor between you. His eyes scan your face, the worry there, the love, and for a second… he looks lost.
"...I'm not giving up," he says quietly, voice less hard now. "I just... I can't do this right now."
A muscle ticks in his jaw as he fights himself, one part of him wants to walk out and disappear into Gotham's night like always when things get messy… and the other part who loves you so damn much it terrifies him. Actually, every part of Jason loves you more than anything in the entire world.
You pout as your eyes start to water and you avoid his face.
“Okay… Just... don’t get hurt, please...”
The second he sees your eyes glisten, something in his chest snaps
.
All the anger. The frustration. The urge to just leave and disappear—gone. Replaced by instant, crushing guilt.
Without a word, Jason closes the distance between you in one stride. His big hands come up, calloused from fighting, and cup your face gently, thumbs brushing away tears that haven’t even fallen yet.
"... Hey," he murmurs, voice suddenly so soft it doesn't sound like him at all. "No... no don’t cry."
He leans down and presses a firm kiss to your forehead, the kind of kiss that says 'I'm sorry' without words.
You start actually crying into his shirt and hugs him tight.
The second you collapse into him, sobbing into his chest, Jason's entire body softens. He wraps both arms around you—tight, so tight—like he's trying to shield you from the world or maybe from himself.
One hand cradles the back of your head while the other presses firmly between your shoulder blades, holding you flush against him. His shirt soaks up your tears almost instantly.
"...Shit," he whispers hoarsely. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry."
He kisses the top of your head over and over—a silent plea for forgiveness—and rocks slightly on his feet like a man trying to comfort someone he just broke.
Jason doesn't say anything else. He just holds you, breathing in the scent of your hair, feeling the weight of your sadness against his chest.
Minutes pass. The anger is gone, completely drained from him now. All that's left is regret and a deep, aching love for you.
Slowly… so carefully… he bends down and scoops you up into his arms like you weigh nothing, your legs dangling as he carries you toward the bed. Gently, so gently, as if handling something made of glass, he lays you down on the soft mattress.
He follows you, lying beside you on the bed without letting go. Still cradling you close, he pulls the blanket up with one hand and tucks it around your shoulders.
His lips find your temple again, soft kiss after soft kiss, as his other hand strokes slow circles on your back.
The duffle bag? Forgotten. The fight? Over—for now at least.
You hug him close, burying your face in his neck while whispering.
The words hit Jason like sunlight breaking through damn storm clouds.
His breath catches. His arms tighten around you, almost too tight, but he doesn’t care. He needs this. Needs to feel you close, real, loving him despite everything.
"...I love you too," he murmurs back, rough voice cracking on the words. "So damn much."
And then he kisses you. Not passionate or demanding, but slow and tender, a kiss full of apology and relief and all the things he couldn't say with anger still in his heart.
You’re kissing him back, deepening the kiss when his lips part and rolls you over so you can straddle his hips.
Jason lets out a quiet, surprised breath as you climb onto him, your weight pressing him gently into the mattress. The kiss deepens, hungry, tired and needy, like both of you are trying to pour every unsaid emotion into it.
His hands slide up your back under your shirt, warm and rough with calluses. One tangles in your hair while the other grips your hip, not pushing, not demanding, but holding on like an anchor.
You pulled back from the kiss to slip off your shirt, with completely nothing underneath, just free tits. The second your shirt comes off, Jason’s breath stops. His green eyes, already dark with emotion, dilate almost completely, swallowing all the color.
He stares at you like he hasn’t seen you in years, all soft skin and messy hair from crying, lips still slightly swollen from kissing.
A low growl rumbles in his chest, not aggressive, but hungry. Needy. That kind of hunger that only shows up when love and anger mix into something desperate and electric.
Without a word, he sits just enough to yank his own black t-shirt over his head and tosses it aside.
You smirk and run your fingers up and down his bare muscle and scar filled torso.
Jason shivers under your touch, actual, full-body shiver. The scars on his chest and stomach don’t bother him anymore, but the way you look at them? Like they’re part of something beautiful? That gets to him.
His breath hitches as your fingers skim over old bullet grazes, knife wounds, and the faint burn mark from Joker’s acid. Every scar tells a story, and you’re touching them like they mean nothing except him.
He grabs your hips suddenly and pulls you flush against his bare chest. Skin to skin now. A low groan escapes him as he leans in again for another kiss, hotter and needier this time.
You move his hands to cup your breasts as you grind on his growing bulge, moaning into his mouth..
Jason freezes for half a heartbeat when he feels your warm boobs in his hands, (not like he haven't already touched them at least a million times before). Then instinct kicks in.
His palms mold perfectly over you, warm and strong. Thumbs brush slow circles over your nipples, testing, teasing, as the kiss turns deeper, messier. Your moan vibrates into his mouth, and it sends fire straight through him.
He groans back against your lips as he feels you grind down on him. the friction making both of you gasp. One hand squeezes gently while the other trails up to tangle in your hair at the base of your neck.
Soon all your clothes are discarded and thrown onto the floor, completely forgotten and you’re hoovering right over his length, not sliding it in yet, wanting this moment to last, so instead of actually sliding it inside, you place it flat on his toned abdomen and sit on it like that, not giving him the friction he needs.
“You’re such a stupid boy, you know that? Keep getting me worried just to apologize and act like nothing ever happened”
You say as you gently glide across his cock still not letting it inside.
Jason’s beneath you, all bare muscle and scars, watching you with half-lidded eyes, dazed, worshipful. Every roll of your hips makes his breath stutter. He loves this, loves seeing you above him like this, strong and in control. Damn.
And the teasing? The “stupid boy”? That hits a nerve, but he knows damn well, it’s true.
A guilty smirk tugs at his lips. "Mmm… yeah," he admits between breaths, "I'm stupid." He leans up slightly, on his way to kiss your breast. Right as he’s millimeters away from your oh so beautiful tit, you push him back down on the mattress.
“You aren’t allowed to touch, jerk”
Jason’s eyes flash with surprise, and a spark of that playful dominance he usually never lets you suppress. But he obeys, of course he does. With zero resistance, he flops back onto the mattress like a scolded puppy, hands lifting in mock surrender. His biceps flex as his arms stretch out to the sides, palms up, totally at your mercy.
A cocky little smirk still plays on his lips though, because seeing you like this, completely in charge? He finds it hot as hell.
He watches you finally lining him up with your entrance, with darkening eyes, the kind of look that says "Go ahead. Punish me." But those dark eyes are quickly gone as they roll into the back of his head when he feels your warm walls surrounding him.
You still almost the second he’s fully inside you, not moving, and not giving him the pleasure he needs.
“This is part of your punishment for always making me worry my ass off, you bad, bad boy”
Jason whines, actually whines, like a deprived dog when you stop moving. His hips twitch up instinctively, chasing friction that isn’t there anymore.
But the second you call him a "bad boy"? Oh. That does something to him.
His jaw clenches, eyes going even darker, not angry, but guilty and turned on in equal measure. He hates making you worry, and he hates how much it turns him on that you're punishing him for it like this.
"Fuck..." he mutters under his breath, biting his lower lip.
Hands still obediently at his sides, but every muscle in his body is tense with restraint.
Jason’s chest rises and falls fast, not from exertion, but from pure tension. The air is thick with it, his body begging for movement, for touch, but he stays perfectly still under you.
You smile teasingly, clearly enjoying seeing him laying under you all bare and doing exactly as you tell him too, like the obedient man he his.
“Hmm… now apologize”
His lips part. That stubborn pride of his, the one that never backs down in fights or missions, is gone. Right now? He’s just a man who messed up and knows it.
"...I'm sorry," he says softly, voice rougher than usual. "For leaving like that... for making you cry."
A pause. Then he adds, "...For being a stupid boy."
He holds your gaze the whole time, no sarcasm, no smirk this time. Just raw sincerity.
Oh, how you’re enjoying this, you smile and run a finger up his chest to grab his chin, tilting it and making him look directly at you.
Your finger under his chin sends a shiver through him. Jason tilts his head up obediently, exposing the strong line of his jaw, the scar there from an old fight catching the dim bedroom light.
He looks up at you like a chastised god, all that power and muscle, but right now? Completely at your mercy. That rare vulnerability in his eyes the one only you ever get to see. A small, guilty pout forms on his lips. The "stupid boy" title is sticking, and weirdly enough? He doesn’t hate it coming from you.
You slowly begin to move again, very slow and not giving in to him completely yet, just little rolls of your hips that makes his breath hitch. Each slow, deliberate roll of your hips is torture. Teasing. A controlled burn instead of fire. His stomach tenses, his fingers curl into the sheets, fighting every instinct to grab you and take control back.
A low whine escapes him, practically a plea, but he doesn’t dare touch you without permission. That rule still holds strong in his mind even though every nerve in his body is screaming for more pressure, more speed…
His jaw clenches hard as sweat starts to glisten on his forehead from restraint. You tilt your head to the side when he lets out a high-pitched whine. You’re loving every second of his torment.
“What's wrong baby? Does my handsome boy need anything?”
The teasing tone, the “baby”, the "handsome boy", sends a jolt through him.
"Y-yeah," he admits in a strained voice, cracking on the word. "I need… you." A beat of silence, then he adds quietly, almost shyly "...Please?"
Red Hood, the man who shoots first and asks questions never, is begging like a good boy just for you to move a little more.
You study his expressions with a judgy face as you also look down his body, down his torso and down to where you’re connected.
“Need me to do what exactly? Use your words”
Jason swallows hard, throat bobbing. His chest rises fast, the muscles in his abs flexing as he breathes.
You’re studying him like a detective analyzing evidence, and it makes him want to squirm under your gaze.
"...I need you to move," he says hoarsely. "Faster."
He’s trying so damn hard to be good, to use words instead of just grabbing and taking, but every second is torture for someone as impulsive and action-driven as Jason Todd.
"...Wanna feel you... all of you."
You start moving again, faster while you smile teasingly.
The second you pick up speed, Jason’s eyes roll back, just slightly. A ragged, desperate moan tears from his throat as his hips jerk up on instinct, but he stops himself before actually bucking into you.
Hearing that, your sweet, teasing praise, sends a rush of warmth through him that mixes dangerously with the heat building low in his gut. He loves being called good by you. Loves you using him for your pleasure only.
He’s fascinated about how beautiful your tits looks right now, he always loves them, but right now they’re bouncing almost right in front of his face. He needs to touch them, so he looks at you with big puppy eyes.
You keep your steady pace as you notice him giving you big begging eyes.
Jason’s puppy eyes, actual, stupidly adorable puppy eyes, don’t match the rugged, scarred warrior beneath you. But right now? He looks like a big dumb dog who wants to lick your face and worship your chest.
"Can I… touch?" He breathes out, voice shaky with need. "Please? Just wanna hold ‘em..."
He lifts his hands slightly, not reaching yet, waiting for permission like the good boy he's trying so hard to be. His gaze flicks between your face and your bouncing breasts with pure longing.
The man who once punched Deathstroke in the throat without hesitation is begging to squeeze tits.
You chuckle and move his hands to your chest so they’re cupping your breasts.
The second his big hands are placed on your breasts, He sighs, like a man finally given water after days in the desert. His palms mold perfectly to you, warm and slightly calloused from years of fighting.
He squeezes gently at first, then with more confidence when he remembers how soft they are. A quiet groan escapes him as he starts to knead them slowly, reverently, thumbs brushing over your nipples.
His eyes stay locked on yours though, the intensity there is overwhelming, all the love and so so much damn arousal it's almost painful.
You smile and cup his face, running your thumb over his bottom lip.
“Good boy, letting me just use you, huh? You like this, hm?”
Jason’s lips part slightly under your thumb, warm breath ghosting over your skin. That praise again—"good boy"—makes his chest swell in a weird, fuzzy way that he’d never admit out loud.
He likes this? Oh, hell yes. Being used by you? Letting you take control after weeks of tension and fights? It feels like absolution and the hottest thing ever.
"Mmmh," he hums against your thumb before kissing it softly. "Love it… love being yours. Only yours"
Jason keeps his hands gently cupping your breasts, still kneading with slow, worshipful touches. But now that you're stroking his face, so tenderly, he leans into it like a cat. His lips brush your palm again and again between soft kisses. Each one is light, a contrast to the intensity of what’s happening below the waist where he's buried inside you.
The man who once shot six guys in a row without blinking is melting under affection from you. The Red Hood? Gone. Just Jason, the sweet, stupidly devoted boyfriend who lives for making you happy.
You keep riding him until he’s a whining mess with tears in his eyes. He’s completely unraveled, no cool, no control, just pure need. His hips twitch up uncontrollably with every one of your movements, chasing the friction he can’t get enough of.
"Fuck… fuck… Y/N," he whimpers, your name on his lips like a prayer. His hands are still on your chest but now they’re trembling slightly from how close he is.
"It feels so good… 'm’gonna—I need to cum. Please."
His voice cracks that last word, the big bad Red Hood begging for release. The tension in his body is coiled tight as a spring, his abs flexing hard beneath you as he fights not to lose it too soon.
And right before he reaches his high, you stop your movements completely.
“Hm, have you been good?”
Jason’s entire body freezes, eyes flying open in panic. The sudden stop is cruel. Torturous.
For a second, he just stares at you, lips parted, chest heaving, processing the evil smirk on your face. That look? Oh no.
"...I was," he says fast, voice strained. "So good. I didn’t touch anything without permission… I used my words...ngh…" he whimpers from pure need and swallows hard, his cock throbbing inside you from the lack of movement and the edge he's teetering on.
You move a little but not even close to what he needs to finish.
“What about our fight, you tried to leave?”
Jason’s breath hitches, because damn, you’re right. The fight. The packing. The storming in here like a jerk who didn’t wanna talk. He winces, guilt flashing across his face even as his body is screaming for friction.
"I messed up," he admits quickly, voice shaky. "I shouldn't have left… I was just mad and stupid and, I'm so so sorry."
"Please…" he whines again, "I’ll do anything—just let me cum."
You tilt your head to the side. You grab his chin and makes him look at you, he has tears running down his cheeks, from the edging and from the everything.
“Tell me why you deserve it, tell me why you’re a good boy”
He blinks fast, swallowing hard as you grip his chin and force him to meet your gaze. That intensity? He can’t look away even if he wanted to.
"I—I’m a good boy," he starts shakily, "‘cause I didn’t touch you without permision… ‘cause I used my words… 'cause I said sorry. And 'cause... all I wanna do is make you happy... even if it means waitin’ forever for this."
You coo at him and cup his face
“Aww my poor baby, wanting me to be happy, and desperately needing to cum, hm?”
Your cooing, soft, sweet, motherly, makes Jason completely unravel, he’s nothing but a sniffling mess in your hands. He leans into your touch like a starved puppy getting affection for the first time. That single tear isn’t from pain or frustration anymore it’s from how loved he feels right now.
"Mmmh," he whimpers pathetically, nodding fast against your palms.
"Yes… so bad… I need it so bad."
The desperation is written all over his face, the flush on his cheeks, the way his jaw trembles slightly.
You leaned down and kisses his nose, wipes his tears and places his hands on your hips as you started moving again.
“Go on then, cum like the good boy you are”
When you finally let him move again, placing his hands firmly on your hips like permission to really feel you that’s it. Game over..
A choked sob escapes him as he starts thrusting up into you with shaky, desperate rhythm. Not rough, never trying to hurt, but frantic, deep and full of years of love and anger all mixed together in this one moment.
"Y/N—I'm—I'm gonna cum," he gasps out between ragged breaths, eyes screwed shut as the orgasm crashes through him.
Jason's entire body locks, every muscle tensing as the orgasm rips through him. A guttural moan tears from his throat, loud and unrestrained, no cool guy act here, just pure ecstasy. Tears? Still there. But now they’re mixed with relief and overwhelming love for you.
He clings to your hips like a lifeline, breathing in sharp gasps, completely overwhelmed by how good it felt after being edged for so long, especially while getting praised by you.
"...Fuck," he whispers dazedly when it finally starts to fade.
You smile as you feel his cock throb inside of you.
“You did so good, cumming for me, my good boy”
kiss kiss kiss, all over his face.
Jason melts into the kisses, each one like a brand of affection. He’s still trembling slightly from the aftershocks, his body lax and warm beneath you.
Your praise? It hits him right in the heart. "My good boy." Three words that make him feel safer than any other person ever could make him feel.
He doesn’t say anything, just nuzzles into your neck, breathing you in. His arms slide around your waist weakly, pulling you down onto his chest as he recovers, wanting to keep you close now that everything's soft again.
A quiet sniffle escapes him, not sad, just… emotionally spent.
He rolls you over with gentle strength, not aggressive at all, and buries his face between your tits as you gasp at the sudden movement. His arms wrap around you in a tight, clingy embrace. He’s exhausted, emotionally drained from the fight, the sex and finally letting himself be completely vulnerable.
He then nods against your tits, not even trying to hide the tears anymore. They’re quiet ones, no sobs, just soft dampness on your skin as he nuzzles into you like a tired kitten.
A small kiss gets pressed to one of your nipples through instinct, affectionate rather than sexual now.
"M'fine," he mumbles, voice muffled by your chest.
You run your fingers through his hair still feeling him warm inside of you, knowing you have to clean it up later.
“Alright, but promise me to talk to me next time instead of just leaving again, or else you’ll end up in a similar situation, maybe even a longer edging session”
Jason lifts his head just enough to look at you, his eyes red, but serious now. Your fingers in his hair? Soothing. The threat? Very real but very hot.
He swallows hard, nodding fast. "I promise," he says quietly.
"Next time I'm pissed, I'll talk. Won't run off like an idiot again."
A pause. Then he adds softly, "...Want to cum..."
And then he kisses your collarbone, a small thank-you kiss for taking care of him despite everything before settling down between your boobs again, ready to fall asleep.
