“satoru gojo if you don’t shut up i am banning you from sex for an entire year.” ☆
satoru frowns against your neck, where he tries hopelessly to stifle his own moans. he’s spooning you in a tangled mess of limbs and bedsheets, almost pathetic in his attempt to restrain himself. he feels like a hormonal teenager all over again.
“you know,” he half-whispers, half-moans into your ear. “i don’t think he’d care all that much if he woke up. i think he’s in love with you actually, i’d probably get to watch nanami kento beg on his knees to join us. ohh i like that idea actually, we should wake him—ah!”
you don’t know how else to quieten him down, so you reach behind you to pinch his side. all it does, really, is make him yelp and drive his cock even deeper into you, which makes you moan in turn.
you and satoru hadn’t had sex in so long, what with missions taking up so much time and the threat of societal collapse being somewhat of a libido-inhibitor. so when your joint mission with nanami ran over, and the higher-ups put you in a shared hotel room, satoru took opportunity as it struck. and you didn’t stop him.
now he’s balls deep inside of you as you lay facing the sculpted back of kento nanami. he’s laying with his back to you, breathing evenly in his sleep—each breath he takes pronounces the muscles of his back beneath the thin grey sleeping shirt he’s wearing. it does more to you than it should.
“you’re so fucking wet,” satoru whispers in your ear as his pace quickens. “what—you like this or something? being fucked five feet from nanami like this? hell, i like it. like showing you off. i'm like... sticking it to the man right now, babe.”
“he’s not even awake,” your eyes roll back as his tip brushes mean against your g-spot. satoru teases you with an open mouthed kiss to your neck, and then nips at the same spot.
"you sure, pretty?" he practically coos. "i think he's fighting for his fucking life right now. he was breathing like a monk until i mentioned him joining us."
you narrow your eyes at the sleeping man on the other bed. he's stilled and silent and obnoxiously toned and you swear you're getting wetter by the second and you also swear gojo can feel it because he's grinning against your shoulder like a fucking lunatic. you're about to brush him off, defend your coworker and friend and tell satoru to hurry up and make you cum so you can sleep when you see it: nanami shifts his hips.
it's so small of a movement that you might have imagined it, but you're too busy imagining how hard he must be to have to readjust like that. what must be going through his mind... listening to the two of you fuck like you're trying to get over something. he's either torturing himself with want right now or drafting up a letter to the higher ups in his head. maybe both.
"he's either awake," satoru reaches down and lifts your leg a little to reach sweet new depths inside of you. "or having the nastiest wet dream of his life."
something churns in your stomach, apprehension if you were a better person, and you part your lips to tell satoru to stop being an ass, but what comes out instead is a breathy moan so desperate it makes both men stiffen.
and nanami exhales. loudly. not in the sleeping man sense, this is choked out and heavy with something you don't dare name.
"oh nanamin," satoru sing-songs. "if you're going to cum in your boxers, come here and do it with a better view."
“satoru—” you hiss, mortified, melting at the same time, “stop—”
divine intervention is the only explanation. you must have some serious karma point stacked up and pocketed for a rainy day because, just as your breath hitches again, kento nanami is sitting up and planting his feet on the floor, eyes set dead on the two of you.
his pyjama pants are tight. when you let your gaze fall from his messy hair to the complete and visible outline of his hard cock, you think your heart stops. this is unseemly, and unprofessional, and everything that could be considered inappropriate. and if kento decides to walk out and complain, you and satoru are fucked, special grade status be damned.
“…you’re both ridiculous,” he says flatly, voice sandpapered. "this is wrong. abhorrent. foul."
he sounds exhausted. morally affronted. except his dick is so hard it must hurt and his eyes haven't once left where satoru's cock disappears inside of you. his gaze is heavy on you like a second set of hands. it's ungodly. you feel blasphemous, like maybe if nanami just looks at you a little longer you'd cum from that alone.
satoru thrusts deeper into you, but speaks to nanami. "you're hard."
"and you're loud." nanami exhales slowly, like he's giving himself a full ten-count to resist the urge to murder or run or maybe both. then he stands, finally meets your eyes, and softens his gaze a little. "you want this?"
your body answers for you, hips rolling back and pushing yourself deeper on satoru's cock. your thigh trembles where gojo holds it up and your voice comes out breathless and wrecked. "yes."
satoru groans, of course, and makes a show of squeezing one of your boobs in his hand. nanami doesn’t even look at him. doesn’t need to. his attention is all on you now, laser-focused and reverent like you’re a fucking sacrament. he reaches for your jaw, guiding your face up until your lips part just from the force of his presence.
“good,” he murmurs. “because i’m going to fuck you, both of you, until i can think straight again—and if i have to hear your voice even once during it, satoru, i will be gagging you."
your heart-eyed boyfriend cums inside of you at the implication alone.
and that is how you end up on your hands and knees in a twin hotel room in the dead hours of the night. kento nanami fucks his cum back inside of you for the second time that night, fingers digging so tightly into the fat of your ass that you don't doubt satoru will be teasings the marks left behind for days to come.
you splay your fingers over your boyfriends thighs, which is the only touch he's been granted since cumming inside of you. you stare up at him, he's got lidded eyes and this desperate look on his face as he watches nanami fuck you from behind, each thrust pushing your face just that little bit closer to his painfully hard cock.
though he can't complain, not with nanami's tie rolled up and stuck between his teeth. he tries, though, guttural moans and half-discernible pleads for more can hardly be heard over the sound of flesh hitting flesh.
nanami is girthier than satoru, stretches you out in a way you haven't felt in forever. you feel a little guilty for the volume at which you moan and beg for more, but satoru doesn't seem to be taking it to heart.
you don't know why you never thought of satoru as a cuck. oddly, he's the type. still, that pretty look of desperation on his face is enough to have you squeezing around nanami's fat cock.
"tell gojo how you feel," nanami says lowly, and though you can't see him, you're sure he's eyeing your boyfriend something smug. "now. go."
"feel good," you try, but a sour taste lingers on your tongue at your lack of truth. no, you don't just feel good. "i feel dirty, but in a good way. feel like you're... fuck, seeing a part of me i couldn't show you otherwise. and i... i feel so fucking full."
there's no exaggerating just how full you feel. the curve of nanami's cock inside of you reaches points that gojo would otherwise miss. you think that, if you were to somehow manage both of them inside of you at the same time, that you'd never ever be able to cum without the pairing again.
at your words, gojo groans around nanami's rolled-up tie. he jolts his hips up, tries desperately for any sort of stimulation, and squeezes his eyes shut in desperation when it doesn't work.
nanami, however, only speeds up. his hips are brutal as they piston into you, and he reaches around to find your clit with the tips of his fingers. the electricity of your umpteenth orgasm of the night courses through you, and you're right on the edge when gojo breaks and fists his cock, stroking maniacally.
he grins around the tie, thinking he's gotten away with his bid for release, until nanami slows down his thrusts and stops circling your clit entirely.
"if you don't stop, she won't get to cum."
what the fuck? your eyes widen, and you're about to retort when gojo does it for you. spitting the now drool-covered tie from his mouth and whining like a bitch. "come ooonn, i need something."
"hands off, or i stop."
unfortunately for you, gojo weighs the merits of jerking off to the sight of you being denied like this, but he must decide your wrath is worth avoiding, because he groans and releases his aching cock. "fine."
"settle down, gojo," nanami chides, squeezing your ass as if your boyfriend could feel it. he starts up his pace again, pushing you right over that reeling edge. "you're taking me next."
[ i'm considering making a romantic pairing in this one but im kinda in a pickle considering mc is a third year- but if someone has any ideas for any, im down ]
ꉂ ᵎᵎ cw/tw: 18+, crack, smut, fluff— we got it all here… this is a lot of my humor therefore self indulgent… if u think dot is funny then everything should be awesome ❤️, poly!bkdk, softdom!izuku, switch(lowkey bratty…)!katsuki, switch(maybe?)!fem!afab!bratty!reader, reader is a silly jokester type, gay as a reclaimed insult, non serious jokes about suicide (kys, kms) and violence, suggestive jokes, idk what else to tag if anything is missing very kindly and politely tell me bc guess who is going to sleep after this
ꉂ ᵎᵎ a/n: lowkey i had SMAS in mind for this, you can think it’s SMAS or just in general poly!bkdk ^_^ first time making a SMAU if people like these i can do more or. Explode too whtaever u guys want. also i didn’t know if anime pfps or realistic ones were better
ꉂ ᵎᵎ synopsis: a compliation of poly!bkdk x reader text messages
in order to be added to the taglist, leave a comment! however, you must be following me; otherwise, you will be ignored. also, please specify for a specific series/part two or for everything i write.
ꉂ ᵎᵎ a/n: i wasnt sure if my tagslist would be interested in SMAUs but i tag just in case… i hope u guys like it
timeskip!izuku absolutely loses his mind when you visit him at work, showing you off to his students, attacking you with kisses, & gushing to them about how he met you during his time at UA.
timeskip!izuku loves his wife & talks so much that his students know your birthday & all pitched in to get 'Mrs. Midoriya' a gift that made both you and Izuku tear up.
timeskip!izuku comes home to you tired each day but happily sits with you at the kitchen table, grading papers while you make dinner. Humming in response while you tell him about your day
timeskip!izuku is to no surprise, the best dad ever; he treats your kids like little angels, spoiling them the best he can—never letting them feel different or less than for being quirkless.
timeskip!izuku cuddles up next to his wife each night, whispering sweet nothings, brushes fingers through your hair & pulls you flush against him under the soft sheets
College hockey player!Jason Todd who had made hockey his life. His father had put him in skates when he could barely walk and set him on the ice. Jason had been given a little stick, a few pads for protection, and been sent on his way. When his parents had split up, hockey had been his solace. To save himself from his mother’s abusive drinking, he spent every moment he could on the ice. Their family couldn’t afford lessons, so he taught himself. When he got to high school, the coach took one look at him and put him on Varsity
College hockey player!Jason Todd who made sure to earn his place on Varsity. He was scrawny compared to the rest of the guys and needed to work his way off the bench. Everyday before school, one was sure to find Jason Todd in the weight room. And every moment after school too, if there weren’t practises. But it wasn’t until his coach began paying for extra food at lunch for Jason that the boy really began to bulk up. Freshman to sophomore year he shot up like a tree and the coach put him on the starting line up. The football coach practically begged to have him on the defensive line, but Jason was smitten with hockey through and through. By the time he was a senior, numerous universities were scouting him, many with full rides
College hockey player!Jason Todd wasn’t supposed to know you. You were in completely different social groups and hardly had any classes together. It was by pure dumb luck that he found you — or rather, you found him. Jason, in his hurry to pack up from class one day, had left his notebook behind. The notebook wasn’t for any class he was taking, but instead for hockey. It had stats and drills in there, all the way from his freshman year. When he realised he didn’t have it, he almost had a panic attack
College hockey player!Jason Todd had luckily written his phone number in the front corner of the notebook. When he got a call from an unknown number, he almost didn’t pick up. For years to come, he thanked the heavens he did
College hockey player!Jason Todd thanked you profusely over the phone, to the point you thought the notebook contained illegal information. A quick peek through it — because if he didn’t want you looking in it, he should’ve kept better track of his stuff — left you disappointed when you only saw lists of numbers and little doodles of hockey sticks
College hockey player!Jason Todd who set up a quick little meet up where he could just take his notebook back, but that instead turned into a three-hour date
College hockey player!Jason Todd who still didn’t know how that managed to happen, but wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. You two had just got to talking and to thank you for returning his notebook, he had offered you a drink of choice at the cafe down the street. You agreed
College hockey player!Jason Todd was appalled when you didn’t automatically share his deep-seated love for the game. You understood hockey and had watched a couple games, but you didn’t breathe it as Jason did
College hockey player!Jason Todd who needed to fix that (not that there was anything to fix about you — he was growing more and more fond of you each passing moment)
College hockey player!Jason Todd who practically begged you to come to one of his games. You had to see it for yourself. You wouldn’t regret it, he promised. Meanwhile, you were so caught up in wondering how this mass of a man seemed to be a giant teddy bear inside
College hockey player!Jason Todd was ecstatic when you hesitantly agreed. The next day, he sent you online tickets for right by the bench yes, you had exchanged numbers
College hockey player!Jason Todd who, when he skated out in his red Gotham City Robins jersey, was already looking for you in the crowd. He utterly beamed when he saw you sitting there with a friend and he couldn’t help but wave
College hockey player!Jason Todd was quite embarrassed to be doing warmups that day. You know the warmups where the players stretched out their hip muscles by practically grinding on the ice? Yeah, that one. When he glanced over at you, he was incredibly pleased but also very flustered to see you staring at him
College hockey player!Jason Todd who skated up to you before the game and tapped on the glass. You laughed and gave him a wave. He pointed at you and made a thumbs up, asking if everything was okay. You nodded happily. Not much verbal communication could be made because of the noise in the arena, but that didn’t matter to him
College hockey player!Jason Todd played extra hard that day. He scored two goals and got another assist. He poured water down the back of his jersey, hoping he was catching your attention. He didn’t know what girls liked because he had never liked a girl before. It was always hockey, hockey, hockey. But now there was you. And there was this weird, instinctive need to impress you bubbling up in his chest
College hockey player!Jason Todd got asked by his teammates, “who’s the girl over there?” Before he could even think about the words, they just slipped out, “my girl.”
College hockey player!Jason Todd who had to ask you out soon otherwise his teammates would realise he was lying
College hockey player!Jason Todd who asked you out that very same night
College hockey player!Jason Todd got a lot more confident while you two were dating. If he had managed to have you on his arm, he could do most anything
College hockey player!Jason Todd who got used to you spending a lot of your free time at the rink, watching him practice. He gave you his windbreaker and scarf and hat to keep you warm because he couldn’t have his girl freeze, now could he?
College hockey player!Jason Todd who also made sure to cheer you on in whatever you were doing. Pottery? He had your art on his dorm desk. Dance? He was coming to all the shows. Badminton? He was learning the rules right away
College hockey player!Jason Todd loved to have you on top of him. His roommate, Tim, got used to seeing you in Jason’s bed. You were Jason’s personal own weighted blanket
College hockey player!Jason Todd gave you his jersey to wear, obviously, because of how his last name was splashed across your back, but he also just liked to give you his sweaters. He “accidentally” left one at your dorm after the first couple of dates and from then on you had claim to his closet
College hockey player!Jason Todd was such a loyal man. He took pride in being your boyfriend and he made sure everyone knew it
College hockey player!Jason Todd had this odd aura around him. Since he was so big and muscular — especially with his pads on, people automatically assumed he was a little rough around the edges. After he got his nose broken from a wayward puck, that wariness doubled. However, he was also so damn attractive that people were naturally drawn in. But the thing was, Jason was naturally standoffish. His childhood left many scars on him, though they all seemed to be forgotten whenever he saw you. The switch was instantaneous. He would go from being a bit moody to absolutely beaming even if you just walked in the room
College hockey player!Jason Todd made sure to tell you he loved you regularly
College hockey player!Jason Todd who, when your last year of university was ending, laid you on top of him and mumbled out his worries. He wanted to play hockey professionally, but what if he was shipped to the other side of the country? What about away games? Did you even want to become a WAG? The thing was, Jason wasn’t sure if he could play hockey without you cheering on the sidelines anymore. It had become such an intrinsic thing that he hated the thought of you not being there
College hockey player!Jason Todd who felt the stress melt away when you scratched his hair lovingly. “I can find a job anywhere,” you told him. The words came easily, especially when you knew that Jason would voluntarily start out in the lower division if it meant you were happy. That would never happen, though. Jason would have his choice of team and do anything to make sure you were happy anywhere
College hockey player!Jason Todd who, as you two were planning your life together, consciously realised because from the moment he had seen you, it had always been the case that there was one thing in his life more important than hockey: you. And he would choose you over the sport any day
summary. “I would say good luck out there, but honestly? I hope you die screaming.”
Intimacy is not something you like to indulge in after your last lover nearly strangled you to death. Sometimes, you wonder if letting him ascend would mean he would still be here, by your side, rather than lurking the shadows of Baldur's Gate.
warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard, lovers to exes to friends to lovers again (it's a lot)
pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader
parts [to be added].
1 : as i breathe my last
2 : the space between us
3 : the hate between us
4 : the door between us
5 : the stairs between us
6 : the air between us
7 : the friends between us
8 : the blade between us
9 : the problems between us
10 : the embarrassment between us
11 : the cloak between us
˙ ⋆✮ here are some of my favorite jason todd fics. please be mindful of tags and remember that likes, reposts, and comments are very punk rock ✮⋆˙
⟢ disclaimer: i highly recommend checking out what each of these authors has to offer! i’m not always up to date on this masterlist.
⋆˙⟡ quiet realizations by @dxckgrxsonx
domestic life with jason todd with friends to lovers
⋆˙⟡ solace by @whltlock
jason’s dead, so how is he right in front of you right now?
⋆˙⟡ never let you go by @whltlock
he keeps your hand on his cheek, and you glance at the small, sentimental gesture. it ignites something in you, something you can’t quite name yet, but you think it might’ve been there a while.
⋆˙⟡ kissing in between pages by @elenistoria
reading with jason ends with some kisses and nosy siblings
⋆˙⟡ sweet surrender by @makethatelevenrings
a soft morning with jason brings confessions to light
⋆˙⟡ see you again by @sweetlyrocks
years after the last time you two saw each other, before he died, you have reencounter at a party when you thought you would never see him again
⋆˙⟡ just as it was by @embrassemoi
not much stayed the same after jason’s resurrection, except one thing
⋆˙⟡ i’m here now by @reaperintheroses
you have a nightmare and jason is there to comfort you.
⋆˙⟡ dating alphabet by @birdwonder
jason asking you out, jason celebrating your birthday, jason getting protective of you, jason hugging you, jason kissing you.
⋆˙⟡ of cold weather and holiday shopping by @unmotivatedwrit3r
christmas shopping with jason todd.
⋆˙⟡ autumn winds and boyfriend hoodies by @unmotivatedwrit3r
cold night in jason’s sweatshirt
⋆˙⟡ coming home late by @unmotivatedwrit3r
waiting up for jason after a long patrol night
⋆˙⟡ birthdays at college by @unmotivatedwrit3r
jason celebrates your birthday
⋆˙⟡ sleepless nights admiring jason by @yourmomxx
admiring your jason
⋆˙⟡ m.i.a by @indulgentdaydream
jason wants you to come back to bed
⋆˙⟡ out of the bag by @indulgentdaydream
reader is badly injured and jason rushes her to the manor for help
⋆˙⟡ drawing touches by @indulgentdaydream
you wake up on a hot summer night, jason sleeping beside you. It’s too hot to sleep right next to each other, so why not play a game?
⋆˙⟡ lost time by @fluentmoviequoter
jason comes home to you, his wife, after a mission and makes up for lost time.
⋆˙⟡ soft sleepy affectionate jason todd by @dxckgrxsonx
jason being soft and a little needy
⋆˙⟡ creature comforts by @pedrasacorn
jason helps you after you’re injured
⋆˙⟡ bubble baths by @plethorawrites
jason learns to love bubble baths
⋆˙⟡ baby, i want some of your love by @squipa
how you healed jason todd
⋆˙⟡ learning to love slowly by @tothestars8
just you and jason learning to love each other, and the small moments in-between.
⋆˙⟡ collection of jason todd fics by @moonlights-inkwell
BATBOYS BUT THEY'RE COWBOYS WHO ARE INFATUATED WITH THE PRETTY F!BACHELORETTE!READER OF THEIR TOWN.
★ TAGS: older!damian wayne, older!duke thomas, everyone is 18+, suggestive themes, western slang and narration, damian still talks fancy though dw, set in the 1800s, kind of maybe a little bit of dark!batboys, themes of corruption
★ A/N: ik i said i'd focus on streamer reader but i had to get this out of the way first 🙏 this was requested and technically, the request asked for outlaw!reader but i've always been more of a fan of the prettiest bachelorette in town trope so...
★ W/C: 4.1k
YOUR DADDY DON'T LIKE THE COWPOKE O' YOUR TOWN—
—says they ain't got no God left in them, not with the way their gazes are always leerin' at you from under the brim o' their old Stetsons.
Coyote eyes, he calls 'em. Hungry and dark and seeping so much sin you'd have to pray for forgiveness just for lookin' at 'em.
Sheriff Grayson's got coyote eyes.
He's sweet and he's kind, but it's a dangerous sort of kindness, a too-sugary sort of sweetness; the kind what lingers, what bares its razor-sharp teeth at ya and asks for somethin' in return.
He don't ever say it out loud, but you can tell he's thinkin' it.
You can tell with the way his gaze rakes all over you, moving from top to bottom as he greets you with an all-too-familiar friendly tip of the hat. "Afternoon, sweetheart."
"Afternoon, Sheriff."
His lips curl up, blue eyes glinting under the desert sun. "Where're you headin' off to?"
His voice is light, playful, but there's something there, hidden under all the fun, somethin' what follows your hands a little too closely as they move to fiddle with the skirt o' your dress.
"Oh, just the store. Daddy wants me to buy eggs."
His eyes drag back up, slowly, heavily, 'fore that smirk on his face widens, and that tongue o' his curls with a sly sort of drawl. "That so?"
"Mhm."
"Well we better get goin' then, huh?"
You raise a brow. "We?"
"Sure"—he shrugs, hooking his thumbs 'round his belt—"why not?"
You don't find it in you to argue. The Sheriff may have coyote eyes but he's got a nice, charmin' grin and he's the Sheriff for a reason, right? If you weren't safe 'round him, who else would you be safe 'round?
'Sides, he's a lawman, not a cowboy. He may ride around on a horse but he don't do it to herd sheep or cure cattle, he does it to rein in the kind o' men your daddy don't want you nowhere near; the kind o' men you don't wanna be nowhere near.
If that ain't a man you can trust, what is?
"I thought your daddy runs a saloon," the Sheriff asks you, shoulder an inch from your own as you walk side-by-side through town.
"He does."
"Then what's the use in eggs?"
You fix him with a look, one what don't even bother to fully face him with how pointed it is. "I don't know if you're messin' with me or not."
The Sheriff laughs, and it's hearty and loud and paired with him clearing the gap between the two o' you to knock his shoulder 'gainst your own.
He hits you light, you're just a lady after all, but he's also just a man—and light for him is a tad rough for you, so you can't help the bit o' pain what shoots through your shoulder; can't help the way you reach to rub it just like your pa taught you to back when his mustang threw you straight off its back.
'Cept unlike that time, you ain't able to rub the pain away.
You ain't able to 'c the Sheriff don't make that gap between you two again, no. He stays close. Close enough where your hand won't fit. Close enough where he's a whole lot closer than he was before.
Your gaze moves from his shoulder up to his face, and a lidded ocean of blue stares right back at you.
"Yer real pretty, y'know that, [Name]?"
The air shifts.
His voice is low, heavy, seepin' with something almost secret, like he ain't s'posed to be sayin' this. Not out loud.
You gulp down nothin' but air.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Your mouth is dry, the look in his eyes like the heat o' the desert itself—hot and firey and capable o' rinsing you of all the water left in your system in just a second.
It ain't kind, that look. But it ain't mean neither. Just... intense.
The Sheriff leans closer.
Your eyes flicker down.
He keeps coming.
But just before anythin' can happen, just before any other gap between the two o' you can be cleared, a voice breaks through the silence.
"Sheriff!" it calls, and you're taking a step away before you can even think of much else. "There's a fight over by the gunsmith!"
"Shit," the Sheriff cusses, and he grumbles something else under his breath before he's sparin' you one last look and runnin' off, the men what called him following after.
All but one, that is.
But you don't notice, not at first, 'c the Sheriff's warmth is still stuck to your side like a hunter to his bounty, and you're nowhere near as slippery as a regular outlaw.
Coyote eyes. He was lookin' at you with them coyote eyes again—all danger and hunger and swirlin' heat.
The Sheriff may have a nice, charming grin, but he's got coyote eyes too. And you'd do well to remember that.
You shake your head, willing yourself back to life—
"[Name]..."
—only to immediately lock eyes with yet another pair o' coyote ones.
No... no those ain't coyote eyes, those're Tim's eyes.
You squint, blinking again. But he don't go nowhere.
And just like that, the warmth stuck to your side washes away.
"I missed you..." Tim says, taking off his Stetson and pressin' it to his chest, those tousled locks of his falling almost perfectly over his face.
And maybe he did, and maybe you did too. But that don't matter no more. Hasn't for a long time.
So you scowl. You scowl like the devil's gone and offered you a pot promising gold and a spot in the big city with all them genteel folk; like he's gone and offered you a life worth the bounty o' the most wanted outlaw in your town.
But it's all just a trick.
And Tim takes a step closer.
"I—"
"Don't bother." You scoff, crossin' your arms and staying in place even as he takes another step to'ard you. "Whatever pretty words you have to say, I don't wanna hear it."
"Then don't."
You part your lips, but words don't come out, and he just keeps gettin' closer.
"Stop that!"
"Stop what?" His lips curl up, but in a different way to the Sheriff's, a softer way, a way only someone who's known you since you were just a little girl can pull off.
"Gettin' near me like that!"
He opens his mouth to respond, but you ain't done.
"Talking to me all nice-like! Like—! Like—! Like you ain't the one what up and left in the first place!"
He winces, expression scrunching like them candy wrappers you used to peel off as a kid, them same wrappers he would help you with when you couldn't quite get a good 'nuff hold to rip them off yourself.
His eyes were softer back then, kinder. Now they got the same danger in them as the Sheriff's. Maybe not to'ard you, but you know big city folk, and with the exception of maybe just one, they ain't usually the kindest.
You blink, and Tim's closer now, right in front o' you, less of a memory and more real, more grounded.
"Look, [Name]—"
"Miss [Last]."
"—I know I've gone and hurt ya," he continues with a wince, hands reachin' out to you, Stetson in one, the other free, "and I'm sorry, I am. But if you would just let me make it up to ya—"
"Make it up to me?" you spit out, and it's with all the disgust of a cowhand tendin' to a cattle's shit. "Do you have any idea how long I waited at the steps of my daddy's saloon for you to come back?"
He winces again.
"Ten days, Mister Drake," you continue, and he flinches at the title. "Ten days o' my daddy askin'—no, pleadin' with me to get back inside. Ten days o' him takin' out a chair and a rifle and sittin' right there next to me at night to make sure no outlaws come lookin' for trouble. Ten days o' him bringin' food out on a nice plate only to take it back in, barely touched 'cuz I couldn't bear the thought o' eating without you."
He takes a step back this time, your finger pressed right there against his chest, pushing down with each word you say next. "Ten. Days."
The ball on his throat rolls, and he don't say a word more, so you scoff and cross your arms, spearin' him with a look what could quiet even an outlaw.
"Don't come up to me again."
And with that, you turn 'round and walk away, your back burning all the while.
You don't usually run—your daddy raised you better than that, used to call you his little enforcer back when you were still so young and doe-eyed—but this is different. Not as much runnin' as it is leavin'. Cowardice as it is revenge.
Tim ain't the same boy you used to know, stopped bein' him the second he left you for the big city. And look where that got him. Back here again. A law-man instead of a law-yer.
You shoulda laughed right in his traitorous little face.
"I will next time I see him," you mutter under your breath, because there will be a next time—as much as you don't want there to be. This town only has room for a few folk after all.
And unfortunately, Tim's one of them again.
"Howdy, Miss [Last]."
You look up, mustering up your best smile. "Howdy Mister Fox."
"On a grocery run for your daddy?"
Your tired eyes are answer enough for Mister Fox, 'cuz he chuckles after you show 'im them and then you're at the counter with a basket full of eggs and a small satchel holdin' green.
"How's Luke?" you ask, 'cuz it's polite and your daddy taught you all about politeness.
"Oh you know that boy, always at the ranch, tendin' to cattle and barely havin' time for his pa."
Your lips curve up, eyes crinkling a little at the corners as you watch him count the money, fingers separating each note with the precision only someone who's been doin' it as long as him has.
"Aw, don't be like that Mister Fox, you know he's only doin' it for you."
"Wish he'd find himself a wife for me too," the older man grumbles under his breath, "I'll go gray 'fore that boy gives me a grandchild."
That garners a laugh from you, and his own lips twitch up as a result, eyes softenin' a little in that way it always did when you were little.
Then they glint, and you're already reachin' for the basket on the counter.
"Y'know... he's around your age..."
"Bye, Mister Fox."
He chuckles. "Bye, Miss [Last]."
And with that, you're out the door, spirit returned like it was never even lost to begin with.
The whole rest o' your way home, you're hummin' a song you've heard your daddy hum while nursing a cup plenty times in the past, practically skippin' as you walk past eyes what wither under Stetsons and hands what twitch near holsters like it's nothin'.
And it ain't anythin'. Coyote eyes be damned.
Your eyes light up, the doors to your daddy's saloon right ahead, causin' you to pick up your pace 'til you're bursting through the wood and parting your lips to call out to your pa—
—only to immediately stumble back at a rough shove 'gainst your shoulder.
"Son of a—hey! Watch where you're goin'!"
Your lips tug down, a scowl so harsh on your face, you'd trick a Pinkerton into thinkin' you were some kind o' threat. And you might as well be with how you're imagining strangling that awful man what shoved past you.
What type o' man shoves a lady like that? Must've been a boy 'cuz you don't know no man what treats a lady all rough and tough and ragged 'nuff to have folks believin' she's some doll over a human being.
You grumble under your breath, turning forward 'fore gasping right there and then and rushing to'ards the counter, eggs forgotten on a table nearby.
"Daddy! Daddy, are you alright?!"
"Just peachy, pea," your daddy grunts out, risin' from behind the counter with a scowl that near-mirrored your own.
"Who was that?" You frown, already by his side and reachin' your arms out to steady him.
"Loan shark," he answers, plain and simple, as he uses your arms to steady himself again. "Don't worry 'bout it."
Your frown deepens, because how can you not worry 'bout it? How can you not worry when your daddy, the man who raised you on his own for damn-near your whole entire life, was just shoved to the floor and given a black eye in your very own home?
"I know that look, [Name]," your daddy growls, and then he fixes you with a real stern look, the kind o' look a rancher would give a cowhand when he's gone and let one o' the sheep run off from the herd. "Drop it."
"But—"
"But nothin', young lady. You let me worry 'bout it. All you need to worry 'bout is puttin' those eggs right where they belong."
You purse your lips but don't say a word 'cuz your daddy's a smart man, and he knows just what to say to disarm you, to have you puttin' down that gun what's your mouth and completely withdrawin' from whatever duel it was you challenged him to.
But that don't stop you from sneakin' 'round behind his back.
Your eyes flicker over to the counter, watching as your daddy scrubs the cup in his hands just that little bit harder than normal, a frown etched on both his face and his actions.
Your eyes move back to the board before you.
Posters litter the wood, papers ripped at the edges and scribbled over with haste, as though rushed to get up and on the board as soon as possible, but amongst all the inked-up squares, one seems to stand out the most.
A man sits front and centre to the page, his hair almost all scribbled over in blank ink except for one white strand at the middle, a little curled at the edge.
The prize for his arrest sits pretty at a mighty ten thousand dollars. Ten thousand dollars 'nuff to cure your daddy of debt you reckon.
Your eyes flicker down, and a name catches your eye.
Jason Todd.
"You know 'im?"
Your spine stiffens, and you turn slowly to the side.
A man stands there, hands stuffed in his pockets and a cigar hangin' loose from his lips, its smoke waftin' through the air like it owns the place.
Your eyes rake over his figure, takin' in the way he stands all casual-like beside you, the way he scans the board with the experience of someone who's been in front o' it before, the experience of—
"A bounty hunter..."
His eyes flit to yours curling at the corners like he finds somethin' funny. "If you want a night out, darlin', all you have to do is ask."
Your features scrunch up so fast, you half expect him to scoff and lash out at you in a fit of hurt pride, only to blink when instead, all you hear comin' out his lips is laughter.
"Duke," he says, takin' a hand out his pocket to tip his hat at ya with a smile, "Duke Thomas."
You don't say anythin' in return, but he don't need ya too, 'cuz his gaze turns right back to the board, and he continues talkin' all on his own.
"Came from the next town over 'cuz a gunsmith told me he was slinkin' 'round out here.
"Didn't know I was fixin' to meet such a pretty lady 'nstead though."
There it is again. That hunger, that darkness, that sin.
Coyote eyes.
They curl at the corners again, raking up and down your form near-identically to the way Sheriff Grayson's did.
"Why, yer pretty enough to have me considerin' spending all the reward on ya." Duke's lips curl even further up, and he leans forward with eyes slitted just like a snake's. "How's about it, sweetheart?"
Lord help you, his offer actually makes you pause for a second, but not in any sort o' consideration, no, but in pure shock at the absolute audacity he has to be makin' such an offer.
"No thanks." You frown, and it only deepens when 'nstead of him threatening to pull a gun on ya, his grin turns wolfish, and he leans back with this sort of glint in his eye, hands movin' up to adjust his hat.
"Suit yourself, darlin'," he drawls, like he knows somethin' you don't, and turns 'round to begin walkin' away, but not before throwing one last glance back at you as he does. "Come find me if you change yer mind."
And with that, he's gone—disappeared like sand grains in the wind—and you're left frownin' at the place where he once was.
"[Name]! I don't see the eggs in their place!"
"Sorry, pa!"
You glance at the board one more time, that large number winkin' right back at ya, 'fore grabbing the basket of eggs and heading on over to where they're meant to be.
The rest o' your day is spent doing nothin' but chores, though in the midst of it all, you can't help but keep sneakin' glances at that wanted board—and those glances lead to you sneakin' ones at the revolver your daddy keeps under the counter—and those glances lead to you sneakin' ones at your daddy's old Stetson hung up proudly on the saloon walls.
And before you even know it, the night's crept up on you like a wolf, and you're stood before the swingin' doors of the saloon, a revolver in one hand and a hat in the other, just like them cowpoke your daddy warns you of.
You cast one last glance behind you—
"Sorry, daddy, but I'm doin' this for you."
—before slinkin' right through the wooden flaps.
Outside is quiet, the only sound being the whisperin' wind what throws taunts and jeers your way, mocking you for even thinking you have a chance out on the frontier by yourself.
And hey, maybe you don't, but that don't stop you from tryin'.
You squint, but mist clouds the streets, curling 'round the pillars holding up your daddy's saloon and fogging your vision up 'til you can barely see ahead o' you, only a few feet in front.
Still, you don't let it stop you, taking step after step into the unknown 'cuz your daddy needs you to, even if he's too stubborn to admit it.
In the day, you know this town like the back o' your hand, but at night, it might as well be a completely different place altogether, your normal inner compass all but lost in a cow's rear end somewhere.
It's strange. Usually, there are quite a few folk up and about at night, some cowpoke even electin' to come to your daddy's saloon to get drunk enough to puke their guts out the next day.
...So why's no one around right now?
"Well ain't you just a pretty little thing?"
Your eyes widen, head whipping around and barrel o' your gun pointin' straight ahead into the mist, right where you heard that voice.
A figure emerges from the dust, a shadow hidden amongst the embers.
"Careful now, that thing's dangerous."
You keep your gun pointed right at the figure, even as your arms struggle to stay straight, even as your hands fight to keep still, even as your finger battles with all its might to stay right over the trigger.
A chuckle rings through the air, deep and daring.
Then the figure steps closer, and you see that familiar black hair with a white streak, and you're speakin' 'fore you can even help yourself.
"Jason Todd."
The most wanted man in town's lips curve up.
"So you've heard of me."
Yeah, you've heard of him. Him and that ten thousand dollar price tag on his head.
"You got a name, doll?"
You don't say a word, glare hardening.
"That's fine, I'll just stick to callin' ya doll."
With a frown on your face, you readjust your grip 'round your gun, finger pressin' harder 'gainst the trigger.
His hands go up in surrender, but he keeps takin' steps to'ards you like they didn't.
"Here for my head?"
You purse your lips.
His grin widens.
"Don't blame ya." He shrugs. "I fetch for a nice price."
He keeps comin' forward. Why does he keep comin' forward?
"Y'know, I ain't never had a lady come after me before. 'Specially not one as pretty as yerself."
There it is again. Them damn eyes every single cowboy's been givin' you today.
In the dark, their hunger seems to grow; their sins—multiply. Unlike with the Sheriff and Tim and Duke, Jason's coyote eyes don't just unsettle you, they consume you. Eat you right up 'til you're nothin' but bone—bone and bites and quaking terror.
You take a step back, and it's only then that you can find it in yourself to talk.
"Are you crazy?" your words, though mean, come out shaky. "Why do you keep coming to'ards my gun?!"
His smirk widens, and within the next second, he's right in front of you, chest pressed up 'gainst the barrel o' your gun and hand holdin' it there, making sure you can aim it no place else.
"Oh sweetheart, you really think you have it in you to kill me?" He tilts his head to the side, eyes glowing at you in the dark.
You don't respond, finger only tightenin' against the trigger.
His eyes swirl, starin' at you with an intensity like no one else. "Go ahead, do it."
Saliva rolls down your throat, your gaze trailing to where his hand holds your gun in place, to where his fingers brush against your own, almost tenderly, lingering like he's savouring this, savouring you.
"Well go on then," he pushes, those swirling eyes starin' at you with something so much more than what the cowhands who've had crushes on you before did. "Here, I'll even do it for you."
His finger curls 'round your own, slowly pushing down before—
—a 'bang' rings through the air.
You blink, once, then twice. Then another time just to make sure the world isn't messing with you.
But amazingly, Jason still stands before you, alive and well.
Though maybe not, 'cuz instead of bleedin' out his chest, he's bleedin' out his shoulder, blue eyes aimed at something to your left before he's cussin' and running off like he was never there to begin with.
And it's only then that you let your legs finally give out from under you—
—only for a pair o' strong arms to catch you 'fore you can even hit the ground.
You blink again, recognisin' the man holdin' you so sweet.
"Are you alright?"
"Mister Wayne..."
"Please"—he scoffs lightly—"just Damian is fine."
You blink again, parting your lips to respond, only to close them again like a fish out of water.
Damian's lips turn down.
"I should never have let him get so close to you," he whispers, brows furrowed and gaze far-off. "I was incompetent today, forgive me."
You squint up at him, dazed and now a tad confused, but he only shakes his head at you and picks you up like you're wearin' a white gown, feet immediately headin' to'ard the Sheriff's office.
"Rest assured, it won't happen again," he promises, and you can only blink back at him, 'cuz your mind is still plagued—
—and that outlaw's the one what spread the disease.
Plot: You're not exactly sure when teasing turned to tension or when tension turned to need tonight. All you know is that your knees hit the floor fast and willingly.
A/N: Hiii, besties 🥹 I'm so sorry if it felt like I fell off the face of the Earth. I swear I didn't die (sadly lmao), but life's been a whole ass shitstorm lately. every time I sat down thinking "yup, I'm gonna lock in and finish a WIP" (yes, the same ones holding me at gunpoint at this point), the universe just said "lol, nope" 🫠 and don't even get me started on sleep because I don't know her ✋🏻 I've been running on fumes, caffeine, and the occasional mental breakdown lately 😩 BUT I'll try to wrap up the Roy and Dick ones I already started and get those out to you soon, pinky fucking promise 🥺 and I'm sorry for the delay in answering your asks too, I've had the energy of a damp dishrag lately so my brain has been MIA right along with my will to function 😩 I've seen some absolute bangers sitting there and I can't wait to giggle and kick my feet over them when I finally get my shit together 🤭
anyway ✋🏻 I love you, besties 🖤 thank you for sticking around and checking in on my chaotic ass. you guys seriously mean the world to me 🥹
P.S: I'm sorry this is once again a very long one-shot, but I needed the comfort (and the filth), and I fully took it out on Jay and his girl 🥺 hope you won't mind me projecting all over the place with this one 🏃🏻♀️
There's just something about the way he always looks at you. Half lidded eyes, a lazy smirk like he already knows exactly how wrecked you're going to be by the end of this. It's not even about control with him—though, let's be honest, he's very good at that too—it's about how easy it is to fall apart.
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, unhurried thrusts, savoring every single second.
And 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 at first, 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.
"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 tenderly, 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 everything—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 Jason 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. "Fucking 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 thick and 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, low and guttural, 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 thick 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 and 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—obviously—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 teasing, 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? 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 it—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—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, 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 blade, 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 and filthy, 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 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, grabbing the plate, your tea, and a can of Coke for himself. 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.
Jason scoffs quietly to himself, shaking his head as he sinks a little deeper into the cushions. His dick can wait. He's got you wrapped around him like a sleepy little koala, and he's pretty sure this—you—is his happy place and there's no shot in hell he's moving anytime soon.
Superman desperately scanning the street during a fight to find the most morally acceptable car to throw at his opponent, knowing that not everybody has insurance, and loss of transportation can ruin a life -
A wave of incredible relief washes over him as he spots the hard geometric lines and silver paintless sheen of a Cybertruck.
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