The money I’d pay to have Jason Todd shirtless, on his stomach with sweatpants hanging low while I straddle his slutty waist and leave hickeys all over his back, and munch on his shoulders like he’s my favourite snack, and mess up his hair with my fingers, and give him neck kisses that would make him groan, and squeeze his biceps because they’re so big—
every july. every fucking july this post gets reblogged to shit. why. why does this god forsaken website love egg. i gave egg a voice in 2013 and it always comes back. i try to forget egg. i bury egg as far as i can but somehow someone always finds fucking egg post. this post could be dead for months but it always managed to come back like some sort of zombie egg. enough egg. no more egg. fuck eg
Jason’s apartment always smelled faintly of leather, gunpowder, and something clean—like cedar soap and the last page of a good book. You were curled up on his couch when he came in from patrol, the heavy thunk of his boots being taken off before he sigh at the feeling of soft carpet between his toes.
He tossed his jacket over the back of a chair, muscles tight beneath the black undershirt clinging to him. The mask was already peeled off and tossed into a pile to be dealt with in the morning, hair sweat-damp and wild, like he’d run a hand through it too many times trying to come down from the adrenaline.
“You waited up,” he said, voice low and warm with something like guilt.
You shrugged. “Didn’t feel right going to bed without you.”
Jason crossed the room in two strides and leaned over the back of the couch, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath still uneven from the night.
“I’m glad you didn’t,” he murmured.
You reached up and touched his jaw, thumb tracing a faint bruise already blooming beneath the slight stubble. He leaned into your hand like he was starving for softness.
“I’m okay,” he promised, though his eyes were tired. “Just… needed to see you. Missed you.”
He kissed you before you could answer—slow, like a question. Not the kind of kiss that demanded anything, just one that asked if he was still allowed to want. You answered with your hands in his hair and your mouth parting for him, and that was all it took.
He climbed over the couch instead of walking around, easing you onto your back, his weight a welcome weight. His kisses deepened, rough lips but gentle hands, like he was trying to memorize every place he touched even though he already had every part of you etched into his brain.
Clothes didn’t come off quickly—there was no rush, only reverence. He tugged your shirt up over your ribs, pausing to press kisses to your stomach like you were fragile and holy. His touch was everywhere and nowhere at once... fingertips brushing your hipbones, his palm splayed over your chest, heat bleeding through the fabric.
“You sure?” he asked against your throat, voice hoarse with restraint.
You nodded. “'missed you too."
Jason groaned softly and pressed his forehead to your shoulder.
The rest was slow. Your name on his lips like a prayer. The way he held your hand the whole time, grounding himself, anchoring you. There was nothing rushed or frantic—just warmth, skin, breath, the quiet rhythm of two people trying to feel something other than alone.
After, you lay tangled together in the half-light, his arm wrapped tightly around you, face buried against your shoulder as if trying to hide from the rest of the world.
“Don’t go,” he whispered, voice fraying around the edges.
“I wasn’t planning to,” you whispered back.
And you meant it.
hi guys im back lol... apparently i can literally only ever write when im in an english class
Too loud, too fast, too stubborn. He could never just be in the way that people seemed to want him to. Even now, years after resurrection, after countless fights and the League’s brutal remaking of his body, after the Pit had burned away all softness, he still caught himself moving like that scrawny, half-starved kid from Crime Alley — slipping between shadows, ducking his head to avoid attention, bracing for the next blow.
But he wasn’t small anymore.
He could see it in the way people looked at him — sidelong glances, half-hidden wariness. He towered now, broad-shouldered and heavy with muscle. A wall of a man. Built like a weapon.
And sometimes he hated it.
There were nights when his body felt like a costume he couldn't take off — too large, too loud even in stillness. He’d lie awake with his hand curled against his ribs, willing his heart to slow, not even sure why he felt so wrong in his own skin.
But not with you.
You didn’t flinch when he brushed past you in tight hallways. You didn’t shrink from his size, or his moods, or his silences. You had a way of just… existing beside him, calm and steady, like the eye of a hurricane.
It was late when it happened. A long patrol, a bruised shoulder, dirt still under his fingernails. He didn’t say much when he walked in, just stripped off the Red Hood armor piece by piece, until he was bare and quiet and aching.
You were already in bed, curled in loose sheets, and when he sank into the mattress beside you, something in him gave out. All that strength, all that careful control — gone in an instant. He reached for you instinctively, spooning behind you like muscle memory, tucking his face against your neck.
But then you turned in his arms.
“No,” you whispered gently, not unkind. Your hands were warm against his chest, guiding him, shifting him — and before he could ask what you were doing, he was the one being cradled.
You pulled him in, let him rest his head on your chest, your arm curling over his wide back like you could hold all of him — and the strangest thing was, you did.
No one had ever held him like that.
Not Bruce. Not Alfred. Not anyone.
He wasn’t a weapon here. Not a soldier, not a ghost, not a lost Robin who had clawed his way back from death. He was just Jason. He was your Jason.
You carded your fingers through his hair, slow and unhurried, and asked softly, “Wanna take a bath with me in the morning?”
He nodded against your collarbone, eyes closed. His breath evened out.
It was the best night of sleep he’d had in months.
He didn’t say it out loud — not yet — but he was possessive. Fiercely, utterly yours. But not in the way people might assume.
He didn’t need to own you.
He needed to belong to you.
Every night he came home and saw the light still on, your smile still waiting, he felt the weight in his chest ease just a little more. He could live with the monster in his mirror, the blood on his gloves, the ache in his bones — if it meant this. If it meant you.
He didn’t care if he was your first. Didn’t care about perfect love stories.
so uh hi guys i’m back… saw some guy in the middle of a street in montreal who was the perfect jason faceclaim and now i’m here again (also have been reading batfam like 24/7 because traveling)
no one can convince me that the JJK men don't love being pegged. like please those men would love to be railed into oblivion/have their brain melt into goop
Pinning her down and eating her out until she’s squirming and writhing, begging under her breath. (You’d tell her to speak up but your mouth is a bit occupied). Holding her hand as she whimpers out your name, curling your fingers inside of her to which she gasps out. She bites on her arm to stay quiet. Not that you want her to be.
Transman jason todd buying a strap on and enjoying the gender euphoria before pinning you to the bed. He’s a switch, sure, but due to his sobbing cat aura he tends to be on the bottom. Still, it’s an absolute joy to have him top. He gently grabs your wrists in one hand and straddles your hips.
“This okay, doll?” He asks gently. Meanwhile, youre freaking out a little at the strap on dick against your stomach. You shakily nod yes, ignoring the goosebumps you get.
He gently lubes up the toy (water based so it doesn’t melt the toy or anything, of course) and moves to hold your legs apart. He gently asks for your consent a few more times before finally pushing it in, listening to your gasps and whimpers. He looks a bit astounded as he bottoms out, face greatly red. It’s cute to see someone as formidable as The Red Hood so red and nervous and small looking.
He gently rolls his hips, listening to your squeaks. He clearly doesn’t know what he’s doing. “Can I….?”
“Yes. Please.” You manage to squeak. He nods shakily and positions himself so he can properly fuck you. He starts slow and gentle, his hand no longer holding your wrists down. Luckily, he has a remote controlled vibrator in, so now you can at least use the controller for that!
Jason’s moves are a bit sloppy, but they become a bit more frenzied as you press a button. He whimpers as he speeds up, muttering pet names and praise.
Okay now you have to finish this use that brain of yours :) 🧀
cheese i am so sorry for leaving these to rot in my inbox
Jason Todd, not too surprisingly, has a bit of a serving kink. He likes to do things for you (and to you) while being praised.
“Jason,” You ask, him perking up. You fiddle with the leash in your hand. “Could you lie down for me?”
“Yes lo-…ma’am.” He corrects himself hastily. No pet names, he’s supposed to be under you, remember?
He lies down, only in his boxers and a shirt. You gently push it up, feeling up his abs. He shivers and lightly reaches for you, and you tug on the leash. “Be good. No moving.”
He nods. Despite the little game you two are playing, consent is still important. Even if you bounced the idea earlier. “Can you be a good boy and let me ride you?”
He whimpers, to which you tug. “I need words, Jason. Be a good boy and use your words.”
“Y-Yes. Please.”
“Please what?”
“P-Please ride me…ma’am.” He’s rock hard under his boxers- you can feel it. He’s at least a little embarrassed at how much he’s leaking through his boxers. You’d touch him, but it would risk him cumming in his pants.
“Do you need a second?” You ask gently, letting up on the tugging. He thinks for a moment.
“Just a minute, doll…” Jason replies softly, and you move off of him so he can calm down a little.
After not too long, he nods. “I’m ready.”
“Good boy.” You grin, getting back on top of him and taking off his boxers. You grind against him, tugging on the leash when he whimpers.
After plenty of begging, you eventually get on top of him. He gasps as he bottoms out in you, a whine coming out of his throat.
He shrieks when you start moving, moaning and begging and pleading and praising almost incoherently. He doesn’t last long, already having been pent up from all the foreplay, and you have to cover his mouth to keep him from screaming out your name too loud. He bucks up needily before calming down.
jason todd isn't the man to have couch sex, he's a brickwall of a man so how do you expect him to fit properly on a couch to fuck you senseless? he needs space to grab and grope you effortlessly, which means he has to be able to move freely around and he can't do it on a couch unless he has you riding him. jason todd is a bed sex guy, thanks for coming to my ted talk !!!!!!!
it’s big, it’s warm, and it smells like your big warm boyfriend. of course you stole it. luckily jason runs hot..or that’s what he tells you at least. the man gets cold too, but he’d never tell you that. not when you look so cozy in his sweatshirt.
sweats
your favorite thing of his to match with his hoodie. his sweatpants are super warm, super soft, and super baggy. meant for ultimate comfort. jason loves it when you go full out sweatsuit in his clothes. like, loves it. you’re like his own personal teddy bear to hold on to while he falls asleep. who needs sweats when he has you to keep him warm..in his.
t shirt
sometimes, when the weather’s warmer, you’ll steal one of jason’s shirts to thrown on over a pair of panties. you’re oblivious to the fact that this combination makes jason go absolutely buck wild. somehow you’ve never made the connection. but more than once he’s found you sprawled across the couch, watching tv, and ended up going down on you. his head nestled between your thighs as you grip his raven locks. his hands are fisted into the loose fabric of his shirt that you’re wearing. he’s not satisfied until your legs are shaking, your moans intermingling with the wet, borderline pornographic, sounds that he’s creating with his mouth on your clit. he never lets you get him back either, even though you know he was grinding his crotch against the couch, chasing that sweet friction and release along with you. but he always just sits you atop his lap after, kissing your cheek as he brushes your hair out of your face. grips your thigh as he makes a comment about the show playing, your panties long forgotten on the floor.
underwear
you never get very far wearing a pair of your boyfriend’s boxers. for one, they’re pretty loose on you, so you have to roll the waistband a couple times, which just gives jason a prime view of your ass. they also just make it so easy for him to get his hand down the front, his strong fingers expertly finding your clit like he’s memorized a map of your body. which, in some ways, he has. it’s not long before you’ve come, once, twice, almost a third time, and he’s pulling his own boxers off to free his stiff cock. it points out, the tip leaking, and you’re opening your legs wider without even realizing it. he grabs your waist, sliding you closer to the edge of the bed, making sure you’re ready before he slides in, burying himself in you. he bottoms out, and you’re throwing your head back, a third orgasm threatening to crest as he starts up a rhythm. the muscles of his stomach ripple as he thrusts in and out. one of his hands is on your waist, the other slowly snaking its way back down to your clit. your toes curl at the feel of his calloused thumb rubbing circles on that sensitive bundle of nerves. he’s groaning, low in his throat, at the way you look on his cock. it never gets old for him, ever. the way your cheeks flush, how adorable your blown out pupils are when you look up at him. your wet lashes, your messy hair. your entrance clenches around his cock as you come a third time, your hands gripping the bed sheets. jason comes along with you, groaning loudly as he paints your insides with white ropes of cum. he pulls out, wetting a washcloth in the bathroom. the wet, warm fabric feels like heaven against your sensitive folds, your boyfriend wiping away the mixture of fluids between your legs. you feel pleasantly boneless, sinking into the pillows at the head of the bed. your boyfriend cleans himself up after, settling into bed next to you. jason wraps his strong arms around you, and it’s better than any clothes you might steal. but what you don’t know, is that he’d let you steal his clothes anytime.
I am dead serious when I say that you guys need to start giving writers feedback more often. I have a fic here that has a total of 4015 notes and only 218 aren't likes. So, let me break this down for you a bit.
Of 4015 notes, 186 are reblogs and 32 are comments. Two reblogs, as well as comments, are mine so I'll subtract them from the equation making the total number of notes 4011 (184 rbs, 30 comments, 3,797 likes).
Of the 184 reblogs, 16 are private, meaning they're absolutely useless in spreading and sharing the piece. The remaining 168 consists of 136 reblogs falling under "other reblogs" while only 32 fall under "comments and tags." And of the 32 under "comments and tags," only 9 have something besides a copy of the tags that I included in my initial post.
The 184 reblogs make up 4.6% of the total notes, the reblogs under "comments and tags" make up 0.8% of the total notes, and the reblogs under "comments and tags" with anything besides tags copied from the initial post make up 0.2% of the total notes.
At one point, I reblogged the post, asking if anyone wanted a part two. That's when I got my first comments. The first 6 comments were in response to that, and of the 30 total comments (excluding my own), only two were unrelated to a part two. Which means I can guarantee that I wouldn't have had that many comments had I not posed the question of a sequel fic.
And if I add those 2 comments to the 9 reblogs, I get 0.3% of the total notes on my post that make up the portion of notes that aren't likes, empty reblogs, or comments about a part two. And that's me being generous because two of the reblogs actually do mention a part two.
I also posted a poll asking what people wanted in part two, and that poll got 238 votes. That is 54 people more who voted for what they wanted in a part two that didn't reblog or help push part one.
Don't get me wrong, I love seeing people in my notifs liking my posts, but sometimes it's just not enough. It is utterly exhausting waking up to multiple hundreds of notifications and not seeing a single person compliment your work. You guys will like stuff, follow, and then head straight to the inbox asking for more. I know it's been said a hundred times before, but we are not machines; we do this for free in our spare time.
The post in question was written when I was tired out of my mind, and I ended up not liking it, so I let it sit in my drafts. I briefly mentioned it on my blog and was met with one of my followers showing interest in the idea, which prompted me to revise, edit, and post it. It was a gift, as are all fics and pieces of art by writers and artists on this site, and yet it was treated like a commodity.
When people say it's unmotivating they're not kidding. When I had 100+ asks in my inbox, all of them being requests, I felt like I had the worst case of writers block known to man. I would open my inbox and immediately close it because the idea of posting anything knowing the only response would be more requests, was awful.
When people leave little messages in the tags, full-blown commentary, or kind messages in my inbox referencing posts, I feel more motivated than ever. Those responses are what drives me to write more. But when I, and other writers, are being treated like we're here to cook up whatever fantasisies you have in mind, I can't help but side-eye a little.
We wouldn't write if we didn't enjoy it, but the moment it feels like a job, it becomes that much less enjoyable, and then everybody loses. Just send a kind message to your favorite writers every once in a while. I promise it'll make their day.
I would also like to say that as I've written this, I've seen more people like that post. So, there's that.
content warnings: smut, sleepy sex, pet names (princess), fingering, use of the word panties (just once i think unless i changed it)
word count: 975
you woke up before jason, his soft rhythmic breaths sounding from his side of the bed.
at first, you didn’t want to move in fear of waking him. you knew he was a light sleeper (if he managed to get any sleep at all), but you couldn’t help yourself. he just looked so pretty.
shifting forward ever so slightly, your body now close enough to admire his face. you gaze first landing on his eyelashes, which where unfairly long in your opinion, then they shifted to his nose with was slightly crooked, from being broken one too many times. your eyes moved to his hair, the soft strands, currently a mess on his head, they framed his face perfectly. the white streak contrasting the dark locs on the rest of his head. you’d kill to run your fingers through them or grip them while he was between your thighs it’s a miracle he doesn’t wake when you give into the urge to do just that.
ever so slightly your fingers brush through hair framing his face. you convinced yourself it was to move them out of his face and not because you wanted to “accidentally” wake him up to soothe the ache growing between your thighs. it doesn’t help when your eyes travel down further and find his bare chest.
your mind wandered to him coming home, he most likely slipped through your window. his heavy boots stomping onto your hardwood floors as he dragged his sleep ridden body to your bedroom, only stopping to triple check the locks were in place. he probably began to undress himself when he finally made it into your bedroom, fingers going to press the release button on his helmet with a click before setting aside. next he probably stripped off the heavy armored layers of his suit and then tossed them haphazardly somewhere in the room. doing the same with his dirty boots.
your point only seeming to be proven when you noticed the clothes splayed out in the corner of your room. you’re attention was only off of him for a second though because it was back on his sleeping figure within seconds of your realization. unfortunately for you imagining him stripping down to get into bed only had you squeezing your thighs together for some relief.
luckily for you though, he stirred awake while your mind was elsewhere. a soft sleep laced groan was heard followed by his voice
“princess.” his raspy voice snapping you out of your fantasy
Seemingly able to know what you were thinking without you vocalizing it, his hands find your hips. calloused hands sliding over the lace. chapped lips suckle at your neck. filling the room with your soft whimpers. his hand traveling further down your hips, tracing the lace before his forefinger finds the edge of your underwear, peeling it aside as his hand slips underneath them.
his hand lazily slides further into your underwear. finding you completely drenched.
“this all for me?” he mumbles the question into your skin, not really expecting an answer, not that you could anyways because almost as soon as he said that his finger finds your puffy little clit. his finger rubbing tight circles onto the bud.
in response your hand found his arm, nails digging into it, leaving crescent shaped marks on skin.
breathless moans escaping your lips, despite how you tried to muffle them by tucking your face into your pillow. his hand slipped further down threatening to slip into your desperate hole, but he stops before they do. collecting your slick and spreading it over your folds before pulling them out altogether.
his slick coated fingers find their way to your lips, an unspoken command for you to suck them, and you do. your parched lip’s part and you greedily swallow what he gives you. you run your tongue over the digits moaning around them. he pulls them out with a pop.
“please.” a whine escaped you when he pulled them out. without giving you a chance to elaborate his lips found yours. he moaned finally tasting you. his tongue glides over yours and his hands slip down your body; only stopping to take a few moments to tweak at your pebbled nipples before sliding down to where you wanted him the most. pulling your underwear down just enough to give him access.
and without missing a beat he reached down to pull the band of his underwear down to reveal himself. he gave himself a few teasing strokes before lining himself up with your heat. Your breath hitching when you caught sight of him. unconsciously you began to rock against him. His hands move to your hips to still them.
his eyes flicker from your body to your eyes, silently asking if this was okay. you nod vigorously, lips parting with a silent plea.
moments later you feel the pleasurable stretch of him burying himself into you. your hands scratching at his back as he fucks into you. desperate moans fill the room as your sweaty bodies collide.
you feel yourself reaching the edge. His hand slides down to sloppily rub at your clit to push you over the edge. Before you can stop yourself, not that you wanted to, white hot pleasure burns through your body as you cum. your tight cunt squeezing him and like a ripple effect it sends him into his own orgasm. He buries his face into your shoulder biting down ever so slightly. he collapses ontop of you as he comes down. sliding out of you he kisses your forehead affectionately. you wince slightly as he pulls out.
“good morning” he mumbles into your sweaty skin. and you kiss him, a lot gentler this time, reciprocating his greeting. post-orgasimic bliss surrounds you both as you yawn. and you both start to drift off again.
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a/n:
this fic was supposed to be something completely different. it was supposed to be a quick fix about Jason's nose( a fluffy piece about admiring his scars and stuff). I started this at about 2 am and wrote until 4 in the morning. then i came back and added some more this afternoon. okay, that's all from me. hopefully, there will be more bc I want to write more consistently, and since summer is soon, we'll see. shout out to ungoldy hour bc i was playing that and chappell roan while writing, i love chappell roan sm.
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