italian-american ! jason as your boyfie. pairing ! jason todd x fem!reader wc ! 1.2k warnings ! fluff to smut. nasty cunnilingus, reader!orgasm, shitty italian. 🗒️ me and my thing about italian american men in media, pls restrain me also if any native italian speaker comes across this i am sorry i only know my catholic hymns in italian 😬
art creds : @/stefphe
now playing ! teach me tiger — april stevens 🎧
italian-american! bf jason whose mom was sicilian. he grew up watching her straighten her hair dead and bleach it blonde, all the while she would scold him with a ma che fai or a non dire cavolate whenever he was acting out with the other punks in their neighborhood.
italian-american! bf jason who still utters little sicilian words and phrases every now and then, barely noticing when he stubs his toe and lets out a madonna that sounds like marone, and carries over this habit to the way he pronounces certain words — coffee starts to sound like caw-fee when he’s tired, mozzarella is mootz-a-rell when he’s hovering behind you in the kitchen and dictating the steps to his favorite recipes.
italian-american! bf jason who you never get tired of hearing speak. the way he talks is so old world, something completely new but a perfect amalgamation of the lilted ease that is so upper east side — park row by way of little italy type diction and that cool, ever-charming cadence of bristol county, which makes him sound like a mediterranean bruce wayne half the time.
italian-american! bf jason who calls you amore, ragazza cara, bambolina, and most times bambina, other times only bambi. nothing truly makes him relax more than when he comes home to you, shoulders heavy and tense from a world of noise and violence where he can wrap his arms around your middle and burrow his nose into the crook of your neck with a soft grumble of, “missed you, bambina.”
italian-american! bf jason who tans so easily. nothing is more attractive than watching him run around outside in the summer with the kids who live on your block. he plays soccer — or maybe bocce — on hot asphalt streets flooded from water hydrants while tiny fists cheer him on and he laughs carelessly, the sun kissing the chub of his cheeks and his thick biceps. he comes home to you later, his skin warm all over and browned like a million kisses.
italian-american! bf jason who is a community man above all else. people adore him, he keeps it tight knit. watching him go from little italy to crime alley to the bowery is like watching the city’s prince go on tour. the deli a whole train ride over knows his and yours regular order. he hosts a bi-weekly book club over at the community center near leslie’s clinic. he drops by every now and then by the church his mom used to take him to for mass.
italian-american! bf jason who makes your jaw drop when you see him for the first time in a ribbed white tank with a gold cross necklace nestled at the uppermost curve of his autopsy scar, his hair wet and nearly slicked back with that gel he uses that you like so much, and his eyes all hung low and hungry.
“you look like a greaser,” you say to him. he only grins and pulls you in by the loop of your jeans with a hushed, “c’mere, you.”
italian-american! bf jason who thought the way you stared at him all starry-eyed when he spoke just meant that you were hungry to add a new languge under your belt.
italian-american! bf jason who only now realizes just how much you like it when he speaks italian while his head is buried between your thighs.
he leaned over you, bracing himself on his his forearms planted on either side of your body. “so pretty...” he kissed your cheek, then your hairline, the line of your jaw. “say it to me, and i’ll do it for you, whatever you want.”
you trembled, arms snaking around the bulk of him, your nails scraping down his back as you pulled him down further. “kiss me,” you whispered. his bare cock twitched against your thigh and his lips grazed the corner of your mouth.
“where?”
“everywhere,” you answered.
his hands teased up your sides. “say it to me properly,” a peck to your cheek again. “baciami,” a tickle of warm breath against your collarbone. “da—” a vulgar lap of his tongue behind your ear. “—pertutto.”
“ba—” you gasped, the warmth of the tip of his tongue grazing your folds with a kitten lick had you shivering.
“keep going, doll.” he cooed. “doin’ so good.”
with a shaky breath you soldiered on. “baci—ami... hah—” you squirmed, or tried to but his palms met the back of your thighs, spreading you open and still for him. “dappertu— fuck, fuck, oh my god, jason!”
“uh huh, it’s okay... just make a fuckin’ mess for me, doll.” your thighs shook and moved to squeeze shut but a light slap from him to your searing flesh had you squealing in time with each swirl of his tongue over your pulsing clit. “show me how you look when you want it that bad... yeah, cosí?”
“c-can’t— fuck,” you cried. “wanna cum so bad, jay...”
“aspetta,” he shook his head, dissatisfied. he ground the heel of his palm just to watch you buck your hips forward in an attempt to chase it once he pulled away. “be nice, you can be nice... sweetest girl in the whole world,” jason punctuated the end of his declaration by gliding his tongue from the tip of your bud to your weeping hole, easing his tongue in and out before introducing his middle fingers to your insides.
“mi fai impazzire,” he murmured under his breath, more to himself than to you. his palms pushed the back of your thighs forward to fold you further and keep you open. “you drive me crazy. i could eat you up, doll... just too goddamn pretty.”
“all yours, jay,” you moaned like ecstasy was murder. “keep talking to me...”
“y’like it?” came muffled from his mouth making out with your pussy, all messy with open mouthed kisses and suckles against your heat. when he rose his head, he grinned, the swollen tip of his cock was flushed red and leaking against the sheets. “sei tutta bagnata... you really love it when i speak all foreign?”
your back arched harshly as he worked his fingers deeper into you, the sickening squelch! sound of your cunt making a mess had you keening with shame. “mhm! love it, love you—”
“don’t cum yet,” he warned.
“m’ trying— o-oh!” his thumb circled your clit as he spat a fat glob of saliva to your folds, the spit mixing with your cream and turning frothy. he curled his middle finger in a come hither motion, and cum hither you did. “i’m cumming, i’m cumming, wait—!”
“look at that, fuuuck” jason withdrew his fingers with a wet pop! your orgasm crashing over you and slick gushing from your swollen pussy in a hot rush of wetness. “che bella.... look at you, baby.” he ground the heel of his palm over your used pussy to smear the mess you made and you whined, twitching against him.
“bellissima.” he stated, grinning wolfishly. then he looked up at you, baby blues darkened with that pleasure filled haze but dimples peeking out playfully. “when’s our next class?”
italian-american! bf jason who drives you crazy.
