marital devotion
PAIRING: Dilf!Jason Todd x Wife!Reader
SUMMARY: Jason Todd loves fingering his wife.
WARNINGS: SMUT!! slight plot, porn :D, fem! wife! reader, established relationship, slight sub!reader, use of 'good girl', use of other pet names/names of endearment, dirty talk, praising
WORD COUNT: 1.4k
"Please—"
The word breaks from your lips, broken and whining, and Jason's mouth curves against your throat, the shape of his smile pressed to your pulse point.
"Please what?" His voice rumbles through you, calloused fingers slowly trailing along your inner thigh. "Use your words."
You whine, hips canting toward his touch, and he tsks softly.
"Jason," you whine, and your voice sounds foreign even to your own ears. Desperate. "You know what I need."
He pulls back just enough to look at you, and the sight of him steals what little breath remains in your lungs. His white streak catches the low light, those soulful eyes dark with want. There's silver threading through the black of his hair now. At his temples, too. Evidence of time passed, of life lived together. It only makes him more devastating.
"Yeah," he murmurs, fingers dancing higher, never quite touching where you ache. "I do know. But I want to hear you say it."
"Jay—" It comes out broken, pleading.
His thumb brushes against you through damp fabric, the barest pressure, and your whole body trembles. He watches your face with an intense focus that borders on animalist— something predatory and instinctual. The realization that you're the target of that attention makes heat pool low in your belly.
"Are you gonna be good for me?" He murmurs as his fingers hook into your underwear, dragging them down with agonizing slowness. "'Hmm?"
"Yes." You nod frantically. "I'll be good. I'm always good, I'll be your good wife—"
"You're always my good wife." Jason's other hand cups your face, thumb brushing your lower lip. "But tonight?" He leans in, breath ghosting across your mouth. "Tonight, I need you to be my good girl."
The distinction between the words, the promise embedded in their subtle shift, sends heat throughout your body. Wife implies partnership, equality, the life you've built together. Girl suggests something else entirely. Something that requires surrender.
You understand perfectly, and your lower half clenches in anticipation.
"Yes," you breathe. "Please, Jason, I'll be so good for you—"
He kisses you then, swallowing the rest of your words. The intensity is almost overwhelming. Dizzying and euphoric, like a drug that works on contact. His tongue sweeps against yours as his fingers finally, finally slip between your thighs, finding you slick and wanting.
You gasp into his mouth, hands scrabbling for purchase against his broad shoulders. Even now, after years, you're obsessed with the reality of him. The heat of his skin, the controlled strength in every movement. He knows exactly how much pressure to use, where to touch, how to make you forget everything except the feel of his hands on you.
"Shit," he groans against your lips, fingers exploring. "You're soaked."
The crude observation makes you clench around nothing, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as he slowly drags through your folds.
He trails open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, teeth scraping, and you know he'll leave marks. He always does when he gets like this—possessive, focused, determined to map evidence of his claim across your skin. You'll wear his bruises proudly. Tokens similar to fine jewelry. Visible proof at the base of your throat when you pour coffee tomorrow morning, evidence of your vow to be his in every way he'll have you.
"Going to give my wife what she wants," Jason murmurs against your collarbone, and there's dark amusement in his tone. One finger circles your entrance, dipping inside just enough to make you whimper before withdrawing. "Isn't that what I promised? For better or worse, in sickness and health..." He pushes two fingers in suddenly, and your back arches off the bed. "In desperate fucking need?"
You can't respond. Can't do anything but keen and clutch at him as he works you open, curling his fingers with perfect precision. He knows your body better than you do sometimes, knows exactly where to touch, how much pressure, what angle makes you see stars.
"There we go," he praises, and the approval in his voice makes warmth bloom in your chest alongside the building heat lower down. "That's my girl. Taking my fingers so pretty."
His thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow circles that contrast the increasingly urgent thrust of his fingers, and you feel yourself getting close already. Too fast. But Jason's been teasing you all evening—stolen touches while making dinner, his hand on your thigh during the movie you'd barely watched—and your body remembers. Anticipation wound tight through hours of waiting.
"Jason," you gasp, eyes fluttering shut. "Oh, fuck. Jay, I'm—"
"Not yet," he murmurs, and his fingers slow to something torturous. Deep, long strokes that keep you on edge. "Want to feel you a little longer, sweetheart."
The denial makes you whimper, hips rolling to seek more friction, but Jason's free hand comes to rest on your lower abdomen—not quite holding you down, but a grounding presence. A reminder that he's in control.
"Look at me," he says, voice rough, and you force your eyes open.
He's so close now, shifted up so he can watch your face while his hand works between your thighs. The hunger in his gaze makes you clench around his fingers.
"Fuck," Jason breathes, and there's something almost reverent in his tone despite the crude word. "How'd I get this lucky, huh?" His fingers curl, hitting that perfect spot, and you gasp. "Pretty face. Pretty sounds." His thumb circles your clit. "Pretty pussy."
"Jason—" It comes out broken, desperate.
"All mine." He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, and his breathing has gone ragged. "My wife. Get to touch you like this whenever I want. Get to make you shake and beg and—" His fingers speed up, and you keen. "—fall apart on my hand."
My wife. My wife. My wife.
He kisses you, hungry and deep, swallowing your whimpers as his fingers work you relentlessly. When he pulls back, it's only enough to speak against your lips, and his voice has dropped to something even darker.
"Gonna make you come so fucking hard, sweetheart." Another curl of his fingers, another wave of pleasure. "Wanna feel this perfect cunt squeeze my fingers. Wanna watch your face when you let go for me."
The devotion in his voice breaks something open inside you. You clutch at his shoulders, his neck, trying to anchor yourself as the pleasure builds higher.
"There you go. So close now, aren't you? Gonna soak my hand?" He kisses your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth—gentle touches that contrast with the increasingly urgent work of his fingers. "Let me see it, yeah? Let me watch you fall apart for me."
His thumb presses harder against your clit, his fingers curling just right, and you're right there on the edge. Trembling and desperate and so full of feeling you might burst.
"I've got you. Always got you."
His mouth is on yours again—swallowing the moan that tears from your throat as your orgasm finally crashes through you. You clench around his fingers rhythmically, pleasure rolling through you in waves, and Jason works you through every second of it.
"That's my girl," he murmurs against your lips when you finally still. "So beautiful."
He withdraws his fingers slowly, carefully, and you watch—dazed and boneless—as he brings them to his mouth, licking away what remains with a groan that vibrates through your bones.
You're still catching your breath when Jason shifts, moving down your body with clear intent. His hands are already pushing up your shirt, mouth following the revealed skin.
"Jason—" Your voice sounds wrecked. "Baby, I just—"
"I know." He presses a kiss just below your navel, and you feel his smile again. "But I told you, didn't I? I'm gonna take care of my wife tonight. Gonna make you come on my tongue until you forget your own name." He looks up at you through his lashes, and the combination of his rough face between your thighs and that surprisingly sweet gaze makes your heart clench. "You okay with that, sweetheart?"
As if you could ever say no to him. As if you'd want to.
"Yes," you whisper. "Please."
Jason's answering grin is sharp enough to cut. "That's my good girl."
And then his mouth is on you, and coherent thought becomes impossible.
authors note: dilfson todd....im purring and preening and crying and creaming!!!!! no other explanation for this
anyways as usual comments & reblogs are appreciated and loved 😽😽 i work like a dog on treats