They Should Invent Activities For Sleepy People With No Energy

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SOAKED

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

Words: 12,4k

Plot: Jason comes home bruised and sore, and you do what you do best: take care of him. But one thing leads to another, and soon, you're on your knees, making him fall apart, only to have him return the favor tenfold.

You don't even remember falling asleep. One minute you were curled up on the couch, legs tucked under you, Jason's hoodie swallowing you whole, and the next, your eyes snap open at the sound of keys jingling just outside the door.

Your heart stumbles over itself as you push up on your elbows, eyes darting to the clock glowing dimly from the wall. 3:26 am.

Not bad. Not great either, but you've seen worse. You rub your face, still heavy with sleep, and the fabric of Jason's hoodie pools around your wrists as you move. It smells like him, sharp leather and gunpowder, something faintly metallic that always clings to his clothes, and underneath all that, the warmth of his skin, like sunshine baked into cotton. You wear it every time he's out late. Sleeping in your bed without him feels wrong—too cold, too empty—so you do this instead, drowning in the closest thing you have to his arms.

Another jingle, then the unmistakable scrape of the deadbolt turning. Your heart gives another sharp little kick, but this time, it's relief flooding in. He's home.

The door swings open, and Jason steps inside. Bloody.

"Fuck."

You're off the couch before you even realize you've moved, bare feet slapping against the floor as you rush to him, wide awake now and already scanning for where he's hurt.

"Oh my God, what happened? Are you okay? Baby—"

He shushes you softly, reaching up to pull off his Red Hood mask. The metal clatters onto the table beside the door, leaving his hair a mess, damp at the edges with sweat.

"Shhh. It's okay, doll. Not my blood."

Your breath catches, but he says it like it's supposed to make you feel better. It doesn't. If anything, it makes your pulse race harder because something happened, something bad enough to coat his chest in sticky red streaks and leave his shoulders locked up so tight you can see it through his jacket.

His jaw ticks, tension riding every inch of his frame, and you know him well enough to know that he's not gonna talk about it yet. Not until you've pried it out of him or worn him down enough to let him breathe again.

So you step closer, hands skimming over his sides, feeling for injuries anyway. He's solid under your touch, all heat and muscle, even through the armor and blood.

"Let's get you cleaned up," you whisper, voice softer.

You don't push for answers, not yet. First, you get him warm. Get his hands on you. Let him remember he's home. Jason exhales like he's been holding his breath since he walked through the door.

"Yeah," he says, voice lower, rougher, already starting to crack at the edges. "Yeah, okay, baby."

He kicks the door shut behind him with a solid thunk, his boots following right after—one, then the other, dropped lazily beside the mat. His jacket hits the table next, heavy with blood and dirt, and before he does anything else, his hand darts out to flip the lock. You watch the muscles in his forearm flex as he checks it twice, then once more, a habit he's never broken no matter how safe this place is.

Then his attention swings back to you, and his expression softens, just barely, at the sight of you standing there all sleepy and worried in his hoodie, the hem brushing your bare thighs. His lips twitch like he's fighting a grin, but he doesn't say a word about it—doesn't have to.

Instead, he steps in close, warm hands catching your waist, tugging you toward him just enough to kiss your forehead. His breath is warm, lips softer than they should be after a night like this, and you feel some of that coiled up tension drain from his body as he stands there holding you, grounded for the first time in hours.

He doesn't pull away until you take his hand, fingers lacing through his like it's second nature, and guide him toward the bathroom. His steps are heavy, the kind of weight that comes from hours of running and fighting, but he follows without a word.

He's too tired to tease, but not too tired to sneak one last glance at your legs, bare and soft beneath his hoodie, and there's that twitch at the corner of his mouth again. The kind that says Fuck, I love seein' my girl in my clothes, even if he's never gonna say it out loud.

In the bathroom, you flick on the light and step past him to turn on the shower, hand testing the temperature until it's hot enough to chase the chill out of his bones. Jason, meanwhile, starts to work the buckles on his gear, fingers moving automatically. One shoulder piece drops to the floor with a clatter, and you whirl around so fast he freezes, brow lifting.

"Jason Peter Todd."

Your voice lands somewhere between a scold and a soft plea, and his head tips to the side, confused. You step right into his space, small hands nudging his out of the way as you reach for his shirt yourself.

"I've got you. You don't have to—just—let me help, okay? You're all stiff, baby, and you're probably bruised to hell, and you're not supposed to—"

His hands settle on your wrists, and for a second you think he's gonna argue, but all he does is huff—this half laugh, half sigh like there she goes again, and fuck if it doesn't make his heart swell. "Ain't no winnin' with you, huh, pretty girl?"

"Not a chance," you smile up at him, sweet and stubborn all at once. "So stand still and let me."

Jason's bigger than you by a mile, but he knows better than to fight you when you've got that look in your eye. So he does what you say, letting his arms hang loose at his sides while you take off the other shoulder piece, fingers careful around the edges of bruises and scrapes. His skin's warm beneath the shirt, all solid muscle and scars you know by heart, and for a minute, all you can think about is how strong he is, and how soft he lets himself be with you.

You work him out of his shirt, fingers gentle but determined, peeling it off like you're unwrapping something precious even though the fabric's half ruined with grime and blood. It lands in the washing machine with a wet plop, and you barely glance at it before you're on to his belt, tugging at the buckle with a frown so serious, Jason can't help himself.

"Y'know," he drawls, voice low and teasing, "never seen someone so goddamn focused on takin' my clothes off and not tryin' to jump me."

"Shut up." Your nose scrunches, mouth set in that determined little pout that drives him crazy. "If you're gonna come home looking like a crime scene, the least you can do is let me clean you up without the peanut gallery commentary."

Jason snorts, arms loose at his sides, just letting you work. "Ain't my fault you're cute when you're bossy. That little face—shit, baby, you could probably scare Bruce if you tried hard enough."

Your glare could cut glass, but your hands stay gentle, popping the button on his pants before sliding them down his legs. "Get in the shower, smartass."

"Yes, ma'am."

He even throws in a sloppy salute, which earns him a playful slap right on his ass. He turns just enough to look over his shoulder, all smirk and dark eyes, like Careful, baby, do that again and I might forget how tired I am.

You flip him off for good measure, which only makes him laugh harder as he steps into the warm spray. For a second, the air fogs up, steam curling around his skin, and he tips his head back, letting the water rinse away the first layer of the night's grime.

The tension in his shoulders melts just a fraction, but only a fraction, because the second he turns back around, you're climbing in after him, hoodie already on the floor, and thank fuck for whoever designed this shower because the cabin's massive and you both fit in it with no problem.

Jason's brows lift, appreciation written all over his face. "Well, shit. Ain't I the lucky one."

The water's hot, steam curling between you, misting the glass walls of the shower. You step closer, bare feet against the slick tile, and when he turns to face you fully, your heart sinks just a little.

Because there they are. The bruises.

Deep, ugly smudges already blooming across his ribs, darker ones wrapping around his bicep like fingerprints, and a nasty scrape high on his shoulder where something must've caught him just right. You sigh softly, fingertips tracing over the damage, careful not to press too hard, and when you lift your eyes to his, they're already waiting for you.

"What happened, Jay?"

Your voice is gentle, but there's an edge underneath, sharpened by hours of waiting and worrying. Jason closes his eyes for a beat, head tipping back under the spray, water trailing down his neck and over the hard lines of his chest.

"Wrong place, wrong fuckin' time," he mutters, voice low and a little rough. "Some poor bastard got jumped by a bunch of goons in the Narrows. Tried to step in, but it was too late."

His mouth twists like he's already thinking about what you're gonna say to that.

"Then what's with the bruises?"

You cross your arms over your chest, trying for stern, but you just look small, standing there naked and wet, water gliding down your skin while your brows knit together in frustration.

Jason rubs the back of his neck, sheepish in a way only you get to see. "Well, I was on patrol, so..."

You scoff, shaking your head as you pinch the bridge of your nose. The steam makes your fingers damp, but it doesn't hide the way your shoulders curl inward, tension wracking your small frame.

You exhale, voice soft, a little wobbly at the edges. "You promised you'd be more careful."

You can't look at him when you say it, so you reach for the body wash instead, hands shaking just enough to make the bottle slip in your grip. Jason's hand is faster, catching your wrist gently before you can turn away completely.

"Hey, it's okay."

His fingers tilt your chin up, guiding you to meet his eyes, and you're not sure if it's the heat from the water or the look on his face that makes you dizzy. He leans down, lips brushing yours, soft at first, a grounding kiss meant to anchor you both. But the second his mouth presses to yours, something inside you buckles.

Your free hand fists in the wet hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss with a soft, desperate sound. Jason groans low in his throat, like you just knocked the air out of his chest, and his other hand slips around your waist, dragging you flush against him. Your bare skin slides against his, slick with water, and the kiss turns messy, hungry, all teeth and tongue and the kind of heat that leaves you lightheaded.

His tongue parts your lips, slow and filthy, licking into your mouth like he's got all the time in the world. He tastes like mint and something darker underneath—copper and smoke—and you take it all, kissing him like you need to memorize the shape of him. Your bodies press so close you can feel the thud of his heart against your ribs, and his fingers tighten at your waist, like he can't quite let you go yet.

When you finally pull back, breathless and flushed, Jason rests his forehead against yours, water running down the bridge of his nose. "I promised I'll always come back to you," he says softly. "And I meant it. I'm still here, doll. Shit like this? It's inevitable. But it's just a few bruises."

Your throat works around a hard swallow, eyes flicking over the marks on his skin. "Yeah," you whisper. "Just bruises."

Your voice cracks a little, but you cover it by squeezing a generous dollop of body wash into your palm, focusing on the feel of the slippery soap instead of the ache in your chest.

You start at his shoulders, fingers gliding over skin and muscle, slow and deliberate, cleaning him up like it's your own body you're tending to. His eyes never leave your face, watching the way your brow furrows in concentration, how your lower lip gets caught between your teeth every time you find another bruise.

You finish washing him with slow, careful hands, fingers mapping over familiar muscle and scar, every touch a quiet promise—you're home, you're safe, you're mine. Jason's eyes stay on you the whole time, half lidded and heavy with exhaustion, but there's something else simmering underneath, something darker.

When you go to grab the soap again, reaching for your own skin, his hands catch your wrists, his grip gentle but firm. "Nuh-uh, sweet girl. My turn."

"Jay, I'm fine and—"

"Don't care," he cuts you off, voice low and rough around the edges. "Lemme take care of my girl."

And really, what are you gonna do? Fight a man built like him, standing naked and wet in a shower that's already fogged up enough to feel like a sauna? You let him, because even though you fuss, you love this part. The way his hands move with purpose, how he touches you like you're the only thing worth slowing down for.

His fingers are slick with soap when they slide up your arms, over your shoulders, down your sides. The water makes everything slippery, his palms gliding over every inch of skin like he's memorizing you all over again.

But it's when he reaches your chest that you feel the shift, the way his breath catches, how his thumb drags deliberately over your nipple, slicking it up with soap and hot water, until the soft bud pebbles under his touch.

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath, more to himself than you. "Look at you."

You glance down, following his gaze, and yeah, no wonder he's obsessed. The soap drips down the curve of your tits, slow and thick, catching on your nipples and running in slick little trails down your stomach. Jason's hands follow the path, palms curving to cup your breasts, thumbs teasing at the soapy peaks until you gasp, back arching into his touch.

"Jay..."

It's half a scold, half a moan, and all it does is make his grip tighten, fingers kneading like he needs to feel every inch of you. He groans, low and wrecked, watching the way your tits bounce in his hands, slippery and perfect.

"Can't fuckin' help it," he says, voice rough and low, like gravel dragged over silk. "You got these perfect tits, all wet 'n slippery... How the fuck am I not supposed to play with 'em?"

His thumbs roll your nipples again, slow and deliberate, and the heat between your legs flares so fast it's embarrassing. He laughs, low and filthy, dipping his head down to mouth at your throat.

"Bet I could get you off just like this," he murmurs, squeezing just a little firmer. "Just my hands on your pretty tits, workin' you up 'til you're beggin' me to fuck you."

His teeth graze your skin, just enough to make you shiver. "Should I test it, baby?"

You kiss him to shut him up, or at least, that's the excuse you give yourself. But the second your mouth finds his, it turns filthy fast. His tongue slides against yours, tasting like water and heat and something purely Jason, and your hand drops between you without thinking, wrapping around his hard cock in one slick stroke.

He groans, deep and rumbling, but it's when you twist your wrist just right that it happens—that soft, needy moan that punches out of his chest, so unexpected you feel it in your cunt. You swallow it greedily, sucking on his tongue while your hand strokes him slow and firm, the soap making everything glide like silk.

"Jesus—fuck, baby," he mutters, forehead dropping against yours as his hips jerk into your fist. "You know what that shit does to me."

"Mhmm." You pump him again, savoring the way his cock twitches in your grip, thick and hot and already leaking at the tip. "Love your moans, Jay."

Your voice is pure sin, all low and sweet, with that dangerous edge that only comes out when you've got him like this. Raw and open, all that Red Hood bravado stripped away until it's just your man, desperate and wrecked in your hands.

Jason growls, hands sliding down to grab your ass, pulling you hard against him so you can feel exactly what you're doing to him.

"Keep talkin' like that," he warns, voice tight, "and I'm gonna bend you over right fuckin' here."

And God, you're already so wet, you could probably take him just like this, no prep, no nothing, but you're not done teasing him yet.

Your hand works his cock slow and deliberate, fingers snug around the thick shaft, every stroke slick with water and his own leaking precum. He's so fucking hard, heavy in your grip, veins standing out along the length, the head flushed and swollen as it slides against your palm. You twist your wrist at the top, fingers teasing over that sensitive ridge just under the head, and Jason's hips twitch, like he can't help himself.

"Goddamn," he mutters, voice low and frayed at the edges. "Always so fuckin' good to me."

The praise makes you shiver, thighs pressing together for a second, and that's all the invitation Jason needs. His hand slides down, fingers tracing your ass, his palm big enough to spread you open like nothing. You barely have time to gasp before two of his fingers slip between your thighs from behind, sliding through your slick folds like he's been waiting all night to get his hands on you.

"Jesus, baby." he groans. "You're so fuckin' wet already."

His fingers slide lower, not rushing, just exploring, tracing over your clit before dipping back to your entrance, dragging your slickness back up with every stroke. It's teasing, maddening, like he wants to see how worked up he can get you before you snap. And it's working, because you're already trembling, thighs spreading wider, giving him all the access he wants.

"Such a good fuckin' girl," he mutters, fingers finally pressing inside you, two at once, slow and steady. "Takin' me so sweet. Always so fuckin' tight for me."

You moan into his mouth, the sound soft and helpless, and your grip on his cock tightens just a little, enough to make him hiss between his teeth, his fingers curling inside you like a reflex. He's filling you so good, even with just his fingers, and the angle from behind only makes it dirtier, your ass pushed back into his hand while your chest stays flush to his skin, tits pressed against warm, wet muscle.

"Greedy little thing," Jason teases, voice warm and dark. "Jerkin' me off while you fuck yourself on my fingers. You missed me that much, huh?"

You don't even try to deny it, you just kiss him again, harder this time, all tongue and heat, your hand stroking him faster. Water runs down both your bodies, dripping between you, and every movement feels slick and desperate, like you're both already too far gone to slow down. Your palm twists over the head of his cock, smearing precum down the length, and Jason groans into your mouth, fingers fucking into you deeper until you can't help but moan right back.

"Fuckin' love those sounds," he mutters, lips dragging down your jaw. "My girl sounds so fuckin' sweet when she's needy."

His lips find yours again, slower this time, tongue licking into your mouth in lazy, filthy strokes, and you know—you just know—this is only the beginning.

The thought hits you so suddenly it's almost embarrassing. How much you want to get your mouth on him, to taste every inch, to feel his dick sliding down your throat while water beats down your back. You want to swallow every groan, every curse, every helpless little noise that slips past his lips when you've got him too deep, choking on it.

You shift against him, one hand on his chest, the other still stroking his cock as you gently guide him back until his broad shoulders hit the shower wall. The tile is cool against his skin, but the way you look up at him—all wide, needy eyes, water dripping down your face, lips already parted—that's what sends a little shiver down his spine.

"Baby—" he starts, but you're already moving, already tugging his hand from between your thighs, even though your pussy clenches around nothing in protest.

You need him in your mouth more than you need his fingers, and the second you sink to your knees, Jason's head tips back against the wall with a low, wrecked groan.

"Fuckin' hell, doll," he mutters, voice all gravel and heat. "Gonna kill me with those pretty fuckin' eyes."

You smile, sweet and filthy at once, licking up the underside of his cock, tongue tracing that thick vein from base to tip. He's so hot in your mouth, the taste of salt and skin mixed with the faint bitterness of his precum as you swirl your tongue over the head, lapping up every drop like you're starved for it.

"Goddamn," Jason hisses, one hand finding your hair, fingers sliding in to grip the back of your head. "You're so fuckin' pretty down there. Look at you, baby—fuck, lookin' at me like you wanna swallow me whole."

You hum around him, keeping eye contact as you take him deeper, lips stretching around the thick head, your tongue flattening against the underside. He's big—too big, really—but you love the stretch, love the way your jaw aches already, love the way Jason's chest rises and falls faster the deeper you go.

"Such a good girl," he mutters, voice just shy of breaking. "My good girl. Look at you, takin' me so sweet, fuckin' droolin' for it."

You are, slick spit dripping down your chin already, mixing with the water, and you love it. Love how messy it is, how desperate you feel, how Jason's fingers tighten in your hair like he's holding himself back from just thrusting into your mouth.

"Goddamn mouth was made for me," Jason growls, thumb brushing the corner of your lips, gathering up the slick mess and smearing it across your cheek. "Prettiest fuckin' sight I've ever seen."

You take him deeper in response, throat fluttering around the tip, eyes watering as you try to swallow him down, and he groans, low and broken, the sound vibrating all the way down to your cunt.

"Shit, baby, you're gonna make me lose my fuckin' mind."

You pull off him with a wet pop, lips glossy with spit and precum, breathing hard like you just ran a mile. Your fingers curl around the base of his cock, slick and shiny, and you look up at him through soaked lashes, eyes dark with need.

"Jay," you whisper, voice a little wrecked already, throat raw from just what you've taken so far. "Wanna feel you deeper." You swallow hard, your tongue darting out to lick your lips. "Wanna feel you fuck my throat."

Jason's whole body tenses, a shudder running through him so hard you feel it under your fingertips. His jaw tightens, water dripping down his face, and you swear you can see him debating it for a split second. Like maybe he's worried he'll get carried away, worried he'll ruin you if he really lets go.

"Baby—" his voice is hoarse, almost strained. "You sure? Don't wanna hurt you."

You fucking melt, because underneath all that roughness, all that unhinged hunger, there's him. Your Jason. Who always asks, always checks. Even when you're on your knees, begging for it.

You nod, so sweet, so sure, giving his cock a slow stroke just to make your point. "I want it, Jay."

"Fuckin' hell," he mutters, voice already breaking. "C'mere."

You grip his thighs, steadying yourself, fingers digging into thick muscle as you let him guide you—both hands cradling your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks, so gentle it makes you ache. But the second your lips part and he slides back in, the tenderness shifts, replaced by hunger so sharp it steals your breath.

"Open up, baby," Jason rasps, hips rolling forward slow and steady, letting you adjust around the stretch of him. "That's it, such a good girl, fuck."

His cock slides deeper, the head nudging the back of your throat, and you gag—a wet, helpless sound that makes his hips jerk. His fingers tighten in your hair, his own breath hitching in his chest, like the sound of you choking on him just flipped some feral switch in his brain.

"Shit," he groans, low and guttural. "Takin' me so deep—look at you, baby, fuckin' perfect."

Your nails dig into his thighs for balance, your knees slipping slightly against wet tile, but you don't stop. You want all of him, need to feel him hit the back of your throat again and again until your eyes stream and your pussy drips. Your moan vibrates around him, and Jason's head drops back against the wall with a sharp curse, fingers tightening until your scalp stings.

"Holy fuck, you love this, don't you?" he growls, looking down at you with wild eyes, water running down his chest. "Love gettin' all sloppy and fucked out for me."

You hum around him, too full to answer, tears burning at the corners of your eyes as his cock slides deeper. Your throat spasms around him, gagging again, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin to your tits, mixing with the water like you're just a mess made for him.

Jason moans, a real, broken sound you almost never hear—low and desperate, like the feel of your throat wrapped tight around him is enough to unravel every last shred of control. And fuck, that sound alone makes your pussy ache, slick dripping down your thighs in hot, needy trails.

"You're gonna make me fuckin' lose it," he grits out, voice rough and thin. "You feel that, baby? Feel how hard I am for you?"

You moan again, louder this time, hips shifting like you're searching for friction, desperate to grind against something. Jason's fingers stroke your cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, gathering up the spit that's spilled there, and when you glance up at him—all wide, tear bright eyes and swollen lips—his cock twitches hard.

"Fuck, you're so pretty like this," he mutters, voice all low heat and reverence. "My pretty girl... on her knees, lettin' me fuck her throat like the greedy little thing she is."

He thrusts a little deeper, slow but deliberate, and you choke again, body shuddering, tears finally spilling over. But you hold still, nails digging into his thighs, moaning around him like you love the struggle, like you love knowing you're the only one who can make him fall apart like this.

Jason swears under his breath, something low and filthy, and you swear his hips tremble like he's fighting not to lose it right there. He pulls back with a wet pop, his cock slipping from your throat, leaving you coughing softly, spit clinging to your lips and chin, drooling down your neck in glossy trails.

His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, gathering the mess you made, and the way he looks at you—like you're the filthiest, prettiest little thing he's ever seen—makes your thighs squeeze together, your pussy pulsing helplessly.

"Breathe, baby," he rasps, voice raw with need, like he's the one who just had his throat fucked, not you. "Did so good for me. Fuckin' perfect."

You take a shaky breath, chest rising and falling fast, before you flash him that wicked little smile, all slicked with spit and swollen, and you tilt your head, tongue flicking out to lick the tip of his cock.

"Not done yet, Jay," you whisper, voice hoarse from all the choking.

Jason groans, head falling back against the tile as his fingers twitch in your hair, trying not to yank too hard because fuck, you're gonna ruin him. Your throat is already raw from how deep he's been, but that wicked little smile you give him says you don't care.

Your fingers curl around the base of his cock, slick with spit and precum, and you stroke him slow, dragging your thumb over the thick vein that runs along the underside. His hips twitch, a barely there thrust that he immediately stops, like he's trying to be good, trying not to shove himself right back down your throat.

But then you press a kiss to his flushed tip, then another, before dragging your tongue over the slit, tasting him—salty and thick, all Jason—and you hum in approval, sending a shudder through his entire body.

"Shit," he hisses through clenched teeth, his grip in your hair tightening.

His thighs flex, like he wants to spread them wider, give you more room, but he's already backed against the shower wall, nowhere else to go but into your mouth.

And you want him there.

You tilt your head and take him in again, slow at first, sucking him down inch by inch until your lips stretch wide around the thickest part of his cock. Your free hand slides up, resting against his lower stomach for balance as you start to move, bobbing your head, tongue dragging along the underside, tracing every ridge and vein.

He groans low, almost desperate, his breathing ragged as he watches you. "Fuckin' hell, baby—"

And then you take him deeper.

You breathe through your nose and sink down, letting him slide past your tongue, into your throat, until your lips are pressed right against the base. His dick twitches inside your mouth, hot and pulsing, stretching you open in a way that has your pussy clenching around nothing.

Jason curses, head snapping forward to look down at you, his pupils blown wide. "Jesus—" His jaw goes slack as you swallow around him, muscles flexing around the thick length in your throat, and he groans deep, guttural, something torn straight from his chest. "Goddamn it, baby—"

You moan, the vibrations making him jerk, his fingers tangling in your hair as he fights the urge to fuck into your mouth. But you want him to. You need him to.

So you pull back just enough to breathe, spit slicking your lips, his cock shiny and wet from your mouth. You blink up at him, all pretty, wrecked eyes, and whisper, hoarse but teasing, "C'mon, Jay. Give it to me."

His restraint snaps. He cups the back of your head and pushes back in, slow at first, just to watch your lips stretch around him again, just to hear that sweet little gag when he hits the back of your throat. Then he does it again. And again.

Fucking your mouth with slow, deep thrusts, his dick hot and heavy on your tongue, your jaw aching, your throat stretched wide to take him. Spit drips down your chin, strings of it connecting your lips to his cock every time he pulls back, only to snap when he shoves in again.

"Fuck, baby—look at you." His voice is hoarse, full of raw need as he watches you swallow him down like you were made for it. "Takin' me so fuckin' good—my perfect girl, so fuckin' greedy—"

You moan in response, your fingers digging into his flexing thighs for balance, your eyes locked onto his as you let him use your mouth just the way he likes. It's filthy, messy, raw, the wet, slick sounds of your mouth working him filling the steamy bathroom, and when his abs tighten, his breathing turning ragged, you know he's close.

But not yet.

You pull off of him with a gasp, a string of spit still connecting your lips to his cock, and you tilt your head back, mouth open, tongue out, voice wrecked as you murmur, "Cum on my tongue, Jay."

His moan is broken as his cock jerks in your grip, his fingers twitching like he wants to grab your face and wreck you all over again. Instead, he lets you set the pace, his back pressing to the shower wall as you stroke him slow and deliberate, your slick hand working over his cock, all the way from the base to the leaking tip.

"Shit, baby, fuck," he mutters, head thunking back against the tile. "You're gonna—fuckin' hell—gonna make me blow just like that, lookin' at me with that dirty little smile."

You keep your eyes locked on his, wide and dark and utterly shameless, your tongue peeking out like an invitation. And when he curses again, hips bucking into your grip, you pull him right to the edge of your mouth—lips parted, tongue out, waiting, just like his fucking dream girl.

"Gonna cum for me, Jay?" you whisper, all soft and sweet, hand twisting at the head of his cock, smearing precum all over your tongue.

His whole body tenses, abs flexing hard, his dick jerking in your hand as his breath stutters out in a ragged groan. "Fuck, baby, fuck—gonna cum—shit—"

It hits fast and messy, the first thick spurt of cum painting your tongue, hot and salty and so much of it. His cock throbs in your grip, pulsing with every ragged heartbeat, more cum spilling over your tongue, dripping down your lip in messy streaks. Jason watches, jaw slack, eyes heavy-lidded with pure wrecked hunger, like the sight of his cum all over your tongue could send him spiraling right into a second orgasm.

"Fuckin' beautiful," he mutters, voice rough and almost reverent.

You tilt your head back, sticking your tongue out just enough to show him, his cum glistening on your tongue, a filthy little pool of him. His fingers cradle your jaw, thumb tugging at your bottom lip as he groans, low and guttural, like the sight alone is enough to knock the air out of his lungs.

"Swallow, baby," he whispers, dark and sweet all at once. "C'mon, swallow my cum like the perfect little thing you are."

You obey without hesitation, tongue curling back as you swallow every drop, throat working around it. Then you open your mouth again, all pretty and empty, just to show him you took it all, and he swears under his breath, dragging you up onto your feet so fast your head spins.

Jason pulls you up, kissing you hard and deep, not even caring that you still taste like him. His hand cradles the back of your head, fingers tangling into your wet hair as his tongue slides over yours, messy and hungry, all low moans and deep groans vibrating against your lips.

His other hand grips your hip, holding you flush to him, his cock still heavy and slick between you, smearing precum against your belly as the two of you kiss like neither of you is fully in control anymore.

"Fuck, baby," he mutters against your mouth, thumb tracing your jaw, "gonna taste you, wanna fuckin' drown in that sweet pussy."

Before you can respond, Jason sinks to his knees right there in the shower, water dripping off his hair, running in rivulets down his broad shoulders and sculpted chest. His hands grip the backs of your thighs, urging you to spread them just enough for him to fit between, and then he throws one of your legs over his shoulder like you weigh nothing, opening you up for his hungry mouth.

"Goddamn," he mutters, mouth so close to your slick cunt that you can feel his breath ghosting over your clit, "this fuckin' pussy, baby."

And then he's on you, tongue flat and wide, dragging up your slit, slow and filthy, groaning like the taste of you just knocked the air out of his chest. His nose bumps against your clit as his tongue flicks lower, dipping right into your entrance, fucking you open with deep, sloppy strokes.

You cry out, hand flying to his hair, fingers fisting in the dark strands as you try to keep yourself steady, but it's useless. His tongue is relentless, devouring you like he's starving.

You try to close your thighs around his head, overwhelmed by the heat of his mouth, the pressure of his tongue dragging against your sensitive walls, but Jason's grip tightens, holding you open just for him.

"Uh-uh," he mutters, voice muffled against your cunt, "stay open for me, baby, let me see how fuckin' wet you are."

His tongue moves back up to your clit, circling it in slow, torturous patterns before wrapping his lips around it and sucking hard, and you damn near scream, hips jerking into his face.

"Jason, fuck—oh my God—"

He hums against your clit, tongue flicking faster, and the vibration sends shivers all through you, your knees threatening to buckle. Then you feel his fingers—one thick finger sliding into your soaked pussy, sinking all the way down to the knuckle, curling just right, pressing against that spot that makes your vision go white.

"So fuckin' tight, baby," he mutters, adding a second finger without warning, your walls fluttering around him. "Gonna stretch you open nice and good for me."

He fucks you with his fingers, slow at first, dragging them out until you're whining, desperate, then slamming them back in, curling every time, fucking you open while his tongue stays glued to your clit. The combination is too much, the perfect rhythm, his fingers filling you just right while his tongue flicks and circles and sucks, and you can feel your orgasm building too fast, that sweet heat curling in your belly like a molten knot about to snap.

"Jason—gonna—fuck, I'm gonna—"

"Yeah, baby, cum for me," he groans, fingers speeding up, tongue licking harder.

And you do—you cum hard, soaking his fingers, your cunt fluttering around them as your clit throbs under his tongue. Your whole body shudders, thighs shaking so hard Jason has to hold you up, his free hand gripping your ass, keeping you steady while he licks you through it, sucking every last drop of your wetness onto his tongue like he can't bear to waste a single drop.

"Fuckin' beautiful," he mutters, lips shiny with you, kissing your trembling inner thigh, fingers still buried deep inside your pulsing cunt. "Always so fuckin' pretty when you cum for me."

You're still trembling when you tug at Jason's hair, urging him up from his knees, and he follows without hesitation, his broad frame rising above you, all wet skin and slick muscles and that hungry look in his eyes that makes your stomach flip. You crash your mouth onto his the second he's close enough, kissing him messy and wet, tasting yourself on his tongue as he groans into you.

There's no finesse, just raw, desperate hunger, teeth knocking together, tongues tangling, water running between you while his hands slide down to grip your hips, pulling you flush to his still achingly hard dick.

"Fuck me," you murmur against his mouth, breathless, lips swollen, and Jason gasps like the air got punched out of his lungs, eyes going dark with that primal heat you know so well.

"C'mere, pretty girl," he rasps, guiding you toward the built in shower bench, and really, bless whoever designed this apartment.

Jason grabs a folded towel from the shelf, laying it over the bench to cushion your knees, always thinking of you even when his mind is spinning off its axis with lust.

"Bend over for me," he says, voice low and rough, and you don't need to be told twice.

You turn, hands bracing against the tiles as you arch your back, sticking your ass out for him, knowing damn well how much he loves the view.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he groans behind you, big hands grabbing your ass, squeezing hard enough to leave marks. "This fuckin' pussy, always so goddamn pretty."

He spreads you open with his thumbs, watching the way your slick glistens under the water, watching how your hole clenches, already desperate to be filled.

"You're gonna fuckin' ruin me, baby," he mutters, more to himself than to you, voice full of awe and heat and hunger.

And God, his thoughts are a fucking mess—his body aches, every muscle burning from tonight's patrol, but none of it matters. Not when you're like this, bent over and dripping for him, all soft skin and curves and that sweet little arch of your back, presenting yourself like the perfect gift.

He feels wrecked, destroyed by how much he wants you, like his skin might split open if he doesn't get inside you right now. You're his remedy, his fucking salvation, and the only way to ease the tension coiled inside him is to bury himself so deep in you that he forgets why his knuckles are bruised in the first place.

He fists his dick, pumping it slow, spreading the slick of his precum along his shaft, hissing between his teeth because he's so fucking sensitive already.

"Goddamn, baby," he mutters, dragging the head of his cock through your folds, teasing your swollen clit just to make you whimper. "You're so fuckin' wet. This all for me, huh?"

"All for you," you breathe, pressing back into him, desperate for more, for all of him.

He slides the tip just barely inside, groaning at the way your tight heat immediately tries to suck him in, and fuck, you'll never get used to this—to the stretch, the way his cock splits you open every single time. He's so thick, so perfect, and it burns just a little, but it's the best fucking burn, the kind that leaves you dizzy and drooling, the kind that makes your toes curl because you know what's coming, you know how good it's gonna be.

No one's ever fucked you like Jason does, no one's ever filled you like this, made you ache and crave and beg, and you're already gone, already clenching around nothing, desperate to have him deeper.

"Jay, please," you whimper, and that's all it takes for him to sink in, slow but unrelenting, inch by thick inch until his hips are flush to your ass, until you're stuffed full, stretched wide, pussy fluttering around him.

"Fuckin' perfect," he groans, hands gripping your hips like a lifeline. "Always so fuckin' perfect for me, baby."

Jason stays still for a moment, letting you adjust, his big hands smoothing over your hips and up your spine, grounding you in his touch. You're stretched so wide around him it's almost too much—almost—but your pussy flutters around his dick like you're trying to pull him in even deeper. Your knees are already weak, breath hitching in your throat as the dull ache blooms into molten pleasure, and then, he moves.

A slow, careful pull back, his cock dragging against every nerve inside you, so thick you can feel every ridge and vein, and then he sinks back in, deeper this time, hips meeting the curve of your ass with a soft, wet slap. It makes you whimper, the sound high and needy, and Jason's thumbs stroke soothing circles into your skin, his voice low and tender.

"Shhh, pretty girl," he murmurs, eyes fixed on where his cock disappears inside you, mesmerized. "You're takin' me so good, baby. Look at this perfect fuckin' pussy, stretchin' just for me."

His gaze is glued to the way your slick coats his cock, creamy arousal clinging to him every time he pulls back, webbing between your thighs. "Goddamn," he groans, almost to himself, dragging his fingers down to spread you open just a little more so he can see even better. "You're so fuckin' wet. You missed me this much, huh?"

"Yes," you breathe, voice soft and sweet, trembling around the edges as he sinks in again, slow and deep.

And Jason? Jason's brain is barely functional at this point. All he can think about is how warm and tight you are, how your walls squeeze him like a fucking vice every time he moves. He's aching all over, bruised knuckles and sore muscles, but none of that matters when he's buried inside you.

This is his peace, his salvation, and there's nothing in the whole goddamn world that feels better than this. Your soft little moans, the way you arch your back for him, the way you take him so fucking deep—it's enough to make him lose his goddamn mind.

He fucks you slow, deep, each thrust deliberate, giving you every inch, savoring the way your cunt stretches around him, how your walls welcome him like you were made just for him. The slick sounds of your soaked pussy echo through the shower, mixing with the gentle slap of his hips against your ass, obscene and filthy and so fucking good.

Your thoughts are a mess—all you can think about is him, how deep he is, how good he fills you. The stretch burns just a little, but it's the kind of burn you crave, the kind that leaves you shaking and desperate for more.

No one's ever fucked you like this, like they're worshiping you and ruining you at the same time. Jason's hands are so big on your skin, holding you steady like you're fragile and precious, even though he's splitting you open with every slow thrust.

"Jay," you whimper, head dropping between your arms, face hot, body trembling. "Feels so good—"

"I know, baby," he murmurs, leaning over you, his chest flush to your back, lips brushing your ear. "Love this pussy so much. My good girl. Always so fuckin' good for me."

He kisses the back of your neck, slow thrusts never faltering, and you shiver at the feel of his lips and the filthy praise dripping from his tongue. Your pussy clenches around him, pulling him deeper, and he groans, low and broken.

"Fuck," he mutters, barely holding on, "You're gonna kill me, baby."

Jason's grip tightens on your waist, fingers pressing into your skin just enough to make you feel it, to remind you he's there, holding you steady as he picks up the pace. His thrusts grow just a little faster, a little rougher, each stroke punching soft, breathy moans from your lips.

And fuck, it's everything. His dick feels so good inside you, stretching you just right, dragging against every sensitive spot with every deep roll of his hips. The veins, the ridges, you can feel them all, rubbing against your walls, splitting you open over and over again.

And Jason—Jason's brain is fried. Every squeeze of your pussy around his dick makes his stomach clench, his jaw tighten. You're so fucking tight, so warm, so wet, each stroke is like heaven and hell at the same time. The soft, filthy sounds of your pussy sucking him in are enough to make his abs tense, his muscles coil.

"Shit," he rasps, voice wrecked, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he fucks into you, his hips snapping forward just a little harder, enough to make you whimper. "You're fuckin' squeezin' me so goddamn good, baby. Feels so fuckin' good—"

And then—his hand. Big, warm, calloused fingers sliding down between your thighs, finding your swollen clit with ease. The moment he touches it, a sharp little gasp rips from your lips, your legs trembling, and Jason groans against your skin, pressing messy, open mouthed kisses to the back of your neck.

"Yeah, you like that, huh?" His voice is pure sin, thick with lust, dripping with heat. "Like havin' me buried deep in this pretty little pussy while I play with your clit?"

His fingers move in slow, deliberate circles, rubbing soft and steady, teasing you, making your cunt throb around his cock. The pressure is perfect, just enough to make your whole body tighten, your breath hitch.

"Jay—"

Your voice is high, needy, desperate, and Jason feels it, the way you're spiraling, the way your walls start fluttering around him.

"That's it, baby," he mutters, rolling your clit a little faster now, keeping the pressure steady, his thrusts still deep and strong. "C'mon, pretty girl, wanna feel this pussy fuckin' cum on my dick."

And fuck, you're so close. Your whole body tenses, your toes curling, your arms shaking as the pleasure builds, hot and fucking overwhelming. His cock fills you so good, the stretch, the drag, the way he works your clit—it's all too much, too good, and then, you shatter.

A high, broken moan leaves your lips as your orgasm hits, crashing over you in thick, pulsing waves. Your pussy clenches around his cock, gripping him tight, rippling around him, milking him as your whole body shakes. Your head drops forward, forehead pressed against the cool tile, breath stolen from your lungs.

Jason groans, deep and wrecked, feeling every flutter of your walls, every wet squeeze of your cunt around his cock. It's almost too much, the way you keep pulling him in, and he has to force himself not to cum right then and there, has to grip your hips tighter, anchoring himself.

"Fuck, baby," he growls, still rubbing your clit, helping you ride it out, dragging out every last pulse of pleasure. "That's my good girl—fuckin' squeezin' me so good, baby—"

Your legs nearly give out, and Jason feels it, catches you, wraps an arm around your waist and holds you up, still buried deep inside you, still pulsing, still aching.

Jason's still inside you, cock nestled deep in your soaked cunt, and you turn your head just enough, voice soft and hazy as you murmur, "Jay..."

His lips brush over your shoulder, warm and tender, a sweet contrast to the heavy stretch of his dick still buried in you.

"Yeah, baby?"

You hesitate for a second, just a little sheepish, then whisper, "I wanna sit on you."

Fuck. His dick twitches inside you, a sharp little pulse that makes your spent pussy clench in response, and Jason groans quietly, forehead pressing against your shoulder.

"Yeah? You wanna ride me, pretty girl?"

"Yeah..."

And who the fuck is he to say no to that?

He pulls out slow, both of you hissing softly at the wet, messy slide of his dick leaving your cunt. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the center of your back before helping you shift around, easing you off the bench.

But before either of you can move any further, you tug him down into a kiss, just because you need to.

It's slow and lazy, all warm tongues and soft lips, your mouth still tasting faintly like him, like salt and sweat and something purely Jason. His hands settle on your waist, thumbs stroking gently, and you're already squirming closer, knees a little shaky as you lean into him, deepening the kiss.

When you finally pull back, you're both panting softly, and you flash him that sweet, cheeky little smile before you push at his chest and say, "Sit."

He arches a brow, but there's nothing but pure heat in his gaze when he murmurs, "Yes ma'am."

He sits back, water streaming down over his broad shoulders, and you climb into his lap, knees bracketing his thick thighs. Your arms loop around his neck, fingers sliding into the damp hair at the nape, and you roll your hips slowly, grinding your swollen, slick pussy against his hard, heavy cock.

Jason's hands grab your ass immediately, fingers digging in, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp. "Fuck, baby... look at you," he mutters, watching the way your puffy folds spread over the length of his dick, your clit catching on the head with every slow drag. "So fuckin' wet, you're leakin' all over me."

You moan softly, hips stuttering when he thrusts up just a little, the fat head of his cock catching perfectly against your sensitive clit.

The jolt of pleasure makes you cling to him tighter, biting your lip as you whisper, "Need you."

"Yeah, baby?" His voice is low and rough, all fucked out warmth. "Go on then. Take it."

And you do.

Your hand wraps around his dick, guiding him to your entrance, and you both groan when the fat tip pushes inside, the stretch still just as dizzying as the first time. You sink down slowly, inch by inch, your cunt spreading to fit him again, walls hugging him so tight he swears he could feel your pulse.

Jason leans back against the cool tile, the contrast of heat and cold making his skin prickle. His muscles are aching, body worn from patrol, but none of that matters when you're sitting on his cock, dripping wet, your face all soft and flushed as you look at him like you need him just to breathe.

"God, baby," he groans, fingers digging into your hips, helping you ease down until you're fully seated, your thighs trembling slightly against his. "Fuckin' love watchin' you take my dick. Look so goddamn pretty stuffed full like this."

You cup his face, leaning in to kiss him again, slow and deep, tongues sliding together, tasting each other, your soft moans caught between his lips. His hands never leave your ass, gripping, kneading, helping you rock against him, grinding down so your clit rubs against the skin at the base of his cock.

It's filthy, wet sounds filling the steamy air, your slick coating his thighs, his fingers digging into your skin, the messy press of your tongues as you lose yourself in the kiss. His cock pulses deep inside you, so thick, so fucking full, and you already know that you're not gonna last long. Neither is he.

But that's the best part.

Your hands brace against his broad shoulders, nails digging into the thick muscle as you start to move, lifting your hips just enough before sinking back down, grinding in his lap when he's buried all the way inside.

Jason groans, a deep, wrecked sound, and his fingers tighten on your ass, gripping hard, as if he can barely handle how fucking good you feel around him. Your tits press against his chest with every slow, wet slide down his cock, the slick heat of your cunt clenching around him, making his breath hitch.

"Fuck, baby," he rasps, lips brushing over your jaw. "You're so goddamn tight—feel like you're tryna choke my dick."

You whimper at his words, the praise making you throb around him. Your pace quickens, thighs trembling as you bounce on his cock, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the steamy shower. Every time you take him to the hilt, you roll your hips, grinding down just right, making him groan beneath you.

Jason's teeth catch your bottom lip, tugging before he mutters, "Fuck, look at you—so needy for it, huh? Bouncin' on my dick like a desperate little thing."

You are desperate. Every slow, deep thrust of his cock makes you shiver, makes your pussy clench, makes heat coil tight in your belly. You can barely think, barely breathe—there's only Jason, his thick hands gripping your ass, his rough voice in your ear, his dick stretching you open over and over again.

Your moans turn breathy, high-pitched, every gasp punched from your throat as your thighs start to burn, but you don't stop. You can't. Not when Jason's looking at you like that, all hooded eyes and flushed cheeks, sweat beading along his temples despite the warm spray of the shower.

"Fuck, Jay," you moan, pressing messy, open-mouthed kisses against his jaw, his throat. "Feels so good—I love your dick."

"Yeah?" His voice is a low growl, hands sliding up your back, holding you close as he thrusts up into you, meeting your movements. The new angle makes you cry out, burying your face against his neck as he fucks up into your dripping pussy, harder, deeper. "Love takin' my dick, huh, pretty girl? Love gettin' stretched open like this?"

You nod frantically, unable to do anything but whimper and take it, the slap of his thighs against your ass getting filthier, wetter, each bounce sending little shivers through your overstimulated body. Your clit drags against his lower abs, sparking white-hot pleasure every time you grind down, making your legs shake around him.

He growls against your ear, his breath hot, voice rough. "Shit, baby—you're fuckin' squeezin' me so tight—gonna make me lose my goddamn mind."

Your fingers tangle in his damp hair, tugging slightly as your lips brush against his, voice barely above a whisper. "Then lose it."

Jason groans into your mouth as you pick up the pace, fucking yourself down onto his cock harder, faster, each wet, messy bounce making his grip on your ass tighten. The steam in the shower is thick, curling around both of you, heat clinging to your skin as the slap of your bodies echoes in the tiled space.

You're whimpering, moaning, head tipping back as you ride him, thighs burning, overstimulated and aching but too fucking needy to stop. His cock feels too good—thick and deep, stretching you open, hitting that spot inside you that makes you whine every single time.

Jason's hands move, one gripping your hip, guiding your movements as the other slides up, fingers curling around the back of your neck, tugging you until your foreheads touch. His breath is hot, uneven, every exhale heavy as his mouth brushes yours, his words breaking apart with each thrust up into you.

"Fuck, baby—just like that—" His voice is a growl, all low and rough, shaking slightly as he fucks up into you. "God, you're gonna make me fuckin' cum—you feel so fuckin' good—"

Your pussy tightens at his words, a shuddering moan spilling from your lips as you brace your hands against his chest, moving even faster, grinding harder, the wet drag of his dick inside you making you dizzy.

"I'm close," you gasp, mouth brushing his, hands fisting in his damp hair as his own grip tightens on your hips. "Jason—fuck, I'm—"

"I know, baby," he rasps, and suddenly, he snaps his hips up into you, thrusting hard, dragging a gasping, wrecked sound from your throat. "C'mon, cum for me. Wanna feel you—"

And that's all it takes.

Pleasure slams into you, intense and overwhelming, your whole body shuddering as your pussy clenches tight around him. It's too much, too good, a sobbing cry ripping from your lips as your orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of raw, blinding pleasure.

Your walls flutter around his cock, squeezing him like you're trying to pull him deeper, and Jason feels it. He groans against your throat, voice wrecked and shaking, like you're undoing him right alongside yourself.

"Jesus fuck," he grits out, but he doesn't stop.

If anything, he fucks you harder.

His hips snap up in fast, brutal thrusts, thick cock driving into you again and again, forcing out these soft, desperate little whimpers as overstimulation starts to creep in. You twitch against him, body trembling, but he just grins, biting down on your neck like he likes how fucked out you're getting.

"Sensitive, baby?" His voice is all teasing, but there's something dark underneath, something hungry.

His fingers dig into your hips, keeping you pinned, making sure you take it. His cock drags against your swollen, overstimulated walls, pushing you closer and closer to that sharp, unbearable edge again. He can feel it, the way your cunt flutters around him, the way you're already slipping into another orgasm before you can even catch your breath.

"Yeah," he groans, rough and deep, pressing a messy, open mouthed kiss to your jaw. "That's my girl."

Jason doesn't let up. Not even for a second. His hands grip your hips, holding you down as he fucks into you, hard and deep, each wet slap of skin against skin echoing through the shower.

You're still trembling from your last orgasm, body twitching with every thick drag of his cock, but he just grins. Watching you, watching the way your tits bounce, watching the way your pretty little cunt stretches around him, all wet and swollen and so fucking perfect.

"Gonna give me another one," he murmurs, rough and dark, like it's not even a question. Like it's just fact.

You try to say something—anything—but all that comes out is a breathless whimper, because fuck, every time he thrusts up, your clit drags against his skin, the friction hot and slick and just right. The pressure builds too fast, too intense, your body already wound up so tight you feel like you might snap.

Jason feels it, the way your walls squeeze around him, the way your thighs start to shake. He groans, dropping his head to your throat, teeth grazing over sensitive skin.

"Yeah, there it is," he rasps, voice thick with satisfaction. "Fuck, you get so tight when you're close. You gonna cum for me again, baby? Gonna let me feel you squeeze my dick all over again?"

And then he grinds up into you, slow and deep, making sure your clit drags right against him, making sure you feel every inch of him rubbing you just right. It's too much, sharp and unbearable, your pussy clenching around him as the orgasm slams into you, so hard and overwhelming you swear you stop breathing for a second.

Jason groans, almost pained, his grip on you tightening as he forces himself to keep fucking you through it, his cock dragging against your overstimulated walls with each deep, filthy thrust.

"There we go," he grits out, watching the way you shudder, the way your body reacts to him. "That's my good fuckin' girl."

He's so close it's unbearable. Every thrust has his cock throbbing, sensitive to the point of pain, but he can't stop. Can't stop chasing that high, can't stop fucking into you, hips snapping up in desperate, stuttering thrusts as he buries himself as deep as he can go.

And you? You meet him halfway, taking every inch, riding him through it, moaning as his cock grinds right against your swollen, overstimulated walls. You're just as desperate as he is, clenching down around him, pulling him deeper, body made for him, and fuck, Jason's brain short circuits.

"Jesus fuck, baby," he groans, voice wrecked, forehead pressing against yours like he's struggling to hold himself together.

But he isn't. Not really. Not when your pretty little pussy is milking his cock, not when you're squeezing him so tight he can feel every flutter, every slick, wet drag of your walls around him.

He needs it. Needs to cum. Needs to fill you up. Needs to fucking ruin you.

Until he grits out your name through clenched teeth, his cock throbbing inside you as he cums, a choked, broken groan rumbling in his chest as he spills inside you, thick and hot, filling you up as his hips jerk up into yours. He's moaning into your mouth as he pulls you in for a kiss, soft and lazy, tongues sliding together as he pumps you full, hot ropes of cum flooding your tight, clenching pussy.

"Fuck, baby—" he mutters, hips stuttering, because your pussy is gripping him, sucking him in so tight, so fucking wet as you tremble in his lap.

Your lips brush against his, softer, lazy and slow, little whimpers still spilling from your throat as he keeps fucking into you, each thrust pushing his cum deeper, until his pace stutters and he finally still.

The bathroom is all foggy, warm steam wrapping around both of you as you come down slowly, still tangled together, his dick still buried inside your messy, puffy cunt. His hands slide up your back, holding you close as you press kisses to his jaw, his neck, still catching your breath, still feeling fucked out and hazy and warm.

He exhales, tilting his head slightly as his lips brush the top of your head, his fingers splayed against your back, keeping you tucked close.

"You okay, baby?"

"Mmhmm," you hum softly, arms wrapping around him, hugging him tight, but not tight enough to hurt his bruises.

Jason sighs, low and warm, his hands smoothing up your back, keeping you close, his body still loose, relaxed from his orgasm. The heat of the shower clings to both of you, water still running, steam curling around you in thick ribbons, sealing you into this little moment—this quiet, safe moment.

But it doesn't last.

Because your throat feels tight, your chest aching, a little sniffle slipping out before you can stop it. You squeeze your eyes shut, fuck, you don't want to cry, not now, but...

You love him. You love him so much it hurts.

And you know, you know how important he is to Gotham. You know the good he does. But sometimes, when you see him like this, when you see the bruises blooming across his body, when you think about what could have happened, you wish he'd just stop.

The thought of losing him scares you. It grips your chest in a tight, suffocating hold, twists your stomach, makes your pulse jump into your throat. You need him. You can't imagine waking up without him. You can't imagine getting a call. You can't.

Jason feels your shoulders tremble, hears the soft, shaky sniffle you try to smother against his neck. His stomach twists, his heart aches, and he holds you tighter, even as his own throat goes tight, even as something in his chest breaks.

He hates this. He hates making you feel like this.

And sometimes—when he sees the way you look at him, eyes big and wet and scared—he wonders if he should've never gotten into a relationship with you at all.

Not because he doesn't love you. God, no.

But because he knows how hard this is for you. He knows how much it hurts you. And tonight? Tonight isn't even bad.

But one day—one day it will be. One day, he won't just come home with bruises. One day, he might not come home at all.

And fuck, if that ever happened...

Jason presses his lips to the side of your head, closing his eyes. He doesn't know what the fuck he'd do.

"Hey, shhh, shhh," he soothes, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. It's not dismissive, not even close. He just wants to calm you down, to ease the weight pressing against your ribs. "C'mon, baby, don't cry. You're gonna make me look like a real asshole."

He tries to joke, his voice light, teasing, because sometimes that works. Sometimes, he can get you to roll your eyes, to huff a laugh, to shake your head and kiss him instead.

But when you pull back just enough to look at him, your eyes red, your cheeks wet with tears that he put there, and his throat closes up, and the joke dies on his tongue.

Because Jason Todd might be a fucking idiot, but he's not that insensitive.

His chest aches as he cups your face, brushing his thumbs over your damp cheeks, his lips following the path of your tears, kissing them away one by one.

His nose brushes against yours, warm and soft, and your lashes flutter, another sniffle slipping from your lips as you murmur, "I'm sorry."

Jason shakes his head, his hands still cradling your face, his lips pressing to the corner of your mouth, lingering there for a beat.

"Nah, doll," he says softly, voice low and gentle. "It's okay. I know."

You nod, a little sheepish, because you know he doesn't like seeing you like this. And truth be told? You hate crying in front of him like this. You try not to. Because even if Jason never says it out loud, even if he'd rather die than admit it, you know it hurts him.

You see it in his eyes every single time. And if you can't handle seeing him like this, then you know he feels the same way about you.

Jason exhales softly, his forehead still pressed to yours, and his voice is softer when he murmurs, "I love you, pretty girl. I'll always come back, yeah?"

Your chest tightens, your lips parting, but you don't say anything, even though you want to, even though every part of you wants to argue, wants to tell him he doesn't know that. Because Gotham is cruel, because he's already died once, because one night, one mistake, one bad fucking second, and he might be gone.

But Jason? Jason is not a liar. Not with you. Never with you.

So you swallow back the lump in your throat, push those thoughts away, and nod again, voice barely above a whisper as you murmur, "I love you too, baby. So much."

And when Jason smiles, soft and tender, pressing another kiss to your lips before murmuring, "I know."

Your chest still aches, but you let yourself believe him. Jason exhales softly, pressing another kiss to your lips before murmuring, "C'mon, let's finish in here, yeah? Otherwise, your pretty little toes will get all wrinkled."

A laugh bursts from your lips, breaking the last of the tension in your chest, and you shake your head with a sniffly little giggle. "My toes?"

"Yes, yours," Jason says, grinning as he runs his hands down your back, easing you off his lap. "I don't make the rules, baby. I just enforce them."

You roll your eyes, but you let him help you, gasping softly as his dick slips free, thick and spent, his cum painting his own skin as it drips from your pussy, streaking down your thighs. And when he glances down, catching sight of it, then catches the way your cheeks turn bright pink, and he barks out a laugh.

"Still shy, huh?" His voice is teasing, but his eyes are soft, warm, adoring as he reaches up to cup your cheek. He grins as he rubs his thumb against the heat of your blush. "Almost two years, baby. And you still get all flustered."

You groan, slapping a hand over your face, and Jason laughs again, tucking you against his side as he reaches for the showerhead to rinse you both off. He washes away the remnants of slick and sweat and cum, running warm, soothing hands over your skin, making sure you're comfortable before finally shutting off the water.

He grabs a towel and wraps it around you, rubbing it over your damp skin before gently squeezing the excess water from your hair. You could dry it properly, but honestly? You're so blissed out, and your limbs feel heavy.

Jason dries himself off quickly before helping you into a pair of panties and one of his shirts, the fabric warm and soft against your skin.

Then he kneels, pulling fuzzy socks over your feet, shaking his head as he mutters, "Your feet are always cold."

You grin, nudging his chest lightly with your toes. "That's why you're here. To warm them up."

He huffs out a laugh, tugging on a pair of sweats before standing. "Oh, so I'm just a personal heater, huh?"

"Mhmm," you smile sweetly, looping your arms around his neck." That, and my personal bodyguard, my punching bag, my—"

Jason kisses you before you can keep going, swallowing the rest of your words with a slow, lingering brush of his lips. You hum into it, melting into him before he pulls away, squeezing your hip gently.

"Come on," you murmur, taking his hand, guiding him back toward the living room. "Sit with me."

Jason chuckles, but follows easily, letting you tug him along. "Aren't you tired, baby?"

You shake your head, and Jason sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright," he relents, squeezing your fingers. "I'll make some tea for your throat, okay?"

You nod, but when he tries to step away, you follow, staying close, pressing yourself against his side. Jason doesn't say anything, just kisses the top of your head, brushing a damp strand of hair from your cheek as he leads you into the kitchen. He pulls out a chair, urging you to sit before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Two seconds, baby."

He makes the tea quickly, moving through the familiar motions with ease, filling the quiet with soft clinks of mugs and teaspoons. When it's done, he sets it in front of you, crouching beside your chair as you take a careful sip.

"Good?" he murmurs.

You nod, your fingers curling in his hair as you take another sip, humming softly when his hand rubs up and down your thigh, warm and solid. Neither of you sleeps until the early hours of the morning.

You just exist in the quiet together, curled up on the couch, snuggled as close as possible, warm and drowsy and safe in the dim glow of the living room lamp.

He lets you cling to him, lets you need him, lets himself need you just as much.

You talk about nothing and everything—lazy conversations and soft laughter and sleepy, lingering kisses pressed to cheeks and lips and jaw between bites of snacks.

At some point, your words start to slur, your voice growing soft and drowsy, and Jason knows you're fighting it, but you don't stand a chance. Not when you're warm and full and safe, wrapped up in his arms like you belong there.

Jason shifts, scooping you up easily, carrying you toward the bedroom. "Sleep, baby," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I've got you."

And you do.

Slater’s Fics

Frankie Morales

Softener (AO3 Version Here): Frankie Morales x f!Reader [SMUT] 

Keep reading

you, clever as always (are still dreaming)

zhongli x gn! reader

- drabble; 780 words - fluff & cuddles - slight hurt/comfort - part-dragon zhongli

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a quiet sound from across the room awakens you from your reverie. what could it be..?

[snuggles w/ half-dragon zhongli] 

title from r sound design - flos.

requested by anon.

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Okumaya devam et

he's post-patrol sweaty

Reverse trope prompt: too many beds

tf 141 x reader

SFW - no warnings except for profanity

Full prompt list here by @out-of-jams

Please like, tag, reblog to show the list creator some love if you use the prompts.

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

It felt weird lying in your own bed again.

After spending months holed up in safe houses, huddled together in the field to keep warm or crammed together during transport, you'd become accustomed to having at least one of your team with you while you slept.

You huff, roll over and will yourself to go to sleep. Minutes creep by. Sleep still eludes you.

Maybe it's the quiet that's getting to you, or the absence of their warmth. Or it could be that you miss that sense of security, having a solid, living body lying next to you. Whatever it is, your brain refuses to shut off without it.

You hate to admit it, but you can't get to sleep without the guys.

Crazy as it seems, you miss Gaz burying his cold nose in the nape of your neck, listening to him make those funny little nuck-nuck noises in his sleep.

You miss Ghost's twitching, and how he holds on tight to your hand after he's had one of his nightmares. He won't let go, either, not even after he falls back to sleep.

You miss the way Price sprawls out. At least one of his heavy limbs will end up flung over you at some point, the weight solid and reassuring. You might even miss his snoring, at least until you can't stand it anymore and have to poke him in the ribs to get him to turn over. He always flops back over within minutes and starts snoring again.

Hell, you even miss Soap's sweaty koala bear hugs and sleep talking in Gaelic. The man literally never shuts his bloody gob, not even while sleeping. As annoying as it is, it's also kind of endearing.

Frustrated, you give up and throw back the covers, getting out of your bunk. Wrapping the blanket around your shoulders, you quietly slip out into the hall and head for the rec room. Maybe a warm cuppa of Ghost's earl grey that he keeps stashed in the back of the cupboard will help.

You come up short as soon as you step through the door. Ghost is sitting alone on the sectional sofa, leaned back in the corner watching sports highlights on the telly.

"What're ya doin' up?" he grumbles.

"Can't sleep."

He grunts then motions for you to join him. You slump down next to him and lean into his side, tucking your legs beside you. After a few minutes of soaking in his warmth, you feel your eyes start to droop. It must be having a similar effect on him, because you feel his body go slack, then a minute later, he twitches. You glance up to see that his head's fallen back against the cushions, eyes closed.

You're almost asleep when Gaz wanders into the room. He smirks as he climbs over the back of the couch, wedging himself in behind you. "'M cold," he complains, snuggling in. "Place is like a bloody freezer." He burrows under the blanket with you and buries his cold nose in the back of your hair. "Smell better since ya showered," he teases, making you both snicker.

"Oi," Ghost rumbles out, not bothering to open his eyes. " You two, shuddup."

Gaz breathes out a laugh then goes quiet.

The captain comes ambling into the room on sock feet, wearing a ratty looking robe. He sniffs in amusement at the three of you piled up together. "Well, don't you lot look cozy," he quips, sprawling out in the opposite corner. He throws his legs up beside Gaz. "Make room, Sergeant."

Gaz shuffles around then cuddles back under the blanket. Price crosses his arms over his chest and turns his attention to the telly. His first snore rolls out five minutes later.

"Fuckin' hell," Ghost groans.

Finally, Soap comes shuffling through the door, bleary-eyed, his mohawk sticking out every which way. He jams his fists on his hips, a peevish look on his face. "Ye hens havin' a slumber party an' dinnae invite me?"

Ghost huffs, irritated, and lifts his head to glare at him. The captain snorts, smacks his lips, then picks up snoring where he left off. Gaz pokes his head up to hiss a "Shh!" at Soap.

"Jaysus, sorry. Dinnae mean t'disturb yer beauty sleep, m'laird."

"You're disturbed, ya wanker," Gaz mumbles before nuzzling back into your hair.

"Christ, jus' shuddup an' siddown, Johnny," Ghost growls lowly.

Soap rounds the end of the sectional and plops down next to Ghost, grinning. "Fancy a snuggle, LT?"

"No."

Soap sniffs, pouting until Ghost sighs and jerks his head in a quick nod. "C'mon, then."

Scooting closer, Soap rests his cheek on Ghost's shoulder. "Yer comfy, LT. I could get used t'this."

Ghost rolls his eyes. "Shut yer gob an' go t'sleep, Sergeant."

"Aye, sir," Soap murmurs and settles in.

Price grunts, scratches at his beard, then turns on his side. The snoring stops. Ghost hums and sinks deeper into the cushions. You can hear Gaz now making soft little nuck-nuck sounds behind you. The sound lulls you to sleep.

Some time later, you feel Ghost jerk awake. His hand fumbles under the blanket until he finds yours. You squeeze his fingers, Soap on his other side, murmuring something softly in Gaelic. Ghost eases back into the cushions, his tense body relaxing.

You breathe out a sigh, let your eyes drift shut and immediately fall back to sleep.

have this thing I wrote in a flash of pure, unadulterated love for Jason that I felt while doing my hair routine after my shower. never needed a fictional guy more in all my life and honestly this may be my personal favorite thing I’ve ever written.

Thinking about domesticity with Jason Todd. Building a home with him, a life. How ever so gradually mine and yours becomes ours.

You’re brushing your teeth one morning and decide to try out his toothpaste, the one he always buys from the bodega down the block owned by the little abuelita that loves him to death. It’s fresh and it’s minty and you swear it leaves your teeth whiter than the brand name stuff you buy, so you let your tube get used up and never buy toothpaste again. Jason, without question, simply starts buying it twice as often as usual.

You’re fresh from the shower together after a night off for both of you. You’re warm and you’re happy and you’re both so in love it almost hurts. You watch enraptured as he towel dries his hair, roughly scrunching the water from his inky curls. You don’t like how he lacks gentleness with himself, so you take the towel from him and gesture for him to lean down. Ever obedient to you, Jason complies and smiles softly as you dry his hair for him. You think suddenly that while his curls are always soft to the touch, they could do with being a bit more defined. They tend to get really frizzy and poofy by the end of the day. So you grab your curl cream and gel and just absentmindedly do your own routine on him. He raises his eyebrow in question only to quickly relent when he realizes it means you’re playing with his hair for longer. Your hunch is right; once his hair dries, his curls are so pretty you think you could get lost in the waves of them. Jason’s just happy cause now his hair smells like you.

The only clothes Jason has that are his now is his Red Hood gear. The rest of his closet has quickly become co-owned by you. His brain never fails to short circuit when you walk out in his hoodies, or his sweatpants, or his t-shirts, or his boxers. There’s not one piece of his civilian clothing that hasn’t been on both of your bodies at this point. Sometimes seeing you in his clothes has Jason blushing and his heart pounding with how much he loves you, how grateful he is to have this life with you. Other times seeing you in his clothes has him calculating the fastest way he can get them all off of you. You’re just disappointed that it can’t go both ways. But, alas, the struggles of having a massive boyfriend are that he’ll never be able to fit in your clothes. Whatever; it still does something for you when he finally wears the old Gotham Knights shirt that you’d stolen for months.

It’s also kind of funny sometimes. You two own a set of old, dark gray towels affectionately labeled “The Blood Towels”. The Blood Towels are only brought out after a really rough patrol or post-showering when you’re on your period. They came about after you’d nearly slipped while soaking wet from how quickly you’d tried to dry off to avoid bleeding on his good, fluffy towels. Jason just looked at you like you were a little ditzy, a flat “Do ya know how many times I’ve bled on these towels?” coming from his mouth. “I don’t care! I still don’t wanna ruin them!” you’d insisted. And thus, The Blood Towels were born.

Your bookshelf is never going to stop growing. You’ve actually had to go to IKEA more than once to get a larger one with how often you and Jay visit the old bookstore two blocks away from your apartment. Neither of you can resist a pretty cover, or a new annotated edition, or, heaven forbid, those rare, expensive first edition copies. At this point you’re not really sure which of the five copies of Pride and Prejudice first belonged to who, but really what does it matter when you’re both reading them anyways? And it’s always funny when you have to drag home a bigger bookshelf. You can never hold your laughter when Jason inevitably shouts “What the fuck! This wouldn’t be so goddamn hard if they actually gave you coherent instructions!” It’s also always nice to drag the old bookshelves to the apartment of the single mom downstairs whose kid loves reading. You both know she can barely afford the second hand books she gets him, so the shelves are happily given. You’re actually thinking of asking Jay if he’s willing to part with one of your first edition copies of Frankenstein for Christmas; the kid would freak.

All of this comes to a head with a cat. A big, fat, black cat that crawls up on your fire escape one night. You’d both been a little distracted–okay, a lot distracted by the feeling of being lost in each other's touch. You’d been making out for over an hour, just relishing in the intimacy of being together. It was definitely going to go somewhere until you heard the caterwauling of an animal outside your window. “The fuck is that?” Jason had asked as he pulled away from kissing bruises into your neck. “Sounds like a cat.” You’d begged, actually begged, Jason to let him stay. The next morning you came home with a grocery bag full of cat toys and bowls while Jason hauled a value-sized 40 pound bag of cat food on his shoulder. Atticus sits with you both while you watch TV now. Atticus still sometimes ruins the mood when he sees Jason sink his teeth into you and immediately swats his dad on the cheek. But Atticus is also undeniably your boy. And whatever, maybe you do start thinking about what Jason would look like with an actual baby in his arms when he’s cradling Atty as he shuffles around your home. But there’s time for that yet. You both know that. You know that beyond anything else, you’ll always have this life, this home together. It’s the best gift either of you have ever been given.

i lost the ask my bad! but here is jason for an anon

Gaz and Reader in a helicopter for the first time after Gaz fell out. Reader comforting him as he struggles with the trauma of the near death experience.

He was trained for the worst. He's been through the worst. Until it was worse.

Never had this happened to him before, and it fucked his mind up in a way it had never been. Falling was like getting freezing water splashed on him on a cool day. His stomach dropping so damn far from the scare and G-force damn near made him throw up, but he's still there. Breathing was damn near impossible, the wind speed making air difficult to inhale. He didn't even have time to think of you, or his family. He saw himself fall, and yet he was still in the air. The bruises from the holster stuck for almost a month, lucky he didn't get ripped in half from the force.

The guys made jokes, and he thought he was "man enough" to get over it, yet here he was. Lying in bed, being held by you just so he can breathe properly.

The worst moments, when he really lost it, was when he got that feeling while falling asleep; the one where you feel like you're falling.

He shot out of bed, breathing like oxygen was actively being ripped from his lungs, grabbing at his hips in search of his holster. He barely felt your hand snake up his neck, cupping the nape. His wide eyes meet yours and you hand him the blanket in an attempt to ground him.

"It's okay baby, you're in bed right now, not there" you say softly, gentle hands grabbing his shaky ones.

You manage to get his breathing leveled out and get him to lay down, holding him securely. He eventually managed to relax, after about 30 minutes. The shaking had stopped, the phantom pain dissipating, and the mental flashes ceasing. The sharp wind on his face was replaced with your thumb rubbing softy into him.

Without you, he doubts he would be able to ground himself after that experience. The month after was crucial time to make sure the post traumatic stress didn't turn into PTSD, and he knows that without you, he wouldn't have even known where to start in the process of processing it. He feels so safe with you, knowing you make him feel like he can actually do something for himself.

Living, not surviving.