Oh My God.

oh my god.

Would you write for AK Jason? I like him mean. Like him and you are arguing and he gets all pissed off and makes you cry but it ends in angry sex.

say it back (18+, ak jason todd x fem reader) wc 5.5k

⭓ this post contains sexually explicit content and dark themes. it is not suitable for minors. please consider the tags and consume at your own discretion. not an example of a healthy relationship. jason might be kinda ooc here, but hey. it's fanfiction.

"You need to drop your fucking attitude." Jason hisses at you.

"Me? My attitude? I'm just trying to have a conversation, Jason, you're the one acting like-"

"Like what? Hm?" He stalks closer to you, and you take a step back reflexively.

"You're angry." You state simply, staring up at him with sadness in your eyes. "You're angry with me. Still. Aren't you?"

Jason's eyes pierce into your own, searching them for something as he takes a deep breath to calm himself. It takes several tense moments before he finally mutters, "Maybe I am."

"What more do you want from me, Jason? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry that I didn't come looking for you. I didn't know. Bruce told me you were-" Jason growls, and corners you against the wall until your back is pressed up against it.

"Don't fucking talk about him! Don't say his name, I'm sick of thinking about him!"

"Then what do you want me to do? I mourned you, Jason, I grieved for you. I didn't just forget about you. I could never." Tears begin to well up in your eyes. The guilt you feel for what your boyfriend went through is crushing. It haunts you every day. Every time you look at him and see that 'J' carved into his cheek, your self-hatred grows even deeper.

"There's nothing you can do now. What's done is done." His warm breath fans over your face. His eyes are narrowed, staring you down like you're the one who locked him up and tortured him.

"Why am I here, huh? Why do you keep me around if you refuse to forgive me?" You ask him, your voice quivering from grief and exasperation.

"Would you shut the fuck up?" He groans and slams his fist against the brick wall, just inches from your head. Your eyes widen when he does, a jolt of fear running through you, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Jason's never hit you, but ever since he came back, you don't know what to expect from his behavior. He's erratic. Hurting. But at the same time, even more focused and calculating than ever. Its a terrifying combination, honestly.

He looks so much different now. Even though you're both still young, his features are harsher, his face hardened and scarred. You still see traces of the boy you fell in love with. It isn't always obvious, but you catch brief glimpses of the old him here and there. Its enough to keep you around, to remind yourself of how much you love him. Seeing him hurt like this and isolating himself is devastating.

"I don't know if I'm capable of forgiving you." He says between labored breaths. His eyes are dark, filled with a pain he refuses to share. "You left me in there to rot. The things he did to me, the things he made me do-"

"Jay." Your voice breaks, warm tears trailing down your cheeks. "Please, baby, I'm sorry. I failed you. I know I did." You reach out tentatively to caress his cheek, avoiding the scar. "I want to be here for you. I want to help you. But I feel like me being here is making things worse.”

Maybe you’re imagining it, but you catch a flicker of something in his expression. A crack in the hard mask he’s been wearing. “What are you saying?”

“If you hate me so much, maybe I should leave.” You struggle to get the words out. You hate yourself for even suggesting it. But the past few weeks with Jason have been tumultuous at best, and you’re not sure that your presence is actually helping him. If anything, you feel like you trigger him just by existing.

“Leave?” He asks, his face contorting in pain and anger. “You’re going to leave me? Really?”

“Only if that’s- I mean, I don’t know, Jason! I don’t know!” Unable to hold it in anymore, a heavy sob shakes your body, and you look away in shame. He’s still got you pinned against the wall, his arms caging you in and keeping you from turning away. “I just want you to be happy. I don’t think I’m capable of giving you happiness anymore. You won’t talk to me. All you do is yell. I want to be here for you, more than anything. But you won’t let me in. Maybe you’ll be better off without me.” Your voice is hushed and thick with emotion. You don’t want to leave him, now that he’s finally back. You were over the moon when you realized who was behind the Arkham knights mask.

Your best friend. Your lover, back from the dead.

But he hasn’t been the same. And you can’t blame him. He doesn’t go into detail about what happened, but you can see the evidence of his torture on his body. Not that he’s let you get too close.

He referred to you as ‘his girl’ in front of his militia. And now, after Gotham has recovered from the events surrounding his return, his hired men know that you’re to be protected at all costs. But other than a brief kiss upon your initial reunion, Jason hasn’t touched you. Yet he’s kept you close, physically, insisting you stay with him in his hideout. You quit your job, moved out of your apartment, left behind your old life as a law-abiding citizen to devote yourself to him and his cause. But your loyalty has been rewarded with him being emotionally closed-off and bitter towards you. It has you questioning where the two of you stand, and if he even wants you here.

“You’re wrong.” His voice is still harsh as he lowers his head to try and meet your eyes. He's close enough that you're able to smell his scent, a mix between his body wash and his natural musk. It draws you in, but you don't dare lean into him, in fear of fueling his annoyance towards you.

"Then why are you so mean to me?" You hate how weak you sound. You wish you were stronger, but being Jason's emotional punching bag has taken it's toll on you.

"I..." Some of his anger seems to fade, but his eyes are still swimming with turmoil. "I can be nicer."

"That isn't an answer."

Jason swallows hard, and removes his forearms from the wall so he's no longer caging you in. His jaw is clenched as he keeps staring at you and thinking about how to respond.

"I don't know." He finally says. "All I know is that I don't want you to go."

You slip to the side so you're no longer sandwiched between him and the wall, and take a step backwards to distance yourself. "I can't handle much more of this, Jason. It's too much. I can't stand fighting like this. It hurts me."

The look on your face has Jason's pulse quickening. "I'll be nicer." He says again.

"Jas-"

"I mean it." He reaches for your hand, and you need to consciously keep yourself from flinching away. "Just please, don't go."

Your heart aches at his plea. You don't want to leave, of course you'd rather be here. But you're not quite naïve enough to believe him when he say's he'll be nicer. You look down at where your hands are entwined, eyeing the thin silvery scars that litter his hand and wrist. Your mind briefly wanders, wondering what nightmare gave him those. Too thin to be from rope burn. Maybe zip ties. A few more tears pool in your eyes and blur your vision at the mental image of him being restrained in such an inhuman way.

"If you really want me, I'll stay." You whisper,

His eyes light up, but the relief doesn't touch the frown that's seemingly permanently etched onto his strong features. "Come here."

You don't fight the gentle tug on your hand. You let Jason hug you close to him, his heart still beating fast in his chest. You feel the steady rhythm against your cheek when he pulls you close and holds you against him. He's still angry, you can sense it radiating off of him in waves. But he's making a pointed effort to stay calm, which is an improvement.

"I don’t hate you. I love you. You know that, right?" He asks. You get a odd, fluttery feeling in your stomach. Not the same as the feeling you got the first time he told you he loved you. It’s a weird, perverted ghost of the feeling, one that makes the ache in your chest even worse.

You don't want to answer him. What would you even say? That you love him too? He already knows that, surely. And he laughed at you last time you told him. In front of several of his men. It was humiliating, and you've avoided saying it ever since.

"Hm? You know that, right?" He tightens his hold on you, his strong arms encouraging you to answer.

"Yeah. I know." You mumble back.

Jason looks down at you, and pulls away far enough to look you in the eyes again. What you would give to know what's going on in his head. It’s like a whirlwind of emotions are playing across his face.

You don't expect him to lean in and capture your lips in a sudden kiss. You freeze for a beat before you kiss him back, not quite relaxing against him, but letting yourself move with him. Still, it feels off. Almost like you're kissing a stranger. He isn't familiar anymore, which only encourages the tears to keep falling hot and slow down your cheeks.

As your tongues dance together, Jason begins to explore your body, warm hands running up and down your back. You wouldn't describe his touch as gentle, but he moves slowly and deliberately, finally resting on your ass and kneading your fat with his strong hands.

Is this his idea of 'being nicer'? You wonder to yourself. But you don't stop him. He's the only man you've ever loved, and when you thought he was dead, you missed his touch more than anything. Craved it. And you still do, even though you're more wary of him now. If you were thinking clearly, you'd probably stop his hand from sneaking down the front of your pants, and tell him that you should both take a breather and calm down. But he's left you so desperate for any speck of affection that you can't bring yourself to turn him away.

His hands are warm against your skin, but goosebumps still prickle your skin from the contact. He slips his hand in your underwear, not bothering to take his time. The sudden feeling of his rough fingers against your labia has you whimpering into his mouth. Jason rubs firm circles over your neglected clit as he breaks the kiss. "Yeah, you know?" He says back in a mocking tone. "Your body knows. She missed me, didn't she?"

The way he calls your cunt 'she' leaves a weird taste in your mouth. You pretend not to notice. "Of course I missed you." You say back to him. You grip his forearm gently and caress his skin with your thumb, feeling his muscles move and flex as he pleasures you, while your other arm grips his shoulder to steady your body. It's hard to relax with all the pent up tension you have inside. But you focus on his fingers, and how good it feels to be touched by your boyfriend again after so long.

"How quick did you move on. Hm?" His deep voice almost sounds like it's rumbling as asks. "How many people have you fucked since I disappeared?"

His question feels like a daggar to your heart. Maybe he really doesn't know, doesn't understand how hard his 'death' hit you. You haven't spoken about it much to him, since he obviously suffered much worse than you did while you were apart. It would feel insensitive to open up about the deep depression you fell into, one that your friends and even Dick tried and failed to help you out of. It was all you could do to even finish high school and get a job. You didn't see anyone else. You barely hung out with anyone. All you did was work and sleep. It was like the joy was sucked from your life the day you lost him.

But Jason doesn't know this. He mistakes your silence for shame, and he uses his other hand to cup your chin and force you to look at him as his fingers slowly warm you up. "What's wrong? Lost count?" The bitterness and mistrust are second nature to him now, after enduring Jokers sick mind games.

"No one... I promise." You lip trembles as the pleasurable sensations build between your legs. You grow wetter under his touch, even though your heart is heavy with grief.

"S'that right?" Jason lets out a dark chuckle and removes his hands from you abruptly. "Take your clothes off."

You can feel your heartbeat in your ears. You hesitate, looking from him to his bed along the opposite wall. Jason brings his fingers to his mouth, and to your horror, he sucks them clean, tasting your arousal without breaking eye contact.

"Do you want this?" He asks, growing annoyed at how you're freezing up.

"Do I want, what?" You say back a little too quickly.

Jason's nostrils flare as he lets out an irritated sigh. "Me. Do you want me to fuck you?"

Your mouth hangs open for a beat before you stammer out a hurried "Yes."

“You sure about that? Doll?” He cocks his head at you and studies your face carefully. The old nickname brings back memories, memories you’re sure are far too sweet in comparison to what’s about to happen.

But it doesn’t stop you from nodding at him all the same. You want him, there’s no denying that. Even if he isn’t the same boy you fell in love with, he’s still Jason. Your Jason.

Breathing heavily, Jason leans down to you so you're face to face once again. "Then take. Your fucking. Clothes. Off. Before I rip them off of you."

You glare at him through teary eyes, not appreciating the threat. But you’re not going to pass up the opportunity for intimacy. Hardening your gaze to match his, you hurridly remove your clothing piece by piece, folding the garments and setting them down neatly on the table beside you.

Jason surprisingly keeps his eyes on yours. Even as you reveal more of your body to him, his focus is on your face, not faltering.

When you step out of your underwear and set them on top of the pile, you finally say “You next.”

A dark chuckle departs Jason’s scarred lips before he replies, “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

Confused, you give him a quizzical look as he stomps over to his bed and kicks off his boots. They land beside him with a thud, making you jump a little.

“Get the fuck over here.”

Jason’s voice echoes across the studio apartment ominously. It’s pissing you off, how he’s still being so brash after just promising to be nicer to you. You shiver and run your hand up and down your arm while you walk over to join him, the cool air against your bare skin making you feel even more vulnerable. It’s clear to you that he’s enjoying this. Sitting on the edge of his bed, still almost fully clothed, finally letting himself drink in the sight of your naked body as you approach him.

“You’ve changed.” He comments after a few moments of tense silence. And he isn’t wrong. You’ve matured in the time he was gone, you’re a bit taller, your hair is longer, looking less like a teenager and more like a woman. But the changes in your body are subtle compared to his. Jason is at least 6 inches taller than what you remember. He’s put on a lot of muscle, and his features are sharper. Harsher, even. His face is different. Even ignoring the scars, there’s a new depth to him that’s hard to pinpoint.

You wonder how much of his transformation is due to just growing up, like you, and how much of it is from the trauma he experienced. Surely, being malnourished and tortured as a teenager would stunt a persons growth. But the man in front of you is anything but stunted. He’s massive. Again, your mind wonders about the details of his absence, about how long he took to recover from his torture before returning as the Arkham Knight.

“You just gunna stand there and gawk at me, or are you going to help me out?”

“Sorry.” You mutter hastily, embarrassed to be caught zoning out. You focus on him again, and realize he has his pants unzipped and his cock in his hand, stroking it with lust-clouded eyes. It takes a good deal of effort to hide the shock on your face from the sight as heat rushes between your legs. Your cheeks turn red, and you place your hand on his knee to steady yourself before you kneel in front of him. “You’ve changed too.”

Jasons pupils dilate when you place your hand over his own, taking over for him and stroking him lightly. He is already hard as a rock, his veins bulging under your touch.

“Way to state the obvious.” He leans back casually and uses his hands to prop himself up against the bed. Using both of your hands now, you jerk him off carefully, hoping he doesn’t notice the trembling in your fingers. “That’s it… shiiit, spit on it, baby, can you do that for me?”

With nervous excitement you obey his request, gathering some saliva with your tongue and letting it drip from your mouth down onto his shaft. His cock is feverish to the touch. The groan that rumbles in his chest as you spread your spit over him triggers emotions you haven't felt in a long time.

“Fuck yes, nice and sloppy for me, shit.”

You want to tug his pants down his legs to give yourself better access, but your instincts are telling you it’s a bad idea. Even as you became more aroused from his reactions, you still maintain a strong sense of unease, like he could snap at you without a moments notice.

When you peer up at his face, his eyes are closed, and some of the anger and tension he was holding onto is less apparent now. It gives you a spark of excitement, pride, even, that you’re finally able to provide him some peace.

His expression gives you enough confidence to lean your head down and take him in your mouth. You start with a soft kiss against his tip, then you swirl your tongue around it slowly, trying to gauge his reaction.

“M’not in the mood for teasing, doll.” Jason groans. “Better take a deep breath.”

That is all the warning he gives you before his hand grips the back of your head and pushes your mouth down onto him. You gag a little at the sudden intrusion before you remember to relax your throat to allow him fully in.

Another deep moan fills your ears when Jason feels you gag around him. Your eyes water as your nose brushes against the dark hair at the base of his cock. He’s definitely bigger than the last time you two did this. Or perhaps you’re just out of practice. Whatever the reason, you struggle to suck him off properly. After a few seconds of deep-throating him, pull your mouth away to cough and catch your breath.

“I didn’t tell you to stop.” He growls. "That felt good."

“You’re being a jerk.” You sputter out between coughs. “You said you’d be nicer to me.”

“This is me being nice.” He argues, bringing his hand to his cock to stroke himself again now that you've abandoned your effort. “You don’t want to suck me off? Fine. Get on the bed.”

“It’s not that I-“

“Get on the fucking bed.”

He stands up, and you’re momentarily scared he’s going to drag you. But his grip on your arm isn’t harsh, just a firm guide as he helps you onto the cheap mattress. You lay on your back and settle against the bedding, but Jason promptly flips you over, helping you onto your hands and knees.

You the mattress creek as he positions himself behind you. A quick look over your shoulder results in him gripping your hair and pushing your face into his pillows. "Stay just like that." He warns.

"Seriously? What, y-you're not going to let me look at you? Or kiss you?"

"Do you want me to fuck you or not?" The irritation returning to his gravely voice.

You close your eyes and try to stop your tears. You exhale a deep, steadying breath before you reply, "Yes, Jay, of course I do."

"Then quit complaining." The mattress shifts again as Jason moves behind you, his still clothed legs pressed against your rear. His left hand rests firmly on your waist, and a second later you feel him rub the tip of his cock against your clit. He drags himself up to the entrance of your cunt slowly, them back down again. He languidly repeats this back and fourth several times while he mutters under his breath "Shit... look at you, doll, touched your pussy for 5 seconds and you're already soaked for me." Jason smacks his shaft against your cunt a few times, your body visibly tensing when you feel the tip press against your asshole. "Relax," Jason scoffs, "I know you don't like that shit. You couldn't handle me in there before, there's no way you could take me there now."

Jason's weight shifts forward, pressing his hips into you. It only takes a moment for him to find the give and sheath the tip of his engorged length inside of your cunt. Green eyes stare in awe as he watches himself slowly disappear inside of you, pausing halfway, savoring how warm and wet you feel. He curses when your inner muscles clench and relax in little spasms as you try and accommodate him. "So fucking tight, goddammit, doll, shit, shiiit... feels so good when you do that."

Your eyes roll back at how badly you've missed the feeling him inside of you. This part, this feels familiar. This doesn't feel like a stranger. Your heart fills with relief, a sense of comfort washing over you and helping you to relax.

Jason pushes even further inside when your inner walls lax around his girth. A soft hiss escapes your teeth when his crown kisses your cervix. It's too bad that you miss the grin on his face as he takes in your reaction.

"You really haven't been with anyone else, have you? Tssk." Jason slaps your ass and watches the slight recoil in awe. "I can tell. You held out. You know what that tells me?" His large hands plant themselves on either side of you against the bed. Jason leans down, shifting his weight onto you and forcing you down into the mattress, prone-bone, fully bottoming out inside your tight cunt.

A whimper falls from your throat at the sting of how he stretches you. It creates an ache deep inside of you, deep enough that only he could reach.

"Tells me you knew I was still around. You're a liar."

"W-what?" That sense of ease and comfort is gone just as quick as it came.

Jason says your name in disapproval, "We both know you're loyal to a fault. That's why you're here. That's why you put up with my shit." His clothed chest presses against the soft skin of your back as his hips begin a slow rolling motion, thrusting into you while he brings his lips to your ear, brushing against your earring. "Me dying is the only way you could ever move on from me. But I did die. And you didn't move on. Which means you knew. You knew I was alive. Which is why you didn't betray me, even when Dick was practically throwing himself at you."

His pace increases as he speaks. His words are tainted with an bitter smugness, which makes your stomach churn.

"Jason, Jay, baby, that doesn't make any sense. I really t-thought you were gone-hmmpht!" Jason gives a sharper thrust which interrupts your explanation.

"Then why didn't you move on?" He's asks in a tense whisper.

"I couldn't!" You cry out in exasperation.

"Exactly".

His hips are rolling faster against you now, only pulling out an inch or so before thrusting back in, too greedy to pull out any further. He stays deep and buries himself as far as possible inside your neglected cunt. The friction feels divine, even if the rough cotton of his t-shirt is rubbing against your back instead of his bare chest. You long for skin to skin. The closeness is something you crave, but Jason, for whatever reason, decides to deprive you of it, even though he's balls deep in your guts.

"Fuck off!" You spit out between your shallow pants and moans. "You're being a jerk!"

"Yeah?" His voice strains as his pace picks up even more. The mattress is squeaking softly and bumping up against the wall with each rut of his hips. "I'm a jerk? You think I'm a jerk?"

You moan in frustration and pound your fist against the mattress. It's difficult for you to find the right words to say when his cock is hitting all the right spots inside you. You've dreamt of this, being forced to live with the longing inside of you for a partner you thought you'd never see again. It's everything you've been craving, to be one with him again. But he's souring the intimacy with his smartass mouth.

"I don't wanna fight, Jay." You mutter in response to him. Jason's hand cradles the back of your head and pushes it further into the pillows. You're almost ashamed at how it turns you on, being crushed and handled roughly by him like this.

"Ha, don't believe that for a second." A warm hand snakes down the side of your body and slips around your hips so he has access to your clit. He's still pistoning deep into you, now nipping and biting at your neck as his fingers work your sensitive nub, sandwiched between your body and the mattress. The added stimulation makes you squeeze your thighs together. "C'mon, too late to be shy, doll. Open up f’me." His voice is a gruff rumble in you ear. It sends a chill down you spine and makes your toes curl, clenching around him to alleviate the pool of tension building in your core.

You should have better self control. You should rise above, be better than his antics. But your mind is reeling and trying to reconcile how good he’s making you feel with how irritated you are. So without much thought, you quip back, “Says the man who won't even take his shirt off when he fucks."

“The fuck did you just say?” Jason pinches your clit between his fingers, earning a sharp yelp from you that’s muffled against his pillows. His pace doesn’t falter, but his body tenses as the anger finds him again.

The sting lingers, and you push your thighs together even more, effectively squeezing him out of you somewhat unintentionally.

“No, none of that now, you’re going to let me in.”

A deep inhale blesses your lungs when Jason pushes himself up off of you, leaning back and grabbing your hips to force you on your hands and knees once more. You grip the sheets and steady yourself, unprepared for the harsh smack that stings your ass cheek.

“Ouch!” You whimper, taking a chance to look back at him again. Your lips part to voice your protest, but Jason chooses this moment to impale your body back onto him and fill up your dripping cunt in a single jolt. You swallow the cry that threatens to leave your lips. You feel so full, your eyes flutter when he starts his pace up again, the sound of wet skin smacking against wet skin filling the apartment. He’s going faster now, his fingers almost painful on your hips as the uses your body for release.

“Look at how wet you are, doll, shit.” Jason’s eyes are heavy with desire as the line between lust and anger starts to dissolve. “You know what I think?” He asks through gritted teeth.

You’re hardly in a state to answer him. The friction of his arousal pounding in and out of you, the weight of his heavy balls slapping against your clit, the sound of him straining and losing control, its making it difficult to focus on much else. As your arousal builds, your brain slows down, unable to comprehend anything other than your boyfriends cock filling you to the brim.

“I think you like when I’m mean. Look at how soaked you are right now, dripping onto my bed like a greedy slut.”

A low, depraved moan vibrates in your throat, only further proving his point.

“Ha, that’s right. Fucking… fucking knew it, god- fuck, taking me so good, so fucking good.” Jason moans your name, repeating it as he senses his release getting closer. His fingers dig deeper into the flesh of your hips, hard enough that you’re sure you’ll have bruises tomorrow.

“Fucking love this, I… I… dammit, I love you, doll. I love you so much.” Jason's filter is gone. He’s lost in the feeling of your soft pussy squeezing him, the wet sounds of your sex bringing him to the brink.

Each hard thrust of his hips has your body recoiling. Your chest falls down to the bed, hands gripping the pillow for dear life as the vigilante relentlessly pounds into you.

“I said... I love you, bitch.” His voice actually wavers slightly at the repeated admission, his emotions peaking and threatening to spill out.

You try to respond to him, you really do. But Jason fucks the air right out of your lungs, moving at a bruising pace, ramming himself so deep in your body that your vision is blurry and nothing even close to a real word has a chance at leaving your lips. You're breathless and cock drunk as he abuses that soft spot inside of you, building up your pleasure to an unbearable level. You're close. And so is he. You tremble and pant as your orgasm hits you hard, a warm fuzzy sensation radiating between your legs where your bodies meet, more of your slick splattering Jason's thighs in droplets from how hard he's fucking you. The sensation of your pussy convulsing around his hard length is the final push he needs.

You attempt to muffle the fragmented scream that falls from your mouth at his last few brutal thrusts. Jason curses, his breath catching as his balls tighten and release his load into you, mixing with your own fluids to create a sticky mess that oozes out around his cock. His hips finally slow, giving a few more gentle pumps as he rides his high. His labored breathing is accompanied by more curses and soft groans. You stay still, reeling from your own release, your mind still fuzzy and not thinking clearly.

Jason leans forward, putting his weight one hand while the other reaches for your flushed face, reaching around to grip your chin firmly. Following his lead, you let him turn your head to finally look back at him. The anger is still there. You're not sure if it will ever go away. But there is a vulnerability in his eyes that wasn't there before. He's still inside of you, hunched over your body, flushed face only inches from yours.

"Say it back."

Your eyes widen at how broken he sounds. It takes a few seconds before you can get your mouth to move, but as soon as you've gathered yourself you respond, you say "I love you, Jason" with as much tenderness as you can muster.

He nods, eyes narrowing, before finally sitting up and removing himself from you. "Good." He mumbles, moving until he's sitting on the edge of the bed and sighing. "Remember that next time you threaten to leave."

"It... it wasn't a threat." You explain, but you're so breathless and fucked-out that you're not sure if he hears you. Relaxing onto the bed, you lay on your side to look at him with worry. The emotions inside of you are tumultuous, confusing you even further as you try and decide if this was progress or not.

"I keep you around because you belong here. With me." Jason stands up, avoiding your anxious gaze and keeping his back to you. "Don't fucking forget it." His feat thud against the floor as he walks over to the bathroom, disappearing and closing the door behind him with a slam.

⭓ masterlist ⭓

please don’t steal my work. don't upload it to another site, use it to train ai, or claim it as your own.

😁😁

i love how tumblr is like my little secret. it’s the only social media where like none of my friends use and i honestly feel like i can just be myself here.

REAL

found this gem on Pinterest so credits to whoever made it <3

that’s so sweet stopp😭😭😭

sending this to rafe saying “us if u even loved me” and he shows up to your place with a bouquet and one of those assorted fruit baskets filled with chocolate covered strawberries (your favorite) like 20 mins later

“here — you happy now? m’gonna be late for a meeting.”

guys i love it

let go (18+, ak jason todd x fem reader) wc 8.2k and its all angst

⭓ this post contains explicit sexual content and dark themes, including dubcon, blood and injury, toxic relationship dynamics, emotional anguish, mental illness, brief discussion of self harm, hurt/no comfort, and you know what... just don't read it. you will not feel good after reading this. you have been warned. not suitable for minors or anyone who wants to have a good day. continuation of say it back. consume at your own risk. dead dove: do not eat.

"What happened?"

You aren't sure why you ask. Its obvious from the blood soaking through his compression shirt that he was injured somehow. Stabbed? Shot, even? Jason keeps his hand pressed against the wound on his shoulder as best he can. If he's in pain, he isn't showing it.

"I'm fine. I'll be fine!" He all but snarls at you, storming through the door to the apartment. One of Jason's men, a paramedic, tries to follow, nervously fumbling with his medic bag.

"You ain't fine, boss, you got a bullet in you. Let me get it out and stitch you up, it will only take a few minutes-"

Jason, stops abruptly, and turns to glare at his underling. "I swear to fuck, if you take another step inside my private space I will shoot you where you stand. Fuck off! I don't need help!" He roars, reminding you of a wounded animal protecting its den.

"Look, it's not that serious, but if you don't let me clean you up, it could be!"

Your head swivels back and fourth between them as they argue, still shocked at how damp and sticky Jason's shirt is from the amount of blood that's left his body. You're impressed by the medic's insistence, given how violent Jason can be. Or perhaps he's desensitized to Jason's tantrums by now.

"It shouldn't have even fucking happened!" Jason snaps back in a daze. He staggers slightly where he stands, the blood loss finally catching up with him. He braces himself against the back of the old couch in the middle of the room, his breathing becoming slightly labored.

"Jason?" You say his name with caution, brow furrowing in concern.

He looks to you, hardening his gaze for a beat before he looks to his henchman again. "Leave your kit. She'll help me. I don't want you in here."

An odd, churning sensation in your stomach causes you to tense as you hear Jason's deep voice vibrate in your ears.

The medic, who can clearly tell you have little experience by the panicked look on your face, motions for you to come closer to him. He might be brave enough to talk back, but Jason told him not to take another step, and he isn't taking any chances. Not when Jason still has multiple guns still strapped to his body.

You shuffle your feel until you're close enough to take the bag. The course nylon feels harsh against your skin as you grip the handles, nodding at the instructions he is giving you as they go directly in one ear and out the other. You forget what he says as soon as it leaves his lips, still trying to snap out of the nervousness that's clouding your mind.

"Did 'ya get all that?" He asks with a grimace.

"Uhh... I, I dunno, I'm sorry, could you start over?" Your voice wavers as you speak, and Jason lets out an annoyed groan from across the room.

"Fucking forget it. I'll take care of it myself."

He stumbles towards the bathroom, passing over the threshold and closing the door behind him with a slam that makes both you and the poor medic flinch.

You look to each other, his tired eyes meeting your fearful ones. You swallow hard before asking, "One more time, tell me what to do?"

He repeats his instructions a few more times before leaving you alone to tend to his boss. Jason is being eerily quiet. Not a peep can be heard from the cramped bathroom of the apartment you two share. But you don’t waste any time coming to assist him, save for the brief hesitation when you ponder whether or not to knock before entering. You decide not to, but you let the doorknob jiggle for a moment before you open the door so he has some sort of forewarning.

“Said I don’t need help.” He grumbles. You open the door wide, not prepared for the sight before you. Jason tugged off his shirt, and is standing in front of the mirror with a set of tweezers, digging around in his shoulder to retrieve the bullet. Blood drips warm and heavy down his chest onto the counter. Your stomach churns again in nausea, but not from the blood.

This is the first time you’ve seen Jason shirtless since his return. Your heart shatters when you realize the scars that litter his arms and neck continue and fill out the rest of his skin as well. Some are faded and grey, others, like a particularly nasty scar over his ribcage, is pink and painful looking, like it didn’t have the chance to heal right.

“I know you don’t need help.” You reply after your shock subsides, with as much confidence as you’re able, “But you don’t have to do it all alone, you know. Not anymore.”

His face is stoic, again, not showing any indication that he’s in pain, even as he pulls the bullet out of his body and drops it in the sink with a sharp clink. He drops the tweezers too, and rinses the blood off of the bullet before holding it up to his face to get a better look.

“Fine. Go ahead and stitch me up. S’not like you can fuck me up worse than I am already.”

You glance over his body again while he studies the bullet. He isn’t wrong. even if you mess up and leave him with an awful scar, it would just blend right in with the others.

“I’ll do my best.”

Your promise is returned with an irritated huff. His body looms over the sink, swaying just a bit before you guide him to sit down on the toilet seat. Your touch is feather light, nerves on fire, terrified of touching him the wrong way or setting him off.

Jason keeps his expression neutral while he fiddles with the bullet in his hand. You silently recite the instructions given to you earlier, grateful that you don't have to fish around inside of him to retrieve the foreign object. He studies you while you rummage around for the supplies to clean his bullet wound. His large frame takes up way too much volume in the small space, you have to practically straddle his thigh to reach his shoulder. You will yourself to be brave, and not grimace at the sight of his wound.

Your will isn't very strong today.

“You’ve always been a bit squeamish, haven’t you.”

Your face feels warm. The air seems stuffy as you inhale it. You glance over your shoulder, wondering if you should turn the fan on to get some better air flow.

“Hey." He jerks his knee, the one you're straddling, to bump against your thigh, which startles you enough that you whip your head around to look at him again. "Eyes on the hole. Don’t get distracted.”

“M’sorry. Just… tell me if I’m doing it wrong, okay?”

You cringe at your mumbled response, hating how meek you sound. You weren’t always like this.

Neither was he.

You quickly and carefully clean the bullet wound, which proves difficult since its still oozing fresh blood. But you’re able to swallow back the nausea and get the job done, even as the metallic smell of blood fills your nostrils and tests the strength of your stomach.

Jason’s eyes are fixated on you as you work. He watches you prepare the sutures, noting how worked up you seem to be. You wonder, vaguely, if he finds this entertaining, seeing you upset. The old Jason would hate to see you anxious like this. But this new, crueler version of your boyfriend is still somewhat of a mystery to you.

He’s still as a rock when you finally begin to close up the wound. The med kit has instructions, and you glance to the thin paper unfolded next to you on the sink between each stich to make sure you’re doing it right. Jason doesn’t wince, doesn’t blink, giving no indication that he can even feel what you’re doing. It makes you feel uneasy.

This exchange, this act of care, this intimate moment between you as you patch him up feels notably void of warmth. Even as your fingers brush against him, wiping up the blood that’s trickled down his chest, you feel like a stranger. Unwanted in his personal bubble that he used to welcome you into with open, loving arms.

“Don’t bother.” He finally says, grabbing your wrist before you can retrieve a wash rag to clean the rest of the blood off of his chest. “I need to shower.”

“You should wait. Standing in the hot water after losing so much blood isn’t a good idea. You might pass out. You should rest first.”

“What, you expect me to lay in our bed all dirty and full of blood?” He stands up, his thigh rubbing up between your legs as you stumble back and catch yourself against the wall. He doesn’t sound happy, but the anger that usually permeates his tone is absent.

“It’s your bed, Jason, not ours.” You remind him, avoiding eye contact. He’s insisted on having you stay with him, but sharing a bed is a luxury you’ve been without, being forced to sleep on the couch every night instead. It’s surprisingly comfy, but good rest is still hard to come by, given the frequent, violent nightmares that plague your boyfriend’s mind and make him cry out in his sleep. “If you decide to lay down, I’ll wash your bedding for you when you wake up.”

The harshness returns to his eyes, but you don’t catch it. You tug your hand out of his grip so you can go back to the sink and wash up.

“You’re not my maid.”

“I’m not your medic, either. I’m not sure what I am to you. But you won’t let anyone else get close enough to offer you help.” You make a point to keep your tone as even as possible, but it doesn't help his reaction.

His stoic demeanor finally breaks with a groan, “Don’t fucking start with this again. I thought I make myself very clear before.”

“Clear about what?” You ask, fighting back the urge to scoff.

”That you belong here with me.”

His states his response like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You turn off the faucet, drying your hands before you finally look at him again, eyebrow raised in challenge.

“I belong to you, you mean.”

“Is that so bad? You used to want that, you know. Used to want me.” There’s a shadow of emotion in his voice, barely noticeable, enough that you second guess yourself if the flicker of vulnerability was just your imagination.

It’s a struggle to keep your voice even. His constant doubting of your loyalty has left you exasperated and downright depressed. You’ve devoted your entire life to him since he’s gotten back. And yet he still implies that you don’t really want to be here. “Jay, what do you mean ‘used to?’ I still want you, I think I’ve more than proven that by now.”

”Have you?” He takes the bloody hand towel from you, tossing it aside and sandwiching you between him and the sink, your back facing the mirror.

The air between you is heavy with tension. You look at him, eyes on fire with anger, sadness, and an unhealthy obsession to earn his trust again, no matter the cost.

”Haven’t I?”

You can see the doubt in his eyes plain as day. His silent answer. A familiar ache throbs in your chest, and your eyes sting with the threat of tears.

”I’ll do whatever it takes to prove myself to you, Jason. I love you.”

“Do it, then. Prove it.” He growls, lowering his head to leaning in closer.

“How?” You ask, voice weak with defeat. “I’ve done everything you asked of me, Jason. Everything.”

Silence stretches on between the two of you in the small space. His eyes stay locked onto yours while the gears in his head turn, thinking of all the things he could make you do to prove yourself. You do your best to maintain this intense staring contest between the two of you, but you falter, unable to stop yourself from looking at his bare chest which he’s kept hidden up until today. You observe more of his scars, wondering what horrors he experienced to receive such gnarly marks.

“You like my scars?”

His sudden breaking of the silence makes you flinch in surprise. Your wandering eyes dart back up to his unsettling face, your lips parted as you try to think of the right answer.

“Do I… what? What kind of question is that?”

“Do you like them?” He repeats calmly, keeping his jaw clenched and planting his hands on either side of you atop the counter, forcing you to lean back even more to keep your eyes on him. Your heart beats hard and painful up in your throat. You aren’t sure where he’s going with this, but you’re sure it’s nothing good.

“I don’t like what you had to go through to get them. But… they’re a part of you. So yes. I do. You…” You hesitate before finishing the thought, “you’re still handsome, to me. I love you.”

Jason's reaction is delayed, driving your nerves crazy. You begin to second guess your response.

Did I say the right thing? Was the compliment too much?

Without breaking eye contact, Jason reaches over for the med bag, and retrieves a small instrument that you recognize as a scalpel.

Your eyes go wide in terror, looking quickly between him and what he’s holding in his hand.

“Jason?” Your voice comes out an octave higher than normal, “Jason, what are you doing?”

”I have an idea. A way for you to prove yourself.”

“Jason, p-please, don't cut me!” You frantically try and untangle yourself from him, claustrophobia feeding your panic as you try and shy away from the shiny tool in his hand.

Jason quickly grips your jaw with his other hand, forcing you still, holding up the sharp metal to your face so you can see it clearly.

“What’s the matter? Didn’t you just say I looked handsome? Hm?” He teases, the cruelty so out of place on his once kind features. The sick grin he gives you makes you feel more sick than the blood did. “Tell me where you want it. Your arm? Your back? On your pretty face, to match mine?”

You still yourself, keeping your mouth shut, unsure if the question is rhetorical or if he’s truly asking you where you want to be mutilated. Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you take shallow, panicked breaths through your nose. Somewhere buried under the panic you feel, your sadness deepens, horrified that your former lover would ever put you in a position like this.

This isn’t Jason. This isn’t him. It’s his trauma. He just needs to… he needs…

Tears gather in your eyes as you struggle to justify his abusive behavior. But you fight to keep them from spilling over, blinking them away and making a pointed effort to sooth your panic.

“I’m waiting, doll, don’t you wanna be all handsome like me?” His eerie smile chills you to your core. Your throat feels itchy and dry as you finally form your response, jaw aching from his tight grip.

This is where your better judgement battles with the love and sympathy you have for him. You never thought you’d be in this position, dancing around the line between supporting and reassuring him, and enabling his destructive behaviors. You don’t want to believe he’ll really do it, but the look in his eyes gives you a gut feeling that he’s triggered right now, and will follow through with his offer if you don’t play this right.

Who am I kidding. I crossed that line a long time ago.

“If I let you do this, will you believe me when I tell you I’m on your side?”

Jason’s brash smile morphs into a grimace. Thick fingers dig into the fat of your cheek, squeezing you harder to ensure you stay still.

“Dunno.” He hisses, “One way to find out.”

You squeeze your eyes shut in apprehension. “Do what you need to do.” You whisper, hoping you sound braver than you feel.

You hold you breath, waiting for the sting of the sharp blade. Several torturous seconds tick by, his grip on you firm as ever, but the pain doesn’t come.

“Jay?” You slowly open one of your eyes, confused to see him not looking at you, but staring straight ahead at himself in the mirror. The scalpel is barely a centimeter away from the apple of your cheek. His eyes are blown wide, in confusion? Fear? It’s hard to tell.

Blinking away your tears, you take a shallow breath. “Jason-“

He flinches, head snapping back down to look at you. His normally steady hands are trembling, and he drops the scalpel into the sink, shaking his head in confusion.

“Fuck!” He curses, releasing you and backing up until his boots hit the edge of the tub. He’s staring at you in horror, reaching up to grip his hair while his breathing becomes increasingly erratic.

"H-hey, it's okay." You sniffle, trying to stay calm and ignoring the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You take a step towards him, but pause when you feel a sharp stinging sensation on your cheek. Your hand darts up to feel for the source, and you wince when your fingers brush over a small cut. A stray tear must have fell down your cheek and irritated the fresh wound. You eye your fingertips in confusion, not expecting to see blood.

Jason not-so-gracefully sinks down onto the ground, horrified expression still on his face as a dry sob wracks his body.

You quickly turn to look at yourself in the mirror, grabbing a stray gauze pad from the med kit to dab away at the blood and reveal a small cut on your left cheek. Its about an inch long, you see a drop of blood start to gather along the thin red line of the wound as Jason curses behind you.

"Jay, baby, it’s okay." Turning around, you slowly kneel next to him on the hard tile floor and soften your voice before continuing. "That blade was so sharp I didn't feel it. It’s tiny, it will heal. It doesn't hurt."

He shakes his head and closes his eyes, his hardened features scrunching together, struggling with an anguish he's refused to share no matter how much you've begged him to. "Liar!" He exclaims through gritted teeth. "Its always hurts. It always fucking hurts."

"I'm not mad." You assure him frantically "It's okay, I promise, it was an accident."

The words slip from your panicked lips before you can think. But the broken man in front of you is quick to correct your mistake.

"No it wasn't."

Your mouth hangs open for a brief moment as you think of what to do, what to say to try and help. "But you stopped. You stopped yourself."

His eyes blink open, but you can tell his mind is somewhere far away from here. "I cut you."

"Do you regret it?" You dare to ask.

Another dry sob shakes him, and you wonder if he's even able to produce tears anymore. "Yes."

"Then I forgive you."

His labored breathing slows, eyes still distant and unfocused. You want to comfort him. The urge to reach out and hold him is so strong, to love on him enough until his heart feels a little less empty. You're scared to push the limits of his physical boundaries, but your brief exchange just now was the most he's opened up to you in weeks. It's enough to fuel your confidence, and you reach out to hold his hand. You move slowly, but with purpose, making sure he has the time to stop you.

He does.

"Don't fucking touch me."

Your freeze just as your fingertips brush against his. Your heart sinks in your chest, unable to keep up on this roller coaster of emotions Jason is putting you through. Warm tears slide down your cheek, reminding you of the cut that's becoming more painful as you weep for him. "Please, let me hug you, let me comfort you, Jay, you don't have to suffer alone."

"Get out." He pants in frustration, getting himself worked up again. "Leave me the fuck alone, get out of here!" He violently shrugs himself away, his hand bracing against the floor to lean away from you.

Seeing him in distress like this breaks your heart. Leaving him alone in such a state is the last thing you want to do. But you've been here before. He accidentally lets himself feel an emotion too deeply, and he gets defensive. You learned the hard way that staying near him when he's like this only makes things worse, which is why you even dared to question him wanting you here in the first place. But you've also learned that when he tells you to leave, he doesn't mean to actually leave him. Leaving his safehouse or removing yourself from the situation completely resulted every time in him hunting you down and cursing you out until you broke down in tears.

"I'll be right outside if you need me." You stand up, unable to mask the defeat in your tone.

You reach for the door handle, Jason's labored breathing faltering as he responds. "Need you?"

The heavy metal handle is loose from the last few times he slammed the door in anger. The brass has lost it's shine, and has several scratches along the side. You jiggle it gently until it catches, before turning it and pushing the door open.

"Were were you when I really needed you, huh? Where the fuck were you?!"

Where was I?

You carefully close the door behind you, leaning your back against the wall and slowly sliding down until you're seated on the battered hard wood floors.

You were alone.

While he was being tortured, you were grieving him. You got your own apartment after you graduated, isolating yourself from your family. Your friends were there for you, at first, but they eventually stopped checking in once they were sure you weren't suicidal. You never tried to hurt yourself, but you became a shell of a person, doing your best to move on but failing miserably. Working a shit job, keeping to yourself, ignoring Dick's many attempts to reach out and check on you. You told yourself that time would help you heal, but the depression was ever-present, hanging over you much like the dense smog that permeates the skies of this miserable city.

Jason's anguished shouts and cries, muffled by the closed door separating you, feel like knives to the heart, trumping the soft stinging pain you feel on your cheek from where he cut you. Eyes closed, breathing slowly, you wait outside the bathroom door for him, hoping in vain that he will ask for your comfort.

-------------------//------------------

Jason exhales a tired groan as he exits the bathroom, looking down at your sleeping frame leaning against the wall. He kept himself in there for hours, waiting until he felt calm again before daring to be around you.

Your chest rises and falls slowly, your head is leaning in a way that's sure to make you sore when you wake up.

He stands there, taking a moment to observe you, eyeing the cut on your cheek. You look as exhausted as he feels, with shadows under your eyes. You look thinner than you were when you first found him, too. He hasn't noticed until now.

The guilt he feels at the state of you is quickly pushed down, hidden away deep with his other traumas and fears that constantly plague him and threaten the iron grip he has on his emotions. Your presence makes it harder to stay in control. And yet, he can't stand the idea of you leaving.

You stir when strong arms lift your sleeping body from the cold floor. Jason can be gentle, when he wants to be. When it's useful. Trained by batman himself, the Arkham Knight can be as quiet as a mouse, despite his size and strength. He uses that now, staying as silent as possible as he carries you to his bed. You're still half asleep, not aware enough to realize what's happening.

Jason pulls back the blanket and sheets before laying you down softly, making sure your head is supported by his pillow. His face is neutral, eyes looking you over before he turns towards his dresser to retrieve a fresh change of clothes.

His conflicted mind is hard at work as he pulls a clean shirt over his head. Stormy eyes flicker to the couch, then back to you. Briefly, his mind thinks back to happier times, treasured memories of you that he clung to during his torture and isolation. When you and him were young and in love, practically inseparable. He remembers how it used to be. How you used to hold him, kiss him, massage his aching muscles whenever Bruce's training left him tired and sore. They two of you could talk for hours about anything, or absolutely nothing at all. The sound of your laughter used to be a drug to him, the angelic noise making his heart feel full, knowing he was able to make you so happy. But the echo of your sweet giggles in his head quickly morph into a perverted, depraved laughter that haunts his mind from far more sinister memories.

With a harsh shake of his head, Jason once again pushes down what his mind is trying to show him, refusing to dwell on it again after just having such an intense breakdown. He's had enough anguish for one day. He wants to rest. He needs it.

With his mind made up, Jason sulks over to the other side of his bed, and settles himself under the covers next to you. The shifting of the mattress is enough to rouse you the rest of the way from your light slumber.

"Jay?"

Your voice is hoarse from sleep. Jason doesn't respond to you, but under the safety of the covers, reaches out and pulls your body snugly against his, your back up against his chest.

His rare initiation of physical affection has you wide awake now, vaguely remembering him carrying you over here. He's holding you. You're in his bed with him, no harsh words or insults being thrown at you, no manipulative whispers filling your ears. You stay as still as you can, processing this development as his arm wraps around your waist to make sure you stay close.

His arms used to be where you felt the safest. Before the joker took him, a hug from Jason could fix practically any issue you were dealing with. All it took was his warm embrace and whispered reassurance to ease your mind and calm your soul. The memory of that comfort helps you relax, but it's not the same anymore. Still, you take this moment for the blessing it is. Jason buries his face against the side of your neck, inhaling your scent as he slows his breathing down to try and fall asleep. You do the same, understanding that there's no use for words right now, and close your eyes again, staying as still as possible as to not upset him.

Jason's deep exhales fan over your neck and ear, warming your skin and tempting you to drift off with him. But you can't relax fully. You want to. But no matter how hard you try and clear your mind and revel in his embrace, a lingering fear keeps you from letting your guard down all the way.

What if he wakes up and decides he's mad at me again? What if he has a nightmare, and forgets it me next to him?

A minute passes. Then another. His leg twitches, and your body goes rigid in response.

"Relax." He whispers. "You're tense. It's making me anxious."

"Can you blame me?" You reply, so quietly you're not sure if he hears you at first.

A deep breath in. A long exhale.

"I can help you relax."

His arm, still heavy across your waist, adjusts so his hand is resting over your lower stomach. Your mind instantly thinks of the last time you slept together, and a tantalizing rush of heat pools between your legs.

"I remember how you like it." He mutters, lifting his head so he has a better angle to nuzzle your neck. "You want me to touch you? Hm?"

You part your lips, unsure how to answer. You want to encourage and reciprocate any affection he gives you, to make sure he feels loved. But you're almost positive he won't be able to get you there right now, and you don't want him to get frustrated with himself.

"Yes, but... what if, I mean, maybe I could touch you too?" You ask, the uncertainty in your whispered suggestion making you cringe at yourself.

"No." His hand travels lower, slipping under the waistband of your pants and over your underwear.

"Why not?" Your breath hitches when his fingers brush over the thin cotton covering your pussy, and your hand finds his forearm, gripping it with just the slightest hint of pressure.

The position you're in keeps you from seeing his face. You wonder if it's a coincidence or if its intentional, this avoidance of eye contact when he initiates intimacy. Either way, you miss the brief flash of guilt that haunts his features when he answers you.

"I don't want you to."

The warmth that was building between your legs seems to dissipate when he says this in your ear, even as his fingers continue to tease you. You feel yourself deflate, sinking into the mattress and against him a little further, the ache in your heart making your body feel heavy.

Fair enough. You think to yourself, frowning at his honesty. Its hard for you to think of something to say to that. It hurts. But you don't let yourself tear up over it. The skin around your eyes is chapped already from your crying earlier. You're sick of crying. So you take a deep breath, and focus on his fingers rubbing small circles over the dampened cotton between your legs. You try to relax, to let the sensations build up again. To forget his coldness, and pretend it's the old Jay touching you now, just like he used to.

He does remember how you like it. And the attention has your heart beating faster, his lips brushing against the side of your neck where he can feel your pulse point. You hear the sound of police sirens in the distance, and a stray dog barking in response. Your eyes dart to the window, turning your head in an attempt to hear better.

"S'fine." He tells you, sounding annoyed. "Just focus on me. Relax already."

You're one to talk. You roll your eyes, wondering where he get's off telling you to relax after his stunt earlier.

Be patient, he's hurting. Just let him say what he wants.

Jason shifts behind you, freeing his other arm to slip under you and wrap around your chest, crossing between your breasts so his hand rests against your neck. At the same time, his fingers push your underwear to the side, dipping into your wet heat. A soft groan escapes his lips, making you shudder. Your grip on his forearm tightens, thankful he's allowing you to touch him there at least.

His hand on your neck makes you nervous. His hold on you is firm. Possessive, even. But he isn't putting enough pressure there to restrict you in any way. Not yet.

He works the tips of two fingers into you, collecting some of your slick before grazing over your clit, being surprisingly gentle at first, pressure increasing steadily. He makes small, tight circles over your bud, adjusting his angle until he hears a low whimper from you.

"Heh. There she is." He observes, talking more to himself than to you. Warm lips press against your neck. You swallow hard, still nervous about his erratic behavior but not able to deny how good this feels, how good he's making you feel.

Jason's index finger pushes harder against you, making you squirm from the increased sensation as you bite your lip. You clench around nothing and squeeze your thighs together in vain to alleviate the throbbing ache.

"Let me in." He mumbles with a growl, your fingers slipping across his forearm as he reaches further down your pants, slipping his fingers inside you again, deeper than before. He slides them in and out of you, letting his rough palm slide against your clit, keeping some friction there while he fingers you, the blankets muffling the lewd squelching noise he's making as he works your pussy open.

"J-Jason, I- mmmmm, shit." Your eyelids close, shoulders finally relaxing, hips softly jerking against his hand.

Jason hums your name in approval. He nudges his nose against the back of your ear, adjusting his grip on your neck, applying more pressure to the sides as his conviction grows. "Good girl. Relax for me."

The second he whispers those words into your ear, your eyes open again, surprised by how much his praise makes your core throb around his fingers. Praise from him is rare, anymore. And you are embarrassed by how much it affects you. You moan softly, still trying to hold back from reacting too much for fear of setting him off. Jason's attention continues like this for several minutes, working you patiently until his hand is soaked in your fluids and your breathing is coming out in shallow pants.

"You close?" He asks, deep voice thick with desire, keeping his rhythm steady.

It feels amazing, and he's got you undeniably aroused. But you know any sort of climax is still far away, whether its from some sort of mental block or just not enough stimulation, you're unsure.

You choke out a moan, bucking against his hand in frustration. "More? Please?"

"Fuck." He moans, the sound of you begging for him giving him a sick jolt of pleasure. "Again."

"Please." You repeat, a bit louder this time. "I'm not close, I need more."

Jason's hand stills, and he uses his leg to kick the blanket off the two of you, giving him more room to work. "You want more?"

Your mouth gapes open when he squeezes the sides of your neck, keeping you still while he wrestles your shorts and underwear down your legs. You try and help him, but when he feels you writhe next to him he huffs at you. "Hold still, dammit."

"Please!" Your cry is weakened from the lightheaded feeling coming over you, a throbbing pressure building in your neck as he continues to restrict blood flow.

He strips the clothes off of your lower half and throws them to the floor, like the cotton somehow personally offended him. His greedy hand grabs your thigh, hiking it up so he can pin your leg against him with his elbow, and return his hand to your pussy with a slap. You hiss, twitching in shock, the sting lingering longer than you feel like it should.

Jasons eyes flutter closed at the sound of your pained whimper. He groans, relaxing his grip on your neck as he returns two fingers to your heat, teasing you open again before continuing his assault on your g-spot with a much better angle.

He fingers you and teases you like this, holding you against him with his hand around your neck, your moans and whimpers getting more frequent and needier with each passing minute. Jason is surprisingly patient, but after some time, he finally lets out a growl of impatience, bringing his mouth to your ear once again.

“Cum for me, doll. I know you want to. Come on, just let go, you’re getting close. I can tell.”

His fingers caress your sore clit, swollen and warm from his attention. The frustration you feel over not being able to finish is starting to weigh on you.

“I can’t, Jay. It’s no use, I’m not getting there. Not right now. Maybe we should just stop.” You whisper, a hint of shame in your quiet tone.

Jason stills at your words, giving his sore hand and wrist a much-needed break. You finally have a minute to catch your breath now. He keeps you in his arms, his hand still on your neck, finger resting over your pulse point, the sound of his breathing flooding your ear.

He doesn’t speak until your heart rate is finally back to normal. He presses his finger into your neck a little deeper, and mumbles into your ear, “Are you scared of me?”

Yes.

“No.” You state with as much confidence as you can muster.

"You’re lying." He says back coolly. "You're scared. And you aren't gunna cum until you embrace it."

His body shifts behind you, sitting up and grabbing your waist to guide you onto your back. You look up at him in confusion, body still sensitive from his attention.

“Embrace what?”

He ignores you again, focused how on freeing his aching hard-on that’s been poking into your back for the last 20 minutes. Your eyes go wide when he slips his sweatpants down, taking in the sight of him, pussy throbbing at the visual proof of his arousal.

“Like what you see?” He teases, a cruel grin tugging at his scarred lips.

You lean up off the bed, reaching for him, fingertips skimming the hem of his shirt. His grin quickly morphs into a frown, and he catches your wrist before you can do much else.

“I asked you a question.”

“I do.” You quickly reply. “I think you’re hot, Jay, you know that. You had your shirt off earlier, in the bathroom. Why can’t-“

"Don’t ask me again." He warns, grabbing your other wrist to pin them both above your head. He’s leaning over you now, narrowed eyes boring into yours. “Are you going to relax and let me get you off? Or are you going to keep wasting my time?”

That familiar sinking feeling returns to your chest. The harshness in his eyes reminds you of the reality of your situation.

“I’ll relax.” You promise, “I’m sorry.”

The hand that isn’t pinning you down reaches between his own legs to line himself up with your entrance. He doesn’t waste any time teasing, pressing the tip of his cock against your slick skin until it disappears inside you. A choked, broken sound escapes your throat, your body hyper-sensitive from how worked up he got you with his fingers. Every movement leaves your needy walls tingling with sensation, whimpering as he fills you up, bucking up against him in an attempt to create more friction as he slides in and out of you slowly, letting you feel every inch of him.

Your legs wrap around his waist, desperate to feel him closer. Deeper.

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” He mocks, as if he isn’t just as worked up as you are. Jason keeps your wrists pinned above you, but leans down so he’s on top of you fully, chest flush against yours, face buried in your neck once again. You try to tug your arms free before you can stop yourself. The urge to touch him, to hold him close to you, it’s difficult to fight. You want to feel his skin against yours, run your fingers through his hair, hug him close enough that he’ll never doubt your love for him ever again.

“If you don’t stop struggling m'gunna go sleep on the couch.” He warns, voice low and dangerous in your ear.

You’re tempted to call him on his bluff. Surely he’s just as desperate for affection as you are, right? But you decide it’s not worth the risk, and you make a pointed effort to stay still.

“Good girl.” He purrs, pressing his lips to your neck with a greedy kiss. “That’s it.”

He moves his hips against yours, not in and out, but in slow circles, already bottomed out, feeling you clench around him as he revels in the feel of you. The sensations are overwhelming, your mind going fuzzy from how his teasing sends little jolts of pleasure down your legs. His cock stretches you in a way his fingers couldn’t. It’s what you were missing, and you feel your arousal building again in anticipation for what’s next.

“Please.” You beg again. “Please, more?”

You’re answered with a grunt and a curse. Jason rolls his hips into yours, giving you want you need. He slides himelf halfway out of you before rutting into your pulsing heat again, over and over, and a slow but consistent pace that has your toes curling and your lips trembling in pleasure.

“Like that? Hm? Is that how you like it?” He goads, “Greedy slut can’t cum on my fingers, so you need my cock now, too?”

“Jay…” You whine his name, unable to articulate your displeasure at his name-calling.

“Relax, bitch.” He ruts into you harder, bottoming out before continuing his pace. “Just turn your damn brain off and let yourself cum already.”

Tears prickle in your eyes at how he’s talking to you. The old Jason never would have called you names like this. But instead of dwelling on the hurt, you try and dissociate, hoping it will help you cum faster and get this over with.

Your eyes glaze over, tuning out his rude mumbles and insults, focusing on the feel of his heavy cock filling you up, his warm lips on your neck, and a particular memory that you’ve re-lived more times than you can count.

------------------------------//------------------------------

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” He asks, smiling out at the view before you. A sunset is rarely this visible within the Gotham city limits. But sometimes the weather cooperates, and gives Gothamites a peek at the sun saying her goodnight.

“It is.” You agree, eyeing the edge of the rooftop warily. “But why did we have to come all the way up here to see it?”

Jason chuckles, and pulls you close to him, his arm around your waist. “You’re not scared of heights, are you?” His bright eyes flicker with a mischievous warmth that makes your heart flutter.

“You know what I’m scared of.” You chide back. “You brought me up here knowing very well I'd be scared and want to cling to you.”

“I would never.” He casually leans in for a kiss, eager and loving, pulling away after a few seconds to flash you his charming smile. “I do have a question for you, though. It’s why I brought you up here actually.”

“Is that right?” You cup his face with your hand, smiling at him as your thumb grazes his cheek. “What can I do for my favorite vigilante?”

You see his demeanor shift to one of confidence to nervousness, and your smile falters, brow furrowing softly in worry. “Everything okay? Jason?”

“Yes!” He says, a little too quickly, clearing his throat and placing his hand over yours, leaning into your touch. “More than okay. In fact, I think things have been going great lately, don’t you?"

"Jason... 4 people died yesterday. In that explosion? Remember?" You look at him suspiciously, "Things have not been going well around here."

"Huh? No, yeah. That was awful. Shit's fucked, really. But I was talking about like, between you and me."

“Yes.” You say back, relieved at his clarification. “I really enjoy spending time with you.”

“Me too.”

Jason guides your hand away from his face, holding it in front of him now, eyeing your fingernails like they’re the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.

“Idon’twantyouseeinganyoneelse.” He blurts out too quickly.

You chuckle softly, trying to catch his eye, “Wanna try that again?”

“I dunno… I think it would be pretty cool if we were, like, exclusive.” The tips of his ears turn red, adding to his adorable shyness.

“Hmm…. depends.” You reply, pretending to mull it over. “Is it Robin asking? Or Jason Todd?”

Jason’s eyes finally find yours, a confused look on his handsome face. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Robin is somewhat of a celebrity, isn’t he? I’m sure he’s got all sorts of girlfriends, side pieces-“

“Would you cut it out? I’m being serious here, doll.” His face contorts in annoyance, releasing your hand.

“I’m teasing!” You explain. “Look, I haven’t been interested in anyone else since I met you. You’re the only one I wanna be with.” Your reassurance quickly erases the troubled look on his face. He releases your hand, smiling before grabbing your waist again and pulling you against him so you’re nose to nose.

“The only one, huh?” His grin is infectious, his confidence returning full-force. “So you’re cool with me calling you my girl?”

“I’ve been yours for a while now, Jay. It’s about time you got with the program.”

The kiss that follows is one you thought about almost every day following his ‘death’, until the pain of it became too much to bear. But you’re thinking about it now. How happy you were. How he planned it all out, waiting for a clear day so you could have the beautiful sunset view when he finally asked you to be his. You remember how electrifying the kiss was, how much love he poured into it, into you.

The bittersweet memory is what it takes to get you there. Your body seizes, the tension that’s coiled in your lower abdomen releases, more of your natural lubrication seeping out around his shaft while Jason ruts himself into you over and over, cursing and groaning at you.

“Thats it, doll. Fuck, that’s it. Cum for me. Let go.” He growls in your ear.

Your body shudders, muscles tensing and releasing while he fucks you through it. You’re too caught up in the moment to be embarrassed about the noises you’re making, whimpering and crying as the pleasure radiates down your legs. You try to squeeze your thighs together reflexively, but Jason’s so close, using almost all his body weight to keep you still.

“Don’t push me out.” He hisses. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

You struggle against his grip on your wrists, not caring if you give yourself bruises. Your brain is muddied with pleasure and his warning is long forgotten. The urge to embrace him and keep him close is stronger now, and is rewarded with a cruel nip to your neck.

“Fucking stop, I’m almost there.” He mumbles into your feverish skin, thrusts getting faster.

Your body shakes with a sob, your choked cry filled with pathetic desperation. “P-please, Jay, please… let me…”

Your begging is drowned out by his moans as he reaches his own peak. His hip movement become sporatic, rhythm long forgotten, emptying himself deep inside of your overstimulated cunt with his lip between his teeth.

Your thighs are damp with sweat and cum, body trembling under his while he recovers. Breathing still uneven, he removes his head from your neck, shifting himself so he’s able to be face-to-face with you.

“Hey. Look at me.”

You turn your head, dazed and weeping, to look at him. His cold eyes feel like a strangers. You shiver again, waiting for him to say something.

“The fuck are you crying for?” He asks you breathlessly in exasperation.

You shake your head, parting your lips to speak even though you can’t bring yourself to answer. How could you begin to explain? How could he not already know? As if what just happened wasn’t a sick, perverted version of the love you used to share?

Your inability to respond to him gives him pause. Finally releasing your wrists, Jason gently pulls out and sits up, turning to the side with a long exhale so he’s laying on his back next to you. You start massaging your wrists reflexively, rubbing away the soreness from his grip and sniffling back tears.

Jason stares at the ceiling while you whimper and cry quietly. His face quickly turns blank, not giving away any indication of what he’s thinking about in his post-sex daze.

You don’t have the capacity for wondering about what he’s thinking, anyways. You’re busy trying to soothe yourself and regulate the intense emotions you’re feeling. You know you should get up and clean yourself up. You can already feel his cum dripping out of you, soiling his faded sheets. But you feel frozen in place, the grief in your heart weighing you down like a ton on bricks.

You jump in surprise when Jason finally moves, shuffling around a bit before reaching for the edge of the blanket and pulling it up over the two of you. He brings the plush quilt up to your chest, making sure you’re covered before turning his back to you and getting comfortable.

You supposed it worked, after all. You’re still tense, sure, but the exhaustion you feel now is enough to trump your unease. So you hug the pillow to your face and close your eyes, the chapped skin around them stinging from the tears that have yet to run dry.

please don’t steal my work. don't upload it to another site, use it to train ai, or claim it as your own.

⭓ part 1 ⭓ masterlist ⭓