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CRAVE

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

Plot: It starts with innocent kisses, just making out on the couch. But then you're grinding against him, and now you're soaking through your shorts, panting, trembling, desperate for more.

Words: 3,8k

CW: established relationship, smut, explicit content, dry humping, overstimulation, oral fixation, nipple play, teasing, praise kink, dom/sub undertones, Jason Todd being obsessed with you, minors DNI

A/N: Bestie who requested the dry humping, I hope this is everything you wanted 👀

It starts off innocent enough. Just the two of you, curled up on the couch, your lips moving against his, lazy, slow, deep. His hands are on your waist, warm, steady, grounding, his thumbs tracing little circles over the fabric of your shirt.

You're not even trying to start something—not really—you just love kissing him. The way he melts into you, the way he lets out little breaths through his nose, sighs into your mouth like he's savoring you.

But Jason? Jason always wants more.

His hands start to wander under your shirt, smoothing over your ribs, skimming higher, teasing, just barely grazing the underside of your tits before they slide back down. And fuck, you shiver, gasping against his lips, and he notices. Smirks into the kiss. Does it again.

"What? That get you worked up already, baby?"

His voice is all low and cocky, but his grip on your waist tightens, like he's holding himself back.

And you? You just whine. Shift forward, pressing in closer, feeling the way his thick thighs spread beneath you, the way his muscles flex when you move. You love being on top of him, feeling how fucking solid he is beneath you. And when you roll your hips just slightly—just barely—against his lap, you feel it.

The way he's already getting hard.

Jason sucks in a breath, his hands squeezing your waist. "Fuck."

And you do it again. Slow, just testing, just teasing, your clothed cunt dragging over the growing bulge in his sweats, feeling the heat of him, the shape of his dick, even through the layers. And God, he's so fucking big, thick and heavy and hot, already pressing up against you, already straining. You're always in awe, even though you know every inch of his body like the back of your hand.

His jaw clenches, hands gripping your waist tighter, and for a second, you think maybe he's gonna stop you, maybe he's gonna flip you over, pin you down, rip your clothes off, fuck you proper.

But he doesn't. Instead, he lets you. Lets you grind against him, slow and teasing, testing the waters, even though you know he's not a patient man. And when you do it again, drag your soaked little panties over his dick, he groans.

"That's cute, baby. Keep goin'."

It's a challenge. An invitation. And you take it. Because sometimes, Jason Todd doesn't do teasing, and neither do you. There's no need for games between you two, no need to dance around it. The tension is just part of your dynamic, something familiar, something you've both come to crave.

He's always been like this, and so have you—uncomplicated, raw, and to the point. No room for hesitation here, not when the pull between you both is something you've both learned to savor. When he's this close, when his hands are on you, there's no question. You're already lost to it, and he's always more than willing to take you there.

His voice is low, rough, almost a growl in your ear, his hands tight on your waist, guiding you, rolling you down harder against him. And fuck, you can feel him—thick, heavy, straining against his sweats, rubbing right against your cunt, hot even through the layers.

And God, you're soaked. Can feel how your panties cling to you, sticky and useless, the thin fabric doing nothing to stop the slick mess you're making on him. Every slow drag of his cock presses right against your clit, damp heat pooling between your thighs, smearing over the hard shape of him, and you swear you can feel the twitch of it through his sweats.

It's messy, desperate, all slow friction and building heat, his grip firm, making you move exactly how he wants. And you need it, need him, need more, need everything, because the drag of his cock against your soaking wet panties is just enough—just barely enough—to have your clit throbbing, aching, sending shivers up your spine every time you grind down.

And he knows. Can feel the way you tremble, the way your breath hitches every time your swollen clit catches on the thick ridge of his cock. His fingers tighten on your hips, breath warm, lips brushing against your temple as he groans, deep and wrecked.

"Jesus fuck, baby. You feel that? How fuckin' wet you are? Got my dick soaked and I'm not even inside you."

His voice is strained, almost shaking, his fingers flexing on your waist, digging into the soft flesh of your hips like he's barely holding back. And you? You whimper.

Because it's not enough.

It's not enough and he knows it, knows it by the way you squirm, by the way your little hands grip his shoulders, by the way your hips start to move faster, chasing that feeling, using him to get yourself off.

And Jason? He fucking loves it.

"That's it, baby, keep goin'."

His voice is wrecked, his lips dragging over your throat, hot and open-mouthed, sucking at your pulse as you keep moving. And you're soaked, so wet that you can feel it, that he can feel it, his sweats growing damp beneath you.

His dick is already leaking precum, the fat tip pressing right up against your clit, dragging against it with every desperate grind of your hips. And when you roll down just right—when your swollen little clit catches against the thick ridge of his cock through his sweats—you fucking cry out.

"Shit, look at you," Jason groans, his fingers digging in harder, gripping your waist, helping you move, pushing you down against him. "Ruin my fuckin' sweats, baby. Soak 'em."

And you do. Because you can't fucking help it.

Your body is burning, needy, the friction sending sparks up your spine, your cunt throbbing, clenching around nothing. Your nipples are hard, rubbing against the fabric of your top, dragging against his chest, and when you lean forward, when your lips catch his again, it's sloppy, open-mouthed, all panting little moans and wet heat.

Jason groans into your mouth, deep and wrecked, his lips parting against yours as his tongue slides in, licking into you like he's starved for it, like he needs the taste of you as much as he needs to feel you grinding against him. His teeth catch your bottom lip, tugging, a low, needy sound vibrating in his chest when you whimper for him.

His hands slip lower, squeezing your ass, spreading you open as he grinds up into you, as he meets your movements, making the kiss even messier—all spit and moans and ragged little gasps, your tongue stroking against his as you rock down harder.

It's desperate, greedy, like you're trying to swallow each other whole, like you're both chasing something just out of reach, the pleasure mounting between you, tight and unbearable. And it's so good, so fucking good that your fingernails dig into his shoulders, your body tensing, the pressure building, building, building.

Jason's growling under his breath, low and rough, all heat and gravel, his fingers squeezing into your ass, gripping, spreading, yanking you down harder against him. And fuck, he can feel you.

Soaking. You're soaking through your shorts, through his sweats, your pussy leaving a damp patch right against his dick, needy and messy, dripping for him.

His breath is ragged, hot against your lips, forehead pressed against yours like he's trying to ground himself, but he's fucking losing it.

"Baby, fuck—you're drippin' for me." His voice is wrecked, and his fingers flex, digging into the soft flesh of your ass, guiding you, rolling you down harder against his aching cock. "So messy, pretty girl. Keep goin'. Wanna feel you cum just like this."

"Jay…" you whimper, voice breathy, wrecked, your fingers fisting in his hair. "Fuck—"

And God, you want to.

Your clit is throbbing, rubbing right against the fabric, right against the shape of his dick, the flex of his muscles making you gasp. It's too much, not enough, too fucking good.

"God—feels so good," you breathe, hips rolling faster, more desperate, because you're so close, you can fucking taste it.

And Jason? Jason is fucking mesmerized.

Because you're so worked up, so desperate, using him to get off, grinding down like you need it to live. His cock is aching, leaking, straining against his sweats, and he can feel everything—the heat of you, the slick sticking to his clothes, the way your pussy's dripping with every little movement.

And then? He yanks your fucking shirt off.

Because of course he does. Because he needs to see you. He needs to see those pretty tits, needs to feel your bare skin against him. And his chest heaves, a rough groan slipping past his lips because fuck—fuck—your tits are bouncing, soft, perfect, your nipples hard, dragging against his skin as you grind down on him, desperate and soaked, making a fucking mess all over his lap.

His breath is ragged, his hands everywhere, groping, squeezing, a big, hot palm curling over your breast, fingers teasing your nipple, rolling it, making you gasp, making your pussy clench.

"Oh, fuck—"

Your head tips back, your back arching, pushing your tits further into his hand, and fuck, that does something to him.

Your skin is flushed, damp with sweat, your lips parted, moaning, your body soft and perfect, and all he can think about is how fucking good you feel, how good you look, how he wants to ruin you.

"Jesus Christ, look at you." His voice is low, his other hand gripping your waist, pulling you down harder, making sure your clit drags over the length of his cock. "So fuckin' pretty, ridin' me like this. Can feel how soaked you are, baby. You're gonna make me cum in my fuckin' pants."

That makes you whimper again. Because you're so fucking close. Every slow, slick grind of your dripping pussy against him sends sparks up your spine, making your thighs shake, your breath hitch, your stomach tighten.

His mouth catches one of your tits, sucking hard, dragging his teeth over your sensitive skin, moaning against you as his fingers dig into your hips. His tongue flicks over your nipple, slow and teasing, before flattening against it, circling, making you gasp.

And then he sucks. Hard. Wet. Messy.

His lips wrap around your nipple, hollowing his cheeks, drawing it deep into his mouth as his tongue rolls over it, flicking, lapping, dragging delicious heat straight to your core. The sound of it is obscene, slick and greedy, the warm suction making your breath hitch, your back arch, your thighs trembling where they straddle his hips.

"J-Jason—" you gasp, your nails scratching at his scalp as he groans against you, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, like he needs to taste every inch of you.

And he does.

He switches to the other, his mouth just as eager, just as hot, licking broad and slow before closing his lips around you, sucking hard. His teeth graze the sensitive bud, making you shudder, your hips grinding down harder on instinct.

"Fuck, baby," he pants, his voice low and wrecked, his tongue swirling over your nipple before sucking it back between his lips, tugging, teasing, until you're whimpering in his hold.

His fingers tighten at your waist, guiding you, keeping you moving against his cock, making sure you can feel just how hard he is for you. "Taste so fuckin' sweet, could do this all fuckin' day."

And that? That nearly fucking breaks you, And God, he wants to push you over.

"You gonna cum for me, huh?" His grip tightens, his breath coming in harsh pants, his hips twitching up against you. "Gonna soak my fuckin' sweats? Make a fuckin' mess all over my dick?"

And you moan, nearly there, nearly fucking there, grinding down harder, so fucking close—

And then you cum. Hard.

It hits like a freight train, tearing through you, leaving you breathless, boneless, shaking.

Your thighs tremble, your fingers clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you cry out, grinding down hard against him. It's blinding, mind-numbing, that sweet, hot rush of pleasure bursting through you, rippling through every nerve, making you whimper, making your toes curl.

"Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck—"

Your head tips back, the strain in your throat making your voice come out high and wrecked, and Jason's fucking mesmerized.

Because Jesus Christ, you're perfect. Your face all scrunched up in pleasure, your tits pressed against his chest, spit-slicked nipples dragging against his heated skin, every slow grind sending little sparks of overstimulation up your spine.

And it's too much. Too fucking much. He grits his teeth, his hands gripping your ass, guiding you through it, forcing you to ride it out. Forcing you to drag your soaked cunt over his aching cock, his hips jerking up beneath you, muscles tight and flexing as a deep, guttural groan rips from his throat.

Jason tries to hold it back.

Tries to keep himself from tipping over the edge, but when he feels it—the way your cunt throbs against him, the way you soak through his sweats, hot and messy, leaking all over his dick, he just fucking snaps.

His body locks up, his jaw clenching so tight it aches, a harsh, ragged groan tearing from his throat as his orgasm hits him like a fucking wrecking ball.

His cock jumps, straining painfully against the damp fabric of his sweats, his hips bucking up into you, grinding into the mess you both made, desperate, helpless, his vision going white-hot. The first thick spurt of cum soaks into the fabric, hot and sticky, making him moan, making him clutch at your ass, at your hips, dragging you down, forcing you to feel it.

And he just keeps cumming. His cock twitching, throbbing, sending thick pulses of heat spilling from him, the sticky mess pooling beneath his waistband, smearing between you, his abs tight, stomach clenching, body trembling as he rides it out.

His breath is ragged, shaking, his body taut and aching, every pulse of his dick making him jolt, making him curse, making his head tip back against the couch.

And he still doesn't stop. Still grinds against you, still pulls you down against his overstimulated cock, like he can't let go just yet, like he needs to squeeze out every last drop of pleasure. His whole body is buzzing, muscles locked tight, breath coming in heavy, uneven pants.

The mess between you is obscene. Hot and sticky, soaking through every layer of fabric, spreading with every little shift of your hips. His dick is still twitching beneath you, still so fucking sensitive, and yet he can't stop. Can't stop touching you, can't stop dragging out every last bit of it.

Fuck.

Jason Todd just fucking came in his sweats. And he doesn't even care.

Because you did this to him. Made him so fucking needy, so desperate, so fucking gone for you that he just spilled in his own pants like a goddamn teenager.

His chest is heaving, his forehead damp with sweat, his jaw slack, eyes blown wide, fingers still digging into your ass, keeping you pressed against him. His dick throbs, the fabric of his sweats sticky and hot, soaked through with his own mess and yours, and he loves it.

Loves that you soaked him through. Loves that you ruined him. Loves that you're still whimpering, still shaking, still clutching at him, pressing your slick, swollen cunt against the mess he just made.

And God, you're so warm. So soft and pliant against him, your body still trembling, every little breath catching in your throat.

"Jesus Christ, baby—" he pants, his grip unrelenting, his hands everywhere, sliding up your back, gripping your ass, keeping you there. "Made such a fuckin' mess of me."

But he's smirking. Looking at you like you're his whole fucking world.

Your body is still thrumming, overheated, your chest rising and falling in shaky little breaths as reality starts seeping back in.

And that's when it hits you. What you just did.

You just dry humped your boyfriend like a desperate little thing, got yourself off on his dick like it was the only thing that mattered, soaked through your panties and his fucking sweatpants.

But truth be told, so did he. Jason Todd—big, smug, cocky motherfucker—just came in his pants. Because of you.

Your face burns, stomach twisting, and you can't even look at him at first, fingers clutching at his shoulders, pressing your forehead into the crook of his neck as your mind scrambles.

Because holy fuck.

Jason's still catching his breath, but he knows you. Knows exactly how your mind works, knows exactly what you're thinking. And he's fucking grinning.

"Ah, fuck, doll, don't get all shy on me now," he murmurs, voice hoarse, teasing, still thick with lust.

His hands rub up and down your back, big and warm, grounding you, pulling you closer. You just whimper, hiding your face further, and he fucking laughs.

"You should see yourself," he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. "All fucked out and blushin'. It's cute, pretty girl."

You groan, trying to pull away, but he won't let you. His arms tighten around you, his lips ghosting over your temple, your cheek, making you shiver, making heat curl in your stomach all over again.

"What's wrong, huh?" he rasps. "That sweet girl brain of yours can't handle what we just did?"

Your thighs squeeze around his hips, still sensitive, and he chuckles, because he fucking felt that.

"Shut up," you grumble, still hiding, still flustered, and that just makes his grin wider.

"Can't, baby," he says simply, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your jaw.

He pulls back just enough, waiting until your gaze finally flicks up to meet his.

He knows that look on your face all too well—the one where you start to overthink, where the heat of the moment makes you second-guess yourself.

He can see it in the way your brows furrow, your mouth pressing into that little frown, the soft blush on your cheeks as you get caught in your own thoughts. And yet, he can't help but tease. It's a part of him that loves the way you respond, how it takes almost nothing to fluster you, to bring you back to him.

But beneath it, there's something else—something deeper, something he won't say out loud but feels in every inch of his fucking soul. He loves this. Loves that after nearly two years together, you still get all shy like this, still blush like he hasn't spent hours between your thighs, hasn't memorized every little sound you make, hasn't fucked you stupid more times than he can count.

Jason hums, tilting his head, eyes gleaming as he watches you squirm.

"Y'know," he starts, voice lazy, playful, "you got me so fuckin' worked up, I didn't even realize what was happening 'til it was too late."

You peek up at him, still flustered, still warm all over. His lips twitch.

"You ever do that before?" His thumb rubs slow circles against your hip. "Get so into it, you just—" he lets out a short, breathy laugh. "—fuckin' lose it?"

Your face burns hotter. You press your lips together, hesitating. And that's when he knows he's got you.

"Oh, baby," he grins, full and wicked. "You have, haven't you?"

But then, he sees it. That little flicker in your eyes, the way your brows pinch just slightly, your lips parting like you're about to protest.

And it clicks.

"No way," he breathes, his grin stretching even wider. "You haven't?"

Your stomach twists. The heat spreads down your neck, over your chest, the embarrassment creeping in like a slow burn. You shift against him, like you can escape it, but his grip is firm, his eyes locked onto yours, watching every little reaction.

"Jason." You say his name like a warning, shoving at his chest, and he just laughs, catching your wrists, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

"S'fine, doll. No shame in it," he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours. "Y'know the last time I came in my pants?" he says, voice low, almost smug. "Had a wet dream at fourteen."

Your eyes go wide, a little shocked laugh bursting past your lips. It's the way he does it—so effortlessly, so him—that makes your heart skip just a little. He knows exactly what he's doing, knows how to disarm you with just the right amount of teasing.

That's all he wanted. To make you laugh, to pull you back from that flustered little spiral, to remind you that this? This is just you and him. And you're fucking perfect.

"God," you giggle, cheeks still burning, still trying to wrap your head around it. "We're like animals sometimes."

Jason snickers, shaking his head, his hands brushing down your sides, over your hips.

"Nah, baby," he murmurs, tilting his head down, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to your forehead. "We're just fuckin' crazy about each other. Nothin' wrong with that."

And then he kisses you. Deep. Slow. Drawn out. Like he never wants it to end.

His lips are soft but insistent, warm and plush, parting just enough to let his tongue slip against yours, coaxing, teasing, pulling you deeper.

And fuck, you give in so easily.

The kiss is lazy, indulgent, slow in a way that makes it even filthier, his tongue rolling against yours, sucking, licking, sliding, wet and messy, like he's tasting you, savoring you, not in any hurry to stop.

His hands stay firm at your waist, fingers digging in just enough to remind you who's in control, who's keeping you exactly where he wants you.

And you can feel everything.

Your clothes sticking to you, damp, ruined, your panties a sopping mess against your swollen cunt, your shorts clinging to your thighs.

Jason's sweats? No better.

The thick, sticky mess of his cum is soaked through, clinging to his still-hard cock, and when you shift in his lap, just barely, just a little, he grunts into your mouth, sharp and throaty, like he's barely holding back.

And God, you feel wrecked. Overwhelmed, drenched, raw, but so fucking good.

A little moan spills past your lips, high and breathy, and Jason drinks it down, sucking at your tongue, tilting his head, deepening the kiss even more, as if he can't get enough.

When he finally, finally pulls away, it's with a slick little pop, his lips red and swollen, a little smirk tugging at them. His breath fans over your cheek, his fingers tracing slow, teasing circles at your waist.

And then, low and rough, full of promise—

"Next load goes inside that pretty little pussy."