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Jason Todd can't help it. He loves spoiling you, and this is demonstrated in many ways. Shown amply in the way that you see how he looks at you, like he can't quite understand why he hasn't woken up from the dream he's having.
Like every time he touches you, he's still trying to memorize the shape of you, in case you ever disappear from his grasp. Like each kiss that he presses against you with the heat of his mouth will be his last.
So Jason Todd loves to spoil you. Loves to surprise you with lovely little picnic dates to Robinson Park when the clouds exhibit themselves in picturesque manner.
Where he can unspool checkered picnic blankets for the two of you to dine on meals he's specifically made for the occasion. Sinking teeth into thickly cut sourdough bread sandwiches he's assembled in those wide, masculine hands of his.
Refreshing yourself with long-necked bottles of soda that bear condensation still dripping down the length as you clink them together in the merry ambience of the park. Admiring the finely made desserts he's made—tiramisu, panna cotta, blancmange—and looking at him with wonder.
"You made this for me?" You ask with hushed disbelief, a smile taking reign on your face.
"I like to spoil you," Is all he answers with.
And Jason Todd does love to spoil you. He loves to find things that remind you of him, knick-knacks and tchotchkes that you mention take root in nostalgia from your childhood. Showering you with charms and keychains in your favorite colors, albums that you've hankered longingly after in glossy store windows.
Tickets to movies you've mentioned in passing, where he can shuck his jacket over your shoulders in the frigidity of the cool night air. Little adventures that show that not only does he remember, but he makes the effort to demonstrate his commitment.
"How did you know I wanted to do this?" You ask with a winsome grin as the two of you go to axe throwing at a new joint that opened up.
"I like to spoil you," Is his characteristic answer that he says as he presses a kiss to the slope of your temple.
And Jason Todd knows how to spoil you. He knows his way around your body with deliberate, practiced ease. He knows the right way to roll his hips against the curve of your ass as he pumps his cock into you.
Knows to hook your legs over his shoulders in a mating press, laving his tongue over the width of your ankle as you moan. Takes the slow, torturous way to work his fingers in you and flex that has you whimpering, thighs twitching, fingers clenching into bunched sheets.
Knows just the way to croon husked praise into the shell of your ear as he presses his body over you. Keeps protracted meter that has you holding on to him for dear life as you exchange expletive with prayer . All he does is lap up the beaded sweat your exertion tacks on your bodies joined in union.
"Jason," You whine into his ear, raking your nails down his back, "You're gonna make me come—"
"Good," He groans as he hikes his hands around your hips, pulls you flush—and thrusts into you at angle that has you immobile with the pleasure of your nascent orgasm. The rest of his statement remains articulated in the way he coaxes you through how you come.
But that's just his way—after all, Jason Todd loves to spoil you.