#🌟🦇 DC-BATFAM

[vacate-et-scire]

╰➤Food Love

Jason watched you with amusement as you carefully peeled the pickles off your burger, stacking them neatly on the side of your tray like they were some kind of crime against humanity.

“You know,” he said, leaning his chin on his palm, “you could just ask for no pickles.”

You wrinkled your nose with a huff. “Yeah, but then you wouldn’t get extra.”

He just smirked. “You giving me all your pickles now?”

You wordlessly slid your tray closer to him, a silent offering. He huffed out a laugh, plucking one of the pickles off your pile and popping it into his mouth. “You’re too good to me, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway, taking a bite of your burger. The diner around you was alive with noise—low chatter, clinking plates, the sizzle of something fresh on the griddle—but sitting here with Jason, it all faded into comfortable background noise.

Jason reached over, stealing one of your fries. “So, this some kind of love language?”

You arched a brow. “What, giving you my pickles?”

“Yeah.” He chewed thoughtfully. “Like… ‘I’d die for you, and also, you can have my unwanted burger toppings.’”

You snorted. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

Jason’s smirk softened just a little, something warm settling in his eyes. He nudged his plate toward you. “Well, then you can have the last onion ring. Y’know, ‘cause I’d die for you, too.”

You grinned, taking it without hesitation. “Romantic.” Your voice came out sarcastic but still playful.

Jason chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. Eat your damn burger.”

And you did—without pickles, but with Jason sitting across from you, stealing your fries and giving you onion rings like it was a promise.

[dianaprincethinker]

new tumblr~

looking for moots!

im romy, she/her :)

(my main: @uglycowplant )

i love:

🪩 taylor swift

💗 nicole maines

🫂 gal gadot

⭐ wonder woman

🌟wonder fam

🌀 nia nal

🃏 harley quinn

🦇 batfam

👽 legends of tomorrow

🏹 arrowverse

🦸‍♀️ supercorp

🎖️ wonderterv

🧳 the wilds

📚 books

🦹 dc titans

🫏 doom patrol

🧹wicked

+++more!

i fb! 🫶

[vacate-et-scire]

Jason Todd had always been built like a tank—broad shoulders, strong arms, a body shaped by years of fighting Gotham’s worst. But now, standing in front of the mirror, all he could see was how different he looked. The muscle was still there, buried under a softer layer that hadn't been there before. His shirts stretched a little tighter around his stomach, his jawline wasn’t as sharp, and—God—he could feel it every time he moved.

He let out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face. He'd known this was coming. Hanging up the helmet, giving up the fight—it meant letting go of the relentless training too. The bruises had faded, the broken ribs had healed, but his body had started changing in ways he wasn't prepared for.

The worst part was the guilt. Not just for what he used to do, but for caring so much about this now. He'd survived death. He'd clawed his way out of the grave, fought through pain most people couldn't imagine—and yet, a little weight was what was getting under his skin?

"Stupid," he muttered, gripping the sink.

The door creaked open behind him, and he barely caught your reflection in the mirror before you stepped into the room.

"Jay?" Your voice was soft, careful. "You've been in here for a while."

He exhaled through his nose, not turning around. "Yeah. Just thinking."

You leaned against the door frame, watching him. "What about?"

Jason hesitated. He didn't want to say it. It felt shallow. Weak. But you knew him too well, and he knew you weren't going to let it go.

"... I look different," he finally admitted. "And I don't know how..."

You stepped closer, your hands finding his waist from behind, fingers pressing into the soft fabric of his shirt. "Of course you do," you said simply. "You’ve spent years treating your body like a weapon. And now you don’t have to anymore."

He swallowed, his shoulders dropping just slightly. "Yeah, but—I don’t know, I used to be..." He gestured vaguely toward the mirror, frustrated.

"You used to be overworked, underfed, and running on fumes," you countered. "Jason, you didn’t just survive Gotham—you survived yourself."

He went quiet at that.

Your arms wrapped around his middle, and you rested your head against his back. "You're still you. And you're still hot, if you need to hear it."

A short, breathy chuckle escaped him despite himself. "That right?"

You squeezed him tighter. "Mm-hmm. And I’ll say it as many times as I need to."

Jason sighed, a small, tired smile creeping onto his face. He reached down, covering your hands with his. He didn’t know if he’d ever fully shake the feeling, the nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him he wasn’t what he used to be. But you were here. You weren’t letting him disappear into his own head.

[vacate-et-scire]

*̩̩̥͙　-Your Tears Kill Me-ˏˋ⋆

Jason has seen you cry before.

A misty-eyed sniffle when you watched a sad movie. A few stray tears when you laughed too hard. That one time you got frustrated over something stupid and wiped your eyes before you even realized you were crying.

But this? This is different.

You’re sobbing.

Not quiet, not composed. It’s ugly, gut-wrenching, heartbreaking—the kind of crying that makes your whole body tremble, the kind that says this isn’t about one bad day, or even one bad week.

This is everything crashing down at once.

And Jason doesn’t know what to do.

He just stands there, stiff as a board, watching as you clutch your arms around yourself, shoulders shaking, breath hitching violently between sobs. You’re trying to talk—he can tell—but all that comes out are broken, gasping hiccups.

His heart clenches, because fuck, did he—?

"Hey, hey—" He steps forward, hands hovering awkwardly. "What happened? Did I—? Shit, did I say something?"

You shake your head wildly, but it does nothing to stop the tears.

Jason curses under his breath. "Then what? Talk to me, sweetheart."

But you can’t. Not yet. You’re still unraveling, like a dam finally bursting after holding back years of pressure. And Jason—who’s so good at fixing things with his hands, with his weapons, with sharp words and sharp instincts—doesn’t know how to fix this.

So he does the only thing he can.

He pulls you in.

You collapse against him like you were waiting for it, hands fisting into his shirt, your weight pressing into him like you’re afraid he’ll let go. He won’t. He won’t.

"Shh," he murmurs, running a hand over your back, his touch uncertain but there. "I got you. You’re okay."

You shake your head again against his chest, a choked noise escaping your throat. "I’m not."

Jason’s breath stutters.

Because he knows what it’s like to believe that—to feel like no matter how many times someone tells you you’re okay, you never are. And knowing you—someone who always smiles, always finds the light in things, always keeps going—are feeling that way?

It guts him.

"Fuck," he breathes, tightening his arms around you. "I—" He swallows hard. "I don’t know what to say, babe. I don’t know how to make this better. But I’m here. Okay? I’m right here."

You just sob.

And Jason? Jason just holds you through it. Through the shaking, through the gasping, through the way your fingers clutch at him like he’s the only thing keeping you upright.

He wishes he had the right words, wishes he could take whatever weight you’ve been carrying and break it over his knee like he does to every bastard who deserves it. But he can’t.

So he stays. He holds you, rocks you gently, presses kisses into your hair, murmurs reassurances even if he’s not sure they help.

And eventually, eventually, the sobs quiet. Your breathing evens out. Your grip on his shirt loosens, just a little.

Jason leans down, voice soft. "You back with me?"

You nod weakly.

"Yeah?"

A sniff. A small, fragile, "Yeah."

Jason lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. "Good." He presses his lips against your forehead. "Now, you wanna tell me what’s going on, or you wanna just sit here for a while?"

You don’t answer right away. But you don’t pull away, either.

And that’s enough.

So Jason stays. He holds you tighter, presses another kiss into your hair, and lets you breathe.

Because if you ever start breaking again, he’ll be right here to catch the pieces.

Every damn time.

[vacate-et-scire]

╰➤Dish Duty

You pause in the doorway, blinking at the sight before you.

Jason. At the sink. Doing the dishes.

For a moment, your brain refuses to process it. This is Jason Todd, a man whose idea of cleaning is kicking his boots into a corner and calling it a day. A man who has been known to buy new dishes just to avoid washing the ones in his sink.

And yet, here he is, sleeves rolled up, hands in soapy water, looking criminally domestic.

You squint. "What are you doing?"

Jason glances over his shoulder. "Dishes?"

"Since when do you do that?"

"Since you told me you don’t enjoy it." He shrugs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, before turning back to the sink.

Your brain short-circuits.

Because what the hell.

Your heart clenches, because it’s such a small thing—so stupidly, absurdly small—but it means everything. He doesn’t say I love you all the time, but this? This is him saying it without words.

You step forward, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your cheek against his back. He’s warm, solid, and smells faintly like dish soap and him.

Jason huffs out a laugh. "What, you get turned on by dishwashing now?"

You snort, smacking his side lightly. "Shut up."

He smirks but keeps scrubbing.

And you stand there for a moment, holding him, listening to the soft clink of dishes, feeling your heart swell.

Maybe you’ll start complaining about laundry next.

[vacate-et-scire]

Borrowed Comfort

Jason barely glanced up from his book as you climbed into his lap, settling against him with the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times before. Because you had.

You were wearing his shirt.

And god help him, it did something to him.

The fabric hung nicely on you, draping over your frame like it belonged to you more than it did to him. The sleeves swallowed your hands, the hem riding up just slightly as you curled up against his chest, tucking your face into the crook of his neck.

Jason exhaled through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“Comfy?” he murmured, flipping a page.

You hummed softly, voice muffled against his skin. “Mm..”

Jason smirked, resting his chin atop your head as his fingers found their way into your hair, absently combing through the strands. His touch was slow, soothing, fingertips dragging along your scalp in a steady rhythm.

You melted against him.

Jason could feel it—the way your body went lax, your breathing slowing as the warmth of his touch pulled you deeper into comfort. The weight of you, small and soft against him, made something in his chest go light.

He turned another page, completely unbothered by the fact that you weren’t moving anytime soon. If anything, his fingers in your hair got lazier, like he wanted to keep you here as long as possible.

Minutes stretched on, quiet and easy.

Then—

“You’re not getting this shirt back, by the way,” you murmured sleepily.

Jason huffed a laugh, fingers grazing the nape of your neck. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” You nuzzled closer, grinning against his throat. “It’s mine now.”

Jason smirked. “We’ll see about that.”

[vacate-et-scire]

I Have a Door, Y'know

The loud thud of your bedroom window sliding open nearly scared the life out of you.

“Jesus—!”

Your heart leapt into your throat as a dark figure climbed through the window, moving with a frustrating amount of ease. Before you could react—or throw the nearest object in self-defence—Jason Todd landed on your floor like this was the most normal thing in the world.

You exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to your chest. “Jason. What. The hell.”

He smirked, shoving the window shut behind him. “Miss me?”

“No, but I nearly missed swinging my lamp at your head.” You crossed your arms, glaring. “I have a door.”

Jason had the audacity to shrug. “Yeah, but this is more fun.”

“More fun for who?”

He ignored you, casually toeing off his boots before flopping onto your bed like he owned the place. His arms folded behind his head, his entire body sprawling across the mattress as if he hadn’t just broken into your room through a second-story window.

You stood there, glaring.

Jason cracked an eye open and smirked. “C’mon, sweetheart. You’re not really mad.”

“I should be.”

“But you’re not.”

You sighed, exasperated, but your lips twitched at the corners. “One of these days, I’m going to lock that window.”

Jason grinned. “And I’ll just pick it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What if I booby-trap it?”

His eyebrows rose, and his smirk deepened. “Kinky.”

You groaned, chucking a pillow at his face. He caught it effortlessly, tossing it aside before tugging you onto the bed with a sharp pull.

You yelped as you tumbled forward, landing against his chest with an oomph. His arms looped around you instantly, locking you into his embrace, his warmth bleeding into your skin.

You huffed against his chest. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

Jason chuckled, his fingers lazily tracing patterns against your back. “Because I’m irresistible.”

“You’re annoying.”

“Same thing.”

You tried to glare at him, but the way his thumb brushed over your spine—slow and soothing—made your muscles melt against him instead. His scent—leather, gunpowder, and just a hint of something warm, like home—filled your senses, and, annoyingly, you found yourself relaxing.

Jason pressed a slow, lazy kiss to your temple. “You love me.”

You grumbled into his hoodie, face heating. “No comment.”

Jason smirked, pulling you even closer.

Yeah. He wasn’t going anywhere.

[vacate-et-scire]

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯ "AT THE HANDS OF AN ANGEL"

Jason groans as he slumps onto the bed, face-first, with all the dramatics of a man twice his age. His jacket’s already discarded on the floor, his boots half-kicked off, and his entire body just radiates exhaustion.

"Fuck everything," he mutters into the sheets.

You lean in the doorway, arms crossed, watching him with amusement. "Everything?"

"Everything. The city, the idiots running it, the dumbass informant who wasted my entire night—" Jason lifts his head just enough to glare at the ceiling. "And most of all? My goddamn back."

You bite back a laugh. "You sound like an old man."

He flops an arm over his face. "That’s because I feel like one."

"Jason, you’re not even thirty."

"I might as well be."

You roll your eyes, but there’s a fondness in it. With a sigh, you push off the doorframe and crawl onto the bed, settling next to him. Your hand ghosts over his back. "Want me to fix it?"

He grunts. "If you can bring me back from the dead again, be my guest."

"Ha-ha." You press your palms into his shoulders, kneading gently. The moment you do, Jason groans—a deep, guttural sound that makes heat creep up your neck.

"Shit," he breathes, "yeah, there. Right there."

You smirk. "Big bad Red Hood, taken down by some muscle knots?"

"Shut up and keep going."

You do, pressing deeper, working out the tension in his shoulders, the knots along his spine. Jason melts. The tension in his body seeps out little by little, his breath slowing, his grip on the sheets loosening.

"God," he mutters, voice muffled. "Marry me."

You huff a laugh. "You’re ridiculous."

"M’serious." He sighs, utterly content. "You wanna stop me from doing stupid shit? This is how you do it. Just bribe me with this."

"Noted," you tease, digging your thumbs into a particularly tight spot. Jason shudders.

"...Okay, but not like that," he mumbles. "I will fall asleep right here."

You roll your eyes, softening. "Good. You need it."

Jason hums, too relaxed to argue.

And yeah, maybe he's not old. But nights like this, when exhaustion weighs heavy and his body hurts, he thinks—if growing old means coming home to this, to you—

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

[vacate-et-scire]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ Stay Still, Dummy

Jason barely had time to react before you collapsed onto the couch face-first with a dramatic groan.

He blinked. “Rough day?”

You mumbled something into the cushions that vaguely sounded like kill me.

Jason smirked, shifting to sit beside you. “That bad, huh?”

You groaned again, wiggling a bit like you were trying to sink into the fabric. Jason rolled his eyes before reaching out, pressing his hands into your tense shoulders.

You froze.

Then—“Ohhh my god.”

Jason chuckled, kneading a particularly tight knot. “Damn, you’re tense.”

“No shit.” Your voice was muffled in bliss. “Don’t stop.”

Jason huffed a laugh but kept working his hands over your back, pressing slow, deep circles into your muscles. You practically melted under his touch, little sighs of relief escaping as he worked out every knot.

“You’re a lifesaver,” you mumbled.

Jason smirked. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t start drooling on the couch.”

You weakly lifted a hand just to flip him off before going completely limp again. Jason just shook his head, fond as ever.

Yeah. He was never letting you live this down.

[vacate-et-scire]

.ೃ࿐Welcome Home

You barely make it through the arrival gate before you spot him.

Jason Todd, all leather jacket and sharp blue eyes, standing just beyond the crowd, arms crossed over his chest like he's trying to play it cool. But you know him. You see the way his fingers tighten around the strap of his duffel bag, how his weight shifts restlessly from one foot to the other. He’s been waiting.

The second your gaze locks, his tough-guy act cracks. His shoulders ease, lips part like he’s about to say something—maybe something sarcastic, maybe something sweet—but you don’t give him the chance.

"Jason!"

You're on him in an instant, arms thrown around his neck as you crash into him. He stumbles back a step but catches you, hands firm against your back, holding you so tight you can barely breathe—not that you care.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs into your hair, voice thick, a little rough around the edges. “Took you long enough.”

You laugh against his shoulder. “Missed me that bad?”

“Tch. Please.” He pulls back just enough to look at you, one hand lifting to brush your hair away from your face. His thumb skims your cheek, soft despite the callouses, and his gaze darkens, turning something softer. “You already know the answer to that.”

Your heart swells. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I missed you too.”

Jason exhales sharply, then tugs you back into his chest, pressing a kiss to your temple. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get you home.”

And with his arm wrapped tight around you, keeping you close like he’s afraid to let go, you know there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

[vacate-et-scire]

༄ؘ ۪۪۫۫ ▹Baby Whats My Name◃ ۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ

There are moments Jason never thought he’d get. The quiet ones, the soft ones. The ones that don’t come with gunpowder in the air or sirens wailing in the distance.

But right now, it’s just the two of you, tangled together on the couch, your head resting against his chest, his fingers idly tracing shapes against your back. The TV hums in the background, some late-night show neither of you are really watching, but neither of you bothers turning it off.

And then, out of nowhere, you say, “So… what do you think of the name ‘Samuel’?”

Jason blinks. His fingers still against your back. “For what?”

“For a kid.”

His whole body tenses for half a second before he forces himself to relax. Not because the thought of kids scares him (okay, maybe a little), but because he wasn’t expecting this conversation at 11:42 PM on a Tuesday.

You shift, propping your chin on his chest so you can look at him properly. “I mean, we’ve talked about having kids before. Might as well get a head start on names, right?”

Jason squints at you. “Are you—?”

“No, I’m not pregnant.” You roll your eyes, amused. “I’d tell you if I was.”

He exhales, a little more relieved than he wants to admit. Not because he doesn’t want kids. But because if that day ever comes, he wants to be prepared. He wants to be ready.

Still, he hums, considering. “Samuel’s not bad. Sam. Sammy.” He shrugs. “Yeah, I could get behind that.”

You smile, clearly pleased with yourself. “Okay, your turn.”

Jason exhales, tilting his head back against the couch. “What about… Elliot?”

You raise a brow. “Elliot Todd?”

He nods. “Sounds solid. Smart. Plus, if the kid hates it, they can go by Eli or Lio or something.”

You tilt your head, considering. “I like it.” Then, after a pause, you add, “I was expecting something way more dramatic from you, though.”

Jason smirks. “Like what?”

You wave a hand. “I don’t know. Something ridiculous. Like Maximus.”

Jason’s grin widens. “Now that would be a badass name.”

“Oh my god,” you groan. “Our child is not going to be named after a gladiator.”

Jason snickers. “Fine, fine. No Maximus.” Then, after a beat, he says, “...What about a girl’s name?”

You perk up. “Okay. What about ‘Ivy’?”

Jason hums. “Pretty. Simple. Also, I know a certain someone in Gotham who might be very smug if we pick that.”

You snort. “True. She would take credit for it.”

Jason taps his fingers against your back, thinking. “What about ‘Rosa’?”

You blink. “Like… rose?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “It’s got an old-school feel to it. Plus, ‘Rosa Todd’ sounds cool.”

You test it out under your breath. “Rosa Todd.” Then, you nod. “I actually really like that.”

Jason grins. “See? I do have taste.”

You roll your eyes but kiss his jaw in silent agreement.

Another moment of silence passes, warm and easy, before you nudge him again. “Okay. What if we just went full Gotham legacy and named our kid something over-the-top?”

Jason smirks. “Like?”

You grin mischievously. “Richard..?”

Jason groans so loudly you can’t help but laugh. “Absolutely the hell not, hat's a horrible idea” he says.

“Is it, though?”

“Yes,” Jason insists. “He would gloat for eternity.”

You shake your head, still laughing. “Alright, fine. No Richard.”

Jason sighs dramatically. “Thank god.”

The two of you settle back into a comfortable quiet, your fingers tracing idle circles against his chest, his arm wrapped securely around your waist. It’s a silly conversation, maybe even premature, but the fact that you’re having it at all—that Jason’s letting himself have it—means something.

Maybe it won’t be tomorrow, or next year, but one day, this won’t just be a conversation. It’ll be real.

And somehow, that thought doesn’t terrify him. Not like it used to.

He glances down at you, lips brushing against your forehead. “Y’know,” he murmurs. “We’ll figure it out. When the time comes.”

You smile against his skin. “Yeah. We will.”

And for now, that’s enough.

[vacate-et-scire]

BREAKING NEWS; 'i love you'

The smell of coffee and something sizzling on the stove pulls Jason from the last remnants of sleep as he slouches at the kitchen table, newspaper in hand. He flips a page, brows furrowed as he skims through the headlines.

You, meanwhile, are by the stove, flipping pancakes with practiced ease, occasionally glancing over at him. “Anything interesting?”

Jason grunts. “Mm. Some billionaire jackass bought another company. City council’s still useless. Oh—guy in Blüdhaven swears he saw an alien at a gas station.”

You snort. “That one’s probably true.”

“Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing this week,” he mutters, turning the page. His jaw tightens as his eyes land on the next headline. "Triple homicide downtown— Yeah, okay, that’s enough of that."

You glance over your shoulder. “Too depressing?”

"Too early for this shit," he mutters, flipping past the bad news until he lands on something less soul-crushing. “Alright, switching gears. Trivia time. What’s the capital of Mongolia?”

You hum, setting a pancake onto a plate. "Ulaanbaatar."

Jason blinks. "Shit. Alright, brainiac. How about—oh, here’s a good one. What’s the most stolen food in the world?"

You pause, thinking. "Cheese?"

He squints at you. “How the hell did you know that?”

You grin, sliding a plate in front of him. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Jason eyes you suspiciously but takes a bite of his pancake anyway, grumbling about how unfair it is that you’re better at trivia than him. But there’s a small, fond smile tugging at his lips as he reads you the next question.

[vacate-et-scire]

Thinking about !Boyfriend Dick Grayson who takes selfies of you when you're sleeping and keeps them in a folder on his phone because he loves to tease you about your 'sleeping face'.

Thinking about !Boyfriend Dick Grayson who will just squish your cheeks with his big hands to see your 'grumpy face' because it makes him laugh and when you try to do it back he knows he looks stupid but you laughing with him is the best.

Thinking about !Boyfriend Dick Grayson who would defend you endlessly if someone said something rude about you, but only when you're not there. He knows you can defend yourself and honestly he doesn't want you to see how petty he gets when it comes to you.

Thinking about !Boyfriend Dick Grayson that holds your hand when you're nervous and doesn't mind if your skin is clammy

Thinking about !Boyfriend Dick Grayson that will join you if you're ever doing any kind of baking because he firstly wants to steal whatever is coming out of the oven even if it's too hot and also because he wants to get flour on your face.

Thinking about !Boyfriend Dick Grayson who loves when you sit in his lap while just mindlessly scrolling on your phone or doing something on your laptop.

Thinking about !Boyfriend Dick Grayson who would want to wear matching pajamas because well… who wouldn't? Couples goals or whatever.

Thinking about !Boyfriend Dick Grayson that carries you to bed bridal style if you fall asleep watching a movie on the couch or on a long car ride home.

Thinking about !Boyfriend Dick Grayson where physical Touch is his #1 Love Language. This man cannot keep his hands off you—constant casual touches, back hugs, hand-holding, thigh squeezes under the table. If he's in love, he wants you close.

Thinking about !Boyfriend Dick Grayson that calls/texts to check in, even when he’s on patrol. Might send a cheeky “I look good tonight” selfie in the suit, followed by a genuine "Miss you. Be safe, okay?"

Thinking about !Boyfriend Dick Grayson stealing your hoodies, but won't let you have his, he barely has any of his own to begin with. He’ll wear them around the house like it’s totally normal. If they smell like you? Even better. If you call him out? "What? It looks better on me."

Thinking about !Boyfriend Dick Grayson who has a deep fear of losing you. Sometimes, he just holds you a little tighter, kisses your forehead a little longer, as if grounding himself in the fact that you’re here, and you're safe.

Thinking about !Boyfriend Dick Grayson that loves when you play with his hair. If he’s had a rough night, nothing soothes him like your fingers running through his hair while he rests his head on your lap.

Thinking about !Boyfriend Dick Grayson with your pet, If you have a pet as well? He spoils them rotten. They will love him more than you do, and he will use that against you.

Thinking about !Boyfriend Dick Grayson that wants you to look at his butt. He has dropped a pen as a joke before and slowly bent down to show you the dumpy. He's very proud of his glutes and you must appreciate the goods.

[vacate-et-scire]

⇄ ◃◃ Festive Against My Will ▹▹ ↻

Jason glared at his reflection in the mirror, arms crossed over his chest. “This is stupid.”

“You look adorable,” you countered, adjusting the collar of his ugly Christmas sweater.

The sweater in question was bright red, covered in tiny, grumpy-looking reindeer and a horribly pixelated Santa giving a thumbs-up. Yours was just as bad, except yours had Santa dabbing. Dabbing.

Jason groaned. “Why the hell did I agree to this?”

“Because you love me.” You grinned, standing on your toes to peck his cheek.

Jason grumbled something under his breath but didn’t pull away. Instead, his hands found your waist, tugging you closer as he eyed your matching monstrosity of a sweater.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he muttered.

You beamed. “And you’re lucky I didn’t pick the light-up ones.”

Jason froze. “There were light-up ones?”

“Oh, yeah.” You patted his chest. “Maybe next year.”

Jason sighed, shaking his head, but when you laced your fingers with his, he squeezed back.

Yeah. He was absolutely whipped.

[vacate-et-scire]

╚»»»Missing You at Dawn

Jason Todd was not a morning person.

Waking up early had been a necessity growing up—training, patrols, crime-fighting—but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it. So, when he finally had the luxury of sleeping in, he took it.

That’s why, for the longest time, he never noticed you slipping out before sunrise.

You had your morning routine down to a science. Wake up, stretch, run, come back, and slip into bed before Jason even stirred. You never thought to mention it—why would you? You were always back before he woke up, curling into his warmth as if you’d never left.

But today, something was off.

Jason blinked awake, groggy and disoriented, expecting to feel your familiar warmth beside him. Instead, all he found was cold sheets.

His brow furrowed.

He reached out, blindly patting the empty space as if you’d magically appear. When you didn’t, he sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and glancing at the clock. Too early. But you weren’t here.

A pit settled in his stomach.

He checked the bathroom. Empty. The kitchen? No sign of you. No note, no text—nothing.

Jason’s mind went to places it shouldn’t. He knew better than anyone how quickly things could go wrong in Gotham. His heartbeat picked up, his body already moving on autopilot as he grabbed his phone and called you.

One ring. Two. Three—

“Hey, Jay.” Your voice, breathless but casual.

His grip on the phone tightened. “Where the hell are you?”

There was a pause. “Uh… on my run?”

Jason exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “You went running?”

“Yeah? I do every morning.”

He blinked. “Since when?”

Another pause. “…Since forever?”

Jason opened his mouth, then closed it. His brain replayed every single morning he had woken up with you nestled beside him, warm and safe, completely oblivious to the fact that you had already been out and back before he even stirred.

“Are you serious?” His voice was lower now, incredulous.

You laughed softly. “I’m almost home, Jay. You okay?”

No, he wasn’t. He had woken up without you, his first instinct screaming that something was wrong, that you were gone. That you weren’t coming back.

But you were.

Jason sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “…Yeah. Just get home, alright?”

“I will,” you promised. “You’re cute when you’re worried, you know.”

“Shut up.”

When you finally got back, Jason was waiting—arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line. You barely had time to catch your breath before he wrapped you in a crushing hug, burying his face in your hair.

“Never wake up without you again,” he muttered.

You smiled against his chest. “Guess you’ll have to wake up earlier then.”

Jason groaned. “That’s not happening.”

But the next morning, when your alarm went off before dawn, you felt a heavy arm tighten around your waist, holding you in place you decide to stay.

Jason Todd is not and will never be a morning person.

[vacate-et-scire]

┊ ┊ •*. LOVE YOU LIKE A GOD

Synopsis: Your boyfriend deserves a little TLC and maybe some head?

Warnings: [NSFW MINORS DNI] [nuetral reader pretty sure] [blowjob/handjob?] [smut is gonna be less detailed this time around sorryyy] [overstimulation] [Smut but mainly fluff] [dry orgasm] [mentions of throat fucking]

w.c 1.7k

Jason had never been good at staying still.

Even now, lying beneath you in the dim glow of the bedroom, his fingers twitched against the sheets, body tense like he was waiting for something to go wrong. You could feel it in the way his muscles coiled under your touch, the way his breath hitched as your lips brushed over his collarbone.

But you weren’t in a hurry.

Your fingers traced the faint silver lines scattered across his skin, a patchwork of battles fought and survived. Some were smooth, long healed; others were rough, jagged, proof of wounds that ran deeper than flesh. And Jason—your Jason—wore them like armour, never letting anyone linger on them for too long.

Until now.

You kissed over a scar at his shoulder, slow and deliberate, whispering against his skin, “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

Jason swallowed hard. His hands twitched again, like he wasn’t sure whether to pull you closer or push you away. “…Don’t know about that.” He responded with a sardonic but meek laugh.

You ignored his doubt, trailing your lips down to the mark along his ribs, pressing a soft kiss there. “Strong.” Another kiss. “Resilient.” Another. “Still here.”

Jason exhaled sharply through his nose. “You’re getting sappy on me, sweetheart…”

You smiled, resting your chin against his chest so you could meet his gaze. His expression was guarded, but his eyes—those deep, stormy blues—were soft, unsure in a way that made your heart ache.

“Maybe,” you admitted. “But you deserve it.”

Jason’s hand finally moved, sliding up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as he let out a quiet, shaky breath.

“…You’re too good to me.”

You pressed another kiss to the centre of his chest, right over his heart. “Not possible.”

Jason didn’t respond right away. He just held you there, fingers curling into your hair, like he was grounding himself in you.

And maybe, just maybe, he was finally starting to believe you.

Jason had gone quiet beneath you.

Not in a bad way, not in the way that meant he was retreating into himself. No, this was different—his breathing was slower, deeper, his fingers tightening in your hair like he didn’t want you going anywhere. Like he was letting himself be here, with you.

You kissed him again, just below his collarbone, letting your lips linger this time. His skin was warm under your touch, rising and falling steadily with each breath, but you could feel the way his heartbeat stuttered slightly—just for a second—before settling again.

It made something curl in your chest, something both tender and greedy.

“Jay,” you murmured, dragging your lips down the centre of his torso, nosing along the faint lines of muscle there. “You’re so warm.”

Jason huffed out a quiet, breathless laugh. “That’s what you’re thinking about?”

You grinned against his skin, hands smoothing over his sides as you pressed another kiss just above his stomach. “Mhm.”

His grip in your hair tightened for half a second before his fingers slid down, tracing the line of your jaw, coaxing your face back up to his. When your eyes met, there was something molten in his gaze—like he was still half-disbelieving, half-dazed by the way you were touching him, like he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“You’re killin’ me here,” he muttered, voice rough around the edges.

You smiled, shifting slightly so you were fully sprawled over him, chest to chest, warmth bleeding between you. “Am I?”

Jason exhaled sharply as your weight settled over him, hands finding your hips on instinct. His thumbs brushed over your sides, slow and thoughtful, like he was memorizing the shape of you.

“…Nah,” he admitted after a pause, voice quieter now. “Might actually be saving me.”

That was all it took to undo you.

You leaned in, kissing him fully this time, your lips soft but insistent against his. Jason inhaled sharply, hands tightening at your waist as he pulled you closer, tilting his head to deepen it.

His lips were warm, a little chapped, but he kissed you like he meant it, like he needed it, and you poured everything into it—every whispered praise, every touch, every unspoken promise.

Jason groaned softly into your mouth, rolling his hips suddenly into yours.

“You sure you wanna keep this up?” he murmured, voice low and teasing, but you could feel the heat simmering just under the surface.

You smirked, arms looping around his neck to keep him close. “I don’t hear you complaining.”

Jason chuckled, dipping down to kiss you again—slower this time, deeper.

And no, he definitely wasn’t complaining.

Your lips slotted out from his with ease, looking down at his slightly hazed eyes. Jason was only a man, he couldn't stop himself from taking and taking when all you wanted to do was give and give.

Soft lips trailed back down his neck with bites and nips to his skin and your tongue running over the pinkish flesh as you moved down. His chest was peppered in your lips before you'd move down again.

His abdomen, taut and slick with sweat under your mouth, Jason was always one to get worked up even from a little making out, he hadn't quite gotten used to the idea of someone loving him so intimately yet.

"Babe- Nhh… c'mon don't you think you're being a little mean? What happened to 'I'll take care of you' hmm" He tried to tease under his aching need for you, under his desperation to feel you "I don't feel very taken care of.."

That was the only initiative you needed.

"Oh really? Well I better fix my mistakes hm?"

It felt like hours had passed, although it was most likely more like twenty minutes, but how can you expect him to keep track like this? You'd initially given him mind-blowing head, don't get him wrong, he always appreciated when you used your mouth, but you seemed a lot more eager tonight.

Then he soon found out why, after he'd blissed out under your touch, you'd decided to keep going and once you heard that first whimper glide past his lips like he was clawing for it to come back in his throat, you needed more.

Now here he was, hands desperately gripping the sheets like a lifeline, his jaw is clenches, and he can't even open his eyes with how much he's straining from overstimulation. It's borderline painful, but he knew you'd stop at the drop of a hat if he said the magic words.

His hips were stuttering, trying to escape your grasp while your hand glides over his cockhead, twisting with every small bob and focusing on his most sensitive parts. He's leaking like a fuacet at this point, not just his cock but his eyes, weeping as he pulled back tears.

It wasn't often Jason wanted anyone else in control of his body, ever. Not after what had happened to him, but he had control here, at the sound of his safeword you'd stop, you had before. He trusted you, even if you were torturing him right now.

He whined out in a guttural tone when your mouth took him in again, gliding his length into your mouth while his tip briefly popped into your throat. He knew he could go deeper at a different angle, the memory of your head hanging off the bed as he face fucked your thro-

fuck.

He was close, again. You'd of course taken notice and doubled your efforts, which made him finally look down at the messy sight between his legs. You're drooling all over his cock, there is cum smeared on his thighs from countless orgasms and his entire pelvis has a glassy sheen.

Your eyes flicker up to meet his through your lashes, and he chokes when you moan around his shaft, suddenly taking him to the hilt.

"Oh- ah..! fuck.. fuck baby I can't.. I caaan't"

That only urged you to stay there, throat clenching his tip coaxing him to finish, but it just wasn't enough. His hand gripped your hair as he snapped his hips up in a daze and pulled your head back down to meet his thrusts for friction.

He could feel his balls draw up tight, he was about to snap like a twig. Then it came rushing, but it felt ruined, he had nothing left to give. His orgasm was completely dry from the amount of times you'd made him cum. He felt all the tingling sensations every single pulse, but it was almost like it lacked the relief.

"Mnnh- you did perfect love" Your voice rung out, a little hoarse but loving nonetheless, he hadn't even noticed you pulling off, you captured his lips and he could taste himself.

Jason was completely spent.

His chest rose and fell steadily, muscles loose and pliant beneath your touch, his usually sharp edges melted into something soft and unguarded. His head rested against your shoulder, lips parted as he took slow, even breaths, and his arms were still loosely wrapped around your waist—like even in his haze, he couldn’t bear to let go just yet.

You smiled, brushing damp strands of hair away from his forehead. “You okay, baby?” you murmured, voice quiet in the dimly lit room.

Jason let out a low, content hum, nuzzling further into your warmth. “Mmm.”

You chuckled, pressing a kiss to his temple. That was about all you were going to get out of him for now—he was completely wrecked, body heavy with exhaustion, but there was something undeniably sweet about seeing him this relaxed.

Grabbing the nearby towel, you gently wiped down his chest, careful with every touch. Jason barely stirred, only sighing when your hands moved over his skin, his fingers twitching slightly against your back like he was grounding himself in you.

“You were so good for me,” you whispered, tracing soothing circles along his spine. “So perfect.”

Jason shivered at your words, burying his face deeper against your shoulder. You felt his lips brush against your skin, a lazy, barely-there kiss, and your heart clenched at the tenderness of it.

You shifted, reaching for the water bottle on the nightstand. “Here, Jay—drink a little for me.”

He made a grumbly noise but obediently took a slow sip before collapsing back against you, entirely boneless. You laughed softly, setting the bottle aside before pulling the blankets up around you both.

Fingers combing through his hair, you pressed another kiss to his temple. “Love you.”

Jason didn’t answer right away, but his arms tightened around you, a slow, deliberate squeeze that said everything he couldn’t.

And that was more than enough.