𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝑶𝒇 𝑫𝒖𝒕𝒚:

Me: I’m tired tomorrow

Familiar Touches

These were meant to be short headcanons, but then I thought, what if I just kept talking ~1k words

Jason tends to find himself averse to touch. He curls away from pats to his shoulders, stiffens at nudges to his arms, or brushes against his sides. From family to friends, it takes a long time for him to learn to relax into hugs, to not expect a knife in the back the second he lowers his guard.

But none of this is true when it comes to you. You, he can't get enough of. You, who he tears down his walls for without a hint of regret. (Because any pain would be worth it, as long as he can stay near you)

Jason is still learning to soften his edges, to drain the tension from his shoulders even when the two of you are alone. But there's some things he's already learned to love, some things that he lets himself bask in. And, namely, it's your touch. He has his favorites, the moments he can't get enough of, even if he can't admit it outloud.

He revels in the times you thread your fingers through his hair, slowly and mindlessly scratching at the base of his scalp. You tangle your hand in his soft, unkempt locks, and if he's lucky, you'll lightly and thoughtlessly pull this way and that while you watch whatever's playing on the tv. He goes a little weak in the knees every time, especially if you start to try and twist the strands in short, messy braids.

He adores when you fidget with his hands, bending his fingers and tracing the lines of his palms as you talk. It sends shivers down his spine in a way he can't describe, makes his stomach flip, and his heart skip a beat.

It's just so you. He finds himself curling his fingers with yours all the time, just for the off chance it reminds you that you can fiddle with his hands, his clothes, his hair– anything that's his– whenever you want.

Jason's found that he's developed a soft spot for holding you– or being held by you, depending on the day. Really any form of being wrapped around each other works for him, but he loves hooking his arms around your waist and hiding his face in your chest, just blocking out the rest of the world with the sound of your heart beat.

He loves coming up behind you, dragging his lips from the spot behind your ear that makes your breath hitch to the base of your throat to suck a bruise over your pulse, all while having his arms wound tightly around your middle, keeping you against his chest while you laugh and squirm.

He melts, inside and out, when you settle in his lap or throw your legs over his, your weight welcomed and warm as he tries not to show just how much his eyes want to light up– all because you're near him. It's grounding, connecting, to have you so close.

He'll indulge himself, sometimes. Let his hands wander to the back of your thighs, knead his fingers on your calves, drag his palms over your sides, and just linger in the feel of your skin.

He loves it– loves you– especially when you're the one who initiates it, when you're the one who drapes yourself over him like he belongs to you. (Because he does)

He prolongs the moments where he can press his forehead to yours, close his eyes, and just breathe in time with the rise and fall of your chest. He holds his palms against your face, wonders if it's all a dream when your hands gently grab at his wrist, your thumbs moving rhythmically back and forth over his pulse.

Jason wants nothing more than to stay like that for the rest of his life, every nerve and every cell of his attuned to you and the way you press into him in return.

He's really not picky, when it comes to being able to touch you, to letting you touch him. He looks forward to it, cherishes the memories of your soft skin, and even softer smiles, especially when he's away from you and on patrol.

He smiles to thoughts of you tucking your hands in the pockets of his hoodies, claiming it's warmer this way. He softens at memories of you hooking his arm with yours, insisting it's only because if you slip on ice, then he's going down with you.

He savors every touch, every passing contact he has with you. But Jason does, if you pick and tease at him enough to get him to admit it, have a touch he prefers above all the others.

Kissing you, stealing the air from your lungs as your eyes flutter shut, is the touch that he can never get enough of. Your fingers fisted into his clothes, his hand on the small of your back, drawing you closer, closer, those are the times he treasures the most, the memories he holds so tightly in his heart.

Kissing you, so lost in the feel of your mouth slotted against his and the smell of your scent filling his senses, quickly becomes something he can't live without.

He's gotten good at stealing kisses, quick and no-so-quick moments where he can't tell where he ends, and you begin. He's gotten even better at convincing you to duck into alleys and closets with him, all for an extra minute to be pressed together, so lost in each other that nothing else seems to exist.

He's enamored by you– by all of it. He didn't know he could so easily lean into someone else's touch, find refuge in a hug or a fleeting brush of your fingers over his knuckles. But he knows now, knows that everything he's ever wanted– could ever need– all comes down to you and the way you hold him close. Like he's something worth keeping.

And at the end of it all, it's a feeling Jason wants to fight for, a dream he'll never stop chasing, a cherished moment he wants to hold in the palms of his hands for the rest of his days.

arcade night 🕹️🦇

Prints

Jason Todd drawn by Dan Mora… INJECT IT IN MY VEINS

Batman Wayne Family Adventures!

Kageyama’s development

Kageyama at age 15: Hinata is an idiot

Kageyama at age 25: Hinata is my idiot

batman shooting somebody is crazy itself. BUT AT HIS SON?? DIABOLICAL.

“jay—” 

the sentence you somehow thought you could form dies in your throat as your breath shudders in your lungs. 

“yes, my love?” your roommate, jason todd, looks up from where he’s happily situated: between your thighs. his attention now divided, you’re mercifully granted a break. you gulp for air, your hands over your face. 

“i just need—” 

“what? what do you need?” he cuts you off, impatient that you’re pulling him away from what he’s been so dutifully working on for probably an hour..if not more. “you want me to stop?” jason teases, rubbing a warm, calloused hand over the meat of your thigh. “does it feel too good?”

“w-what?” confused, you shake your head. “i don’t—”

“i think you need someone to worry about you for once, huh?” he raises an eyebrow at you, causing your cheeks to heat as your hands fly back up to your face. “what, you don’t agree?” 

you open your mouth to argue, then close it. then open it again, thinking. 

“mm. that’s what i thought.” your roommate smirks at you, turning his gaze back onto the part of you that’s still pulsing with heat from his ministrations. his chin’s slick from how much time he’s spent tongue deep in your pussy. 

but he wants more. 

wants to feel your hands in his hair again, gripping as he draws orgasm after orgasm out of you. wants to feel your thighs tight around his head, your self-control wavering as your back arches off the mattress, again and again. 

wants nothing but to breathe you in as he presses feathery light kisses to your puffy clit, watching you squirm from the barely-there pressure of his lips. 

wants you, all of you, the happy, sad, messy, angry, loving, caring, beautiful you,

—but jason: dead and revived, beaten and bruised, silent and steadfast, your jason, can’t always put that into words, can he?

so he wants you to feel it, really feel it:

in the way he pats your thigh lovingly as he runs his tongue through your folds, over and over. 

in the way he carries you to bed when you fall asleep on him in the living room. kisses your forehead as he tucks you in.

in the way he brushes your hair out of your face before he grabs you by the cheeks and your lips meet. 

in the way he knows your favorite, well, everything. 

in the way he’s always holding your hand when the two of you walk anywhere.

in the way his pupils always widen, huge and blown out, when he looks at you, making your heart pound in time with his as he holds your gaze. 

in the way he washes your hair in the shower, 

makes your coffee in the mornings, 

buys and arranges flowers for you,

wears that cologne you like,

knows the sidewalk rule, 

kisses your forehead,

laughs with you,

smirks at you,

loves you.

and yet you two are.. 

you two, and you both worry. 

of course, you both worry. 

he worries he’s not enough for you—

his lifestyle, his history..how could he ever be what you need? how could he give you the life you deserve?

—and you worry you’re a little too much sometimes. 

a man like that? with his past, his present? and yet he takes care of you like it’s the easiest thing in the world. like he could do it in his sleep. 

all you know is that he doesn’t have to worry, shouldn’t have to, because whatever, or however much he thinks he wants something, you want it just as much..if not more. 

and what you want next? to make it official? to really, truly, make him your jason?

well. 

how could he refuse you?

There is some karasuno gifs!

Late night secret

I feel terrible but I still have my fav character