moratorya

[moratorya]

word stamp: 𝓼hadow ━━━━━ or damian wayne may or may not be obsessed with you, but you don’t mind his idiosyncrasies. it just...isn’t normal to other people, that’s all. (college au!)

the girl who’s been assigned your buddy for the day touches your shoulder tentatively, leaning in to whisper under her breath, “did you know…that there’s a guy that’s been following us all day? do you…know him or something?”

your picture-perfect smile cracks ever so slightly. “a…guy?” shit, she noticed?

“yeah, uhm.” she glances over your shoulder, trying for inconspicuous, but if it’s who you think it is, it’s not going to matter, because he’ll notice anyways. “tall, dark, brooding, and handsome? damn, i never thought i’d be saying those words aloud to describe someone who actually exists.”

“oh god,” you mutter, self-consciously pulling your bag higher up on your shoulder, “please don’t tell me he has somewhat tanned skin and a very intense stare.”

the girl pauses. “so you do know him? is he…dangerous?”

this is most definitely on purpose. damian’s never noticed by others—much less a civilian—unless he wants to be. “i’m going to be dangerous to him if he keeps this up,” you hiss, but refuse to turn around to give your awful boyfriend the pleasure of receiving your eye-contact. “i told him not to worry, but what does he do? stalk me on campus, like an absolute fucking nerd.”

“he, uhm, doesn’t really look like a nerd to me,” the girl says nervously, and you think she might be lamenting over the fact that since the two of you did the same electives and course, the university administrator had placed the two of you together as a buddy to help each other around campus as first years. “he kind of—he kind of looks terrifying, actually. i think he’s trying to murder me in cold blood with his eyes only.”

“he does that,” you sigh, “can you ignore him?”

“ignore him?” the girl squeaks. “he looks like he wants to eviscerate me right now.”

your jaw clenches. fucking hell. you know what he’s trying to do. but you’re not falling for it. you’re not falling for it.

“are you sure you want to ignore him? i think he’s—oh god, i think he’s walking over here. i think he’s going to kill me right here right now—would it be weird if i ran away right now? is that rude?”

“oh my fucking god damian,” you snap, voice raising as you whirl around to see him beelining straight for you, “fuck off!”

he pretends not to hear, the distance far enough that he might not have, but he definitely can read your lips. he powers on anyways, his presence alone deterring people from his pathway, almost parting for him like the prince he is.

“oh shit,” the girl murmurs, “is he one of those? do i need to call security? are you okay?”

“he’s just my clingy ass boyfriend, don’t worry,” you grumble, crossing your arms as he arrives. he had shot up like a weed these past few years—you know jon is still agonising over the fact that damian is now, despite the only full human, taller than both of you—and so he stands easily above everyone else, making direct eye-contact with you now that you’ve turned around.

something smug flickers in his green irises, and you scowl in response. “beloved,” he says, smoothly as he arrives. “miss me?”

“i saw you this morning,” you reply, stubbornly. “you’re starting to exhibit signs of unhealthy dependency on others, beloved. i thought i kept you occupied with titus?”

“titus is very much capable of entertaining himself with alfred,” damian sniffs, arm snaking around your waist and body slotting against yours as if it never left in the first place, “freeing me to attend to responsibilities that i should have been tending to in the first place.”

“like stalking me on campus?”

damian’s smugness only increases. “you noticed?”

“you’re not fucking subtle,” you mutter, because even if you hadn’t been able to pinpoint where your disgustingly clingy boyfriend had been exactly, you had definitely noticed his eyes on you. robin your ass, if he doesn’t let up on this, you’re gonna wondergirl his ass like the good amazon descendant you are. 

“you knew he was stalking you the entire time?!” your buddy screeches, bewildered. “but i—i only just realised!”

“i’ve had more practice,” you say tiredly, not even lying. “damian, don’t you have class later? mr. i-want-to-become-a-doctor?”

damian shrugs, pressing a rare kiss into the side of your temple. huh, usually he isn’t a big fan of pda. “no classes today,” he murmurs. “was bored.”

missed you, you hear, and his fingertips which ghost your waist tremble slightly.

you soften almost immediately, reaching up with a hand to caress his cheek. “oh damian,” you say, shaking your head with a smile, “it would’ve been only a couple of hours. if you were so bored, you could’ve gone to find jon.”

damian makes a face. “absolutely not.”

“you sure? i can still give him a call.”

“no,” damian says firmly, “we are not spending time with jonathan. are you daft?”

you grin cheekily. inhaling for a yell, damian’s green eyes flash with anticipation as he somehow procures a croissant out of nowhere and shoves it into your opened mouth before you can holler and summon jon, rolling his eyes when you brighten at the presence of food.

 “kira’s boulangerie?” you try to ask from behind the food, but it only comes out muffled.

damian winces, looking more exasperated than truly revolted by your antics, a true testament to how far your relationship has come since the beginning. “chew,” he commands, “then talk. what are you, five?”

“you love me anyways,” you point out, teasingly, but listen obediently, reaching up to take the croissant out of your mouth to bite at it in smaller chunks.

he sighs, as if being forced to answer. “perhaps.”

“ignore him,” you tell your companion, who is glancing between the two of you like it’s a tennis match, “he likes to play hard to get. always been like that.”

“beloved,” damian warns.

“ooooh,” the girl says, suddenly, coming to a realisation, “the two of you are that kind of couple. it’s kind of cute, don’t worry! i think the stalking thing is uhm, yeah, kind of romantic in this context, then?”

 “huh,” you say, pointedly, “the stalking is romantic in this context. damian you need to stop stalking me whenever you miss me.”

damian shrugs. “you’re the one who says i’m romantic. not me.”

you scowl. now is not the time to bring up bedroom talk. “oh look,” you say airily, “isn’t that superman? damian look—your favourite superhero!”

“my favourite superhero is wondergirl,” he says, without missing a beat, not even glancing up when your companion does. your face flushes, rolling your eyes, but his gaze is heavy and you know he’s not joking.

“superman? really? he must’ve been flying super-fast—i didn’t catch him,” your friend grouses, deflating. “anyways, we’ve still got that finance and accounting elective to get to. your, uh, boyfriend tagging along?”

“finance and accounting?” damian hums. “seems enlightening.”

you know that he would find almost every subject dull, especially something as rudimentary as introduction to finance 101. you’re pretty sure he’s even taken on a few managing roles at wayne enterprises when the time called for it. “you sure? it might be boring,” you warn.

he pulls you in a little closer. “i doubt it.”

graciously, your buddy turns around to make a face of disgust instead of in front of the two of you, but robin and wondergirl don’t miss it, and it makes your lips flicker up into a smile. damian just rolls his eyes, making sure you’re tucked into his side solidly, before nodding towards the nearest building. “this way?”

“that way, actually,” your companion points, “you don’t go here?”

“no,” damian replies. “please, show the way.”

when she turns around, eager to place some distance between the two of you and her, you snap your head up to snatch damian’s gaze with a firm shoves of your elbow into his gut. he grunts, glancing down, asking, “what?”

“stop stalking me across campus,” you hiss, “you’re weirding people out.”

“they don’t even notice me,” he protests.

“everyone notices when someone’s got a shadow trailing behind them!”

he scoffs. “not what’s it’s me.”

 “damian,” you say, tone firm. “no stalking.”

he sighs, biting at his bottom lip in a show of discontent. “even if i miss you?”

you trip over air at the sudden admission, because after all these years of knowing damian al ghul wayne, this is the first time he’s ever spoken so candidly and in public at that. “watch your step,” he says, amused, large hand stabilising you at your hip.

“still no stalking,” you manage to say, turning away to clear your throat. “but you can call or text, damian, like every other boyfriend out there.”

“but i’m not every other boyfriend,” he mutters, but he acquiesces, giving you a resigned sigh. “fine. you must reply to me, however, within ten minutes; else the possibility of your safety being compromised takes top priority.”

god. someone should have warned you that robin was a clingy, clingy boyfriend. not that you didn’t find it endearing, though.

“okay, okay,” you say, patting his cheek like he’s a child. “i love you too.”

“mmm,” he agrees. “good.”

general taglist tagging: @c4xcocoa @megumisluciouslashes @artificialredd

[moratorya]

THE NIGHTINHOOD SERIES

≡ ONESHOTS

CRITICAL HIT

≡ MUSINGS

JOURNAL ENTRY ONE

MESSENGER

© MOVRNINGSTXRS. DIVIDER CREDITS TO @/UZMACCHIATO. IMAGE/PHOTO CREDITS TO THEIR RESPECTIVE OWNERS

[moratorya]

imagine HOUSEHUSBAND!JASON TODD who took care of most of the cooking, cleaning, and household chores without a single complaint, while you, his incredibly hot and sharp-witted ceo wife, were the main breadwinner.

even before meeting you, jason had heard the stories about some young and up-and-coming ceo who had taken over the business world by storm. bruce called you a genius, while tim labelled you ‘the devil incarnate’ with how ruthlessly you ran meetings and negotiated deals as if they were a matter of life or death.

so imagine jason’s surprise when this so-called ‘devil’ finally appeared in front of him at one of bruce’s famed charity galas in the form of a pretty, young woman, dressed in a sinfully stunning red dress, and having accidentally spilled your champagne all over his suit. one charming yet apologetic smile from you was all that it took for him to sell his soul, and the rest was history.

three years of dating and one proposal later, jason became the proud husband to the world’s most beautiful, intelligent, talented, and insanely driven woman. that’s why he had no issue with maintaining the household and ensuring your health and happiness on a daily basis, often welcoming you home from work to the scent of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies or a rose petal-filled bubble bath.

in truth, your husband quite liked the simple and mundane life that he had created for himself over the years. he enjoyed experimenting with new and creative recipes that he found online, the feeling of warm bedsheets as he folded the weekly laundry, and the copious amount of free time he had nowadays to indulge in his hobbies, like baking and gardening. not to mention, the unlikely friendships that came from interacting with the neighbourhood moms and housewives.

“damn, martha. that’s fucking awful. i’m so sorry to hear that,” jason consoled with his usual brand of unfiltered, well-meaning kindness. “do you need me to ‘talk’ to your husband for you?”

“no, dearie,” martha giggled. “you listening to this old woman’s complaint is more than enough.”

and when confronted with the rare comment or insult that demeaned him for his perceived lack of masculinity or a ‘real’ job, jason would simply smile and bid the sad individual to have the day that they deserved before he returned home to his spacious mansion, where you, his gorgeous and amazing wife, awaited him with open arms and sleepy kisses.

because jason knew his worth, and he was more than secure with himself as a person. he would bake pies for you on the weekdays, fix his motorcycle on the weekends, read jane austen while blasting heavy rock, and was capable of knocking someone out as easily as crocheting a new coaster for the coffee table.

he also knew just how hard you worked, and he understood how much you were willing to sacrifice to support your little family of two. so jason would continue to be there for you, every step of the way. because to him, there was nothing ‘unmanly’ about loving and supporting the one person that you loved most in this world.

REBLOGS and COMMENTS are greatly appreciated

[moratorya]

when I gain a mutual

[moratorya]

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[moratorya]

CAPPUCCINO #7 FOR MY BABY GIRL JASON!!!!!!! please :3

☕︎ 𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 ━━━━━ a cappuccino for anon and jason todd .ᐟ.ᐟ

☕︎ coffees from rya’s 500 coffee cart .ᐟ.ᐟ

prompts chosen .ᐟ.ᐟ buying them flowers

genre/warnings .ᐟ.ᐟ 3.6k, band!au, bassist!jason, classical-cellist!reader, literally just fluff, suggestive themes, just more fluff LMAO

barista's notes .ᐟ.ᐟ well nonnie, i have to say, i recently finished glass heart on netflix and the whole band dynamic has me in a GRIP. so. here’s a music!au for you just because? disclaimer: i am a classical musician, and have literally no experience with the pop/rock/indie scene, but i listen to it all the time so surely…that counts?

“Aw fuck, he’s so hot,” someone laments to the side, and you make a vague noise of affirmation.

“Those biceps bro, do you think he’d mind if I asked to bite on them just for shits in the fan meet? God, they look so biteable.”

You incline your head. Hmm. You actually haven’t tried…yet.

“Okay,” Dick is saying on stage, grinning brightly up into the stunning lights, and sweat drips off his brow. “One last song, guys! Thank you all for coming to our concert—we’ll see you next time!”

Jason’s eyes flicker up at the screaming that erupts once Dick’s finished talking, gaze scanning the crowd as he searches. He doesn’t find you when Tim starts the song, the bass drum thudding away rhythmically in your bones, and you can tell he’s dissatisfied when he glances away from the audience to focus on his own playing. 

You grin to yourself. Mission accomplished. You knew it was impossible to find someone in the crowd—it’s Jason’s own fault that he thought he could bet that he could find you before the last song. Ah. His loss. 

“One, two, ah-one two three four!”

Immediately, everyone starts screeching the lyrics, the energy unparalleled. You bop your head away, yelling out the words alongside everyone else, feeling yourself being pulled along with the sway of the music. It’s nothing to what you’re used to—the precision of classical music, the very specific ways in which style is created from different periods. 

You remember distinctly trying to teach Jason about the difference between early and late classical—because Haydn and Beethoven are decidedly not the same—only for your boyfriend to scrunch up his face adorably and complain. “I didn’t sign up for this kind of music theory,” he had moaned.

“C’mon, babe,” you had teased, “I thought you were supposed to be some music prodigy?”

He had shown you exactly what he thought of your teasing later, though, and a burst of thrilling heat sears through you at the memory. Your eyes snap open at the familiar lead into Jason’s famous bass solo, and like every other Jason fangirl that surrounds you, you start shrieking when you see Jason step forwards from where he usually stands besides Tim towards the back.

Dick’s eyes snap to you, almost instantly, and his smile only widens. You make sure to cup your mouth to make your screams project even further.

God, if your classmates could see you here. You’re pretty sure they think you’re some kind of prude who’s never even touched music outside of classical. 

(To be honest, they’d be right. Jason had been the one to introduce you to the lovely work of rock and pop, quite embarrassingly. You still have no idea how he decided one day he was going to date the ‘uncultured swine’, but you’re not complaining.)

Jason perks up, definitely recognising your voice, but his solo begins and he can’t waste any time scanning the crowd, but he knows you’re there. And that’s enough for him to go wild, fingers dancing across the fingerboard as if speed were a joke and literally everyone goes crazy around you.

As soon as he focuses though, you fall silent, eyes trained on him. You’re a cellist yourself—you know your way around a string instrument, and your fingers twitch in phantom movements that echo his, darting up and down an imaginary fingerboard as he flies through insane arpeggios that you remember him practising. Firstly with dotted rhythms, then with elongated notes, then with a slow tempo, upping the metronome slowly…

You hear him. You hear Jason. It makes your chest want to burst with—with—

God. You just love him so fucking much.

The solo is over far too quickly for your liking, but you join the rest of the audience in screaming your lungs off as he steps away from the limelight. Dick snags him before he can disappear, throwing his arm around his brother with a loud “THAT WAS FUCKING INSANE!” whilst launching into the chorus, jumping up and down like an over-excited toddler.

Jason rolls his eyes at his brother’s antics, but still squares himself to sustain the man’s weight as Dick positively launches into the sky with how high he’s jumping. Despite all the jumps, though, his voice is as stable as ever, and you jump alongside him and scream the lyrics, albiet with much less finesse.

Dick pulls the microphone away from his mouth to point at the crowd, locking onto you first before waving his arm around to make it look like he’s just pointing at everyone. Jason’s eyes instantly snap to you, though, and you see the moment he registers that it’s you in the crowd.

“Jason!” you shriek, yelling as loud as you possible can. You’re pretty sure tomorrow he’ll have to hand you a cup of warm tea to soothe your throbbing throat. “JASON!” 

His eyes light up, and his lips fly up into a smile before he can control himself. The crowd goes fucking wild because Jason never smiles on stage, not when he’s so focused on making music, and you know there’s going to be a gazillion more videos on the internet with various theories as to who he’s spotted in the crowd.

But you don’t care, because this is his song, and that’s all that matters. You wave like a madman, jumping up and down in tandem with the people around you, and you know Jason’s holding back laughter as he strums away. 

“I LOVE YOU!” you bellow, only to be lost in the various other confessions made at the same time. 

Jason’s smile softens, ever so slightly, and he replies with his eyes, I love you too.

You scream even louder this time, and his eyes light up with laughter. Maybe in a different setting, you’d feel terrible embarrassment for being so…out there, but this is Jason you’re screaming for. He’s the only person you think you’d ever screech and throw your head up and down so vigorously for. 

“I know it’s not your type of scene,” Jason had said, trying to shrug carelessly, “but you know, it’ll be great if you were there. Y’know.”

You knew he had been afraid of you not having fun, or finding it too crass for your tastes. He couldn’t have been further from the truth.

When the concert begins to wind down, you’re still huffing and puffing and trying to regain your balance from all the shrieking, and the girl besides you smacks you a few times as she giggles with you as you stumble back into your seat. You don’t even mind the contact—adrenaline is still pumping through your veins as the boys say their thank yous, Jason shyly approaching the microphone to give a short but sweet message. 

You muster enough strength to scream one more time as he says, “Thank you,” and his eyes flash to you instantly. His lips tug, and Dick playfully presses a finger to his lips, and you can’t help but throw your head back to laugh.

That’s the thing you hadn’t been expecting at this concert—the sheer euphoria that runs through just underneath your skin. No wonder why people clamber over each other to get inside. 

However, you soon discover, the worst part of a concert is trying to get out of the venue. Everyone is pushing and shoving in case they catch a glimpse of the band also leaving, but you know that Damian hates crowds so much that they’ll willing to stay back a couple of hours to rest and avoid the stampede. 

You may have been lucky enough to have Jason secure tickets in your preferred area of the stadium, but that doesn’t mean you’re spared from the way everyone tries to squeeze out of the exits at the same time. This is the chaos that you were expecting—and you’re certainly not disappointed, although some of the other girls attending were courteous and helped you stabilise when one particular shove have your entire row stumbling.

“Miss!” Your head snaps around at the familiar voice, and you brighten when you notice Alfred, the boys’ manager. “Over here!”

One of the girls who still has her hand on your arm pauses, before hissing, “Isn’t that—”

“Your pass, Miss!” Alfred prompts, eyebrows raised.

Oh shit, yeah. Your backstage pass. Why didn’t you think of that before? 

“Sorry,” you murmur to the girl, detaching her from you, “uhm, family of the crew and all that—thank you though! You’re very kind!”

She blinks after you as you dart towards Alfred, which is in the opposite direction of the exit. You make sure to pull out your lanyard to show him, and he inspects it with a certain level of scrutiny that has you smiling. 

“Well,” he says finally, equally amused, “I believe this is the correct pass. Follow me, Miss?”

“Of course,” you beam back at him, and he smiles gently. With an elegance you can only hope to emulate, Alfred pivots on his heel and leads you through a door that you didn’t even know existed, and you had spent at least the last three hours in this venue. 

With great familiarity, Alfred takes each twist and turn without hesitation, only slowing after substantial distance has been placed between you and the exit. When he does, he falls into step behind you, offering a smile that is no less kind but far warmer.

“Hello, Miss,” he says.

“Hi, Alfred,” you grin, “how’ve you been?”

“Excellent, thank you for asking. How did you find the concert?”

As if triggering the right mechanism inside of you, energy bursts back as if you had never lost it in the first place. “Oh Alfred,” you breathe, almost bouncing on the spot with enthusiasm, “the concert was amazing! Oh my God—it was insane, how do you even begin to organise something like this? You’re like a god, Alfred!”

“Miss,” he says, fondly, “it is all a team effort. I am, however, sincerely glad that you enjoyed your time in the audience. Master Jason will certainly be content at hearing the news.”

“Oh!” You blink, raising a hand. “Speaking of Jason…have the flowers arrived? Just to be sure.”

“Of course,” Alfred inclines his head, “I will go fetch the bouquet as soon as you are passed into the right hands. I assume you would prefer to continue to keep it as a surprise?”

You smile sheepishly. “If possible?”

“Very much feasible,” he assures, smiling. “Ah, if it isn’t perfect timing. Then, Miss, I will see you soon.”

“Alfred—?” The elderly man’s smile just widens, slipping into an adjacent hallway with much more speed than you’d expect from his age. Your brows furrow, opening your mouth to call for him again, only to pause when you see who’s waiting for you at the end of your hallway.

Jason smiles, tilting his head to the smile like a schoolboy. Sweat still glistens on his neck, and a chilled bottle of water is in his hands, but he opens his arms and you bolt at him regardless.

“Oomph,” he says, laughing as you barrel straight into him, “I’m happy to see you too.”

“You were fucking amazing,” you screech into his chest, hugging him so tightly you think he might have trouble breathing. “This was one of the best experiences of my life!”

He laughs again, arms coming around you just as tight. “Yeah? You enjoyed it?”

“It was insane,” you say, and then scrunch up your face, pulling your face back so you can make eye-contact with Jason. He raises an eyebrow. “Sorry, I feel like I’ve been saying that a lot. I probably have. But it was. You were insane. God, Jason you were like—fuck, you were like the ultimate bassist, and I just—Jason, you were so hot.”

His thumbs traces circles around your hip as per usual, but they stutter in their movements as he coughs. “I’m sorry—wait—what?”

“You still are,” you say, earnestly, “oh my God, Jason, I get it now. You know how Dick got me on TikTok and Instagram and sent me all those thirst trap edits of you—”

“Oh God,” Jason mutters, but he’s still smiling.

“—I totally get it now!” You continue, undeterred. “I mean, God, you were just—you looked delicious up on that stage, no wonder why so many girls want to jump you. If it were physically possible, I honestly would’ve dragged you off that stage just to get a taste, you know.”

“Oh my God,” Jason repeats, this time a little more flustered. “Babe, that is not the reaction I was expecting. What happened to the good old, ‘nice music!’ or ‘sounds great’? C’mon, you’re even a professional musician yourself.”

You wave him off. “Yeah, but you always sound amazing. It’s not every day I get to see my smoking hot boyfriend sweat like a dog but still somehow look sexy as hell so—”

“Oh my God,” Jason complains, setting his water bottle aside to squish your cheeks in his hands. One of his hands is warm, and a little sticky with sweat, whilst the other one is cold from touching the chilled water and it slides a bit from the condensation. “Stop it. You’re being too cute, stop it.”

You scowl at him, but it’s only half-successful with your face in his grasp. “What, I can’t appreciate how hot my man looks on stage?”

“Hmm,” Jason shrugs, “your man wouldn’t be opposed to appreciation given in an…alternate method.”

“Pervert,” Tim coughs loudly, poking his head of a nearby door. “That’s fucking disgusting, don’t disrespect my bro like that.”

“Tim!” You launch yourself at him, throwing yourself into another bear hug. Tim wobbles a little under your force—he’s always been on the skinner side of the spectrum—but hugs you back just as warmly, arms securing around you. “You were amazing,” you say, firmly, “you were rocking those tom-toms. Absolutely demolished the show.”

“Thank you,” he beams, “I knew you’d appreciate good drumming.”

Jason grumbles, crossing his arms like petulant child, “She’s a cellist.”

“And?” Tim challenges. “Even a bassoonist can appreciate good drumming—it’s a matter of rhythmic instinct, Jason.”

“Fuck you too,” Jason shoots back, but with little heat. “Now release my girlfriend, I want to hug her some more.”

“She hugged me first!”

“Yeah well, you’re the one who’s clinging—”

“Miss,” Alfred interrupts, rounding the corner with a familiar bouquet in his hands, “your delivery has arrived.”

Both Tim and Jason fall silent, eyes widening at the size of the bundle. Alfred stops in front of you as you detangle yourself from Tim, chuckling softly as you eagerly hold your arms out to hold the bouquet, and he gently transfer the positively massive bundle of flowers into your waiting arms.

It’s a combination of red and white flowers, with the main large flower being red chrysanthemums. It reminds you vividly of Jason’s first bouquet to you, after the first recital of yours he had gone to.

Jason had bought you a bouquet of red roses, handing them to you shyly after your performance. His face had been bright red, and yours had been flaming with heat—he had literally asked you like maybe a few weeks beforehand—and Dick proceeded to tease the two of you for the next month about the whole ordeal. But it had been such a sweet thing and you still have a dry-pressed rose from that very bouquet that you store in your cello case for luck. 

You wanted to return the favour. You’re…pretty sure that rock bands don’t really get bouquets after a performance, because you’re definitely sure that rock bands and classical performers don’t have the same etiquette, but all artists deserve some flowers for their performance. 

That’s why you turn to Jason, needing to poke your head around the side of the bouquet to smile up at him, and gently push it forward, in an offering. He stares at you, slack-jawed.

“Congratulations on an amazing concert,” you say, sincerely.

There’s a beat of silence. Tim clears his throat awkwardly, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him smile. “That’s one big set of flowers,” he notes. “Planning to share with the rest of us, Jay?”

“Fuck no,” Jason says, automatically. “They’re mine.”

Despite his aggressive tone, his fingers are soft as he accepts the set of flowers from you. Compared to you, the flowers look much smaller against his massive frame, but he caresses them with a care that you hadn’t expected. “Thank you,” he says, quietly, and only to you. “This is—you shouldn’t have.”

You beckon for Jason to come closer. He acquiesces, leaning forwards so his face is closer, curiosity darting across his features.

You press a chaste kiss to his cheek. He freezes underneath you.

“I love you, Jay,” you say, confidently. “Today was honestly one of the best things I’ve ever experienced, and I’m not saying that because I love you.”

Jason’s mouth forms an ‘o’, and you realise belatedly that this is probably the first time you’ve ever said those words out loud before. A cute flush erupts from his neck, creeping up to his jaw and painting his ears bright red, and you laugh as you press another kiss to his cheek, this time firmer.

“Tim,” Jason says tightly, and that’s all the warning his brother gets before the flowers are shoved in the poor guy’s face and Jason’s arms are free.

Tim splutters off to the side as he tries to get a hold on the bouquet as Jason grabs at your waist, pulling you in so close that for a moment, all you can see and smell is Jason. His cologne, his sweat, the absolutely dazzling smile he has on his face as he presses his lips against yours with a ferocity that has you squeaking out in surprise.

“Oh ew,” Tim says, somewhere in your peripheral, but you lose whatever else he says as you melt into Jason’s embrace, arms winding up to find their places on his shoulder. 

Jason whine as you tug at the strands of hair behind his neck, deepening the kiss as you giggle, the two of you grinning like mad men as he keeps kissing you, over and over. “I love you,” he’s chanting, between each kiss, but you barely register it as he pulls you in for breathtaking kiss after breathtaking kiss—and literally, as he sucks up your air with every lick of his tongue. “I love you, I love you, God—”

“Oh fuck! There’s a kid here, keep it PG-13 oh my God!”

Jason groans, pulling away to rest his forehead against you as the final two members of the Batboys make their appearance. “For fuck’s sake,” Jason grounds out, “some privacy?”

“You should’ve picked a room instead the hallway then,” Damian sniffs, and you laugh breathlessly. “And also, I’m not a child. I’m seventeen.”

Dick makes a noise of complaint. “Legally still a child, Little D! Still a child, and you should not be seeing things like your brother making out in a public hallway—oh my God I need bleach for my eyes—”

“Stop being such a drama queen,” Jason snaps, straightening. His arm slots around your waist and he tugs you into him, your frame fitting perfectly against his. 

Dick rolls his eyes and pokes his tongue out, only to soften when he sees you. “Hi, sweets,” he says, brightly. “Nice to see you again!”

You wave. “Hi, Dick. Likewise!”

“Dick,” Tim says, loudly, “guess what Jason’s girlfriend got us? A lovely bouquet of flowers that coincidentally I just remembered we could put on the new cupboard in the rehearsal room—”

“It’s not yours fuckhead, it’s mine!”

“Well you gave it to me, so how was I supposed to know you weren’t just giving them to me like a gift?” Tim shrugs. “Whatever, it’s massive—you can have like, one or two buds, I’m generous like that.”

Jason scowls descends into unholy grounds. “Timothy Jackson—”

“It’s okay,” you interrupt, patting your boyfriend’s unfairly sturdy pecs, “I can always get you more, Jay. I like getting you flowers.”

Jason stalls, and the strawberry blush returns. You coo, pressing your lips to the junction of where his neck and his jaw meets. 

“Whatever,” Jason grumbles, suddenly shy, “I just—they’re not cheap, baby, I don’t want this set wasted on a bunch of idiots who wouldn’t know how to care for them.”

“You wouldn’t either!” Tim exclaims, offended.

“I actually have some experience—” Dick starts, only for Jason to snort and roll his eyes.

“Yeah right,” Jason says, and Dick huffs and rolls his eyes in return. Jason ignores him, saying to Tim, “Hand the bouquet over—next time you can get your own girlfriend to buy you flowers. Those are mine. C’mon.”

Tim sighs exaggeratedly, but he’s smiling as he hands them back. “If I knew you loved flowers this much, I would’ve elected to get you just like a fifty-buck bouquet instead.”

“I don’t want flowers from you,” Jason scoffs, “I just want flowers from my girlfriend.”

Sensing your cue, you look up to kiss his cheek again. Tim groans, defeated, throwing up hands up as he complains, “God, that’s being mean! Don’t do that shit right in front of me!”

Jason grins into your temple, one arm securely around the bouquet and the other looped around your waist. It must make for an image that none of his fans ever would’ve expected from the edgy, literature-loving bassist of the Batboys, but it’s one that makes your heart warm.

This is your Jason. And you love him so much.

“M’gonna shower and get changed,” he murmurs, lowly so only you can hear, “and then we can go home, and I can thank you properly for these flowers. Sounds like a plan?”

This time, it’s you whose face burns. “S—sure,” you cough out, making Dick groan and grab Damian to leave, “sounds like a plan.”

Jason grins, wicked. “Perfect. Thank you for the flowers, babe.”

check out other coffee orders from the cart here .ᐟ.ᐟ

[moratorya]

Super non-chalant caption, I am so chill about posting this comic that took me ages.

Anyway I am so proud of how this came out- definite skill upgrade. Also I love making comics!!!

[moratorya]

These four idiots (they're not idiots, they're smarter than I'll ever be)

[moratorya]

i cant lie ive been looking through all these coffee orders and i thought i was reading some sort of code system bc wtf is happening I FEEL LIKE IM THE OUTSIDER OF AN INSIDE JOKE💔💔💔

LMAOAOAO no babe i promise im not intentionally keeping you out of the loop 😭😭😭😭

its actually a part of my 500 followers event!!! i thought it would be kinda cute if people “ordered” a drink (which was actually a writing prompt in disguise hehe) and then i wrote something for them based on that “coffee order”!

so for examples, lattes were dialogue prompts from a lovely list i found elsewhere on tumblr. orders would go like this: “could i please get a 21 latte?” and then i’d know to go to that list, find number 21, and that’s the prompt they wanted!

i hope that helped LMAO was it too complicated as i was making it i was like....maybe this is a bit convoluted idk 😭

GUYS LET ME KNOW AS FEEDBACK SO IF I EVER PLAN ANOTHER EVENT THEN ILL KNOW IF THIS WAS A BIT TOO COMPLICATED

[moratorya]

HELLO?? HAVE YOU SEEN THIS

https://x.com/twistedfei/status/1954430708178440467

i have NOW

OH MY GOD NONNIE I AM

DLKGJDFLBKJELKJRTLKGJHDLKREGJWTFLRVKDFBJHLERKJGWSLDKFJBLDKHEJRGDS

that art is so delectable i need it in me rn 😭 both to absorb the insane skill but also because uhm jason????? JASON??????

hes so hot hes so hot hes so hot hessohothessohotesshsoehsoehseohseohseohseoheseshoeoehseohseohseohsoehse

anyways.

thank you nonnie. for feeding me. i could die happy right now. who the fuck cares about assignments and essays i should probably care about when jason is looking like THAT.

[moratorya]

can’t get enough of you ㆍ₊⊹

❪ masterlist ❫ batboys reacting to an “i miss you” text from you ✶‎ gn! reader ──── smau 。fluff

from yin why are smaus so fun to make. felt like i was under a spell making this 🤖 also might be ooc bc i made this at 3 am and brain felt a little fried

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

DICK GRAYSON

JASON TODD

TIM DRAKE

DUKE THOMAS

DAMIAN WAYNE

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

© yintous do not copy, repost, plagiarize, or feed any of my work into ai.

[moratorya]

Batman animation yayy 🙌👍

[moratorya]

Cappuccino 40 for Damian goes hard (platonic batsis is perfect opportunity, please and thank you 💖)

☕︎ 𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 ━━━━━ a cappuccino for anon and damian wayne .ᐟ.ᐟ

☕︎ coffees from rya’s 500 coffee cart .ᐟ.ᐟ

prompts chosen .ᐟ.ᐟ taking blame so they don’t have to & batsis!reader

genre/warnings .ᐟ.ᐟ 3.3k, platonic basis!reader, nothing other than this is fluffy af :)

barista's notes .ᐟ.ᐟ i have to admit anon, i’ve read pretty limited amounts of batsis!reader and have never tried my hand at writing it, so i hope this was what you were looking for! thank you for sending in a order :)

You know something’s up when Damian texts you, the notification popping up ominously, with only a single line of text. Immediate attention required, he demands. 

It is, approximately, four A.M. when he texts. He’d be reaching the end of his patrol, you calculate, whilst you’re about to get up in two hours to go to class. You contemplate just turning back over and pretending you never saw the message, only for Damian to send a follow-up: Highly important.

God. The things you do for little brothers. 

You know this is the wrong decision to make—you’re still reeling from that one time you were cajoled into helping Tim out, and that was certainly something—but Damian rarely asks for help, especially from someone of ‘lower-born status’ like he likes to call all of you except Dick. You suspect that in the early days of his arrival, he definitely did, but Dick has his mouth sealed for those early days.

Alas, if you weren’t overseas attending a conference with your professor. Instead, you had come back to one big fucking mess, Jason being alive, and a new child in your care.

You hope that Damian’s warmed up to you now. He’s still suspiscious that you retirement from the vigilante scene in order to become a doctor is a cover for some sort of covert operation, always digging around and ‘testing your reflexes’ by throwing knives at you. You’re pretty sure that’s why your other brothers situate themselves in between the two of you when possible, because a few years off the scene means that your reflexes are not, in fact, quick enough to stop a blade from lodging itself in your arm. That had been quite a thing to explain to your professor the next week.

“You have made me wait precisely one hundred and eighty-four seconds for a response,” Damian sniffs, picking up on the first ring. “You cannot be preoccupied—it is not yet time for your lessons.”

“And that means I’m sleeping Damian,” you say, tiredly. You sit up, your covers falling to bunch at your waist, and you stare into the bleak darkness of your bedroom as you realise the sun hasn’t even risen yet. Fucking hell, what is this kid doing, calling you during work hours? “What is it?”

“I require your aid,” he says stiffly, as if it physically pains him to say the words aloud. “There is…a situation.”

You inhale. Then you count to forty nine in sevens, before counting back down. “Have you called Dick?” you finally say, when you’ve got your annoyance under control.

“I have not. He is…not the right choice, at this moment.”

Oh God. “And I am?” You’re already slipping out of bed, reaching across your bedside table to flick on the lights. “Damian, what’s going on?”

“Are you dressed?” he asks, suddenly.

“What?”

“I am outside your window. I would like to know if it is appropriate for me to come inside.”

You stare at your bedroom window. “Into my apartment?”

“Who else?” he snaps, tense. “Can I come in? If not, I urge you to hasten yourself in dressing because this is a very pressing matter.”

“Damian,” you tug on a sweater over your pyjamas in preparation for the cold air he’s going to let in when your window inevitably opens, “I am going to call Dick. Come in.”

The window swings open, as if there weren’t eight different booby traps, half of them set by you, half of them set by the other members of your dysfunctional family. “Wire,” you warn, when Damian almost trips it, and he valiantly stumbles to raise his foot higher, landing on the carpet of your apartment with what you suspect is less grace that he had hoped.

But he straightens, pretending nothing happened, and stares up at you challengingly. “Do not call Grayson,” he says firmly, “I have it under control.”

The phone is already raised, and you give Damian a look that tells him exactly what he’s got coming at him if he even dares to charge at you. “Hey,” Dick answers, two rings in, breatheless, “everything okay?”

In the background, bullets riccochet off of concrete walls, and you wince at the loud echo even from a secondary source. “Call me back when you’re no longer busy,” you tell him, already moving to hang up.

“Wait, hold on—”

Damian sniffs haughtily, shifting uncomfortably in his spot. “I told you not to call Grayson. He is otherwise preoccupied, unlike you. That is precisely when I am here.”

Your eyes narrow. Even if your physical ability to keep up with the rest of your family has diminished, your mental prowess is still as strong, if not stronger. Your eyes darts across Damian’s form, the bright light beaming downwards from the ceiling illuminating every crevice in his Robin suit. There’s no blood, or any sign of injury. There’s nothing he’s holding that’s suspicious either, so you can’t really see why he’d come all the way out here—which is, you remember, not a part of his usual patrol route with Bruce—to visit you.

“I am not idiotic enough to bring the cargo here,” Damian rolls his eyes, noticing your scrutinising, “not when Father is around.”

“He’s not,” you frown, “he left, two minutes ago.”

Damian sighs, exasperated. “Yes, because he now knows I have come to visit you. Father believes you to have the most common sense out of all of his charges, and somehow is willing to let me operate independently if he believes you to be informed. Now, thank you for your deterrence, I will now depart.”

“Hold on, stay right here.”

Damian ignores you, clambering back out the window. You reach up to pinch the bridge of your nose because little fucking brothers man, and you press the hidden button right beside your bedside lamp.

Immediately, shutters erupt from the sides of your windowsill, effectively caging him in. Your bedside drawer slams open, revealing a mouth-watering array of batarangs and other bat-essential items, but you reach past them for a small spray bottle instead.

“Release me this instant!” Damian splutters, falling back from the suddenly closed window. “You cannot keep me here!”

“Damian,” you say calmly, holding up the bottle, “come here.”

He recoils at the sight. “I—I still have patrol!”

“Damian.”

“Father would never stand for this,” he tries, puffing out his chest. “In fact, let me—” He fumbles for his comm, pressing on it urgently, waiting to get to the right channel before hissing, “Father, come rescue me right this instant. Your…stay has locked me inside!”

“Bruce,” you say loudly, “leave him to me. He’s finishing his patrol early.”

“Absolutely not! Father—”

Damian falters, obviously hearing Bruce’s response. His face only descends further into his signature scowl, and you’re almost impressed at how furious a baby child can look, especially in this situation.

“But Father,” Damian protests, almost whining, “I didn’t come because I wanted to spend time with her, I came because—”

Your eyebrows raise as he cuts himself off, pausing for a moment. Damian’s eyes flicker to you, then to the window, before he drops his hand from the comm with a resignation that you hadn’t expected from him so early into the argument. “Fine, Father,” Damian grumbles, but you can tell he only half means it, “as long as you promise to take me to the art gallery on the weekend.”

You have to press your lips into a line to prevent yourself from cooing, the urge getting even stronger as Damian stomps over like a disgruntled toddler. He jerks his chin out expectantly, and you gently reach out to hold his face as you lift up the spray bottle.

“Close your eyes,” you command, and he huffs but follows your direction. Once you’re sure his eyes are closed, you spray a thin amount of mist over his domino, placing the bottle back down on your beside table to free up your hand to massage the solution into his skin, trying to get it under the layer of his mask as much as possible. He tries not to squirm in your hold, but it’s evidently ticklish, and he grumbles quietly to himself as you make sure that the adhesive has dissolved enough to start peeling.

“I can do it myself,” he mutters, but makes no move to tear himself out of your grasp.

You hum. “Sure you can, Damian. Ready?”

He nods, chin still in your grasp, and he tenses as you begin pulling his mask away. Some of his skin still sticks to the mask, peeling upwards with it, so you gently press down on the skin to ease the separation. 

You’ve had enough experience with ripping masks off, foregoing any spray, and the rashes and red marks it left behind was most undesirable. Damian mustn’t have looked himself in the mirror only to wince and be banned from leaving the house because the swelling around his eyes were too obvious, because he immediately tries to pull his face away to speed up the process.

“Stop it! Damian,” you say sternly, only for him to glare. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“You’re fussing too much,” he grumbles, “this wasn’t why I came here.”

“You came here to dodge Bruce, I get it, but at least let me take off your domino properly. You don’t want to miss the outing on the weekend because you’re got the shape of Robin’s mask etched onto your face, do you?’

Damian grumbles again, this time something intelligible. “Speak up, Damian,” you say, amused. You peel off the final part of his mask, and to your surprise, he waits obediently in your grasp as you inspect the edges that had been on his skin to look for any residue adhesive. 

“I said,” he mutters, when you finally pull away, “it is an unintelligent idea to be taking my mask off. I must climb to the top of your neighbour’s building.”

You blink. “What?”

“There is,” he glares at the wall past you, “a litter of kittens that I had to deposit on the building next door to yours, lest Father become suspicious. I had hoped he was to leave once he discovered that I was headed towards your location, but he followed me until I went inside. It was an unfortunate miscalculation on my front.”

You pause. Then you stare at your still-barred window, visualising your almost forty-story neighbouring building. “Oh my God, Damian,” you breathe, “that’s why you were in this area?”

“We passed your district at the beginning of patrol,” he answers flatly, crossing his arms, “and there was no feasible way in which I would be able to carry them throughout my patrol. I had entertained the idea of sending you a text message to alert you, however…”

He trails off awkwardly, as if just realising what he was saying. He clamps his mouth shut, closing his eyes as if he’s berating himself for letting himself get too comfortable and speak whatever was on his mind, but you let him wallow in self-pity as you move to clear the lockdown mode of your apartment.

“Oh Damian,” you say, shaking your head, “why didn’t you just say so? I could’ve covered for you, you know. Bruce still lets me get away with everything.”

“I had considered it,” he replies stiffly, with all the attitude of a child that wants to say were you not just listening? 

“No I meant—you could’ve told me when you arrived to come inside,” you correct, stepping up to the window as the shutters close with a groan. You push open the window, poking your head out just in case the shadow of a bat lurks, but Bruce is long gone, probably chasing up some perp now that he knows that Damian is in your hands. 

Damian follows you curiously. He’s still in his Robin suit, domino already off, and you gesture in the general direction of the bathroom. “Go get changed,” you say, distracted, “I’m gonna scope out the terrain. Meet back in five?”

“Three minutes will suffice,” Damian replies formally. “Will there be clothes my size?”

“Obviously,” you roll your eyes, “see you back in three, Damian.”

He nods, darting over to your bathroom as you slip out the window. Your flexibility is poorly out of shape, but you manage, and you land on the fire escape outside your window with a lightness that you haven’t felt in a long time. 

It only takes you a few minutes to figure out the best route to climb upwards—Dick’s teachings ever really go away, you realise, kind of like riding a bike—and you wait patiently for Damian to appear at the window, before motioning for him to come out as well. 

He does so without complaint, falling into step besides you as the two of you vault across the small gap between the two buildings, him landing silently and you landing with a small crash on the opposing fire escape. You half-expect him to jeer or say something about your lack of skills, but instead, he’s staring at you in confusion as you point upwards.

“When was the last time you free-climbed?” you ask, energy already buzzing underneath your skin.

Damian narrows his eyes. “Not recently.”

“Okay, here’s some good practice,” you agree, looking upwards at the thirty-odd stories you two need to scale. “You see that ledge, there? We’ll go from there, okay? Don’t tell Bruce—he’ll kill me for trying out this height without any practice leading up to it, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. You wanna go first?”

Damian blinks, taken aback. “You’re going to…climb?”

“I’m retired, not incapable,” you huff. “C’mon, you gonna go first?”

He frowns. “No. You should go first.”

“Afraid I’m going to fall and that you’re going to have to catch me?”

He scowls, frown lines deepening. “No.”

You laugh, feeling touched nonetheless. “Sure, I’m happy to go first. Tell me if you get tired, alright? You’ve been patrolling all night.”

“I won’t,” he replies, with a touch of arrogance. “I am Batman’s partner, after all.”

You smile to yourself, thinking of how pliant he had been when you had been taking off his domino mask. You wonder why he hadn’t just outright said he needed to climb a building before. Maybe it slipped his mind? “Sure,” you say agreeably, “but even Batman needs to have breaks once in a while. You ready?”

He sighs. “Just go. The kittens have been waiting all night.”

“For the kittens, that’s right,” you murmur, smiling. It takes a few moves for you to fall back into the rhythm of climbing, the early days of you and Dick going rock-climbing bleeding back into your muscles as if you had never left. 

You remember the times you had taken Jason, both with and without Dick, until his death had shattered your family and you had run away overseas to study instead of dealing with the fallout. The tradition restarted when Tim came around, and he desperately wanted to build up body strength, so you had taken him climbing.

Now, though, knowing that Damian’s just under you, something warms your chest at the thought that the tradition persists yet again. Now you’re passing it onto the youngest—the youngest who, despite trying to seem uncaring, has laser focused eyes on your footholds just in case you slip, his grapple tucked under his belt in case of an emergency.

He does care. The thought makes you giddy more than anything else.

The moment doesn’t last for long, because when the two of you finally pull yourself up over the final ledge, the looming figure of Batman is there waiting. In his hands is a litter of three tiny but intensely cute kittens, and the entire image is so jarring that you almost fall off the roof out of surprise.

“Oh my—” You manage to regain your balance last minute, Damian’s hand shooting out to stabilise you as he clambers over the top as well. “B! What are you doing here?”

He stares down at you, unimpressed. “I should be asking you that. Whose brilliant idea was it to stash the kittens up here and climb up? The two of you children are civilians.”

Damian freezes at the sound of his voice, turning with great horror to see his father holding his precious cargo. “Fuck,” he hisses, and you almost snap around to tell him off about the language if it weren’t for the paralysing Bat-stare your own pseudo-father was giving you. 

Right. You were supposed to be the responsible one here. 

But by the way Bruce had been up here waiting, you guess he didn’t have as much faith in you than Damian thought. “We were…practising,” you say, lamely.

You didn’t think it was possible, but Bruce’s eyes thinned even further. “Practising.”

Damian clears his throat. “Father, I—”

“Damian told me he ran into a cute set of kittens earlier today,” you blurt out, still half-winded from the workout from the way up, “and I said I wanted to have a look. You know me and my cute animals, B, I just can’t resist, y’know? Anyways, that’s why Damian offered to put the kittens up here, so I’d be able to visit, except I feel asleep earlier today and he took great offense in lugging these three cuties all the way across town only for me to completely forget about them. So. Yeah. That’s why he stashed them up here.”

Damian stares at you, wide-eyed. Bruce grunts. “And it was your idea to scaffold up with no harness?”

You grin, cheekily. “Good workout, right?”

There’s a moment where you think Bruce is going to call you out on your bluff, because he always knows when you lie to him. Unlike Tim, you’ve never really perfected the ability to lie to the Batman, so you bank on emotional manipulation instead. 

There’s a certain way in which you can round out your features, pout a little, and change your body language so it seems softer than it usually does, and it always makes Bruce cave. It’s the one thing you and Dick share, except he plays it a little harder on the face and you focus on the body language instead. Either way, both techniques work like a charm, and you can see the resignation settle in when Bruce sighs, tension leaking away.

“Next time,” he says tiredly, “just come to the Manor and visit all of your brother’s pets. That way, the two of you won’t be risking your necks trying to climb up a forty-story building.”

“You got it B,” you agree, cheerily. “Pass me one of them?”

He inhales, probably thinking why do I put up with all of them, but he does acquiesce, gently shuffling over to pass you one of the kittens. Wordlessly, he offers another one to Damian, who takes it, still a little dazed from the way the conversation had gone.

Oh, that’s right. He’s probably never seen you get away with your bullshit with Bruce before. 

“Promise me,” Bruce says sternly, craddling the last kitten against his chest, “no climbing without harnesses, you understand me?”

“Yes, yes,” you nod, “aw, aren’t they so cute? Look at them! Damian!”

“Cute, yes,” he agrees, blinking at you. 

Bruce chuffs, amused, and he strokes his kitten gently. The three of you sound like the start of a bad joke, honestly: Batman, a college student, and Damian Wayne climb up a building…But nonetheless, it feels like a crucial moment that tightens your chest with fondness. When Damian glances over, slowly easing into the new situation, you shoot him a wink and has his lips quirking upwards in response, before he forces himself to look away before he smiles.

You look back at Bruce, who inclines his head at you knowingly. Your own smile widens, and you can’t help but throw your head back to laugh.

This wasn’t how you had envisaged waking up today, but you can’t think of anything better.

check out other coffee orders from the cart here .ᐟ.ᐟ

[moratorya]

Congratulations on 500!! That's so exciting 🎉

Can I choose:

Setting 11. caught in a storm

Dialogue 40. "You came." "You called."

Aaannd, uh, I don't know why but I really want to choose object 80. Knife, but you you don't have to use that!! I'm just in a knife-y mood apparently.

I might send in another one later if thats okay :) and congratulations again!! 💐✨

thank you so much for the request! and the support! and the patience!! it is always a joy to see you pop up in my notifications! i hope you don't mind, i combined this request with one that was pretty similar. i actually really enjoyed writing this, so thank you again! all the love!

jason todd x fem!reader warnings: none, just fluff :) word count: 1.3k prompts: (11. caught in a storm) (32. “This is the third time this week.”) (38. “It looks better on you.”) (40. “You came. You called.” (80. Knife)

You’re near enough chilled to the bone, the ever so slight overhang of the doorway doing nothing to protect you from the elements. The storm has been going on for days now, a constant barrage of rain pelting down onto the streets – half of Gotham is flooded, closed off to the general public. Even the rogues seem to have crawled into the woodwork for the time being, taking shelter from Mother Nature herself. The city is quiet, locked in a deep slumber until the hurricane passes through.

That being said, your building’s maintenance guy could only apologise when you’d called to complain that the lock had jammed, again, and you couldn’t get inside. His van had been waterlogged when he tried to make it through a particularly nasty bit of flooding; he said he’d be lucky if it ever worked again. At least someone was having a day worse than yours. Your clothes look as though they’ve been glued to your skin, sweater hanging down limp and heavy at your fingertips, you’re practically standing in a puddle with the way your feet are soaked – you should have known better; you’d only popped down to take the bin out, and here you were.

So, you’d called the only person you thought might have some idea about how to fix a jammed door. You had no evidence of it really, you’d only met Jason a handful of times, only been on two dates so far. He hadn’t even known where you lived, let alone seen you looking like a drowned rat in pyjamas on the side of the road. But you knew he liked to fix up cars in his free time, at least, meaning he was somewhat capable with his hands. Hopefully.

It’s another ten minutes before you spot the only set of headlights on the road poke through the darkness like cat’s eyes, slowly drawing closer and closer as your stomach tightens into a solid knot. You’re not even sure how he made it with the number of roads cordoned off. Regret seeps its way into your bones as much as the cold, you shouldn’t have bothered him, he’d told you pretty early on that he worked nights. He’d probably been sleeping, and you’d dragged him out of bed for something as pathetic as not being able to get into your own building. If the horrible churning in your gut was anything to go by, you were absolutely shit scared that he was going to be pissed off. A third date not likely.

Which would be a shame, because you really liked him.

The car pulls up smoothly outside, and barely a second passes before Jason is scrambling out of the door, near enough sprinting to your side.

“You came,” is all you can stutter out, eyes widening as he slides to a halt in front of you.

There’s a tenderness in his gaze, if not a little surprise at your comment, “You called.”

He’s not quite soaked to the bone yet, just a small collection of droplets beading in his hair, across his eyelashes. They mingle with the faint smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. It’s enchanting, the ivy green of his irises almost seeming to glow in the greyness of the storm. Logically, you know his size isn’t doing anything to protect you from the rain, but you feel sheltered, a warmth wrapping its way around your shoulders.

“Oh, uh,” you splutter out nervously, “thank you for coming. The door is…there.” You want to bury your head in the concrete, because yeah, the giant fucking door behind you is the door.

Jason only laughs, and begins to peel his jacket off without a smidge of hesitation, ignoring the way your hands fly up in protest, “Who am I to deny a lady in need? And stop, you need it more than I do – you look like you’ve been swimming. You’re shivering.”

You’d long since tuned out of the way every inch of your skin was jittering, “but you’ll catch a–”

“It looks better on you anyway,” Jason’s smile is a little lopsided, cheeky almost, “I insist. I’m tougher than I look.”

You can’t argue with that, mouth open and gaping like a fish as you pull the jacket tighter around yourself. It’s warm, a feeling you were pretty sure you’d forgotten about in the last half an hour. It’s huge, hanging down past your fingertips, swallowing you whole. It made sense, you definitely felt like prey right now. Jason flicks a knife out his pocket, like it’s the most normal thing in the world, just a small switchblade, and beelines for the lock on the door with a steady focus.

“You’re going to fix my door…with a knife?” You lean in to watch his ministrations closely, in slight awe at the dexterity of his fingers jimmying back and forth.

“I’m not going to fix it per-se,” his bottom lip is held tight between his teeth, brows furrowed in concentration, “but I should be able to get inside fairly quickly. Does this happen often?”

“Does what happen often?”

“Do you often save manual labour jobs for the third date?” He huffs out with a laugh, throwing an amused glance your way, “No. Does your front door often shut you out?”

“Oh,” you wave your hand languidly, offering him a nervous smile, “This is like the third time this week. But it’s fine. Usually, I just wander about until the maintenance guy shows up.”

Jason’s face twists into something reminiscent of annoyance, dropping his hands to his sides in frustration, “this is the third time this week?”

“Yeah,” you mutter, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. What if you got trapped out here at night? It’s not safe,” he grumbles, letting out a sigh of resignation when your face pans obviously, “I’ll come back with my tool kit and fix it tomorrow. I left it at my brother’s.”

“You don’t have to do–” you falter off as he sends an equally obvious look back at you, one that screams I’m going to do it either way, “Brother? You didn’t tell me you had any brothers?”

“I have three. One older, two younger,” Jason grunts after a particularly fiddly part of the process, muttering something about there being easier locks in prisons, “and one sister, she’s about my age. A few honorary stragglers thrown in there, too.”

You let out a low whistle, “That’s a big family. Your dad must be–”

“Got it,” Jason steps back with a smile, kicking the door open with a soft push of his foot, “I accept credit, debit, cash, and Venmo.”

You hurry inside quickly, pulling him in behind you with a soft tug, “I can’t offer you any of that, but I can offer you a hot drink?”

Jason’s eyes stare into your own, his body lingering dangerously close. He’s pretty soaked too. “Oooh, you drive a hard bargain. What about a takeaway?”

“What are you thinking,” you dare a step closer, “Chinese? Pizza? Burgers?”

“I picked on our last date, it’s your turn.”

“You think this is our third date?” you question softly, a wave of confidence washing over you as you drag a finger down the planes of his chest. His smile is small, barely there amidst the faux seriousness, but genuine.

“I’ll be disappointed if it isn’t. Means you really did just invite me here to fix your door.”

“C’mon, Todd.” Your body ripples with laughter as you begin to make your way up to the elevator, crooking your finger at him teasingly, “I reckon we’ve got about 45 until the power shuts off entirely.”

“Let me guess,” he follows behind you without a second thought, “that also happens three times a week?”

“Usually about five or six.”

“Is this deathtrap about to break with us in it?”

“No promises.”

[moratorya]

this is so them

[moratorya]

the early days...

[moratorya]

"they're giving me a few minutes to try and talk some sense into you." With Jason? As either the speaker or the one being spoken to? 🙏

This one was a thinker to come up with an idea for but it was fun to write!!

jason todd x gn!reader. reader is a civilian turned rogue from experimentation and is jason's ex. reader has poison ivy-esque abilities. tw violence, threats, angry reader who tries to hurt jason. happy ending.

****

You've lost count of the days. You're not even sure where they're keeping you. It's a cell, but it's not in an asylum. It's not in a prison either.

Wherever it is, it makes your teeth itch. You haven't seen another human since you got caught. Once, someone tried to leave you food through a slot in the door, but you messed that up by grabbing their hand and trying to claw them.

So now the food trays get dropped from the ceiling. You're too weak to attempt any crawling ivy up there.

You're sitting against the wall dozing when the door slides open with a quiet chirp.

Jason Todd walks in, dressed like a civilian. He looks comfortable in his Gotham U sweatshirt and jeans, but you know better. You see the small blade in his pocket and the way he sets his shoulders. You knew him too well and for too long to think that this is a regular visit.

Still, you're shocked to see him. After all, he broke up with you.

"Well, this is special," you say, unable to keep the bitterness from your words. "Am I finally being interrogated?"

Jason looks at you mildly. "They let me have a few minutes to talk some sense into you."

You scoff. "They sent you to do that?"

He's quiet for a moment. Then he walks over and sits across from you, on the floor. He crosses his legs.

You can touch him from this distance. Hurt him.

"I can help," Jason says. "If you'd let me."

"Is that Batman I hear coming out of your mouth?"

That renders him silent. You take the chance to speak, drive the knife into his gut.

"So I wasn't enough to stay for before, but as soon as I cause a little trouble, get experimented on and become a real threat, you come running? Was my old self too boring for you?"

"You didn't bore me. You know that's not why we broke up."

"I don't know, actually," you snap. "You dropped off the face of the earth one day and now you're here."

Jason shakes his head. "I know. I'm sorry. I should've—you deserved better than me. I thought I was doing you a favor by leaving."

"Oh, God, you're a cliche!" You throw your head back and laugh, the sound hollow. "Don't give me that martyr bullshit. We were happy. You were a coward."

"I was," he says. "I was cowardly and selfish and stupid."

Your eye twitches. Jason's softness rankles you. What happened to the Red Hood who beats rogues into submission? Talking sense wouldn't mean an actual conversation.

Then again, Jason probably doesn't take you seriously. He only remembers you as the harmless civilian that would tend to his bruises and make him eggs in the morning. He didn't see you break out of a lab or destroy everything in your path until Batman restrained you.

He thinks you're good. Gentle. Easy to love. You'll prove him wrong.

"I could've killed if I wanted to," you say. "Did you see what I did to Dick? I did a lot of damage."

"I saw," Jason says, leaning back on his hands.

You grit your teeth. "Well, I'm sure he'd prefer me locked up. Bruce, too. And you. Two problems solved in one."

"No one wants to lock you up. Anyway, I wouldn't let 'em. I know how to recognize someone in need of a second chance."

That pushes you over the edge, referring to you like you're just a common thief on the street in need of mercy. You don't need anyone's mercy, least of all his.

You lash out, savagely bracing your arm and aiming for Jason's throat. He feints your attack and catches you both, landing on his back on the floor. You just as quickly wrap your other hand around his throat.

Your powers are weak in this cell after they injected you with something that burned, made the hatred inside of you shrivel up for a brief respite. In this weakened state, you have to make skin contact to inflict any real damage, and Jason knows that. Jason's beyond smart enough to figure out how your abilities work.

You manage to push out a single vine from your hand. It's a little brown, a little dead, but it's strong enough to curl around Jason's neck and hold on.

You hear noise outside, a muffled shout of alarm. Jason raises a hand calmly, signalling them to back off. You feel him swallow against your vine.

"'S okay," he says, loud enough to carry outside of the cell, steadily looking at you. "We're just talkin'."

"Is that what we're doing, Jason?" you ask, rage tunneling your vision.

"Sure it is. If I say we're talking, then we are."

"Even if I hurt you?" you snarl. "I'm a criminal. I went crazy. That's why they put me here."

Slowly, Jason rests a hand on the middle of your spine. It's warm and solid. Your stomach jumps at the feeling. It's been so long since he's touched you. It used to be your normal, Jason touching you, holding you, sharing your bed.

"You're not a criminal and you're not crazy," he says softly. "You're in pain, and you're angry, and this feels like your last resort."

Something cracks in your chest. The day you said those words to Jason rushes back to you. It had been raining and you'd found him on your fire escape, helmet off, eyes thick with tears. He hadn't been able to go through with his plan for Bruce.

"Why don't you use the knife in your pocket?" you ask. He could sever your vine at the root. It would sting and make you cry. He could make you weak.

"'Cause I don't wanna hurt you," Jason says. "If this is what you need to feel in control, so be it."

Your grip tightens. Jason grunts and rubs his hand up and down your spine. His other hand goes to your hip and squeezes.

"I can hurt you," you say, trying to believe it.

Jason nods. "That's okay, baby. It'll heal."

Tears spring to your eyes and you close them. "Don't call me that. You left me."

"I'm sorry. It's the worst mistake I ever made."

More tears pool. Your voice shakes. "They did awful experiments. They—I'm not normal anymore. An' I'm so angry."

"I know, sweetheart," he murmurs. "I know. 'M so fuckin' sorry. I'll kill 'em. When I find 'em, I'll hunt down every single one that did this to you."

"You just came back because I'm a case to solve," you say. Your vine is slipping. You want Jason to hold you instead.

"I came back because I missed you and because I wanna help you. It was a mistake to leave."

"What if this is how I am? Permanently?" you whisper. It's been in your head since you were lucid enough to realize what they did to you in that lab. What your attackers called a blessing feels more like a curse. And it might not ever go away.

"Then we'll go on from there," Jason says. His hand goes from your hip to your face. He strokes your cheek.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

Your vine thins out and slackens completely. Tiny, red flowers bloom as Jason pets you. You quickly retract the vine, hot with embarrassment.

Jason graciously doesn't say anything about it.

"I wanna go home," you confess.

Jason nods. "I got you. Let's go home."