nocteris

she/they | 21 | your average nerd nocteris on ao3! icon by armineiro

[angurvadal]

angurvadal's masterlist! 𑣲 ദ്ദി◝ ⩊ ◜.ᐟ

⋆˚꩜｡𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆

i mainly write about jason todd!

long fics

The Bloom Knot (soulmates! AU) chapters: 12/22 status: ongoing! word count: 47,100 Getting a soulmate was the last thing Jason needed as a young academic getting his PhD. Getting a soulmate was the last thing on your mind as a freshman. But one accidental shove and a falling pitcher of orange juice later, suddenly the both of you are soul bound to someone you’ve just met. Suddenly, you’re everywhere. In his classroom, in his notifications, in every line he reads. Suddenly, he’s everywhere. In the hallways, in the hum of your guitar strings, in the equations you solve. But seeing the others— Dick and Kory, Bruce and Selina, Damian and Jon— they all got to choose their soulmates. So, in the eyes of fate, where did that leave the two of you? read it on ao3 here!

The Odd Tea Shop in Crime Alley (teashop! AU) chapters: 3/25 status: ongoing! word count: 8,658 Across the street from Jason’s apartment in Park Row, a budding sign of hope caught his eye. A simple signage: Opening Soon! Tea Brews and Books. Only, he almost fistfights the snarky tea shop owner at a book sale. Then, rescues her from a mugger or three as Red Hood. Uncoincidentally, his family gets interested in the tea shop and plagues Jason with their existence both mask-on and mask-off. Coincidentally, said tea shop owner has the biggest crush on Red Hood. Now, how the hell was Jason supposed to compete with himself? read it on ao3 here!

short fics

Wait, when did you get hot? chapters: 1/? status: ongoing! word count: 6.8k prompt: you were kind of friends with jason back in high school at the height of your ugly duckling phase. ten years pass, somehow both of you end up at your reunion party with one singular thought. read it on ao3 here!

[ciricearts]

happy sunday everyoneee

[bianc0re]

Days since a normal dead Robin club meeting: 0

[angurvadal]

thinking about a fun oneshot… 🤭 or two shot.

pov: you’ve had a crush on jason since highschool, but being a shitty teenager included body image issues and whatnot, plus well you know the drill. bullying. so that crush died in your younger self’s poor heart

suddenly a few years later at a high school reunion everyone notices you’ve had a glow up and everything.

jason begrudgingly comes, ‘cause like therapy said so and god knows that man needs a social life outside his vigilante circle.

sooo, when jason hears his old seatmate back in ninth grade was coming, he was excited to at least have someone decent to talk to.

until his eyes land on you.

huh, when did you get hot?

[angurvadal]

I POSTED IT GO CHECK IT OUT IF Y'ALL ARE INTERESTED

[angurvadal]

jason todd x reader! prompt: you were kind of friends with jason back in high school at the height of your ugly duckling phase. ten years pass, somehow both of you end up at your reunion party with one singular thought. when did you get hot? word count: 6.8k warnings: self-esteem issues, possible ED triggers, sexual actions (heavy petting, grinding) dni if you aren't comfy with that! (this is a one-shot, but i may extend it into either a two-shot or a short series if y'all want me to 'cause i could expand and flesh out the story further, in both smut and depth aspects.) read on ao3 here!

Being a teenager fucking sucked. 

Especially when you were the designated loser kid of your class. Gotham Academy’s always been that way— who could flaunt the most money from their daddy, or who looked eighteen or older the most when all of you were barely fifteen to sixteen. 

You stared at your reflection in the girl’s bathroom. 

Hormonal acne littered your face. Your hair was in a plain, gravity-defying, frizzy ponytail that did not bow down to any master. The esteemed uniform of your school that normally flattered the pretty, looked hideous on your undesirable figure. Boxy, black and thick glasses framed your face. 

You frowned, even Miss Piggy from the fucking Muppets was way hotter than the freak of nature that you were. 

You’ve tried everything— the latest trending skincare online, HIIT exercises that made you want to puke, nothing worked. Your own daddy’s money was nothing on you, it was a hopeless cause.

You shifted your skirt one last time among many more to come, trying to suck in the pudge protruding. Like that ever helps, god damn it. 

With that, you leave the bathroom the same as ever. 

You enter the classroom, trying to minimize your presence as much as possible to get back to your seat. But even so, you physically feel your classmates’ either looking at you with disgust, or purposefully avoiding you.

Hah, who would want to be friends with the fat kid anyway?

A perk if you will, was that in the first quarter of the year, your teachers let you sit wherever you wanted until mandatory seating arrangements were assigned in the succeeding quarters. And thus, for this quarter at least, you got the back corner of the classroom right next to the window. 

Your eyes land on your seat— well, supposed seat. It’s just that a guy was sitting on your table, and your school bag was nowhere to be seen. 

Fuck. 

You had next to little power in this fucking academy, and the one grace heavens gave you for the entire year was being hogged by this… boy. 

Hey, you were a fat bitch. And it was exactly that, a bitch.

“Get. The FUCK off my table.”

The boy was the recent transfer yesterday— the Wayne boy who was totally the polar opposite of his older brother Richard. It was an abrupt transfer, since it was a few weeks before the second quarter of the year hit. But, as you saw on Instagram, he was the talk of the town. The girls of your batch immediately went over this guy like crazy, but nobody had the chance to be his friend yet. 

You? You didn’t care. Another rich kid into the system didn’t make a difference to you. No one was worth the brain space when they’d end up judging you as the fat kid without getting to know you anyway. 

He didn’t hear you at first, his ears covered by… were those Sony XM3s? Huh. At least he wasn’t a Beats by Dre phony. Undeterred by his muted hearing, you stood in front of him, blocking his view of the window. 

Your view. Your window.

“Ahem.”

His eyes flit up to yours. Forest green. Dark curls framed his face. His brows furrow, as he moves one of the headphone cups behind his ear to hear you. 

Great. Another pretty boy added to the long list of people that would beat smoke your ass in a few days time for lunch money.

“What.”

“You’re on my table. Get. OFF.”

He stared at you boredly, furrow lost. 

“...They said this seat wasn’t taken. It was empty yesterday, so Mr. Potts gave it to me.”

Anger started to boil in you. Mr. Potts— that pedophilic, misogynistic ass! Of course he’d cave into pleasing Bruce Wayne’s ward. You just had to have dysmenorrhea yesterday and bail, huh.

“I called in sick. Now get off.”

“Yeah, uh, I won’t have a seat then…?”

The two of you had been talking for far longer than you had wanted— now most of the class was staring at the new pretty boy talking to the fat kid, and the girls did not like that. Not one bit. 

A dainty hand with scathing nails clawed into your shoulder, “oh! Jason, honey, don’t mind her!”

Another sickly sweet voice piped up to your other side, “yeah! It’s not like her bag is on the table, right sweetie?”

“Mhmm, better pack it up— oh! Right, you have nothing to pack.”

You stilled. 

“Well?” The claws dug deeper into your uniform, into the pudge of your shoulder. “Get lost, loser.”

Ohhhh today was not your day. 

Plastic One and Plastic Two (profound nicknames coined by yours truly) took the opportunity to push you down and shove their plastic tits and fake fucking disproportionate lashes into the new guy’s face simultaneously.

Alright, whatever. That just meant you had to find your school bag in the trash outside the classroom, again.

“Alright, fake tits McGee, you fuckin’ win.” You shoved their hands off your shoulders and briskly walked to the exit, ready to salvage your bag from hopefully not wet trash. Jesus Christ it was too early for this kind of shit. 

Your frizzy ponytail was yanked and sent you skidding back butt first into the classroom floor. 

The class didn’t erupt into a fit of loud rambunctious laughter. Rather, a fit of snorts and snickers at your literal downfall. 

Lia, the one that decided to test if your hair was attached to the root, stomped her Mary Janes beside your hand, nearly crushing it with her non-existent weight. 

“You say that one more time you fat fuck—”

BANG. 

The sound of your classroom lockers slamming into a brute force filled the room. 

The classroom fell silent. You didn’t dare move. No one did. 

A few seconds pass until a calloused hand reaches out to you. 

“You good?”

You huff out a quick laugh, and slap his hand with all the strength you could give in that moment. 

“Get out of my way, pretty boy.”

“I don’t want to.”

You stood up and dodged him, quickly leaving the classroom. Thankfully, your bag was on the floor next to the trash— you figured the girls were too disgusted at the thought of touching a trash can.

Huh, pathetic. 

A taller body falls into step beside you as you approach the trash can to get your hiking backpack. 

“Leave me alone.”

“And get hounded again by those lunatics?”

You grabbed your backpack, and swiftly turned around to be faced by his body blocking your line of sight. 

“Welcome to the circus, we’re all freaks where money doesn’t fucking cut it. Now get out of my way, Wayne.”

A week passes uneventfully. Only, a few things changed. 

One, you had your seat back. The Wayne boy had given it up for a seat in the middle. Maybe philanthropy was the calling all Waynes got off to, adopted or not. 

Two, you had your peace and silence. None of the regular bullies that made you run on errands or do their homework approached you within the last few days, so your library time was peaceful and uninterrupted. 

Three, was that anonymous chocolate bars started appearing in your locker. See, the gates had a hole in them for some reason. Some found it romantic, some found it convenient to shove micro-sized pranks. 

This was a prank, another silent joke to get your hopes up, tricking you into the thought that someone wanted to give you chocolates. 

That, or it was funny to give chocolate to the fat and ugly freak. 

Seeing they were the usual grocery store candy bars that you liked, you shrugged and ate them anyway. No poison to be found in sealed candy bars, yeah. 

It was a quiet day in the library, your safe space. Most kids didn’t like it here anyway, unbothered by any academic pressures since they had home tutors and the like. 

You? You just liked the quiet atmosphere, and the old lady that manned the circulation desk. So much so, that she let you do whatever the hell you wanted during lunch and recess. 

Focused on sketching the intricate banister that led to the second floor of the huge library while listening to Nirvana’s In Utero for what was probably the nth time this week, you didn’t register the presence that slid beside you on the work table. 

That was until a chocolate bar slid your way. A cereal Reese’s bar— the kind that always popped up inside your locker. 

You looked up. 

It was the Wayne boy. 

Quickly, you remove your headphones and let it hang on your neck. 

“YOU were the one shoving chocolate into my locker???”

A faint shush came from Mrs. Amantis, a lighthearted one since she liked you anyway. 

Jason shrugged, “didn’t know how to say sorry without bugging you, really.”

The faint growl and grunge of Scentless Apprentice faintly buzzed beneath your stubby chin. 

He squinted, “is that… Nirvana?”

Right on cue, Kurt Cobain’s crashout screams were heard by the both of you. 

To that, you both chuckled, until it became full-on muffled laughs from you. 

“Uh—” you snickered, “yeah. How could you tell?”

“Probably the sweet, sweet melody of—” another barrage of screams interrupted him.

He hid a smile beneath his hand, “yeah, that.”

He peeked at your sketchbook, “cool drawing.”

“Thanks. Also,” you decided to be blunt. It wasn’t like you had anything to lose by offending yet another rich Gotham kid.

“Why are you being nice to me?”

Jason stared at you for a bit, obviously taken aback. “Am I… not allowed to be?”

“I get that you’re the new kid, Wayne.” You paused the music on playback through your iPod before staring him dead into the eyes.

“But you’re practically committing social suicide by doing this. No one likes me— in case you’re blind or oblivious to something universal.”

He crossed his arms, and slumped into the chair. 

“Well, that’s just dumb. I like you.”

You felt your brows shoot up into your hairline. 

“Are you crazy?????”

Jason groaned, “not that high of a bar to beat, really. You think it’s fun to be surrounded by a bunch of sissies riding on their daddy’s money and bragging about their acre-wide patios? All I want is someone to talk about homework to, for fucks sake.”

Before you could volunteer the pretty prep kids in your class, he pushed his palm out to stop your thought. 

“Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. The preppy kids are too busy being snooty and sucking up to our teachers— heck all they talk about is how they’re gunning for Ivy League— point is I really don’t care.”

“How am I any different from those kids, Wayne?”

He shrugged, “you’re… Normal. Cool, even.”

“Mmm. Bullshit.”

“You dissed our maths teacher to filth that they had to reexplain the whole lesson bottom down. And our music teacher that graduated from fuckin’ Julliard.”

“...Your point being?”

He pushed the candy bar to your hands resting on the desk. “I’d like a friend, preferably one that doesn’t grate my ears. You fit the bill.”

The bell rings, you take your cue and stand up. 

“What makes you so sure you don’t grate my ears, Wayne?”

A smug voice called out to you as you took your leave, “‘cause you’re sensible, and you rock a mean pair of noise-cancelling headphones to block my ear-grating. Sennheiser Momentums are pretty cool, yeah.”

You clutched your analog headphones you’ve had since grade school, and walked away. 

He’d bug off after a week, they all did.

Another week passes, and the first quarter ends. Morning rushes in with whispers amongst the class on which seat they want the most since homeroom teachers normally gave free reign unless they were a sadist and thought of a wicked seating arrangement. 

Of course, your throne remains unchallenged. As much as the corner of the room was the coolest seat anyone could have, you’ve brainwashed the whole class into thinking it was for losers. 

Oh well, sucks to suck for them. You’re having a great time at the back. 

It just so happened that the kids that sat beside you and in front of you were practically high school dropouts at this rate— mostly gone from their seats by at least half of the year. By the good will of their families’ money did they get to scrape by. 

In the front row were the preps and scholars. You’d think the scholars that had less money than you wouldn’t dare judge you, but the world didn’t reward saints. They, at most, were neutral with you— only deigning you their attention whenever they needed a brain that worked in group projects or a really difficult homework task. In the middle to the periphery were the rest of the high strung, self-absorbed jerks that constituted the general populace of Gotham Academy.

The people in your row were mostly borderline dropouts, or druggies. With that being said, you really didn’t talk to anyone near you. And so, peace continued and you’d hope that it would continue. 

In the middle of the classroom, the girls were hogging the Wayne boy’s attention. Probably bugging him to be seatmates and eventually, get into his pants. 

Pfft. Pretty boy would probably hurl at the thought of fucking any of your classmates. Well, it was an educated guess. You didn’t know him well enough to assume. Boys will always be boys. 

The only fatter fuck than you in the eight corners of your classroom entered— Mr. Potts. With a folder and all of your official school pictures printed out into one by one inch squares. 

You still wanted to wring the old fucker out for giving your seat to the Wayne boy. 

“Alright alright settle down, good morning to all of you.” He shuffled into the teacher’s table, and flopped onto his desk the neat folder. 

“You have ten minutes to scramble and find a seat for this quarter. I don’t care where any of you goes— just make sure that you exchange with at least one person.”

Huh, so much for defending your throne. You scan the classroom, and yep, you really don’t care about any of these pompous fucks. The sight of the two empty chairs around you prop up a funny line of thought— a thought that would defend your throne. You smile to yourself, and happily maintain your plopped ass on the chair like it was cemented to it. The class had all but settled, so maybe you could get your way—

Mr. Potts sees this, and quickly calls out to you. 

“L/N, I don’t see you changing seats. You have five minutes.”

“I already did, Mr. Potts.”

“Oh yeah? I’m old, not blind. You haven’t moved.”

You gesture towards the two empty seats that surrounded you, “I swapped with Falcone. Then I swapped with Crowne, then Falcone again. That’s thrice for the three of us, which follows your rules Mr. Potts.”

He stared you down, you knew he really didn’t give a damn. But a little ugly girl getting the upper hand was an easy trigger for the misogynist fuck. 

“You know the rules imply to not take the same seat, L/N.”

“Yeah, you could include them next quarter sir. Oh, wait. You aren’t our homeroom adviser by next semester. My apologies.”

A little satisfaction runs through you when some of the scholars chuckle at your little debacle. The nepo babies on the other hand, weren’t pleased with you getting your cake and eating it too as seen by the sneers on their faces.

From the other side of the classroom, one kid stood up. Your eyes dart to them for a second. 

The Wayne boy. 

He grabbed his bag swiftly and suddenly, he was making his way towards your corner. 

The only seats that were available were either in front of you, or beside you. 

The fucker plops his bag onto the floor beside the seat in front of you. Great, now he was blocking your view of the chalkboard. 

“You stupid ass, move out of the way. You’re blocking the board.”

He turns his body towards you, palm in cheek. “That’s what you get for sitting at the back and being a short stack.”

You groaned. The female body was a pain to deal with, and now you were being dissed for the laws of Mendelian genetics— something you had no control over. 

“At least get the seat beside me.”

Three minutes remained before Mr. Potts locked the seat plan in.

“And let you hog the window?”

“It’s still pretty visible from the seat beside me.”

“Hmm. Well, if you agree to eat lunch with me then it’s a deal.”

You stared at him like he was from Mars. What the fuck was up with this guy?

Yeah, you still liked looking at the board. 

“...Fine.”

For the first time, he smiles at you. Teeth that were a little crooked, and dimples popped.

You get annoyed for a bit, no one had the right to be that pretty and decent, not in this school.

He throws his bag with eerie precision towards the chair beside you. 

“Oh but I prefer spending lunch in the library.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

Surprisingly, being Jason’s friend was pretty easy. You hung out at recess and lunch, then texted a bit whenever one of you was stumped at a particular subject. You hated anything that involved memory work, and he hated drawing and your fine arts classes. The rest were more of you both hate-consuming the material your old teachers didn’t bother updating. 

The library quickly became his safe space too, with Mrs. Amatis quickly adopting him as her own. 

“Never took you for the whole prince and princess trope enjoyer.”

You stared at your supposed friend, then at the young adult book in your hands. 

“It’s basically the reverse of the bachelorette, in a weird dystopian-monarchial setting. Is it trash? Yeah. But it’s fun trash.”

He peeked over your shoulder, “...the fuck? Who names their son Maxon?”

“Wanna see the name of the other guy in the love triangle?”

“Sure.” You flicked to a page from earlier in the book, and thumbed the passage where the said character was crashing out. 

“What the fuck are these names? America? Aspen???”

You smiled, and flicked back to your original page. “Yeah. Like I said, stupid fun.”

Eyeing his own literature of choice, a thick Russian literature tome that probably was older than the entire library you scoff. 

“God, you’re weird.”

“What?”

“Dude. We’re fifteen, why are you reading… the fuck is this book— War and Peace? Isn’t that a book for old dudes? Read The Martian or something.”

“I’ve read it. Definitely mid.”

You chuckled, and flicked to the next page. “Heh, yeah point taken.”

That was how your day usually went. He never texted you on weekends, and you did the same. 

This was fine, you figured you were decent enough company for him to pass the time. But you knew that deep down, that was all this was. 

Convenience. 

It wasn’t until the third quarter, where the two of you exchanged seats (you reluctantly gave him your throne, just to shut him up) when he brought up the idea of hanging out with you during the break.

“Hey, Reese’s, come over for the weekend.”

Your ear grated at the shitty chocolate-related nickname. 

“Uh. What?”

“Come over for the weekend,” Jason shrugged. “Bruce got me a new game console and stuff, and I need a player two.”

Your chauffeur could use a detour from the usual school-mall-library you had him fetch you to and fro. That, and your parents and older siblings weren’t around anyway. 

“Sure. What game?”

Jason grinned, “Minecraft.”

You sent him a teethy grin. “You fucking nerd! I’m in.”

Smash cut to you staring at the wide expanse of the Wayne manor, which was actually only a few minutes away from your own home on the other side of Gotham Heights. 

Your family was loaded, sure, but the Waynes really were old money in every sense of the word. 

You had texted Jason prior, but ringing the doorbell felt a little intimidating. Your chauffeur however wasn’t going anywhere until he saw your ass enter the manor for safety reasons. 

Jason assured you that no one other than he and their only butler was in the house. His older brother and Father were out so, really you had the manor to yourselves. 

A few months back, you’d punch yourself and laugh at the thought of the Wayne boy dragging you over to his home to hang out. 

You. The fat ugly kid that no one liked.

Well, this was really just a friendly hang out so, yeah. This was basically nothing. 

That said, the past months had been kind of good to you. Your mother got you on a specific meal plan— something along the lines of getting hereditary PCOS… you really didn’t listen, but hey. Your period cramps were a lot less painful, and the acne had calmed down to a few stubborn spots rather than your whole face. Oh, and for some reason, your tits had gotten a lot heavier. 

Hey, puberty was weird but you’d take these small improvements anyday. 

So you decided to let yourself be a little confident today. An oversized Nirvana tee and denim shorts, paired with Doc Martens that you got for your sixteenth a month ago. You also snagged your older sister’s eyeliner and black eyeshadow— who knew makeup could be fun? 

Your untamable hair was a problem for another day, so the messy bun behind your head had to do.

Jason wouldn’t care so it’s not like you were dressing up for him. It was just… nice to feel comfy in your own skin. A feeling you didn’t mind getting used to.

The clock ticked as you waited patiently in front of the entrance like the good kid that you were. 

The door swung open, and you were met with a grin and a tug. 

“Get in Reese’s, you’re helping me beat the ender dragon.”

To your right, before you could even greet him was the butler. 

Jason dragged you upstairs, “we’ll be upstairs, Alf!”

“Jason slow down— what are we even playing on?”

“Nintendo Switch.”

“…Oh God we are so fucked.”

“YOU FUCKING IDIOT! WHO THE FUCK PUTS A BED IN THE NETHER?”

“Me. Because you were being a shitass and stole my diamond pickaxe.”

Jason scowled, sulking at his lost progress. “I hate you so much.”

“Sure. Said the guy who begged to be my friend for weeks. You’re as much of a loser as me, Todd.”

Reloading at the spawn point with not a block of wood to his name, he grumbles at the sight of your inventory filled with his loot. 

“I regret bringing you over.”

“Your fault for having someone like me as your friend— oh! A nether fortress!”

An even louder groan erupted from the boy beside you, making you laugh uncontrollably. 

Downstairs, Dick chats away happily with Alfred in the kitchen. 

“Where’s Littlewing, Alfred?”

“In his room, sir. With a friend.”

Above, they hear a loud scream, followed by a fit of laughter and cussing. 

“Now where did he get a friend like that?” Dick leaned over the counter, snatching a muffin from the heated tray. 

“Apparently from school, sir.”

Realization spread through Dick’s expression. “Wait— is this the Reese’s kid Jason skipped out on patrol for? Just to run to the grocery store for a pack of the chocolate???”

“The very same, sir.”

“...Wow. The kid’s whipped.”

“Indeed, sir. Although, he might not be aware of it yet.”

Dick pushed himself off the counter, “lemme guess. You’ve got a bet going on with Bruce?”

Alfred took four muffins from the pan to cool, then turned to get the proper kitchenware for plating. “Master Bruce had bet it would take our young Master Jason a year. I say the end of the school year would be sufficient, perhaps.”

Plated and freshly baked peanut butter and chocolate muffins in hand, Alfred heads upstairs. 

“You are welcome to introduce yourself, sir. The boy does miss your presence quite a bit.”

Dick jogged towards the stairs after grabbing a handful of cookies, “coming!”

“Feast your eyes on grass, Todd. GRASS!”

“Wow. Wheat. Great. Love that. Wait— when did you learn how to use redstone?”

“Online.”

“…Nerd.”

“Thus said the weirdo who died thrice due to fall damage.”

A knock on the door broke you and Jason out of your concentration. You had given up on your quest to kill the dragon, and settled for terrorizing a village then building a farm. 

“Master Jason? Your brother is here, and I’ve brought some refreshments.”

Your eyes widen, then you grab Jason’s hoodie, nearly choking the poor boy. 

“I thought no one was here!”

“Yeah— let me go. I gotta answer the door.”

Bare feet running towards the door, Jason opened the door. By the doorway was the old butler with kind eyes, and an older boy that looked like he walked off a Teen Vogue magazine

…Oh. Right. His brother was Dick. The Dick Grayson-Wayne. One of the hottest guys that had graced your social circles since their father in the nineties. 

“Hey, Littlewing! Figured I’d drop by before heading back to Jump City.”

The older boy ruffled Jason’s head, much to his chagrin. 

“You could have given me a heads up, Dick.” Jason sighed, walking back to your pillow fort with a plate of muffins in hand. 

Oh. Fuck. Sweets. 

You weren’t allowed to have those. Shit. 

And they were Reese’s flavored too. God damn it, Jason. 

You’ll just… drink water and try to dodge eating them. Or something. Take a bite or two then throw it in the trash.

Dick enters the room, smiling in your direction. “Oh? Looks like I’m not the only guest here. Hi! I’m—”

“Everyone in Gotham knows who you are, dude.” You rest the joy-con on the floor. You grab the hand on his side that wasn’t even outstretched, and robotically shake it. 

“F/N L/N. Your brother’s really bad at Minecraft so he needed a little saving.”

“You blew me up!”

You smirked, “go tell ‘em tiger.”

Dick laughed, “oh, L/N? You wouldn’t happen to be—”

You winced, “spare me the theatrics, Dick. You probably did fuck my sister in highschool.”

Silence washed over the four of you. That, until Jason laughed. Loud. His older brother’s jaw was on the floor, and Alfred was all the more amused.

“Quite the riveting conversation, Miss L/N. I’ll do you the favor of retrieving Master Dick’s ego this instant and leave you two to your date.”

Now, it was both your turn and Jason’s to be flustered.

“Date?!”

“Alfred wait—”

Truly, it was a night to be remembered for the both of you. Mostly for you, it was all you had to hold on before it happened.

Bruce and Alfred’s bet never really did have a true winner, nor did you get to finish the year with your friendship with Jason intact.

Why? Well, Jason suddenly just… disappeared. 

Your friend who was known to love classes and rage-bait your teachers to high hell suddenly dropped out of school. 

Just like that, the bullying came back. You were alone again. 

But it was fine. Your friendship was a convenience which benefitted the both of you. At least, that was what you wanted to think. Afterall, you knew it would never end well.

Jason Todd, somehow, had pierced through your heart. And his absence made the truth beat out of your chest. Somewhere throughout the year, you had fallen for your weird seatmate. But that was that, a crush your teenage heart had, and simultaneously the starting point of you knowing that at least for a small while, someone liked you enough to be friends.

That was enough to push you forward.

As the world revolves around the sun, years pass. You’ve moved on and made a name for yourself— and so has he. But not once, did your paths cross until ten years into the future.

———

Jason sighed for the umpteenth time, gazing up at the five star hotel he honestly preferred to not enter. 

But his therapist urged him to go. She said it would do him at least some good in the socializing aspect of his life— something that was severely lacking in. 

It had been ten years since his death, and a few years since he’d gotten his GED and patched his life up. For the most part, he’d spent his time post-resurrection as Red Hood rather than Jason Todd. 

He didn’t even like the people from his alma mater, some were tolerable just because he was Bruce Wayne’s kid, but the only person he really cared about was you. 

You, who if memory served him correctly, would rather slit your throat open than attend this kind of event. 

With a heavy heart, he trudged his way towards the reception hall.

“Jason? Wayne— is that really you?”

Lea— was that her name— approached him near the entrance. If memory serves him correctly, this was the bitch who yanked your hair at the start of freshman year was all over his pubescent ass.

Yeah, he was hating this already. He had received the invitation email from her through his Wayne Enterprises email a month prior— there was no way in hell you’d show up. He was thoroughly fucked. How the hell did Dick survive this kind of torture at every Wayne event?

“Um. Yeah, me in the flesh. How’ve you been, Lea?”

He saw her right eye twitch a bit. 

Oooh. That was the wrong name, wasn’t it? (He really couldn’t care less. Really.)

Quickly, he was welcomed into the hall. Faces and names he couldn’t think of the foggiest idea from his memory. Then, he was seated in the middle of the hall. Hah, wasn’t that a throwback?

The only thing missing was you barging in and grabbing this seat from him. 

Now, wouldn’t that be a dream? Jason wondered how well the years have treated your smart ass— heck, you’d probably be a bigshot architect by now if your dreams were still the same as before. 

“Ahem.”

Jason stilled. He knew that annoying throat clear from anywhere. 

He turned towards the sound, still in disbelief. There was no fucking way—

Oh. 

Wow.

Holy shit. 

God damn. 

He almost didn’t believe it was you. Almost.

You… who rocked band shirts, sneakers, and messy buns. 

You who didn’t really care for makeup and designer shit. He had to take a double take— fuck, a triple take. 

“...Reese’s?”

If he had any doubt in his soul that it was you, the side smirk that was undeniably you hit him like a nostalgia truck. Sweet baby Jesus— it really was you. 

“Hey, nerd. Give me ten good reasons to not strangle you to death. One reason per year you went MIA.”

God was a woman. And she was asking for divine retribution right in front of him. 

On a good day, Jason liked to think he was a gentleman. 

Today was a test from Saint Peter himself because— what the actual fuck?

When did you get hot?

“...Alright, after you pick your jaw from the ground, do I have to fight you yet again for my seat?”

Jason blinked, then lightning jolted through him. Right, right. Gentleman. 

He stood up and pulled out the chair beside him for you. 

You huffed, “wow. Where was this in high school? Fine– nine reasons. I’m a merciful God.”

God, you were hot and you knew you were hot. 

Jason wasn’t blind, you had the assets in high school. Wide, breedable fucking hips. And you were well endowed in all the right places— he knew you had a hormonal problem which fucked with your self esteem and so-called potential but… holy shit. 

It was weird to be proved right.

You sat your purse on top of the satin fabric of your dress. Fuck, you weren’t even wearing anything out of the ordinary for the dress code. A black spaghetti strap satin dress, with matching pumps and simple silver jewelry. 

Some things never changed, though. He really liked the emo eyeliner you rocked back in high school— you’ve somehow made it sexier and Jason really did not know what to do with himself. 

A maneater, that’s what you were.

“Sooo,” you crossed your leg over the other, your thigh slit revealing just enough for Jason to peek at your thighs. 

What he would do to be trapped between—

Jesus. God, have mercy. 

“What have these idiots come up with for a program? I didn’t fly all the way from Metropolis for… a shitty time.”

Jason took a swig of wine. There was no way he was getting through the night without liquid courage. 

“Uh, beats me. I just got the email and, uh, went.”

You laugh, and holler for a waiter to approach you with drinks. “Yeah, same here. Never thought fucking Lia Elliot of all people would send me an email.”

Jason smiled, the wine kicking in. “Still got that filthy mouth of yours, huh.”

The waiter approached you, obviously eyeing you. You mouthed a quick thank you and slipped a hefty tip after accepting the drink. 

The wine glass touched your lips. Jason watched as your lips left the rim, leaving a stain. 

He wanted to bite and kiss that fucking lip, bad.

…Where in the Fifty Shades of Grey did that come from? 

“Mmh, yeah wine is nasty. Call me a barbarian, but I like beer a lot better.”

“Yeah. You and I both. I uh,” Jason swallowed a lump down his throat, ”don’t really drink wine.”

From the podium, a few people Jason had no idea who they were, talked about the generic bullshit. Ten years was a long time, everyone had changed, yada yada yada. His twenty-six year old ass was too sober to listen to them yap. 

Knocking back the wine, he hollered for the same waiter you flagged for another one. 

You nudged his arm, sipping a bit more. “Thought you didn’t drink?”

“I’m not listening to their shit sober, sweetheart.”

“Mmm, you could say that again.”

As he picked out a stronger drink that was not wine from the waiter, his brows shot up. 

You were as sly as ever, it seemed. And, if the double innuendo of you either agreeing with him, or… liking the nickname sweetheart was not to be missed, then what the hell. You had him line, hook, and sinker. 

Then and there, Jason decided he did not want to leave the hotel sober. 

As with all reunions, it was all just an excuse to get wasted in a hotel and crash at the said hotel. Mistakes were made, and forgotten came the morning sun. Only, Gotham’s top percenters were the demographic and getting wasted at the priciest hotel in the city. 

It didn’t take long for the introduction to finish, with the DJ at the ready, the reception hall was filled with young, dumb, horny people in their twenties with more money than the rest of Gotham. 

The kicker of the night of course, was how the others reacted to you being, well, hot. Immediately the guys that used to sneer your way were suddenly hounding you at the bar for drinks as a one way ticket into your pants. The women that used to bully you until graduation didn’t even hide their disdain. 

Well, it was their loss. You did learn how to eat pussy like a champ in college. And, you fucked with a strap good. 

That said, the feeling of suddenly getting the perks of pretty privilege was bittersweet from these asshats. 

You almost lost yourself in front of Jason. 

Where was this in high school?

Yeah, your hatred for these people ran bone deep. All you wanted was to get wasted, probably get laid, then fly back to Metropolis for another meeting with your clients.

What you didn’t expect however, was Jason Todd-Wayne showing up out of the blue after ten years. 

Hotter, buffer, sexier. Gone was the boyish lanky charm he sported that made girls flock to him in high school. 

Whatever. You didn’t expect much. 

(You did, you really did expect him to be normal around you and not objectify you to the extent your creepy batchmates were.)

After driving the tenth Steve away to leave you alone, you spot Jason across the bar, nursing a Corona. 

Fuck, you wanted one too. 

You slide up to the handsome fucker, a little tipsy but still coherent. 

“‘Sup, stranger.”

He was mid chug, ‘til his eyes landed on you. 

Wiping his mouth with his wrist, he coughed. 

“Want a cold one?”

“Yes please.”

One or ten bottles later, you both somehow find yourselves drunk on the dance floor amidst the sea of bodies undulating around you in a technohaze. 

In the air, Sabrina Carpenter’s Bed Chem played. Jason had long rid himself of his tuxedo jacket, giving you the wonderful eyeful of his chest. Unbuttoned just enough to give you an idea that this man, for the ten years that you had not seen each other, had gone from a pretty boy-next-door, to straight up daddy.

Oh, you weren’t even going to deny it. Jason was hot and if the night ended with him inside you, all coherent thought and consequences would be worth it. Not because you were horny— that  was true but mainly because if there was anyone in the entirety of this reunion you were not going to fully hate-fuck, it would be him. 

Maybe fifty-percent hate-fuck.

(If it became a scandal tomorrow, fuck it. Metropolis was your home anyway.)

Pushed by liquid courage and audacity, you grab Jason’s collar and pull him towards you. Even in heels, he towered over you. 

You eyed his lips, inching higher while tugging his collar down to you. You felt the heat of his intoxicated breath on yours.

“Hey.”

His voice came out across your lips as breathy, a little winded. 

You bit your lip, biting down a smirk. 

“Hey.”

Jason smelled wonderful, like sandalwood and… was that motor oil?

The image of him riding a motorcycle runs through your mind. Shit, hot.

The song slowly morphed into Sabrina’s new hit— at which you chuckled. The smooth bass and funk licks sent you into groove. When did you get hot? would live on to be a classic.

You turn around, letting go of his collar. As the beat dropped, so did you. Dragging your body down, against the hard planes of his front. It’s didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out he was interested in fucking your brains out, if the pressure you felt between his pants on the way down was anything to go by.

Somehow, in the span of a few seconds the two of you had joined the swarm of grinding bodies. Your soft hips bunched up in his grasp, and your sweet supple behind grinding into the hard expanse of his lower abdomen. Dangerously near his… light rod. (Thank you Sabrina.)

His lower abs felt delightfully solid against you rutting your behind against him— his fingers slowly massaging your love handles.

Your fingers played with the hairs at his nape, tugging a bit at the soft curls. That earned you a groan and a tighter grip.

His grip shifted from mauling your hips to the small of your back. His thumbs gently dug and ground themselves into where your tailbone was, just above your ass. 

Ooh, that felt really, really good. 

You had to fuck this man, now.

“Jason— mmm, baby?”

His voice was in your ear, his hands now running up and down your hips to the tops of your thighs. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“I need you, now.”

In a blink, you were a bridal carry and the blurry visage of the bar was getting farther and farther. 

Jason had no idea how one moment, you were riling him up so much he thought he’d go into a fucking rut, then the next you were making out in the hotel elevator on your way to the top floor. 

Pinned to the wall of the elevator, Jason ground his thigh against the heat beneath your dress, delighted at the warm sensation of your arousal. 

“Mmm, y’taste so sweet, baby.”

Your hands were lost in his locks, and you whined at the loss of his lips against yours.

“Mmh— more please.”

Jason huffed a laugh, his hands now fully gripping the expanse of your ass and molding it to his heart’s content.

“More? Baby wants more?”

Sliding his hands away from your ass, he props you up with one arm into a bridal carry. Right on cue, the elevator dings and opens.

Onto the drunken devil’s tango, it seemed. 

taglist: @roccosgirl @cinnam0ngirlxo @jasontoddsthunderthigh @burndownyourparade @miixvzzz @eatshitanddie- @toonya @sowhatifimslow

[angurvadal]

thinking about a fun oneshot… 🤭 or two shot.

pov: you’ve had a crush on jason since highschool, but being a shitty teenager included body image issues and whatnot, plus well you know the drill. bullying. so that crush died in your younger self’s poor heart

suddenly a few years later at a high school reunion everyone notices you’ve had a glow up and everything.

jason begrudgingly comes, ‘cause like therapy said so and god knows that man needs a social life outside his vigilante circle.

sooo, when jason hears his old seatmate back in ninth grade was coming, he was excited to at least have someone decent to talk to.

until his eyes land on you.

huh, when did you get hot?

edit: sup, i wrote it. read it here

scream at me if you want a part 2, or just for me to expand and deepen the world a bit more (self-esteem issues, angst and pettiness to body positivity, etc etc.) and also smut ofc ‘cause if they ever fuck, the first few times will be out of spite for MC since she’s a messy bitch and we support women’s wrongs in fiction

[angurvadal]

The Odd Tea Shop in Crime Alley

Jason Todd x Tea Shop Owner! Reader

Chapter 3: Damian V The Thirty Locks in Jason's Apartment

64.media.tumblr.com

Across the street from Jason’s apartment in Park Row, a budding sign of hope caught his eye. A simple signage: Opening Soon! Tea Brews and Books. Only, he almost fistfights the snarky tea shop owner at a book sale. Then, rescues her from a mugger as Red Hood the next day. Uncoincidentally, his family gets interested in the tea shop and plagues Jason with their existence both mask-on and mask-off. Coincidentally, said tea shop owner has the biggest crush on Red Hood. Now, how the hell was Jason supposed to compete with himself?

Originally posted here on AO3! reblogs are welcome and appreciated Full master list here!

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*･☕︎°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*･☕︎°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*･

Something was off about Todd lately.

Observation number one: his GPS location as of late was always slightly off from three in the afternoon ‘til seven thirty in the evening.

Damian had noticed during daytime patrol that Jason’s icon was slightly off by a radius of forty feet across his apartment. Barbara argued that it was just probably bad satellite signal from Park Row. Todd used less-than state of the art technology for personal use, sure. But Damian wasn’t tracking him via the Wayne Family Life360 knockoff Dick had set up. (Jason used paleolithic technology, and was therefore not included in the said tracking app.)

Nope. He was staring at the GPS they used during missions— freaking Watchtower technology. His father did not invest a good chunk of the Wayne fortune into a dedicated orbiting satellite just for Jason’s location to be off by a mere forty feet.

(Promising Barbara the results of his investigation proved a worthy price for borrowing the main tracker.)

Which led to inference one: He hung out at a location across the street.

Observation two: he smiled more. 

Now, it takes one to know one so Damian knew for a fact that they did not smile. Gloating smirks were in abundance, but not the ones that reached their eyes.

It was always in their downtime, either a notification on his fossil of a flip phone, or a random thought that made him chuckle.

Inference two: the location across the street involved a third party none of them was aware about.

Observation three: he was always in a hurry to go home. 

What was so important in Crime Alley that Jason had to leave every debriefing immediately? If there was a sudden increase in criminal activity, then yes, the leaving at a moment’s notice was valid. Only, it always coincided with afternoon to evening.

Inference three: the third party was at the location during Jason’s frequent times.

Observation four: most importantly, was the thing.

He and Duke saw it two weeks ago during the bank robbery in downtown Gotham. 

Jason Peter Todd talking to another person that wasn’t a vigilante or someone related to their line of work.

It was practically unheard of, yet Damian’s eyes never deceived him.

(Duke was talking about it for at least an hour on the way back to the manor, so it really wasn’t just him who saw and was aptly flabbergasted.)

Adding rock salt and fire to the wound, he noticed Jason as Red Hood bridal carrying the said civilian out of the crime scene. 

Now, Damian wasn’t dense. He’d seen signs from all his older brothers and father of how boys in love (he preferred the term infatuated) tended to act. Calling them out on their distractions was a thing he committed to doing, lest it saved their asses on a mission. So of course, he did his research.

F/N L/N. Age twenty-two. An urban agriculture student at Gotham State University.

Inference four: The third party was a woman around the same age as Todd.

Current hypothesis: Todd was romantically involved with the third party.

On one hand, Damian was worried about Jason spilling their identities or worse, getting attached to a liability. But on the other, he was curious. He had all the pieces he needed to figure out remotely what was up with his older brother— all he had to do was actually confirm it in person. 

Which was why he was currently breaking into Jason’s apartment.

Above his head read Apartment 102C. Park Row Suites. 

(Evidently, it wasn’t the first time he’s done this.)

It was an ongoing battle between him and Jason. He’d figure out how to break into Jason’s airtight security every now and then until he got caught, and in return Jason would up the bar.

Every. Single. Time.

Last month, Jason had a total of fifteen lock mechanisms that triggered whenever his presence wasn’t nearby.

That, was last month.

So as much as Damian claimed he was a genius, the current situation was eating away at his time because who the hell needed THIRTY locks on their subpar rundown apartment DOOR?

Now he regrets wasting an hour spying on the pinned location where Jason’s GPS suggested he was at— a measly tea shop in the smack middle of Crime Alley. All he really saw was Jason being an idiot with the said woman inside a green house.

Confirmed non-faulty GPS hypothesis? Check. 

Did he already know Jason was currently a love sick idiot purely by gut feeling? Yes. As such, his sixty minutes spying were wasted on things he already knew.

Twenty minutes had passed and he was still on lock seventeen. Last month it had only taken him about ten minutes to break into Jason’s apartment and steal from his weapon stash. (League of Assassins weapons were not allowed in the manor, as per Bruce’s most recent ban that strictly applied to Damian.)

Damian tutted, the EMP and security camera breach wore off in ten. He had to do this quickly or else he wouldn’t have the luxury of updating Todd’s files in the BatCave.

(Really, he just wanted to annoy his favorite brother to mess with.)

The lock chirred, and the door creaked open.

Twenty-three minutes, with seven minutes to spare.

Scanning the entryway of the apartment for any booby traps, he snuck in.

What greeted him in the living room was unequivocal, empirical evidence that cemented Damian’s hypothesis into law. So much so, that he didn’t have it in him to suppress the loudest facepalm he had ever done in his life.

What was the evidence?

Plants. A lot of plants.

The usual stacks of books were littered around the living room. That, Damian knew it was actually Jason’s. But plants???

The sheer transparency of how down bad his older brother was to Damian made him actually laugh.

“You... are an idiot, Todd.”

What Damian failed to realize was that most of the books scattered about the living room were in the process of being wrapped with plastic, or old books that needed rebinding.

As such, when the door to Jason’s apartment opened and Damian’s reflexes kicked in, his only option for hiding was behind a shrub.

A feminine voice echoed through the hall, “what do you mean you haven’t played Stardew Valley?”

“I prefer reading.”

“Boo. Get a life, nerd.”

Soft footsteps on the carpeted floor approached Damian’s hiding spot. Stealthily, he moved to the back of the couch near the window, taking advantage of the fact that Jason was distracted by their conversation.

Normally, windows were the optimal solution to escaping apartment break-ins.

Except this was Jason’s apartment, which meant Jason’s windows also had airtight locks that took forever to open. So, all he could do was wait for an opportunity to sneak out the corner, roll to the front door, and successfully complete the infiltration. 

———

Something was off about the apartment.

Jason couldn’t put a finger on it, but something was definitely wrong.

After a week or two of you dragging him over to the green house-slash-roof top of your place, he figured it would be nice to let you into his for once.

Hugging a pile of unwrapped books to your chest, you walked to the center of his living room.

“See! Now your place doesn’t look like an asylum anymore.”

He raised a brow at you, “yeah. Now it looks like a mess.”

Plopping your rump onto the carpet, you pat the open space beside you as if you owned the place. “Sit, sit!”

Sitting down, he sighed. “Have you forgotten who actually owns this place?”

He looked at you and had to stifle down a laugh at the sight of you sniffing down a leaf.

“The fuck are you doing?”

“Oh, yeah. That’s definitely Gabriela.”

“Who?”

“The rose bush I gave you.”

“She has a name?”

“And? So naming animals and people is fine but we draw the line at plants?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a sneeze.

A sneeze that did not come from either of you.

Slowly, you turn your head towards Jason. Eyes wide open, and clearly frightened. 

“Um, ghosts don’t sneeze… right…”

Swiftly, Jason approached the origin of the sound with a taser in tow.

A pair of angry forest green eyes met his own.

(He should have known it was Damian, the kid wasn’t as subtle as the rest of them yet.)

He turned off the taser, “hmm. Seems like a rat problem.”

To that, Damian indignantly defended himself. “I am not a rat!”

“Don’t give me a reason to throw you out the window, kid.”

Your head popped up behind Jason’s shoulder for a second due to your stature not even reaching his shoulder.

“Daaamn, you didn’t tell me you had a wholeass kid.”

Two phrases were uttered at once, “I don’t.”; “I am not his child!”

Giving the little brat room to breathe, the both of you step back. Damian stood up and dusted off his jeans and hoodie.

“The hell are you doing here, Damian?”

Damian eyed the oblivious civilian beside him. Pointedly, he gave Jason a vague response.

“Pennyworth and Titus send their regards.”

Jason’s fingers shot up to his temples. This fucking child…

“And you had to send them yourself…?”

“It was imperative that I did it in their stea—”

“I don’t really care— alright I, will let this slide once,” Jason crossed his arms, staring down the four-foot something child crouched in the corner of his apartment, “if you call Alfred to fetch you and get your ass out of here.”

You suddenly pipe up beside Jason, “hey! You’re gonna kick out a kid?”

Jason received a shit-eating grin from the devil incarnate beneath him.

“Clearly,” Damian wove through the two of you towards the kitchen, “she is the voice of reason between the two of you.”

Jason sent you an exasperated look. “You have no idea how much of a pain that brat is.”

You glanced at the kid who was currently perusing through Jason’s pantry.

“He couldn’t possibly be worse than me, Jason.”

“...F/N. He doesn’t have the keys to my place.”

“...”

Jason nodded solemnly at your silence.

“...You know what?” You shrugged, and left to join the gremlin in the pantry, “if the kid knows how to break into houses, then at least he has a passion.”

Jason had to blink twice, look around his apartment to ensure he wasn’t the weird one, then reluctantly follow behind. 

———

The kid was a menace.

Which was fine— god created all mortals in net equilibrium.

That also meant that Jason had to be the voice of reason within his apartment radius, because it sure as hell was neither you, nor the kid who liked to talk like a pompous ass and was observing the shrubbery. 

“This plant smells like a fungus infestation waiting to happen.”

The kid was nine, (shocker). You learned that his name was Damian, and he was Jason’s kind-of younger brother. 

“Check again, kid. It’s probably not the plant.” Teasingly, you pointed towards his armpits.

Damian’s eyes gaped, and quickly sniffed his pits. Then, he ran to Jason’s bathroom.

Jason whistled behind you, “ya’ got him good.”

After the two of you had ransacked Jason’s pantry (stale bread, cheetos, and bottles of water) you swung over to your place to get actual food. You had left-over coconut and sweet potato soup which should pair well with Jason’s… borderline dubious bread.

The soup was now rotating inside Jason’s microwave. A sight the both of you were staring at like idiots. 

“You sure Damian’s gonna eat this?”

“The two of you eat more fiber than the rest of the American populace on average,” Jason leaned on his kitchen counter, “of course he’ll eat your vegan stew.”

You let out a sigh of relief. “I’m glad.”

“You’re clearly putting too much thought into it.”

“Well, vegans and vegetarians get bad rep.” You shrugged, shoving your arms into Jason’s used oven mitts. “What kind of shop owner would I be if I didn’t put much thought into it?”

“A cost-efficient one.”

“There you go again with your profits.”

A younger voice propped from behind you. “The demand for veganism is quite lucrative, L/N. It would be wise to cater to it.”

Smelling like he blasted Jason’s perfume onto his shirt, Damian comfortably sat on the kitchen counter.

“I could promote your business to Father—”

“No.” Jason’s voice rang out clear and stern. “Leave the old man out of this.”

Huh. Daddy issues.

Noted.

“Once again,” Damian’s line of sight trailed your arms that held the steaming hot soup, “your inaptitude reaches new heights, Todd.”

“You are five words away from me kicking you out.”

“As if breaking in is a challenge.”

You choked out a laugh, “you know, maybe don’t bite the hand that feeds you, Damian.”

Pushing a bowl of warm soup in front of him, you ruffle his hair. “It might come in handy one day.”

Tucking yourself into the kitchen counter, you push a bowl towards Jason and take the remainder for yourself. Beside you, Jason quietly thanks you and eats.

———

The meal went by quietly, until it was about time you had to leave. You had said your goodbyes— hugging the both of them much to Damian’s chagrin, and crossed the street to your shop.

(The longing stare Jason sent your way when you walked away did not get past Damian’s discerning eye.)

Remembering his original purpose of visit, he peered down to look at his watch.

Smug as a bear, he grinned at the sight of the numbers seven and thirty on his wrist. 

Previous hypothesis proven: Todd was romantically involved with a third party.

Post hypothesis addendum: The third party had absolutely no idea.

“She is a sufficient partner, Todd. You have my approval.”

Jason stares at the younger boy like he grew two heads. 

“No idea what you’re talking about, buddy.”

“She’s a bit of an airhead, but is clearly competent in other ways.”

Jason leaves him behind, walking towards the apartment complex. He follows suit, preening at his astute judgement.

“I don’t think you broke in here just to comment on my social life, Damian.”

They enter Jason’s apartment just near the entry way, and Damian smirks infuriatingly.

“Debatable.”

“Does anyone know that you’re here?”

“Thomas received a note.”

The door clicks behind them, suddenly the whole apartment blinks red.

WARNING. WARNING. WARNING. INTRUDER.

Jason quickly shuts off the alarm system via the centrifuge, and the regular lights come back on. They share an awkward glance, while Damian drags the soles of his shoes.

“Your lockpicking is still ass.”

“Thievery is the antithesis to heroism, hence my lack of competence.”

“So is breaking and entering, Dames. Yet here we are.”

Suddenly, Jason’s phone rings. Leaning back on his door, he flips it open and is greeted by Duke’s caller ID. He pressed the keypad to answer.

“Duke?”

“Is Damian with you right now?”

He glares at the brat who was now perfectly sitting on the couch.

“Yeah, why?”

“He’s been missing since this morning and Alfred was panicking— dude I just came back from patrol and found this sticky note underneath my bed.”

Damian’s ears twitched.

“It says and I quote, Crime Alley— investigating a potential threat.”

“...Tell Alfred to pick him up at the address I’ll send you. Not a word to Bruce, alright?”

“Gotcha. Thanks.”

A beep and two sent text messages pass. Jason’s neck then turned to Damian all chuckie-esque.

“You’re lucky Bruce is out with the league, or he’ll definitely have your head.”

“A calculated risk. The Batcave’s archives will thank me.”

Jason’s eyes turned into slits, glaring into Damian’s thick skull hard.

“If I catch you one more time snooping the fuck around in my apartment,” Jason dials a caller ID that struck fear into each and every one of the bats, “I’m calling Dick.”

On his Nokia flip phone, in all his pixelated glory, was Dick’s caller ID. Damian paled.

“Leave Grayson out of this—”

Jason’s buzzer-like doorbell rang through. Through the peephole, Alfred’s familiar silhouette was distorted in the fish lens. Huh, that was quicker than anticipated. It seemed like Alfred was already actively searching for Damian by car. 

“Next time, just use the doorbell like a normal person Damian— and just please give me a heads up.”

He opened the door, and let out a small, genuine smile.

“Hey Alf, I got a little something for you.”

Almost as quick as the Flash, Damian barreled right into Alfred’s arms.

“Master Damian, if you insist upon acting like a savage then I will leave you out to the wolves like one.”

Amidst the kerfuffle that was Damian Wayne, Alfred sent Jason a fond smile.

“It is good to see you my boy.”

Jason leaned on the doorway, returning the smile.

“Well, now you know where to find me.”

A knowing glance was shared.

Alfred chuckled, “quite indeed.”

The barrage of bickering between the youngest Wayne and their godfather as they made their way to the car sent a little mirth down Jason’s throat.

Shaking his head, he walked back to his apartment, savoring whatever was left of that mirth before returning back to his solitude. As exhausting as that was, he kind of missed it. 

Home.

tag list: @sowhatifimslow request to be tagged here!

[angurvadal]

The Bloom Knot

No Capes! Soulmates AU - Professor! Jason Todd x Damian’s Best friend! Reader

Track 6: Scene Two - Roger Rabbit by Sleeping With Sirens

Getting into Gotham U with Damian and Jon was supposed to be the best thing that had ever happened to you. Moving into the Wayne Manor and meeting the whole family was supposed to be the least of your problems. You just had to get soul bound to Damian’s older brother Jason— a professor at Gotham U by accident, didn’t you?

reblogs are welcome and appreciated! (Originally posted on AO3 here!) (Full playlist here!)

˗ˊˎ♬ ◁ || ▷ ♬ˎˊ˗ ♬ ◁ || ▷ ♬ˎˊ˗ ♬ ◁ || ▷ ♬ˎˊ˗

Rolling away from you was the pencil you kept flicking outward. 

Flick, then pause. The pencil returns— flick, then pause.

If only you could get a PhD in flicking pencils; a hobby developed by you in order to regain some sense of sanity to what you were doing. Rapping at the imaginary door in your mind for any working neurons was the task at hand that you were miserably failing at. You stared at what was once a pristine yellow-pad paper, now filled with graphite smudge marks due to your nth attempt at the integral in front of you. 

You bent forward— oh, what you would give to be with Jon, Damian, and the others at the pep rally right now on your campus. Being surrounded by the entire student body, all sweaty and loud watching the biggest game of the year. Did you care about collegiate football? No, but anywhere else was sweeter in comparison to a hell such as this. You couldn’t afford to flunk another test— ninety percent or higher on each exam was the only way to salvage your scholarship. 

Picking your pencil up from Bruce’s carpeted floor, you sighed and stared at the vast expanse of the Wayne Manor’s library. 

Mulling it over in your head, you run through the step-by-step process of integrating partial fractions again in your head. Split the denominator by… parts? Then find the corresponding numerator. 

It sounded simple, really. By the way your block mates talked about the topic, they made it look easy. But somehow, the allegedly easiest topic had you stumped. Integration by parts, trigonometric identities and whatnot were easy— heck, trigonometric substitution was something you already had under the bag (thank FUCK you could get through it via memorization), but self-study could only get you so far.

You stared at the formula sheet on your laptop. A over x minus a plus B over x minus b. Another, px plus q over x minus a squared— what the fuck were you supposed to do with these forms? Asking for help from your block mates who already didn’t like talking to you was not an option, so you were stumped. Goodbye remaining twenty percent of your exam, goodbye scholarship.

Your laptop stared back at you, a job it did pretty well for the past five hours of you trying to make sense of your calculus modules. You had read the book, which did not help much. You stared at all possible websites online, nothing helped. 

If you flicked hard enough, what would become of the pencil? You wagered it would fly off the desk, either yet again to the floor or to the table next to you. If it was a strong enough flick with the right upward angle, the pencil would not enter free fall but rather land on the desk—

“Ya’ gotta split the denominator by factors, sweetheart.”

You froze; not daring to look up— not wanting to see what you assumed to be teal greens filled with mirth. Taking in a deep breath, you feigned disinterest.

“The hell are you doing here, nerd? There’s a big game today.” 

You took your pencil, and flipped it eraser down. Tapping the butt on the yellow paper, you waited for an answer.

“Oh, college football is Bruce and Dick’s thing.” You felt his presence hover behind you, probably peeping over your shoulder to look at your coursework. 

”I, however, really don’t give a fuck about that shit.”

Giving in, you turned around and eyed him head to toe. It was the middle of autumn, so jeans and a green hoodie were not out of the ordinary.

“Well, color me surprised. You’d fit right in— physically. Your brain, however, would stick out like a sore thumb.”

“What? Can’t a football player read literature?”

You both stared at each other, blinking. He sent you a challenging stare— making you giggle. 

“Nerd.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“You’re not into the whole school spirit thing?”

“Not really my thing, no.”

You and me both, you thought. You turned back to your work, “what are you doing here, anyway? Thought you had grad school on the weekends.”

He pulled out a seat, the one beside you and sat down. “Yeah. And I need a copy of Dubliners and other James Joyce books for a class, which I don’t.” 

He rested his arm on the work table, chin-and-cheek-in-palm and a tired smile dancing on his face. 

“So, here I am.”

A small crack in his upper lip, no— it was a scar. His hair was freshly cropped, a short undercut with stupidly gorgeous bangs that framed his face perfectly. God, it was criminal how pretty he was.

You slightly scooted away, uncomfortable by the intrusive thoughts this man brought to your mind. Shifting your thoughts, you forcibly refocus yourself to think about integrating partial fractions again in your head. Split the denominator by factors, then—

You felt him scoot closer, “nah wait, if I remember this right ya’ haf’ta—” he tapped a factor you listed on the paper, “make the numerator of this into Cx plus D.”

You squinted, “why?”

“‘Cause the factor’s a trinomial with an x-squared and an x.”

“…Right.” 

You squinted at the paper again, not fully wrapping your head around Jason’s explanation. 

Jason sighed beside you, “do ya have a spare pencil?”

You smiled, reaching into your backpack. “That, I do.”

Alfred knew the young miss of the household was cooped up all day in the manor’s library, a fact Damian would not let him forget. A few minutes ago, the young master sent him a text message reminding him to feed the idiot in the library. He needed not to be told once nor twice, and was about to bring some cookies and tea for you, seeing as you had been at it since this morning. It was four in the afternoon and he figured he’d bring you something to munch at and replenish your brain. 

The library was situated near the garden, something he noted you enjoyed greatly. Alfred let out a chuckle— you really were similar to Jason after all.

Peering into the library, he quietly nudged the door open to see if he’d disturb you with his presence. Alfred felt his eyes and brows perk up at the sight of you and Jason hunched over the table, animatedly discussing whatever topic it was that was occupying your brains at the moment. He leaned in to listen.

“You son of a bitch— that actually worked!”

A deep laugh— Jason’s, echoed. “Yeah, engineers really do love their shortcuts. Way more efficient than y’all in the sciences, I bet.”

Alfred heard a huff, most likely from you, then a laugh. “So you came from the engineering department?”

“Yep. Mechanical.”

A low whistle rang through the quiet halls of the library, “what made you… shift?”

“I liked cars, motorcycles, and books. But I couldn’t see myself working in the automobile industry, y’know? Teaching the stuff wasn’t… alluring either.”

A beat passed, Alfred held his breath. 

“I took a class, a literature elective, to satisfy some units all the while working two jobs—”

“Two?!”

Alfred heard his boy chuckle, “yeah. Part time at Talia’s, then as a mechanic. Repairing busted cars and bikes. I didn’t go full load per semester, really. Just took stuff I felt like taking.”

“Sounds tiring.”

“Sure was, but it gave me time to think. Two semesters in, I got into this really crazy literature class— the professor taught world literature but in a post-colonial way. Instead of teaching stuff like Greek Myths to Fitzgerald and other dead white men, the fucker started from Europe then ditched all white-adjacent literature. Books from places I wouldn’t have dreamed of reading— they all just fell on my lap. Thus, I followed my heart—” a distinct ow, possibly a jab from you, “ugh— that hurt you fucken’ gremlin. Anyway, I followed my gut and now I’m here.”

Another beat passed, “is that where you got The God of Small Things?”

Alfred heard his boy stutter, “uh, well, uh yeah cause ya see—“

Smiling, the old butler pushed the doors open, seeing it was a good point in time to send in refreshments. 

“Miss L/N, Master Jason, stirring up quite the trouble this afternoon I presume?”

“Alf!” The boy of six-and-twenty practically leaped up from his chair to give his pseudo-grandfather a hug. “Great timing!” He looked at the tea and cookies, “you don’t mind if I have one of those?”

“Help yourself, sir. Although I brought these with Miss L/N in mind— I do hope this is enough for the both of you?”

You beamed at the elder man, “thanks, Alfred. I hope this wasn’t a bother.”

He placed the tea set with cookies on the work table, “not at all. It certainly is a good diversion from the usual tasks Master Bruce has for me on the daily.”

Alfred looked at the scribblings on your papers while you and Jason took some cookies for yourself.

“Before I go,” Alfred tapped a boxed answer on the paper, “this is an indefinite integral, is it not? You missed the arbitrary constant here.”

With that, he picked up the tray and walked towards the exit of the hall.

Jason met your bewildered eyes, stifling a laugh. “Oh yeah, Alf tutored me way back then. He’s still as sharp as the day Bruce took me in.”

You groaned, “your whole family is nuts. None of my folks back in either Metropolis or Jump City have any clue of what I’m majoring in. I’m going in blind, which fucks me up a lot of the time.”

He nudged you gently, “hey, didn’t I tell ya I failed calc twice? You’re doin’ good sweetheart. Put in a little more hours and you’ll salvage that scholarship— I promise.”

Both of you fell into a comfortable silence, sipping tea and eating cookies. 

“Hey, Jason?”

“Yeah?”

“You didn’t have to help me out, but you still did so, thank you.”

“Anytime, F/N.”

Behind the door, the elder man smiled. How long has it been since he had heard such an exchange in the library— the faint memory of Bruce and Jason studying quickly ebbs onto the surface of Alfred’s mind. Oh, how time flies.

With that thought, he wheeled his pastry cart away from the library, leaving the two dancing figures huddled in both intellectual pursuit and cozy company. 

˗ˊˎ♬ ◁ || ▷ ♬ˎˊ˗ ♬ ◁ || ▷ ♬ˎˊ˗ ♬ ◁ || ▷ ♬ˎˊ

tag list: @toonya request to be tagged here!

[angurvadal]

it's weird to write back and forth for the odd tea shop and the bloom knot because they're so... tonally different? like i have to summon every snarky and funny bone in my body to write that fic.

for the odd tea shop-- if the sentence isn't either funny or witty, i just end up not keeping it in which makes the prose more... simple, succinct if you will. for the bloom knot-- building up the sentences are crazy, it feels like i'm slowing untangling a vine that eventually unravels and just comes clean at the end of the chapter. they're both my darlings anyways, and are at the end of the day, just me making my eleven-year crush (and counting!) on jason todd productive and useful HAHA

[angurvadal]

The Odd Tea Shop in Crime Alley [FULL MASTERLIST]

Jason Todd x Tea Shop Owner! Reader

64.media.tumblr.com

Across the street from Jason’s apartment in Park Row, a budding sign of hope caught his eye. A simple signage: Opening Soon! Tea Brews and Books. Only, he almost fistfights the snarky tea shop owner at a book sale. Then, rescues her from a mugger as Red Hood the next day. Uncoincidentally, his family gets interested in the tea shop and plagues Jason with their existence both mask-on and mask-off. Coincidentally, said tea shop owner has the biggest crush on Red Hood. Now, how the hell was Jason supposed to compete with himself?

Originally posted here on AO3!

Chapter 1: Meet-Cutes Don't Usually End in Fistfights, Right?

Chapter 2: The Three Times Red Hood Had to Save The Odd Tea Shop Owner

Chapter 3: Damian V The Thirty Locks in Jason's Apartment

Chapter 4: Gotham's Number One Vigilante Prefers Earl Grey

Future chapters to be added!

[angurvadal]

The Odd Tea Shop in Crime Alley

Jason Todd x Tea Shop Owner! Reader

Chapter 2: The Three Times Red Hood Had to Save The Odd Tea Shop Owner

Across the street from Jason’s apartment in Park Row, a budding sign of hope caught his eye. A simple signage: Opening Soon! Tea Brews and Books. Only, he almost fistfights the snarky tea shop owner at a book sale. Then, rescues her from a mugger as Red Hood the next day. Uncoincidentally, his family gets interested in the tea shop and plagues Jason with their existence both mask-on and mask-off. Coincidentally, said tea shop owner has the biggest crush on Red Hood. Now, how the hell was Jason supposed to compete with himself?

Originally posted here on AO3! reblogs are welcome and appreciated Full master list here!

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*･☕︎°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*･☕︎°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*･

You, out of all people, were currently being mugged. 

You, who was carrying a huge box of tea leaves, was yanked into a dilapidated corner a block away from your shop. All of this for fucking tea leaves. 

Deadass. Dried. Leaves. 

Have the crooks in Park Row devolved so much (thank you Red Hood) that idiots seriously thought any parcel-looking box was worth something?

Pinned against the wall, you were honestly more annoyed than scared due to the sheer stupidity of this… mugging. 

Said crook was copping a feel for your pockets that had literally nothing in them since you always left your phone and wallet back at home. Really, this godfucked crook should be scared for their life— you were no stranger to yanking out PVC pipes out of the alley and becoming a living hazard and by extension, a fucking problem. 

“Like I said you goddamn idiot,” you grumbled, “even if you strip me naked I have nothing on me. Nada.”

The crook grunted in reply, but still continued to pat you down. It was almost funny, you figured you’d let them go once they’ve decided your worth was nothing. 

That was until you felt their hands snake somewhere you were sure was not for robbing purposes. Your reflexes kicked in, your pinned wrists yanking them off balance. Just as you were about to knee them in the crotch, their grip loosened and you were free. 

Confused, you turn around to look at the petty thief. Only, the petty thief wasn’t the only person present in this dim corner. 

“You alright?”

Tall. Huge. Smelled like motor oil and a gun fetish. 

You had to blink a few times to really make sure you weren’t hallucinating. You looked up from eye-view level (the red angular bat-symbol was really cool up close) to see what you were expecting— a shiny red helmet.

Discreetly, you pinch your arm. Ow— okay you were definitely not dreaming. Red Hood had somehow stealthily creeped up on both of you and knocked out the creep in two seconds flat.

“Um.” Your voice croaked— real smooth, F/N. You swallowed and cleared your throat. 

“Yeah, uh, thank you Red Hood.”

Beside him, the crook laid knocked out on the ground beside your box of tea. Quickly, you rush to your beloved box of tea leaves.

Fuck fuck FUCK it’s actually him. Santa’s finally unloading twenty years worth of presents on me today. 

Behind you, a modulated voice under the helmet pried. “You need help with that?”

“Nope. Thanks.” 

As swift as the wind, nearly tripping over yourself, you rush back home— not giving Red Hood the chance to offer anything else. 

Slamming the door, a faint kla-kling from the disgruntled door chimes wrang through the quiet air of your shop. You slumped to the floor and stared at the fairy lights that encroached your ceiling.

Your caged heart thumped rapidly in your chest. 

Red Hood saved you.

You hid your head in your hands and squealed. 

———

This time a few days later, you were just fresh off the last train for the day. You had some errands in the city between juggling setting up the shop and attending classes only left weekends free. 

Only, you got a little bit carried away by the night market. Just a bit. 

You dejectedly look at the new butterfly pea vines in your hands and sighed.

Okay, you were fighting bone and teeth with a pompous rich Gotham Heights girl for this really beautiful vine that needed a home— hey, anyone should always expect a fight at bargain stores.  Especially when the store practically had your name on it. 

Also, your third floor outside the green house could really use some color. And, it was basically more fresh tea for you and the shop.

Now, who in the right mind would rob you, in grubby overalls, a tired face caked with soil, and three bags of plants? The answer: a truly blind, or just plain dumb mugger. 

Again, against all odds and protective foliage in your grasp, you were now held at gun point for your wallet. A wallet that had two cents left, no thanks to your plant haul. 

“I,” you stared up at the black beanie with cut out holes for eyes, “am flat out broke, dude. Rob someone else— somewhere else! No one has money in these streets. Do you even know where you are???”

Slowly, you grabbed your coin purse that didn’t even make a sound anymore, and shook out two cents that fell to the ground. 

“See?” You threw the small pouch to his chest, not breaking eye contact. “Broke. I, should be mugging you.”

From behind you, an actual gunshot rang out. Black beanie did not stick around to see who took a shot in his direction, and fled the scene. 

You looked towards the origin of the sound. Once again, the strong smell of motor oil and gas hit your nostrils. 

Fuck. 

“...You alright?”

You scowled, “yep. Thanks. Again.”

Picking up your empty coin purse, ten contingency plans run through your head just to escape this guy. 

“I could walk you home, ma’am.”

You felt your eyes bugging out from your skull. 

F/N. No. Bad.

You blink away the surprise in your expression and wave him off. “I’ll, um, I’ll be fine, Mister Hood. Thanks— again.”

Faster than the crook that attempted to mug you, your legs walked the fastest they had ever towards your safe space. On the way home, however, the biggest smile graced your lips. You hugged the plants in your arms tighter. 

Red Hood saved you, again. 

If you were any more confident, you would’ve struck up a conversation or invited him over for tea. But right now, you were a flushed and bubbling mess that needed to lay down and scream into your pillow. 

———

Whoever invented the term three times the charm was a genius, in Jason’s opinion. 

Today’s menu of crooks to school included a bank robbery. Said robbery was across Gotham— far from Park Row, which meant overlap with the turf of other vigilantes in town.

Now, Jason normally didn’t go out of his way to tag-team with Robin and Signal, but Damian had called in a favor and Jason was a man of his word. 

Tuning out the demon brat’s rambles was almost an automatic feature to Jason’s ears. All it took to trigger it was any mention of Bruce. 

(Damian took thirty sweet minutes on their way to blast Jason’s ear off on how solving this case before Bruce does would get the latter's approval. Duke was honestly just happy to see Jason.)

Any matter that dealt with Bruce was honestly beyond him— he’s held that firm for years by now.

Although, the bank’s involvement in a recent embezzlement case smelled like clues that pointed to a certain someone he’s been tracking all these years. So really, Damian was doing him a favor on any leads on Cobblepot.

Coincidentally, you were there at the bank. 

At the same time the robbery occurred. 

Which led to the current situation of Red Hood being unable to reign in his humor as he struck up a conversation with a very much tied-up you.

“...Heh.”

Oh, the scalding hot glare you sent his way was well worth it. 

“You alri—”

“What. Do you think.”

He went to your side and began cutting up the rope that held your arms tied to the chair. 

“Dunno, you seem like the type to be used to this.”

A yelp left his voicebox— he stared at your defiant face. 

The fucker (you), kicked him in the goddamn shin. 

“Fuck you.”

He stopped cutting, and crouched to your eye-level. 

“Do you want my help, or not?”

Like a lighter doused with water, all the fight in you vanished. 

“...Please.”

(You looked like a cute seal that was sulking, and Jason didn’t know what to do with that information.)

“Hn. Good girl.”

Your face bloomed red— probably with anger. Jason noted how your tenacious spunk varied between people, but nevertheless was present wherever you went. 

He normally liked to be efficient. Quick, no motions wasted. 

Normally. 

Today was actually a slow day since it seemed like Cobblepot wasn’t the one running this specific heist. You were also one of four hostages (the others being handled by Damian and Duke). 

So, he took his sweet, sweet time cutting the ropes. 

“Could you get any slower, Mister Hood?”

“Nah, this is my limit.” Jason tore through the rope that bound your torso, now it was just your thighs and wrists left. 

You stretched your arms to no avail since they were bound behind you— which earned Jason a frustrated groan in his ear. He chuckled at your misery, this was payback for talking his ear off the other day in the green house. 

“So,” Jason cut through the last of the rope that bound your thighs, “how’s your week been?”

You blew a bang off your face. “Terrible. I’ve seen you thrice in the last seven days, Mister Hood. Don’t you think that’s pretty alarming for someone like me?”

Jason gingerly sawed through the rope near your wrists, making sure to not scratch your hands. 

“That’s ‘cause you disappear before I could offer to take you home— wherever that is.”

Right, right. Red Hood persona meant he didn’t know where you lived. This was going to be a hassle to manage. 

“I live in Park Row, it’s not as if I’m a mugger magnet on purpose,” you grumbled. 

Well, there goes that problem. At least your place of residence wasn’t going to be a pain in the neck. Jason almost let out a chuckle as you continued to defend yourself.

“I can normally handle myself.”

“Suuuure. So, same time and place next week?”

Cutting the last fiber that bound your wrists, Jason took a step back to let you stand up. Which you did, quickly. Just as quick, you were suddenly toppling over. 

With the lightning reflexes engrained into Jason’s inner workings, he immediately caught you with one arm. 

“Yeaaaah, being dehydrated does that to you.” Jason winced, feeling your slow breathing while hunched over his arm.

He looked over to Robin and Signal’s end. Seeing that they were mostly dealing with the GCPD and dealing the crooks away to BlackGate, he decided it was best he turned and left. 

“Brace yourself.”

“Wha—”

In a blink, Jason hefted you up in a bridal carry and walked towards the back exit of the bank, not bothering to say goodbye to the two younger bats. 

“Did you bring anything with you?”

He peered down to look at you, not expecting to be greeted by your red, dumbstruck expression. 

“Uh, hello?” He waved a gloved hand repeatedly in front of your face, “you good?”

You blinked twice, then bit on your cheek. 

“I’ve got an envelope by the counter, I think.”

Gently, Jason approached the counter to get the said envelope. All the while, thoughts swam through his head. He felt himself falter a bit while recollecting his thoughts. Specifically your… negative reception towards Red Hood’s actions for you the past few days. He figured he wasn’t as popular as Red Robin or Nightwing in that sense so it just may be that you didn’t like Red Hood. 

(It’s been a few years since his truce with Bruce and the no-killing rule reinstalled— of course, the public didn’t know that.)

On the bright side, you seemed to like him as pure plain Jason. Which honestly? That was more than enough for him. But before his mind could catch up to his mouth, he blurted out an off-comment. 

“I apologize if it wasn’t me you were expecting to save you, Nightwing and Red Robin are currently out of Gotham.”

He hefted you up, and approached his bike just on the curb leading to the bank. In his arms, you suddenly wrap your arms around his shoulders, and hide your face just behind his ear. 

“I’m sorry— I just…” you buried your face further into his collar, “you find me in the worst possible scenarios ever and I- um, sorry…”

Bewilderment ran through Jason. And the scent of vanilla wafting off you invading his scent receptors. 

In front of his bike, he plopped you down to the ground. He offered his arm to steady you. 

Just as he was about to open the compartment in his bike to hand you a spare helmet, you tugged on his sleeve. 

(You really liked to do that, huh.)

“...ome over for tea, please.”

Jason blinked underneath his helmet. 

“...Come again?”

“Come over for tea!” You turned away from him bashfully, kicking non-existent gravel at your feet. “...Please? To uh, repay you for saving me. Thrice.”

It didn’t matter that it was just then that Jason realized how dolled up and pretty you were. You could have worn burnt rags for all he cared. It only took one. Just one pleading look from you and he was a goner. 

Jason latched on to your adorable expression like bait. 

Hook, line, and sinker. 

———

Today was a scenario ripped straight out of your fantasies. 

One, you were saved by the Red Hood and he actually remembered who you were.

Two, despite hating the damsel in distress trope, the bank robbery fiasco was the only time you actually felt like a damsel in need of a vigilante’s help, and honestly? You weren’t mad about it.

Three, you got to ride Red Hood’s bike.

You rode his bike. Holy fucking shit.

At first, you wanted to be polite and not hug the guy that just bridal-carried you out of a bank.

(Wait–oh god he actually carried you like you were nothing.) The plan was to hold on tight to the handle-like grooves at the back of the motorcycle. 

You were hit with a you really think that’s safe? (No, but it at least left room for Jesus, and it wasn’t going to stir your butterfly-infested insides to madness.)

He quipped with a quick suit yourself, then accelerated like he was the one who robbed the bank. In seconds, your hands flew from the back of the motorcycle to his solid torso. 

Faintly, you felt his chest vibrating— he was laughing at you. Which gnawed at your brain for the rest of the ride to Park Row.

Smash cut to the both of you entering the tea shop. Rushing to the kitchen, you instinctively reached out for your tisane cabinet— you desperately needed to ground yourself. You didn’t care that a vigilante was in your shop— hell, freaking Batman could show up at the shop for all you cared. All you needed right now was to brew some tea to get yourself together.

Blankly, you boiled water and stared into the abyss.

Behind you, a modulated voice rang throughout your kitchen. 

“Should I be worried that you’re going non-verbal on me, doll?”

You blink, and quickly psych yourself into normalcy again.

“Sorry, uh,” you turn down the whistling kettle to a low boil, “I kinda frazzled out. I need tea in my system to function.”

You pointed towards your couch on the other end of the second floor, not really that separated from your kitchen. “You can sit there and wait, Mister Hood.”

From the corner of your vision, you watch him get comfy and manspread on your couch.

Yep. That image was going straight into the fantasies bin.

“Do you uh,” you rummaged through your pantry for the basics— coconut milk, dried assam, cinnamon bark, cardamom, dried ginger, cloves, nutmeg, star anise, all but peppercorn was within your grasp for Chai tea. “Do you drink tea?”

Red Hood pointed towards his helmet.

“As long as you’re not staring, or have any security cameras lying around that will capture my face, then yes.” He swung a leg over his knee, “I drink tea.”

This man was singlehandedly going to give you a heart attack, the worst part was that he wasn’t even trying.

As you look for your peppercorn, Red Hood strikes up conversation from across the rooms.

“So you run a tea shop?”

Absent-mindedly, you bump your head on your spices shelf. To that, in a second Red Hood was immediately at your side.

“I’ll look for whatever you need.”

Rubbing your head, you chuckled and thanked him. Them. Although you were pretty sure Red Hood was a guy, you didn’t want to assume.

“Um, I need peppercorn for Chai please.”

He hummed, although modulated humming sounded weird. “Aren’t these for the shop? You’re wasting your money on me, doll. It also kind of defeats the purpose of having a shop in the first place.”

You shook your head, “well, I haven’t officially opened just yet. Even so, profit isn’t really a concern of mine for the shop…”

Pulling out a bag of peppercorn on the top shelf, he hands it to you then hits you with a question.

“What kind of shop owner doesn’t concern themselves with profit?”

You take the spice bag and return to the counter where you’ve laid out your chopping board.

“The stupid kind, like me.”

Rolling up your sleeves, you quickly chop and ground the spices.

“Like, I’ve heard it all by now. Why Park Row? Why a tea shop? Surely there were better options elsewhere.”

You open a drawer and pat blindly for a tea bag, then dump all the spices into it.

“That’s the thing that never sat right with me. No one stayed— no one believed that Park Row— home, could get better.”

You turn the kettle off then grab a saucepan for Chai. In the pot, all the spices and cream bubbled into a heavenly aroma that hugged the whole floor into warmth.

“I’ve lived most of my whole life here. Sure it’s one of the gnarliest places in Gotham, but really, isn’t that true for all of Gotham?”

For a moment, you and the vigilante sat on your couch (again) existed in silence. Only the faint boil of your saucepan was heard amongst you.

“Gotham’s rich get to enjoy the finer things in life— cars, skyscrapers, education, nutritious food that people on a minimum wage or less could only dream of eating once in their lives.”

Three rapid ticks on your gas stove and Jason knew you were almost finished brewing the tea.

“So, what’s the harm in opening an odd tea shop in Crime Alley? Two dollars for a full kettle of tea, and another two for warm bread and soup.”

With the experience of probably years Jason didn’t know you had, you poured the tea onto mismatching cups and laid them on chipped saucers. Confident strides towards him on the couch— you were no amateur to the tea shop world, it seemed. Two cups steamed in front of him, all while you made your way to the old and patched love seat beside the couch.

“Though, I guess only a crazy person would think a warm stomach instead of a hungry one was more than enough profit.”

A voice rang through Jason’s head, a voice that hadn’t really visited him all these years since Bruce took him in.

A warm stomach is always better than an empty one, son.

For once, Jason smiled openly under the hood.

“Hn. Not all heroes wear capes, huh.”

He took the cup in his gloved hands, hugging his palms with tender warmth that seemed to be in abundance whenever he was with you.

You smiled— a gentle one that Jason hadn’t seen on you.

“Nope, some of us choose to wear aprons and farmer hats rather than a bat-symbol and a mask.”

To that, a toast was made in the low light of your humble kitchen.

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[angurvadal]

The Bloom Knot

No Capes! Soulmates AU - Professor! Jason Todd x Damian’s Best friend! Reader

Getting into Gotham U with Damian and Jon was supposed to be the best thing that had ever happened to you. Moving into the Wayne Manor and meeting the whole family was supposed to be the least of your problems. You just had to get soul bound to Damian’s older brother Jason— a professor at Gotham U by accident, didn’t you?

reblogs are welcome and appreciated! (Originally posted on AO3 here!) (Full playlist here!)

Track 5: Planet Telex by Radiohead ˗ˊˎ♬ ◁ || ▷ ♬ˎˊ˗ ♬ ◁ || ▷ ♬ˎˊ˗ ♬ ◁ || ▷ ♬ˎˊ˗

Short, round, and fluffy. Two round orbs of black stared at you, panting. GU’s oval was filled with joggers and organizations lounging around all under the light of the sun.

“Todd asked your class to do what exactly?”

You resisted the urge to squish the leashed panting creampuff in front of you. “To write a three-thousand-word essay on the Love Laws from The God of Small Things.”

Damian commanded the black, white and tan Dachshund puppy in front of him to sit. “Correct me if I’m mistaken but,” he furrowed his brows, “isn’t that a high school-level text?”

“Sure. The caste system, post-colonialism, and a twincest plotline— those are definitely all the craze with fifteen- to eighteen-year-old kids these days.”

The little creampuff in front of you yipped. You caved and gave the little guy a good ruffle on the head.

“Three thousand words are nothing. Write about the immigrant experience, fuck the empire and adjacent whatnots. Slip a Rage Against The Machine song in there somewhere.”

You sniggered, snuggling up to the Pomeranian who wanted to lick your face to death.

“Never thought I’d hear those words from you, Al Ghul.”

Damian scoffed, feigning offense. “Takes one to know one, L/N.”

If there was one thing that you could pinpoint that kickstarted your friendship with Damian, it was that. You both were aliens to the “greater empire” of the country you lived in. Both your accents, despite living here for the longest time were still too foreign in comparison to Jon’s Smallville twang. 

“Well I gotta write about the Love Laws, not an essay talking about the post-colonial setting of Ayemenem. Breaking boundaries, romantic rebellion, the stuff the gays would eat up.”

“As one of the said gays, I’d prefer the former topic.”

The Dachshund thumped her tail onto Damian’s leg, high on his scritching behind her ears. 

“As much as I agree with you,” you raised the Pomeranian in your hands to your face, which now earned you kisses from the little creampuff. 

”You’re an outlier, man. No gay man doesn’t like matcha and refuses to listen to Madonna. Jon’s friggin’ bi— I think— and still checks those two out.”

He scoffed, “it’s called having taste?”

You gasp, turning Creampuff (that was now his name, and no one could tell you otherwise) towards him and faked an offended reaction. 

“Matcha and Madonna are peak taste! You hearing this, puffpuff?”

Creampuff yipped, wagging his tail midair. Damian rolled his eyes and turned the stocky Dachshund around to face Creampuff. 

“Cerberus and I claim otherwise.”

The smiling, panting face from the short stack made you giggle. She was thumping her tail against any obstacle (Damian) loudly. 

“Cerberus? Fuckin’ really? For this little cutie?”

“Tri-colored, three heads. Same thing.” He gently brushed his thumb between the bridge of the doxie’s head— where a little tuft of white was surrounded by black hair. “It’s better than anything Kent would come up with.”

“…Fair.” 

Jon would botch up the naming thing so hard, both dogs would probably walk back to the shelter and only respond to the name bubba. Adorable, really. Damian's taste in Kents made sense.

“So, about Jon—”

He cut you off quickly, “I will slit your throat and feed you to the wolves.”

“Yeah nah,” you flipped him off.  “You’re legally bound to be Uncle Bruce’s golden heir my guy. My blood isn’t worth it.”

He and Cerberus paused behind you, then spoke.

“I hope you have subpar trollops for the rest of your youth.”

You sent him a dejected look. “…Alright that was just mean.”

“Like I said, takes one to know one." Wearing a triumphant smile, Damian gloated a bit. "A subpar Kent for another subpar Kent.”

A wave of silence washed over the four of you. Huh, probably the immigrant experience wasn’t the only thing you had in common.

“So, how’s the Kent experience going on your end, Wayne?”

He eyed you, “...barely non-existent.”

Creampuff stood on your chest to stretch and gave out a big yawn with a full-body shake. He looked like an expanding fluffball. Cute.

“Care to elaborate on that?”

“I…” Damian petted the hotdog curled up on his lap, happily content with resting for now. “There are days where I feel like there’s… something.”

You hummed, “go on.”

“Then he does something that reminds me that he is straight no matter how… what’s the term— ah. Fruity.”

You cringed, “gods your slang still needs work.” Turning to your best friend, “Jon’s not as oblivious as you think, Dames. Even then, I saw the things he did last week.”

He frowned, “last week?”

“The Damian is sick so I’ll feed Titus and Ace, do his laundry— mind you Alfred is literally right there—“

A protest was sent your way. “He lives at the manor.”

”Okay, fair.” You pursed your lips for a bit, then another argument popped up in your brain. 

”But the: I’ll look for classmates of his that could send notes and what he missed."  Groaning at the confused look on his face, you continued. "You’re a biology major! He’s the farthest thing from STEM!

“...”

“Oh, and the did Damian already eat? He forgot his sweater—”

“Okay, stop.” 

You put your hands in the air and shrugged, “all I’m saying is if he wanted to, he would. He clearly wants to and he currently is.”

“That’s the thing!" Damian was getting a lot more animated in his speech and gestures. "He also does it for you! And any other pretty girl within a twenty-meter radius!”

“Well, maybe—”

Damian cut you off, imitating Jon’s voice. “Hey Damian, y’know she’s kinda cute yeah? Y’think I have a chance with her?”

You and Creampuff stare at your best friend dejectedly. 

“You’re a Wayne, Dames.” Sending a few pats to his back, you console him a bit. “Tall, Dark, and Cute doesn’t only come Kent-shaped.”

He shot you a look that said speak for yourself, asshole. 

Wincing, you stood up and grabbed Creampuff’s leash. “Okay I may not be the best person to give that advice—”

“No fucking shit.”

“But,” you roll your eyes, “a ton of fish in the sea. Or something.”

What you received was a stare deader than Thanatos— you sighed.

“Ah, fuck it. Kents, amirite?”

To that, a smile of pain and agreeance was sent your way. Damian and Cerberus started walking and you followed suit. 

“Kent— Conner,” Damian clarified. “He probably isn’t aware of your feelings, at least the extent of it.”

Blowing air bubbles, you replied while leading the trotting puffball beside you. “Yeah. I know.”

“And you’re alright with that?”

“Even if something were to happen Dames,” you turned on Guerilla Street, “I’d hate us as a couple too much to function. I’d feel… shitty. And insecure.”

A wave of silence amidst the rapid pants of the two furballs walking washed over you both, until you felt the urge to speak came up again.

“I don’t think I could ever get over him— Kon. He’ll always be this… idealized what-if partner in my head. But I think I’m ready to… let it go. Let him go— for me.”

At a distance was the Institute of Biology’s animal shelter, where Jon and Damian were also applicants for the strays organization. You had just filled in for Jon who was off at some remote location for a major that required interviewing the slums of Gotham. The task was just to walk some of the puppies, so you figured an afternoon walk couldn’t hurt. 

Gazing up at the former College of Arts and Sciences Complex, which was now split into three thanks to the engineering department a decade back, most of your classes were normally a few flights of stairs and a building away. As you neared the entrance, a familiar figure a few meters away stood tall and clutching a red clip board. A figure you couldn’t erase from your mind even if you tried via amnesia. 

He was talking to two girls— seniors at the very least, probably. His towering figure looked down on them in a friendly way, almost hunching to create the illusion of being built smaller than he actually was which honestly did jack shit. A sudden chatty, giddy feeling bloomed through your chest. 

Oh, so that’s how he feels when talking to people from his department. You tuck that thought away for later.

Damian squinted, “great, your soulmate is here.”

The last time you checked, it was a Saturday. He didn’t teach on weekends, why was he here?

You opened your mouth to refute his misstep in his wording (soul-annoyance, a term you coined a week ago) but that train of thought was cut short. It was as if there was a toll bell in heaven that activated soulmate spidey senses, Jason looked around for a bit until his eyes met yours. 

Teal, clear, bright. 

You broke your trance and looked at the two puppies, with their little bums sat on the pavement of the open-air quadrangle. Two pairs of black, beady round orbs stared back into yours without a single thought running through. 

“Wanna get them to slobber over Hot Topic over there?”

“That’s what you call him?”

“Poster emo-boy looking-ass, if he weren’t six-feet to infinity he’d fit in the dictionary right next to the goddamn word.”

A quick tug on the leash, and you were approaching Jason in no time. 

At the sight of his younger brother, Jason hollered, ignoring the two girls previously talking to him. “Hey demon brat! Titus’ sure lookin’ like a pup from Lilliput.”

At the slight against his pooch at home, Damian firmly commanded Cerberus.

“Cerberus. Attack.”

A bloodless wrestle between man and Dachshund later, Jason and Cerberus reach a truce unscathed. The power of leftover beef jerky did wonders, you thought. 

“Why are you even here, Todd? Shouldn’t you be busy checking your student’s submissions in a depressing workspace at the moment?”

Jason flipped your best friend off, “some of us actually have classes on weekends, ya brat. F’course y’wouldn’t know, yer an undergrad.”

“So, you were talking to other doctorate students, then?” You butted in, unable to avoid asking the question. 

He raised a brow, “yeah? Well kinda, they’re non-thesis grad students. As far as I know, I’m the only one who is a part of the faculty in that class.”

Damian sent him a gloating grin, “I should have known to underestimate your intellectual capacity, Todd. Being held back sounds fun.”

Jason grit his teeth, “if it were not for the fact that I could lose my job you fucken’ brat, homicide would be the least of Bruce’s charges against me.”

Damian stared with a playful defiance burning in his eyes. “You forget who raised me— for far longer than you, Todd.”

“Are you done?”

Two pairs of eyeballs reroute their gaze towards you, joining the other two who were staring at your hand that beheld a treat. 

Jason shoved his gloved hands into his pockets, “yes ma’am.”

Unable to register the blasphemy (a wild Todd yielding— Tim would give up his coffee machine to see this), Damian’s previous thoughts were yanked out of his head and blown away by the wind. 

Jason checked his watch, then cursed. “It’s already four-thirty? Fuck, I gotta get outta here.” He ruffled both of your heads and made a beeline towards the parking lot.

“I figured he’d be late for his shift at mother’s. He has not changed one bit.”

For the first time ever, Damian was willingly giving information about your soul-something that wasn’t related to trauma or false hope. 

“Your mom Talia? Your crazy mom?”

“...I’ll bring you and Jon there to spar sometime, preferably not around him."

Damian scoffed, seeing your starry-eyed gaze at the thought of bumping into Jason at the gym, "...unless you want to.”

You remembered his emotions surging through you— giddy like a child’s psyche. His emotions during sparring would probably overwhelm you. Probably. 

“I’m already around him more than I should be,” you huffed, picking Creampuff off the floor. You headed towards their home, away from the Arts Building. 

“You see him once a week, L/N. Your Friday dinners are only an extension of your class.”

You shoved the shelter’s push-to-open door with your arm, trying to move faster as if it would make the current conversation disappear. 

“That’s plenty enough, my guy.”

Creampuff yipped at the sight of his other dog brethren, all in their communal play pen. Cerberus on the other hand, stuck to Damian’s leg like a thumbtack. 

A beat passed.

Longing stares, weird questions, and sudden avoidance. It clicked in Damian's head. 

“You like him.”

A burn to the mind, you turn to him baffled at the accusation. “No??????”

Damian tutted, unimpressed by your denial. “Come to the sparring center next weekend.”

“Ughhh.”

Sending Cerberus into the play pen, Damian flashed you a triumphant grin. “You won’t regret it, I promise.” 

Jason hurried to his bike, fumbling for his helmet on the way to the parking lot. Now with his thoughts alone to accompany him, he realized he felt a slight uneasy feeling a while ago. 

He couldn’t put a finger on it… fear? Loathing? 

No, he knew loathing all too well. Whatever that uneasy feeling was, Jason knew he had to bring it up with you the next dinner you two had. After all, it couldn’t possibly be jealousy. Probably. 

˗ˊˎ♬ ◁ || ▷ ♬ˎˊ˗ ♬ ◁ || ▷ ♬ˎˊ˗ ♬ ◁ || ▷ ♬ˎˊ

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[angurvadal]

The Odd Tea Shop in Crime Alley

Jason Todd x Tea Shop Owner! Reader

Across the street from Jason’s apartment in Park Row, a budding sign of hope caught his eye. A simple signage: Opening Soon! Tea Brews and Books. Only, he almost fistfights the snarky tea shop owner at a book sale. Then, rescues her from a mugger as Red Hood the next day. Said owner's nickname upgrades then from snarky tea shop owner to cute tea shop owner. Uncoincidentally, his family gets interested in the tea shop and plagues Jason with their existence both mask-on and mask-off. Coincidentally, said tea shop owner has the biggest crush on Red Hood. Now, how the hell was Jason supposed to compete with himself?

Originally posted here on AO3!

reblogs are welcome and appreciated

Chapter 1: Meet-Cutes Don't Usually End in Fistfights, Right?

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*･☕︎°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*･☕︎°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*･

There was a tea shop in front of Jason’s apartment. 

Well, a soon-to-be tea shop, anyway. 

Emblazoned on the second story was a polyethylene tarpaulin that read Opening Soon! Tea Brews and Books.

The thought of someone deciding to start a business in Crime Alley of all places was either endearing at best— a sign that he, the Red Hood, has been keeping the area safer and putting Gotham’s ill-gotten wealth to good use. 

Or at worst it was a sign of delirium on the owner’s behalf. Either way, it’s another budding place that Jason welcomes with open arms.

Back in the day, families that usually sold things around these parts tended towards survival— bakeries, vehicle repair, odd-jobs and junk shops. If someone told Jason that something as novel as a tea shop was going to be erected in Crime Alley of all places, he would have laughed at their face before punching the living-daylights out of them. 

The sound of a place just across the street to sip tea and read books was nice.

Although, the sight of the tea shop in that specific place of all things sends a certain… nostalgic feeling in him. As to why that is, Jason was puzzled himself. 

He tucks that thought away for later. For now, he had bigger fish to fry. 

For example, the Gotham Public Library’s secondhand book sale that was ending in an hour. So, channeling the power of a thousand Supermans, he zips through the streets like a madman on a mission. 

———

Above you, just out of reach, was the current bane of your existence. A secondhand Black Penguin Classic of Anna Karenina for just three dollars. 

Have you read the book? No. 

Have countless people told you to get a life and read the damn thing? Yes.

Were you going to? Maybe.

(At least, not tomorrow. Or next week. Or next month. The life of a graduating student was hard.)

You should probably call someone to get it for you. Yeah. 

It’s just that your pride won’t allow it. 

So, here you were stuck at just glaring at the book to death. You came into this book sale to get your money’s worth (a measly fifty dollars total) and buy the last set of books you needed for the shop. A vertical deficiency was not going to stop you.

Just as you were about to psych yourself up to jump for what was probably the tenth time to reach the top shelf, a figure looms over you and gets the exact book. 

The book, you could not reach. So, you grab onto the next best thing. Their arm, that was rock solid and oh boy you chose the wrong person to pick a fight with today. 

Still, for pride and honor, you defend your imaginary rights to call dibs via telepathy. 

“That. Is mine.” you hiss in the most scathing voice you could muster. You turn to your supposed opponent and— holy fucking shit Batman. 

You suddenly remember that you lived in Park Row, and that guys built like a brick house shat all over them were bad news and a clear sign to run away. A broad chest that was restrained by mortal chains (a red hoodie) met your line of sight. 

This was a fight you were about to lose. You also remembered that you never claimed to be the smartest rat in the alley. 

And so, you lunge for the book.

“Give it.”

The towering figure looms over you, quiet. You lunge again— with reflexes akin to Shazam, he dodges you and raises the book higher. 

“Why.” 

Ohgodhisvoicewasscary. Okay, okay. You could do this, bargaining was the third step before success. (You knew the last step was actually acceptance. You choose violence and ignore the voices in your head.)

“I’m buying it for altruistic causes. Give. It.”

You do a quick side-step and lunge again, which is easily evaded by the man you didn’t dare stare in the face, lest you get sucker punched. 

“No.”

You have never wanted to punch a guy so bad, so you latch onto the outstretched arm and pull with all your strength and weight. Unluckily for the both of you, an employee sees the kerfuffle and exasperatedly sighs.

“I do not get paid enough for this— ma’am let go of the poor guy.”

“I am buying twelve books,” you grip tighter onto the stranger’s rocky forearm, “granted you give that majestic book to me.”

“Since you’re buying so much,” the deep baritone voice that loomed above shocked you and the employee into stillness. “Maybe you should let me have this.”

“I– I…” you deflate into a sad puddle, reluctantly letting go of his tree trunk of a forearm. 

The employee squints, then lets out a really long sigh. 

“Ma’am, there’s another copy behind you.”

Slowly, you turn your head around. 

Lo and behold, the same exact fucking edition for two dollars.

Suddenly, the spirits of Christmas eve possess your being— you quickly grab the book and plop it into the makeshift box you’ve been dragging around you this whole time, then skedaddle the hell out of there. 

“Adiós, compadre!”

———

Jason blinked. What the fuck was that. 

Gone with the wind, you happily drag your shitty box filled with books towards the cashier. Beside him, the employee massages their temples with heavy hands. 

“I sincerely apologize, she’s one of our regulars here.”

Jason quirked a brow at that. 

“Oh?”

“She’s probably bought a hundred books from us by now— something about a book shop in Crime Alley...”

Jason stills. 

“Or was it a tea shop…?”

An intrusive thought occurs in Jason’s head. Bugging you, the snarky fucking tea shop owner as due karma, didn’t sound half bad.

“Anyway, feel free to peruse for five minutes, sir. We’re closing soon and I think you’d at least want a manned-counter.”

Jason quietly hums, and thanks the employee. Quickly, he looks for the aisle with a dingy box on the ground. Aisle two. He conveniently lines up behind you. There, he gets a better look at your profile.

You… were honestly not bad looking. (You were cute.)

Honestly, if it weren’t for that feral cat mentality he would have considered striking up a conversation about the books you were excited to scan on the counter. (He didn’t know how to talk to you without looking like an absolute creep.)

So, he silently observes the books neatly arranged inside the shitty box. 

Austen, Cassandra Clare, Holly Black, Leigh Bardugo, Frieda McFadden, then finally Tolstoy sticking out like a sore thumb. Goodness, at least there were no signs of Colleen Hoover anywhere near your pile. 

“The hell’rya staring at, hah?”

Jason inwardly chuckled, Episode Five: The Feral Cat Strikes Back.

“Your interesting taste in literature.”

“Well excuseeee me for liking girl-fiction–”

“I really liked The Folk of The Air trilogy.”

You paused, then gaped at him like a lost fish in the sea. (You actually looked like a cute seal.)

Jason decided to take the chance and leap. It wasn’t everyday he had normal human interactions such as this. 

“A little birdie told me you were the one setting up Tea Brews and Books.”

Your eyes instantly lit up, and suddenly you looked like an excited quokka. Jason decides that observation was best unpacked alone in his apartment. Which was directly across the street from your soon-to-be shop. 

Suddenly, you were at his side tugging his sleeve like a kid on a sugar rush. “Do- do you wanna see the shop, my guy? It’s pretty rad!”

Jason bites down a laugh, “sure. Let a stranger into your shop, yeah?”

“Pfft. I can take you.”

You waggled your brows at him, and he couldn’t help but send you an incredulous look in reply. 

You both break into laughter, until a chilling voice calls out a name. 

“F/N! Dios mio— get your sorry ass up here and pay! I am not working overtime and you know it!”

You crouch and quickly bring your shitty box to the counter, “yes yes yes I know Lala. Blame him—” you jerk a thumb in Jason’s direction. 

Lala does a quick up and down of Jason head-to-toe. He really doesn’t know what to do other than to freeze in place at the stern gaze of the elder lady. 

“—for fighting over a book with me!”

A beat passes. Lala scans one book, and the counter faintly beeps.

“He’s cute, iha.”

To that, Jason lets out a small chuckle. Getting jacked and being enhanced by the pit did have its perks. 

You bloom a bright red, and snatch the bar code scanner from the elder woman’s grasp. 

“You take too long! I’ll scan the books myself!”

A few motherly fussing and cussing later, you found yourselves outside the door with a minute to spare before closing. 

You shift your weight to carry the heavy (for you) box, and shrug to the direction of Park Row. 

“So, stranger. Wanna see my crib?”

“You are the weirdest person I’ve ever talked to.”

In a heartbeat, he takes the box from you and walks towards Park Row. 

Your voice slowly catches up to him. “Hey! W-wait up you ass!”

Another thought suddenly pops into Jason’s mind. One that answered the nostalgic feeling that filled him when he looked at the tea shop.

Oh yeah. There was that bakery there all those years ago, right? 

———

Letting a handsome stranger into your house wasn’t very Crime Alley-Rat of you.

Granted, you’re a sucker for bookworms that showed the slightest interest in any of your hobbies and hyperfixations. 

The tea shop was your biggest hyperfixation yet. 

You entered the shop with a faint ching from the door chimes, and blindly copped the wall for the light switch. After a few seconds, the shop blooms to life. 

You bite down a smirk when you hear cement-for-arms slightly gasp at the sight. 

Flowering vines and fairy lights intertwined along the multiple posts littered around the shop. Above were dim mood lights that glowed a golden hue. On the walls were a mismash of pinecones and cacti against a metal mesh. There were a few windows as well that let in the daylight, which shone onto the tables at just the perfect angle. Picturesquely creating a shadow of a cross onto the tables. 

Behind all of that were books. Lots of books. 

There were at least twenty per row, and five compartments each per shelf— Jason’s collection back at his apartment couldn’t even compare to the amount of books you’ve amassed. 

In the center was a humble brewing hub, a cashier, and a door that led into what Jason assumed to be the kitchen. 

Jason didn’t need to speak, you gloated before he could even think of complimenting you. 

“I did it aaaaall by myself, thanks!”

Yep. Jason really didn’t want to inflate your stupid ego. 

“It’s decent, I guess.”

“Oh, oh!” You tug on his arm, dragging him towards a stairway behind the door (it was not in fact a kitchen) towards the second floor. Then you skipped the second floor entirely, although Jason could faintly make out a few shapes— a couch, a TV, and more books. Another flight of stairs brought you all the way up to the roof. 

You smiled brightly at Jason, tugging at his sleeve towards what he assumed to be a green house. 

Swinging the door open, not bothering to leave it open for Jason, you entered the green house. 

Jason stared at the door. Chivalry was fucking dead in this tea shop.

Gently, he opened the door and stood at the entrance because of two things.

One, it was too cramped and he had to maneuver himself into entering. 

Two, because it was the most breathtaking sight he had ever seen. 

Orchids and lights hung haphazardly in a jungle-esque way, and various wild vines climbed up to the roof. Assorted potted plants and flowerbeds littered the green house. In the corner was a tree that was probably rooted at the bottom of the complex, but was accommodated for by the greenhouse’s architecture and pierced through it— its greens blooms above the roof.

“I’m hooome!” You sang, crouching down to a pretty piece of purple kale. 

Jason assumed the plants you were talking to were herbs and vegetables, since you violently plucked out a stalk of what looked like rosemary. 

The green house was so cramped that with one side-step, you were immediately at his side. 

“Soooo,” you poked his arm. “Whad'dya think, music man?”

This time, Jason didn’t have it in him to deny. 

“It’s beautiful.”

———

You convince the handsome stranger—who you now knew as Jason, over for dinner and tea. You learn that he lives across the street, hence the familiarity with your soon-to-be tea shop.

This was all for the sake of promoting the tea shop. Yes. 

(Not because you wanted to gloat about your humble shop and yap.)

(Okay maybe you were feeling a little lonely.)

This time, it’s Jason who strikes up a conversation with you. 

“Out of all the places you could choose to set a shop at,” he hovered at a safe distance away, “why’d you pick Park Row?”

You stir your petals into the hot water, watching the water bloom blue. 

“I figured that it wasn’t fair that impoverished parts of Gotham were devoid of the nice things in life, such as tea and books.” 

You tapped the metal spoon dry, and set it on the counter. You deftly heft up two tea cups on your right arm, and gently place them onto the tea tray. With a tray of veggie grub on one arm, and freshly brewed tea on the other, you made your way towards your personal kitchen counter to join Jason. 

“Also,” you poured the rich blue liquid into the two cups, and pushed a teacup and saucer to Jason who quickly caught it, “most of the tea leaves and shop goods’ll come from the local urban farmers in the city.”

You took a sip, and sent him a smile. 

“And in these parts? It doesn’t take much to warm a person’s stomach for a night or two, I think.”

You took a swig of your tea as if it were wine, and hunched over the kitchen counter.

You were too focused on your tea to realize that to your right, your new found friend was beaming with pride. 

Pride, as a fellow street rat that loved Park Row. 

Pride, as the Red Hood who fought tooth and nail to protect his home.

Pride, as a Gothamite who wanted to believe that this was the first few blooms of hope in this dreary city they called home.

[angurvadal]

no wait why did this do so well this was an insomnia-induced spur of the moment fic

have i planned out 25 chapters? yes but i wasn’t supposed to write this until next month LMAOJAJSKA

[angurvadal]

The Odd Tea Shop in Crime Alley

Jason Todd x Tea Shop Owner! Reader

Across the street from Jason’s apartment in Park Row, a budding sign of hope caught his eye. A simple signage: Opening Soon! Tea Brews and Books. Only, he almost fistfights the snarky tea shop owner at a book sale. Then, rescues her from a mugger as Red Hood the next day. Said owner's nickname upgrades then from snarky tea shop owner to cute tea shop owner. Uncoincidentally, his family gets interested in the tea shop and plagues Jason with their existence both mask-on and mask-off. Coincidentally, said tea shop owner has the biggest crush on Red Hood. Now, how the hell was Jason supposed to compete with himself?

Originally posted here on AO3! Full master list here!

reblogs are welcome and appreciated

Chapter 1: Meet-Cutes Don't Usually End in Fistfights, Right?

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*･☕︎°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*･☕︎°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*･

There was a tea shop in front of Jason’s apartment. 

Well, a soon-to-be tea shop, anyway. 

Emblazoned on the second story was a polyethylene tarpaulin that read Opening Soon! Tea Brews and Books.

The thought of someone deciding to start a business in Crime Alley of all places was either endearing at best— a sign that he, the Red Hood, has been keeping the area safer and putting Gotham’s ill-gotten wealth to good use. 

Or at worst it was a sign of delirium on the owner’s behalf. Either way, it’s another budding place that Jason welcomes with open arms.

Back in the day, families that usually sold things around these parts tended towards survival— bakeries, vehicle repair, odd-jobs and junk shops. If someone told Jason that something as novel as a tea shop was going to be erected in Crime Alley of all places, he would have laughed at their face before punching the living-daylights out of them. 

The sound of a place just across the street to sip tea and read books was nice.

Although, the sight of the tea shop in that specific place of all things sends a certain… nostalgic feeling in him. As to why that is, Jason was puzzled himself. 

He tucks that thought away for later. For now, he had bigger fish to fry. 

For example, the Gotham Public Library’s secondhand book sale that was ending in an hour. So, channeling the power of a thousand Supermans, he zips through the streets like a madman on a mission. 

———

Above you, just out of reach, was the current bane of your existence. A secondhand Black Penguin Classic of Anna Karenina for just three dollars. 

Have you read the book? No. 

Have countless people told you to get a life and read the damn thing? Yes.

Were you going to? Maybe.

(At least, not tomorrow. Or next week. Or next month. The life of a graduating student was hard.)

You should probably call someone to get it for you. Yeah. 

It’s just that your pride won’t allow it. 

So, here you were stuck at just glaring at the book to death. You came into this book sale to get your money’s worth (a measly fifty dollars total) and buy the last set of books you needed for the shop. A vertical deficiency was not going to stop you.

Just as you were about to psych yourself up to jump for what was probably the tenth time to reach the top shelf, a figure looms over you and gets the exact book. 

The book, you could not reach. So, you grab onto the next best thing. Their arm, that was rock solid and oh boy you chose the wrong person to pick a fight with today. 

Still, for pride and honor, you defend your imaginary rights to call dibs via telepathy. 

“That. Is mine.” you hiss in the most scathing voice you could muster. You turn to your supposed opponent and— holy fucking shit Batman. 

You suddenly remember that you lived in Park Row, and that guys built like a brick house shat all over them were bad news and a clear sign to run away. A broad chest that was restrained by mortal chains (a red hoodie) met your line of sight. 

This was a fight you were about to lose. You also remembered that you never claimed to be the smartest rat in the alley. 

And so, you lunge for the book.

“Give it.”

The towering figure looms over you, quiet. You lunge again— with reflexes akin to Shazam, he dodges you and raises the book higher. 

“Why.” 

Ohgodhisvoicewasscary. Okay, okay. You could do this, bargaining was the third step before success. (You knew the last step was actually acceptance. You choose violence and ignore the voices in your head.)

“I’m buying it for altruistic causes. Give. It.”

You do a quick side-step and lunge again, which is easily evaded by the man you didn’t dare stare in the face, lest you get sucker punched. 

“No.”

You have never wanted to punch a guy so bad, so you latch onto the outstretched arm and pull with all your strength and weight. Unluckily for the both of you, an employee sees the kerfuffle and exasperatedly sighs.

“I do not get paid enough for this— ma’am let go of the poor guy.”

“I am buying twelve books,” you grip tighter onto the stranger’s rocky forearm, “granted you give that majestic book to me.”

“Since you’re buying so much,” the deep baritone voice that loomed above shocked you and the employee into stillness. “Maybe you should let me have this.”

“I– I…” you deflate into a sad puddle, reluctantly letting go of his tree trunk of a forearm. 

The employee squints, then lets out a really long sigh. 

“Ma’am, there’s another copy behind you.”

Slowly, you turn your head around. 

Lo and behold, the same exact fucking edition for two dollars.

Suddenly, the spirits of Christmas eve possess your being— you quickly grab the book and plop it into the makeshift box you’ve been dragging around you this whole time, then skedaddle the hell out of there. 

“Adiós, compadre!”

———

Jason blinked. What the fuck was that. 

Gone with the wind, you happily drag your shitty box filled with books towards the cashier. Beside him, the employee massages their temples with heavy hands. 

“I sincerely apologize, she’s one of our regulars here.”

Jason quirked a brow at that. 

“Oh?”

“She’s probably bought a hundred books from us by now— something about a book shop in Crime Alley...”

Jason stills. 

“Or was it a tea shop…?”

An intrusive thought occurs in Jason’s head. Bugging you, the snarky fucking tea shop owner as due karma, didn’t sound half bad.

“Anyway, feel free to peruse for five minutes, sir. We’re closing soon and I think you’d at least want a manned-counter.”

Jason quietly hums, and thanks the employee. Quickly, he looks for the aisle with a dingy box on the ground. Aisle two. He conveniently lines up behind you. There, he gets a better look at your profile.

You… were honestly not bad looking. (You were cute.)

Honestly, if it weren’t for that feral cat mentality he would have considered striking up a conversation about the books you were excited to scan on the counter. (He didn’t know how to talk to you without looking like an absolute creep.)

So, he silently observes the books neatly arranged inside the shitty box. 

Austen, Cassandra Clare, Holly Black, Leigh Bardugo, Frieda McFadden, then finally Tolstoy sticking out like a sore thumb. Goodness, at least there were no signs of Colleen Hoover anywhere near your pile. 

“The hell’rya staring at, hah?”

Jason inwardly chuckled, Episode Five: The Feral Cat Strikes Back.

“Your interesting taste in literature.”

“Well excuseeee me for liking girl-fiction–”

“I really liked The Folk of The Air trilogy.”

You paused, then gaped at him like a lost fish in the sea. (You actually looked like a cute seal.)

Jason decided to take the chance and leap. It wasn’t everyday he had normal human interactions such as this. 

“A little birdie told me you were the one setting up Tea Brews and Books.”

Your eyes instantly lit up, and suddenly you looked like an excited quokka. Jason decides that observation was best unpacked alone in his apartment. Which was directly across the street from your soon-to-be shop. 

Suddenly, you were at his side tugging his sleeve like a kid on a sugar rush. “Do- do you wanna see the shop, my guy? It’s pretty rad!”

Jason bites down a laugh, “sure. Let a stranger into your shop, yeah?”

“Pfft. I can take you.”

You waggled your brows at him, and he couldn’t help but send you an incredulous look in reply. 

You both break into laughter, until a chilling voice calls out a name. 

“F/N! Dios mio— get your sorry ass up here and pay! I am not working overtime and you know it!”

You crouch and quickly bring your shitty box to the counter, “yes yes yes I know Lala. Blame him—” you jerk a thumb in Jason’s direction. 

Lala does a quick up and down of Jason head-to-toe. He really doesn’t know what to do other than to freeze in place at the stern gaze of the elder lady. 

“—for fighting over a book with me!”

A beat passes. Lala scans one book, and the counter faintly beeps.

“He’s cute, iha.”

To that, Jason lets out a small chuckle. Getting jacked and being enhanced by the pit did have its perks. 

You bloom a bright red, and snatch the bar code scanner from the elder woman’s grasp. 

“You take too long! I’ll scan the books myself!”

A few motherly fussing and cussing later, you found yourselves outside the door with a minute to spare before closing. 

You shift your weight to carry the heavy (for you) box, and shrug to the direction of Park Row. 

“So, stranger. Wanna see my crib?”

“You are the weirdest person I’ve ever talked to.”

In a heartbeat, he takes the box from you and walks towards Park Row. 

Your voice slowly catches up to him. “Hey! W-wait up you ass!”

Another thought suddenly pops into Jason’s mind. One that answered the nostalgic feeling that filled him when he looked at the tea shop.

Oh yeah. There was that bakery there all those years ago, right? 

———

Letting a handsome stranger into your house wasn’t very Crime Alley-Rat of you.

Granted, you’re a sucker for bookworms that showed the slightest interest in any of your hobbies and hyperfixations. 

The tea shop was your biggest hyperfixation yet. 

You entered the shop with a faint ching from the door chimes, and blindly copped the wall for the light switch. After a few seconds, the shop blooms to life. 

You bite down a smirk when you hear cement-for-arms slightly gasp at the sight. 

Flowering vines and fairy lights intertwined along the multiple posts littered around the shop. Above were dim mood lights that glowed a golden hue. On the walls were a mismash of pinecones and cacti against a metal mesh. There were a few windows as well that let in the daylight, which shone onto the tables at just the perfect angle. Picturesquely creating a shadow of a cross onto the tables. 

Behind all of that were books. Lots of books. 

There were at least twenty per row, and five compartments each per shelf— Jason’s collection back at his apartment couldn’t even compare to the amount of books you’ve amassed. 

In the center was a humble brewing hub, a cashier, and a door that led into what Jason assumed to be the kitchen. 

Jason didn’t need to speak, you gloated before he could even think of complimenting you. 

“I did it aaaaall by myself, thanks!”

Yep. Jason really didn’t want to inflate your stupid ego. 

“It’s decent, I guess.”

“Oh, oh!” You tug on his arm, dragging him towards a stairway behind the door (it was not in fact a kitchen) towards the second floor. Then you skipped the second floor entirely, although Jason could faintly make out a few shapes— a couch, a TV, and more books. Another flight of stairs brought you all the way up to the roof. 

You smiled brightly at Jason, tugging at his sleeve towards what he assumed to be a green house. 

Swinging the door open, not bothering to leave it open for Jason, you entered the green house. 

Jason stared at the door. Chivalry was fucking dead in this tea shop.

Gently, he opened the door and stood at the entrance because of two things.

One, it was too cramped and he had to maneuver himself into entering. 

Two, because it was the most breathtaking sight he had ever seen. 

Orchids and lights hung haphazardly in a jungle-esque way, and various wild vines climbed up to the roof. Assorted potted plants and flowerbeds littered the green house. In the corner was a tree that was probably rooted at the bottom of the complex, but was accommodated for by the greenhouse’s architecture and pierced through it— its greens blooms above the roof.

“I’m hooome!” You sang, crouching down to a pretty piece of purple kale. 

Jason assumed the plants you were talking to were herbs and vegetables, since you violently plucked out a stalk of what looked like rosemary. 

The green house was so cramped that with one side-step, you were immediately at his side. 

“Soooo,” you poked his arm. “Whad'dya think, music man?”

This time, Jason didn’t have it in him to deny. 

“It’s beautiful.”

———

You convince the handsome stranger—who you now knew as Jason, over for dinner and tea. You learn that he lives across the street, hence the familiarity with your soon-to-be tea shop.

This was all for the sake of promoting the tea shop. Yes. 

(Not because you wanted to gloat about your humble shop and yap.)

(Okay maybe you were feeling a little lonely.)

This time, it’s Jason who strikes up a conversation with you. 

“Out of all the places you could choose to set a shop at,” he hovered at a safe distance away, “why’d you pick Park Row?”

You stir your petals into the hot water, watching the water bloom blue. 

“I figured that it wasn’t fair that impoverished parts of Gotham were devoid of the nice things in life, such as tea and books.” 

You tapped the metal spoon dry, and set it on the counter. You deftly heft up two tea cups on your right arm, and gently place them onto the tea tray. With a tray of veggie grub on one arm, and freshly brewed tea on the other, you made your way towards your personal kitchen counter to join Jason. 

“Also,” you poured the rich blue liquid into the two cups, and pushed a teacup and saucer to Jason who quickly caught it, “most of the tea leaves and shop goods’ll come from the local urban farmers in the city.”

You took a sip, and sent him a smile. 

“And in these parts? It doesn’t take much to warm a person’s stomach for a night or two, I think.”

You took a swig of your tea as if it were wine, and hunched over the kitchen counter.

You were too focused on your tea to realize that to your right, your new found friend was beaming with pride. 

Pride, as a fellow street rat that loved Park Row. 

Pride, as the Red Hood who fought tooth and nail to protect his home.

Pride, as a Gothamite who wanted to believe that this was the first few blooms of hope in this dreary city they called home.

next chapter

[jamqyu]

rough night? 🩸

[angurvadal]

a m e n

[angurvadal]

The Bloom Knot

No Capes! Soulmates AU - Professor! Jason Todd x Damian’s Best friend! Reader

Getting into Gotham U with Damian and Jon was supposed to be the best thing that had ever happened to you. Moving into the Wayne Manor and meeting the whole family was supposed to be the least of your problems. You just had to get soul bound to Damian’s older brother Jason— a professor at Gotham U by accident, didn’t you?

reblogs are welcome and appreciated! (Originally posted on AO3 here!) (Full playlist here!)

Track 4: Scar Tissue by Red Hot Chili Peppers ˗ˊˎ♬ ◁ || ▷ ♬ˎˊ˗ ♬ ◁ || ▷ ♬ˎˊ˗ ♬ ◁ || ▷ ♬ˎˊ˗

Stares from people was a gift Jason received in abundance. For one, Jason knew he had his own rugged kind of appeal. At a quick glance, he figured he passed as tall, dark, and handsome— if the triad was inclusive to freakishly tall, broodingly dark, and somewhat-handsome. All of which was blanketed by his intimidating aura.

On good days, Jason liked his effect on people. It was definitely effective in the classroom— with the way he could easily command both attention and authority of screen-addled young adults in his lecture hall. Some days however, he’d be reminded of his flaws. Of the countless chips on his shoulders. 

The way his nose was crooked— not by natural causes. 

The way his face was scarred; not all scars could be hidden by concealer, to his dismay. 

The way his hair had started to gray at the ripe age of fifteen, and had spread further from the top of his head outwards.  

Underneath the layers upon layers of clothes he chose to wear— scarred hands. Scarred Chest. An etched J across his torso. Cigarette burns atop more scars across his back. If he ran his fingers through his hair, the aftereffects of the crowbar denting through his skull—

“Big bro? Your order?”

His favorite childhood superhero stared at him. At least, an imitation of the Bat. A tacky uniform, nametag spelling Brock. The kid was looking at him with the eyes of a dead man. At least that was a stare that didn’t care nor pry— a rarity in Jason’s book.

Oh right. His order. 

“Two BigBats oversized, two chocolate overloads, and a family bucket of fries and rings.”

The young teenager manning the cashier looked up to the behemoth, “um. Would that be all?”

What he would give to be as perfect as his other siblings. Dick wouldn’t have been this awkward. 

“Yeah. I’m taking it to-go.”

Dick with his charming smiles, enough to go around for everyone, Tim having more brains than the rest of them. 

The teenager winced, sending him a look that said no shit you’re taking this to-go, this is a fucking gas station stall. 

Jason wanted to believe he had mellowed out over the years. If Damian could, then so could he. Heck, Damian mellowed out to be a really good kid that was on his way to surpass all of them—

“—you gonna pay, big bro?”

His gaze refocused. The teen repeated his total, this time making sure Jason heard him.

“Sorry kid, it’s been a long day.” He fished out his wallet, paid for the grub, and hauled his ass out to the wider expanse of the gas-station. 

Jason didn’t expect to drag his soul-something-turned-student to a BatBurgers joint at the nearby gas station for dinner on a Monday, but fate was a comedy major who sported a twisted sense of humor.

And if he were to be truly honest, he really didn’t mind. If it meant helping her get back on her feet, Jason was willing to hear her out. A shoulder to cry on he was not, but an ear to vent on he was. God knew he needed one when he was starting out— alone, without a dollar to his name with the Wayne inheritance forgotten for a good while. The woes of a college freshman were not to be undermined, in his opinion. 

Armed with two of the fattest burgers allegedly known to mankind, two milkshakes that could induce any pre-diabetic into a coma, and a big bucket of fries and onion rings, he made his way back to where he had parked his bike.

He knew he wasn’t the best help she could get, but he was here and he was trying. He hoped that counted for something.

“The moon is awfully pretty tonight.” You remarked, feeling Jason’s heavy footsteps getting closer to the pavement you sat on. 

Somehow, the skies looked brighter in its glow amidst the darkness of space, not a sliver of cloud cover in sight. Jason occasionally stopped to gaze at the moon, but somehow it looked and felt different tonight.

O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circle orb, lest that thy love prove likewise variable. Jason hummed in agreeance.

“I’m waiting for the random Shakespeare quote outta your ass, sir.”

He sat down, tucked polo beneath his jeans be damned. “Thought of one, it isn’t appropriate for the occasion.” He unfolded the paper bag of grub, and handed out their share of food. 

“Hear that, moonie?” You took the milkshake, your gaze fixed on the sky, “you aren’t good enough for Shakespeare in your waxing phase.”

You gestured your gloved hands, do you mind if I take them off?

Jason shrugged, and swiftly took his off. “Poets do have a penchant to go either full circle or nothin’,” he unwrapped his burger— gods that smelled good. “And drop the ‘sir’, it feels like I’m lordin’ all over ya.”

“Fine.” Hands ungloved, you downed a french fry dipped in from the chocolate milk— a sight Jason squinted at. “What do you want me to call you then?”

What did he want you to call him, anyway? He didn’t really think about it much. As far as he knew, this was your first time interacting after your talk in the manor.

“Anythin’ that doesn’t denote me any higher than you.”

Another ungodly fry was dipped into your chocolate milkshake— Jason grimaced.

“…Yeah. I got nothing.”

Would it be too much to just call him Jason? You thought it was fine, as long as it was only in your head. It felt weird to say it out loud. He was the representation of maturity to you— a person similar to what you wanted to be in the future. 

“Surely you don’t call me Professor Todd when you’re with the other brats.”

“Who?”

He chewed a bit, then swallowed. “Your friends.”

“Oh. Okay, I’ll call you Todd then.” You bit your burger, humming in approval of your own decision.

“…Seriously?”

“Damian’s my best friend,” you shrugged. You reached out for another fry, “what, you want me to say Mister Todd like Jon?”

“Ew.” 

You squinted at him, “it’s like you’re begging me to call you Jason—“ 

You paused. 

When was the last time you called him by his name? Ever since you stepped into his classroom, you had resigned yourself to never addressing him as anything other than your professor.

You looked at him.

He bit into an onion ring, silent. A few beats pass.

“Well there’s a first for everything, F/N.”

In the same way his first name felt weird on your tongue, your name from his voice felt weird. Intimate, as if you were equals. You steered yourself away from looking at him. 

Gravel. Concrete. Cars parked in front of you. 

“How awfully optimistic of you to assume I don’t have a list of nicknames I’ve been dying to use, Hot Topic.”

“Shut up, nerd.”

“You’re the one to talk!”

He chuckled, “I’d prefer nerd over Mister Todd any day.”

The night wasn’t getting any younger, but you had resigned to bail on your academic duties just for tonight so Tuesday be damned. A comfortable silence washed over you, until a thought ebbed onto your mind’s shore.

“You know,” the paper from your half-eaten burger crinkled, “after getting used to the fact that I was in your class, I kind of… looked up to you. A lot.”

Jason’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t say anything. You continued.

“I dunno,” you thumbed at the burger wrapper, “I’ve always wanted to be a professor, a graduate student, a researcher, someone important in academia. I wanted to ask you so many questions on your birthday—”

“What’s stoppin’ you now, then?” He turned to look at you— his body language angled towards listening to you.

In a flash, your train of thought disappeared. …You could let yourself be selfish, just this once.

“…I was unsure if I would like my program, going into the year.” Jason hummed, you leaned a bit on your back.

“I like the course material, and the thought of being a physicist but—” you fiddled with what occupied your hands, your milkshake. “It’s so fucking hard when everyone’s five steps ahead of me. The people who teach stare at me like I don’t belong— that I can’t ask for help.”

You sighed, swirling your half-full milkshake. “I’m not failing, but I hate barely scraping by when I have a scholarship to maintain.”

“Can’t say I blame ya,” he leaned back to gaze at the waxing moon, “but you get used to it. You fuck up, you learn, and do better.”

“It’s just!” You groan and fight the urge to lay on the cold concrete. “I can’t afford to fuck up.”

He raised a brow, suddenly feeling a surge of frustration ebb into his veins, “pretty sure the Thawne-Allen scholarship is lenient towards some fuck ups.” 

He remembered Wally fucking up hard on an elective that he couldn’t drop, but still somehow appealed to not be booted out of the program. …Okay maybe Wally being Dr. Allen’s prodigy kid was a factor, but it was nothing Bruce couldn’t sweet-talk his way through. 

“I’m barely passing my classes, man.”

He looked at you, now hugging your legs to your chest. “I find that hard to believe.”

“You—I— ugh. It’s because your classes feel like home, it isn’t hard for me to keep up. It’s like going to a book club and nerding out a few times a week.”

“Yeah,” Jason smiled. He felt the same way about his department, it was like he was getting paid to live out his hobby. “Was… that not why you picked your major?”

“I’ve always wanted to be a scientist, physics and math were what I was good at in high school.” You shrugged, “now I’m being confronted with the fact that maybe my high school was shitty. Or I was just coasting through it because the material they gave us was easy.”

“…Wanna know a secret?”

“…Sure?”

“I failed calc twice.”

“What!” You snapped your gaze to him, “why’d you even need calc? You’re a literature major!”

“Never said I started out in this department.”

You faintly remember him saying he was a former shiftee, you hazard a guess that he came from the sciences as well. 

“Got the teaching gig, and I got into the PhD program I wanted. Ya just have to do your goddamn best— but if I may,” he looked at your hands. His eyes glimmered at the pencil mark stains on the joints of your dominant hand’s ring finger. What was hidden by your gloves were clear signs of hard work, something he knew all too well. He figured you’d be fine, as long as you stuck it out and through. But not without something, a something he found out the hard way. He had time, and worked odd-jobs and borderline illegal ones to keep himself afloat. You couldn’t afford to do that, so a free-pass to that something was a gift he was going to give you. 

“Pushin’ yourself to love what’cha only think you love, isn’t the same towards doin’ something you love.”

You listened in silence. He continued.

“If it feels hard, well that’s okay. But think about what ya actually feel while doin’ it. Tell me,” he shot a smile at you, a knowing smile. 

“Do ya think my class is a chore?”

“…No. Not really.”

“What about your majors? Do ya have this obsessive drive to immerse yourself in them? Or are they just checklist-ish things?”

You furrowed your brows.

“Think on it,” he patted his thigh, “once ya got the answers to those, you’ll know what to do.”

He reached over to his side, then swiftly slipped his pair on, giving you time to breathe. 

You slumped into yourself. Somehow, you knew Jason’s advice was exactly what you needed. But you needed time to figure out everything— you wished you had an epiphany right then and there when Jason said his piece. But you just felt confused, not knowing where to start to process your emotions. 

“…How long did it take you to process… all of this?”

“‘Bout a year, or two, but you’re a smart cookie,” he reached out to ruffle your hair, pausing to ask permission. You huffed and relented, leaning towards his gloved hand. He smiled and ruffled your hair good. 

“You’ll figure it out. It’ll take time, but it’ll happen, F/N.”

A beat passed, you kicked another rock away.

“You’re a good mentor, y’know? And a good listener, too.” 

“Bare minimum for my job, ki—”

Jason stopped himself. Tonight gave him a further glimpse into your life. It wasn’t fair to reduce you to just a kid, it didn’t feel right at the moment.

“Hey, if I’m a kid, what does that make you? A bigger, older kid?”

“I’m a few years your senior, FYI.”

“Still too young for me to bow down to. In Bruce’s eyes, you’re just a bigger kid.”

He laughed, “aren’t we all.”

You talked a bit more, your previous worries gone with the wind. Jason, as you had observed when relaxed, let his Gothamite accent slip out more. A distinct accent that you couldn’t place your finger on where it came from exactly, but it was endearingly him. Come nine in the evening, your mood had changed so much, you forgot you had a bad day. It was as if he had a way to somehow sync his own mood to you. Beneath the cold, awkward, and rigid exterior that was Jason Todd was an excitable kid that could talk about anything and everything under the moon.

“I bet you can’t shoot from here.” 

Jason raised a brow, “you testin’ me, F/N?”

A familiar line— something you easily tuck away into the recesses of your mind. You were about to go home anyway, as per Jason’s protests to you catching the bus back. 

Bruce’ll have my head if I don’t. I’ll get you back to the manor before ten.

“I don’t think the laws of physics let you shoot that far with a non-uniform density object.”

Without waiting for another comment from you, he aimed— there goes the trash; AKA your left-over wrappings and cups. The trajectory of it looked nothing like an object under projectile motion. It was more akin to the haphazard aim of a street basketball player. Roughly thirty feet away from you, sat the trash freshly chucked. It pushed into the lid flap and was now inside the trash can.

Your eyes met his for a brief second, he wore an expression of gloating and pride. 

“Do I get a prize?”

“Bragging rights?”

“Pft. Boring.”

Your eyes dart towards the trash can getting farther away from you. Still crystal clear.

Huh.

Wait a second.

You looked back. Fifty feet away from you, the trash can was still clear. Biodegradable. Green. Had the swingy-push flap with the three arrows looking like an ouroboros. 

You walk a bit further— sixty feet away.

You could still see and read the labels clearly. 

“Dude, can you see that?”

He looked at the trash can, with no need to squint as he usually did to objects he couldn’t see from a distance.

“Yeah. Green. Biodegradable an’ shit.”

Jason furrowed his brows, what was weird about the trash? 

“No one told me getting a soulmate came with built-in binoculars— holy shit this is cool!”

Jason blinked. He looked up to the back-lit gas-station sign, Shell with the s blinking. It was too far for the average eye to read, but he had read the sign just fine. 

“What the hell?” Jason couldn’t stifle the creeping grin on his face. The old man wasn’t lying at all. Soul bonding really did wonders to your senses— he could read the goddamn trash can. 

“Does that mean I don’t need glasses when you’re around?” 

You lightly punched his arm, “don’t get used to it. But god damn does this feel nice.”

“Well I’m looking forward to being around you, granted you wear a ball gag first—”

“Ball gag?!”

“Gotta shut you up somehow.”

“You’re as noisy as me, Jason!”

“Ah ah ah,” he walked around his bike. “You’re proving my point by shouting, sweetheart.”

“Don’t fucking call me that, weirdo!”

He handed you the shiny black spare helmet, “oh yeah. You had the clasp all wrong a while ago.”

“It didn’t fall off my head, so I consider it a win.” You slipped the helmet on your head. It still smelled like him.

“Just take the L, ya lil’ shit.”

He reached out, stopping beneath your chin. A mental question to you, is this okay? You rolled your eyes and felt your arms go slack at your sides. 

“You couldn’t buckle the thing for nothin’.” His hands gingerly traced the straps, finding the weird part where the buckle was loose. A few seconds of fiddling and adjusting the metal… aaaand there!

This was still platonic, right?

Your eyes briefly found his.

A beat passed. You filled the silence.

“Maybe you should just get a new helmet.” 

“For a buckle?”

“Shitty buckle, man.”

He shifted away, “sure, if ya pay for it.”

“Ughhh,” you crossed your arms. “You’re such a cheapskate. Are all professors like this?” 

He shrugged, “Professor’s salary.”

“…aren’t you guys paid like, really high?”

He laughed, “welcome to Gotham. Who isn’t skimping out here?”

“Still shitty to charge it to a kid. A student.”

“Like I said,” Jason straddled his bike. “The moment I got’cher work sent to other TAs t’be graded was the moment I lost any teacher’s rights to lord over ya. Now pay up.” 

You approached him, “I take it back. Being your not-student is way worse.”

He offered his hand. “Tough luck, F/N.”

You took his hand once more, the familiar padding of his bike gloves engulfing your smaller hands. You maneuvered yourself to sit behind him. 

“Alright, take me home now good sir.”

“Aye, ma’am.”

The moon watches on as they dash into the distance, with a new friendship in bloom. 

[angurvadal]

it's weird to get back on tumblr after all these years, ngl. i've actually been using just ao3 for the past seven years, so it's fun to read about what's up with a lot of my fandoms. also, tumblr is hard(er). i just write and post on ao3 and be done with it. on here there's a lot more formatting which honestly is still really fun! but it takes more effort and time (which to me is an interesting observation) which contradicted my prior belief of ao3 being the harder platform to manage