☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 39

Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, NSFW, MDNI, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

warnings/labels:  minor SA mentioned

wc: 2.17k

Chapter Selection

The words Gotham Academy: Front Office lit up my phone screen, and I scrambled to grab it. Professor Newman was droning on, reviewing the material on the upcoming quiz. He cast a disapproving glance my way as I opened the door, slipping out into the hall.

"Hello?"

"Oh! Sorry, I may have the wrong number. I was trying to call Bruce Wayne?"

"Is this about Damian? I'm the new primary contact. Bruce signed the paperwork a while ago?"

I provided my name, and I heard some clicking and typing before the woman spoke again; "oh, yes, I see. My mistake. Well then, we need you to come down to the school, Miss."

"Is Damian ok?"

"He's fine, but he needs to be picked up."

JASON TODD + BOYFRIEND TEXTS.

note : ok i had too much fun with thr dick bf texts

jomach ❤️

your former ex-boyfriend, dick grayson, is nervous.

he’s planned the day out to the letter. some of your favorite things, a museum stroll and a picnic in the gorgeous spring weather. (he made sure you took your allergy pill this morning, too.) he got absolutely no sleep, up all night with nerves, trying to take deep breaths into your hair as he cradled you close. he knows where you two need to be and when, and he’s got a square shaped box in his pocket poking into the meat of his thigh every time he takes a step. a step further with you, a step forward into your future together. but he’s nervous.

nervous you’ll say no. nervous you don’t want him the way he wants you. nervous he’s still not in the clear. it’s only been a year or so since he’d broken up with you, trying to decide he knows what’s best for the both of you.

he’s taken note, though.

of all the times you’ve joked about your ‘bare ring finger.’

all the moments he’s caught you lingering in front of a jewelry store.

you do always tell him you want him forever and always.

he’ll mention something in the future, float the idea of kids, or more pets, and you’ll talk about wanting to buy a house with him, asking him his opinion of architecture styles when you go on walks together.

the topic of the future is heavily woven into almost every interaction you have, fitting into place as perfectly as your hands do when he grabs yours.

but he’s nervous.

dick is being so weird. constantly checking his watch, hurriedly texting. eyes shifting around. you’d hugged him this morning, and felt his heart beating behind his ribs like a caged bird. he’s been a gentleman as always, curling your hair for you and asking you to twirl to show off your outfit. opening every door for you, walking on the side closer to the road as you walk down the sidewalk. but you know him. and something’s off.

you link your arm through his as you point out the brushstrokes in the rembrandt in front of you, and he nods in response, distracted.

“dick.” you say, exasperated.

“yes, angel?” he replies, obviously still a little distracted as you two continue down the gallery.

“what are you thinking about?” you ask, probing. he looks at you, the intensity in his blue eyes suddenly fully focused onto you. it’s a little jarring, one thing about dick you’ll probably never get used to. (and never want to.) having his full attention feels like being under a spotlight, like you’re the only other person in the world, and he wants nothing else but to hear what you have to say.

“i’m thinking about how gorgeous you look,” he says, the unexpected compliment sinking into your skin, warming you from the outside in.

“thank you, baby.” you say, a little flustered still.

he gives you his full and total attention the rest of the time you’re there, letting you look at every single exhibit until you’re satisfied.

he buys you a ridiculous keychain from the gift shop, a cutout of the panicked figure in edvard munch’s the scream.

it goes onto your keys immediately, dick’s satisfied smile even better than the keychain.

you head out of the museum, back to the car. dick opens your door, rounding to his side. he gets in, buckling his seatbelt after he’s sure you’ve already done yours. he kisses you on the cheek, starting the car.

“where to next, dick?”

“that’s for me to know and for you to find out.” he replies, and you laugh, rolling your eyes.

he drives further away from the city, deeper into the suburbs of gotham. the houses grow nicer and nicer as you drive up the hill, and you point some of them out to dick. he smiles, a knowing look on his face.

dick pulls into a park you’ve never seen before, and you get the oddest feeling in your stomach. almost a little apprehensive? you’re not sure why, you and dick have done a million dates like this before.

he parks, and opens your door for you, holding out a hand to help you out, even if you don’t need it.

you try to take the picnic basket from the trunk, but dick stops you, an incredulous look on his face. you smile in response, picking up the folded blanket instead. he easily slides the handle of the basket onto one arm, grabbing your free hand with his.

locking the car, he leads you to the hill crowning the park.

it’s a beautiful spring day, the sun shining but not too warm. birds sing out to each other from the trees, a light breeze rustling through the leaves, the lush grass covering the ground. one side of the park is covered in blooms upon blooms of flowers, intricately planted in order to be easily walked through. big, fluffy clouds float across the sky, every once in awhile in front of the sun.

you make it to the top of the hill, shaking the blanket out, setting it onto the grass. he sets the basket down, pulling out sandwiches and drinks from the cooler, a container of cut fruit, your favorite kind of chips. you go to sit down, take your shoes off, but he stops you.

bringing you over to the other side of the hill, he wraps an arm around your waist as you gape at the view. you’re overlooking the city, as far as the eye can see. the sun glints off of some of the high rises, and you pick the wayne enterprises building out easily. dick smiles at that, kissing your temple.

you turn from the view after that, focusing onto the one standing right next to you. his black hair gleams in the sun, his tanned skin making his blue eyes pop. he’s dressed so nicely, a good pair of jeans and a new button-up, his favorite pair of converse freshly scrubbed clean, a habit he has that’s so baffling to you.

you could’ve sworn you felt a raindrop or two, but nothing about the sky declares rain to come. you brush the idea off, turning back to look at the gotham skyline.

“angel,” dick says, and looking at him, you gasp.

he drops to one knee, and everything quiets except for the words he’s about to say. you can’t breathe, one hand is pressed to your chest, over your heart, the other one gripped tightly in dick’s. the ring in its ring box is positively breathtaking, but you only glance at it. he could propose with a ring pop, for all you care.

he opens his mouth to speak, and he’s cut off by a rushing sound. you both look up, confused. torrential rain sweeps across the park, across your picnic, thunder shaking the sky.

you’re soaked, your clothes and hair plastered to your skin. dick looks miserable, but you almost can’t help but laugh. poor dick, trying to get everything perfect. trying to do everything right, just for the one thing he couldn’t control, to be what ruins it.

dick’s only thankful for the rain because it’s hiding the tears threatening to fall.

“angel..” he starts again, his voice cracking. you shake your head. he doesn’t need to say anything, anything at all. you know what he has to say, and you agree with all of it, all of it and more.

his face sets into grim acceptance as he nods, but you just laugh again. he starts to close the ring box, but you stop him.

you slip the ring onto your wet finger, the stone glistening and sparkling, even under the dark skies. dick’s eyes light up, his mouth agape. before he can say a word, you tackle him into the grass.

“yes.” you say, peppering his face with kisses. some of the wetness on his face tastes salty, and you have no doubt in the world he was crying.

“yes, dick,” planting another on his forehead,

“yes,” his cheek,

“yes,” the tip of his nose,

“yes,” his chin,

“a thousand times, YES!” on his lips, rolling him on top of you on the wet grass. he sighs into your mouth, relaxing into it, and you can feel the smile on his lips.

dick grabs champagne from the picnic basket, shaking it as he pops it. you squeal when he sprays you with it, grabbing it to do the same to him. you take a swig, giving it back to dick as he copies you. you kiss, tasting the alcohol, the cool rain on his lips. he picks you up, spinning you, and you’ve never felt so free, so happy.

later, you’re back in the car, the heater on full blast as you sit there soaked.

“mrs. grayson,” you say, sighing happily. dick blushes, his eyes popping. he watches you admire the ring on your finger, pulling you closer, into a kiss. you deepen it, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“did you mean to propose on the same day you broke up with me?”

“what?!”

☆ ☆ ☆

idea courtesy of @cottage-worm

love ya bae, you got one heck of a brain on you

go read her writing too! @wormwrites

☆ ☆ ☆

post divider!!! @saradika-graphics

some fandom disagreements are like "I see your point but I think this other aspect of the narrative is more significant," and some are like "I don't think you can read."

"Why does Batman need to be a billionaire?"

"He has to fund the Justice League. They often have a space program."

"But couldn't he do more good if he just invested-"

"The Earth is routinely invaded by aliens, gods, and the forces of an extraterrestrial god of tyranny."

He has, like, three charitable organizations he funds, named after his father, his mother, and Alfred.

Between both Bruce and Batman’s contributions, Gotham should be a better city than it is, and the only reason it isn’t is DC Editorial Mandate that basically says Gotham has to get worse and worse and worse or there’s no Batman stories they can tell (and, obviously, they have no other characters besides Batman).

There’s a reason Batman thinks the city is literally cursed.

I want to see Bruce Wayne go off

"Oh, oh, just charity my way out of dealing with the Penguin, a living, breathing 19th century Marxist's cartoon of the bourgeoisie? Just fund anti-Clayface measures? Crack down on corporations who put out shapeshifting cosmetics? What socio-economic pressures turn botonists into actual fucking dryads?! What inspires anti-animal terrorism? THAT'S NOT EVEN A REAL KIND OF ECO-FASCISM!"

For the record, Gotham is canonically curse, because it sits on some sort of evil swamp. I think.

There are like, half a dozen curses. The Lazarus Pits are leaching into the water, Slaughter Swamp is an unconnected body of water a few miles outside of the city that also ressurects people (see Solomon Grundy), the Bat-demon Barbatos and his followers (the Court of Owls) have been fucking up the city psychically and financially, the malevolent influence of the warlock Doctor Gotham's tomb in the center of the city, the madness hypersigil of Amadeus Arkham (in Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth), there were several outposts of subterraneans and aliens beneath the city during the Silver Age, constant chemical warfare that makes it the equivalent of a WWI trench managed by MK-ULTRA, it's in New Jersey, and I think God just hates it

tired: Batman could do more good by running charities than by fighting criminals

wired: Batman could save literally every other city on the planet simultaneously with the amount of effort and resources he’s pumped into Gotham, which is a lost cause, but this is his city damnit.

Inspired: Batman’s diligence is containing the menace that is Gotham’s madness from escaping too far from city limits.

For all his billions, for all his activity, for all his efforts, Gotham is a bonfire fed by the madness of mortal people, cultivated by dark powers and just existing there makes living souls like kindling for it. And left to its own devices,it’d become a breeding ground for supernatural unrest that no mere social service system or social awareness of activist campaign, no government program, no actions of a singular vigilante, could ever hope to undo.

Batman is single handedly if need be but fortunately not alone so often, holding back the noxious psychic influences of warp and wyrd entities and what they do to the very environment and landscape through the power of sheer, unbridled humanity.

Ascended: Gotham is containing Batman, because the forces of evil, consciously or not, have figured out that if let loose, this motherfucker and his sprawling adoptive family would've solved every crime in the world ever, so they throw literally everything they have at his home town in hopes that he stays there.

Because they were foolish and let Alan Scott escape. They aren’t making that mistake again.

What if Gotham is the pump?

Like. What if, because Gotham is such a shitshow, anyone looking to improve their lives has their eye on being able to move out of Gotham, so whenever Bruce Wayne's charitable endeavors come somebody's way, they take it, pack their bags, and move the fuck away, and take that money with them.

Meanwhile there's an ongoing influx of people to Gotham primarily because they're flat broke and real estate in Gotham is dirt fucking cheap because it's a shitshow, and there's always places hiring because 1) they've got Bruce Wayne money to try to make a difference, 2) there's no shortage of places that need to be fixed up a little, and 3) villains are always in the market for new henchpeople.

So you're a broke millennial from any other town in the country, and you have student loans, a job that hasn't kept up with inflation, and your landlord has raised the rent three times this year so far and it's eating up two-thirds of your paycheck. You look for housing on the internet and discover that one-third of your paycheck will get you the mortgage for an actual house in Gotham, a house you own and will never have to deal with your scummy rentjacking landlord again. And Wayne Industries is hiring, and so are sixteen different disaster remediation places, and six staffing services with a sort of weird vibe to them but they offer benefits, since when do temp agencies do benefits, and sure the crime rate is high but the rest of the world's heading in that direction anyway, especially if you're homeless, which you're gonna be in like four months if that jackass your landlord raises the rent one more time, so get in losers, we're going to Gotham!

And you settle into your bigger-than-expected apartment and get a job that brings you a comfortable paycheck and you learn to live with the terrorist attacks and the explosions and the gunfire and the neighbors and the drunken billionaire swimming in the restaurant fountain, and you pay off your student loans, buy a car, suffer a few months' unemployment when your boss goes to jail for trying to assassinate the mayor and then your partner loses their job for a few months when the office gets smothered in a jungle's worth of climbing plants and you develop hospital bills when you both get caught in a hallucinogenic terror gas eruption at the mall, but hey, you'd be homeless by now in any other city, so you live with it.

And then it's a few years later and you're wanting to start a family, but the neighbor three doors down owns pet hyenas and the park was firebombed last week and someone froze all the water pipes and you crashed your car into one of the impromptu ice sculptures and you'd really like your kids to grow up in a normal city where they don't have to receive advice like "don't talk to strange plants."

So you visit one of the social work offices and get yourself a bit of assistance, save up your money, sell your house for the price of a down payment to the sort of incoming fool you were six years ago, and use your polished resume to get yourself a job someplace that doesn't have What To Do If Clown Attack on their safety training syllabus.

You came, you left, and Gotham remains. A shithole.

*writes two paragraphs after months of literally nothing and it took three hours*

Jason…

a day in which i don't think about bruce and dick's utter devotion to each other is a day wasted

pretty pathethic man

the Ides of March grows near

If there are trees you aren’t alone

I can’t tell if this is supposed to be encouragement or an ominous warning

#that’s entirely up to the trees

Friendly reminder that Steve and Bucky probably have absolutely wild Brooklyn accents. Maybe it’s mellowed out over the years but sometimes, woild, goil, woist, poifume. Cwafee. Wourder. Fugeddaboutit.

Spin the wheel for your new government assigned hairstyle.

List of hairstyles here

Bob is made by Japanese artist Ahnitol! He holds pens! He comes in many colors!

Ah yes, my favorite color…

Shrimp.

ACHIEVEMENT: new Tim Drake descriptor unlocked