ffawnyy

[ffawnyy]

“Bruce is MAGA” and Lex Luther literally exist with him like pls

The idea that Bruce Wayne would be MAGA because he’s a billionaire is particularly funny to me. Because the guy who lost his parents to gun violence and now hates guns would definitely be maga. Or how about the guy who has 8 kids two of which are illegal immigrates one of which is Chinese. How about the guy who adopted a poor homeless kid from the worst part of town after said kid stole from him. Or maybe it’s the fact that he mentally adopted a teenage mom with criminal parents who most likely lived off of welfare. Maybe it’s the fact that his bio kid is Arab and most likely actively practiced the Muslim faith. Maybe it’s the African American foster kid who was in a gang. Maybe it’s the disabled “daughter” who lives life in a wheelchair. Or maybe it’s the Bisexual son who is currently in a relationship with a man. Maybe it’s his illegal immigrate best friend. Maybe it’s the fact that he goes out every night and fights crime illegally might I add. Maybe it’s his Jewish cousin or his Jewish mom or the fact that he’s Jewish himself. Maybe it’s the fact that Bruce Wayne his public persona is the biggest man whore known to man which definitely fits their Christian values for sure. Definitely sounds like MAGA to me.

[ffawnyy]

my babyyy, he’s adorablee 🙈

Jason and you had met a few months ago in a bookshop. The classics section sat right beside the movie and TV shelves, and that’s where you first noticed him: a man built like a tank, towering and broad, scanning the spines like he was searching for something specific. His dark green eyes flicked to you once, briefly, before returning to the shelves.

You were carrying a couple of DVDs for your collection and a copy of Fleabag’s script, and after circling the aisle, you ended up side by side with him.

“Y’know,” you said lightly, just to break the quiet, “they’re making, like, the shittiest adaptation of that book?”

He froze for a second, fingers still resting on an special edition of Wuthering Heights. Then he glanced at you, quick, almost cautious, like he wasn’t sure if you were actually talking to him.

"What?" His voice was low, almost rough, like it wasn’t used to casual small talk.

"Yeah, they casted the whitest man for Heathcliff. And I mean, Margot Robbie is cool, but not with the vibe of the book."

Jason blinked. “…Wait. They cast Margot Robbie as Heathcliff?”

“What? Oh no, no, no. She’s Cathy, obviously. I just— ugh, I meant he’s some random dude, a total Ken-doll type, and then she’s Cathy, and it’s just— it doesn’t work. I saw the set photos. It’s a mess.”

You were already pulling out your phone, scrolling too quickly, words tumbling over each other as you rambled. “Here, look, see? Look at this. He’s supposed to be feral, right? This guy looks like he’s about to sell me luxury skincare on Instagram. And the costumes— don’t even get me started on the costumes—”

Jason leaned closer reluctantly, peering at the screen. His face scrunched immediately. “What the fuck is that?”

“Right?”

“That’s Heathcliff?” He squinted, then shook his head. “Jesus Christ. He looks like— like a fuckin’ finance bro who got lost on the way to a Halloween party.”

You snorted, covering your mouth. “Oh my god, he does.”

Jason kept staring, brows furrowed in disbelief, but you caught the way his ears were turning a little red, like he wasn’t used to standing this close to strangers. “This is bullshit. They fuckin’ ruined it already. I mean, Heathcliff’s supposed to be—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Not that.”

“Feral,” you supplied. “Dangerous. A nightmare, not a heartthrob.”

“Exactly.” Jason jabbed a finger toward your phone. “Not fuckin’ Ryan Seacrest in a waistcoat.”

You laughed so loud a woman browsing two aisles over glanced your way, which made Jason shift back an inch, shoulders tightening like he’d said too much. He cleared his throat. “…Sorry. I swear too much.”

“No, no,” you said quickly, still grinning. “Please don’t stop. I think you’re the only one as mad about this as me.”

Jason ducked his head at that, lips tugging into the ghost of a smile before he murmured, “…Yeah. Guess so.”

You scrolled to another blurry photo on your phone, words spilling out faster than your brain could organize them. “And look at this one, why the hell is she wearing a pastel-blue gown? Cathy is supposed to be climbing through mud and looking like she hasn’t slept in three days, not… attending a royal ball. I mean, what the hell are they even doing—”

Jason leaned in again, closer than before without realizing it, eyes narrowing at the picture. “…That’s not even period accurate.”

“Right?!”

“That looks like…” He tilted his head, scowling. “Fuckin’ Bridgerton reject. Did they raid a costume closet?”

You laughed so hard your phone nearly slipped from your hand. “Oh my god, yes. Yes. That’s exactly what it looks like.”

Jason’s ears turned pink again. He shifted his weight, shoved his hands in his pockets like he was trying to hide how much he was getting into this. “Unbelievable. They’ll sell it as, like, a modern take or some bullshit.”

“They already said that!” you blurted, almost too loudly. “I read this whole article, I read too many articles about this shit, but they called it a ‘fresh romantic retelling’ and I nearly threw my laptop out the window. Like, it’s not romantic. It’s fucked up. That’s the point.”

Jason stared at you for a beat, then shook his head, muttering, “Fresh romantic retelling my ass…” He let out a breath, the corner of his mouth twitching. “…You’re kinda intense about this, huh?”

You blinked, realizing how fast you’d been talking, heat creeping into your cheeks. “Oh. Uh. Yeah. Sorry. I just… get carried away.” You gestured vaguely with your stack of DVDs. “I have too many opinions.”

There was a pause, long enough you wondered if you’d scared him off, but then Jason nodded once, almost to himself. “…It’s not a bad thing.”

That surprised you. You tilted your head. “It’s not?”

“Nah.” He looked at your DVDs, seizing the chance to redirect the attention off himself. “…So, uh… what’d you grab?”

You glanced down at the cases in your arm. “Oh, uh. Some classics. Before Sunrise, because apparently I love pain, and The Mummy because obviously it’s perfect cinema, and Pride and Prejudice, the good one, 2005, not the zombie one.”

Jason blinked and looked at you for a second. "Have you read Pride and Prejudice?"

“Not exactly,” you admitted, biting your lip. “But I’ve watched the movie like… forty times, why?”

“I love that book,” he said simply, almost shyly, but with a weight in his voice like it mattered.

Your eyes widened. “Wait, you read it?”

Jason nodded, glancing down at his hands shoved into his pockets. “Couple times. It’s… one of my favorites.”

You couldn’t help grinning. “You? Mister ‘Ryan Seacrest in a waistcoat’? You read Jane Austen for fun?”

Jason huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “What, big guys can’t like good writing?” His eyes flicked back to yours, steady now. “That book’s sharp as hell. Everyone thinks it’s some fluffy romance, but it’s all about class and family and… all the ways people fuck with each other. Lizzy calling Darcy out? That’s brutal. Smart as hell.”

You stared at him, speechless for a beat. “…You just described it better than any of my lit professors.”

Jason shrugged, but his ears were pink again. “Guess I paid attention.”

“Okay, but listen.” You held up the DVD like it was sacred. “The movie. The atmosphere? The score? The way Darcy’s hand flexes after he helps Lizzy into the carriage? That tells the whole story in, like, one second. You can’t get that from just reading it.”

Jason frowned like you’d just challenged him to a duel. “You absolutely can. That hand flex is in the book, just not… spelled out. It’s all in the tension. Austen knew what she was doing.”

“Yeah, but Joe Wright gave us Keira Knightley in a muddy dress and Matthew Macfadyen whispering ‘I love you, most ardently’ in the rain. That’s—” You gestured helplessly. “That’s cinema, man. Cinema!”

Jason cracked then, laughing quietly, shaking his head. “You’re out of your damn mind.”

“And you’re just jealous the movie makes people feel something,” you teased, nudging his arm with your DVD case.

Jason smirked, though it was small and shy, and you caught the way his green eyes softened when they met yours. “…I’ll give you the rain scene. That shit was good.”

"Indeed it was, thank you very much."

Jason let out a quiet chuckle, the sound low and unpracticed, like he didn’t laugh out loud often. He rubbed at the back of his neck, eyes darting toward you again, softer this time. “…Guess you’ve got decent taste.”

You grinned, still a little breathless from laughing. “Guess you do too, Wuthering Heights guy.”

He ducked his head, smiling to himself, before mumbling, “…Jason.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“My name. Jason.” His voice was quiet, almost shy.

“Oh.” You smiled, tucking the DVDs tighter against your chest. “Well, Jason… pleasure to meet you.” you told him your name, and his mouth quirked like he was rolling it around in his head.

For a moment it seemed like that was it, two strangers bumping into each other over books and movies. But you didn’t want it to end there, not with how his eyes had lit up talking about Austen. So before your nerves could stop you, you blurted, “Actually— hey, this is kind of random, but I work at this outdoor cinema thing sometimes. They’re doing a screening of Emma next week. The newer one, the funny one. You should come.”

Jason blinked, caught off guard. “Outdoor… cinema?”

“Yeah!” You nodded too fast, words tumbling over each other. “It’s in the park, they hang this huge white sheet between two trees, string up fairy lights, sell popcorn for like a dollar. It’s cheesy as hell, but in the best way. I’ll be working the projector, but, uh, you could just, y’know… show up. Watch.”

Jason’s brows furrowed a little, like he wasn’t sure if you were joking, but there was curiosity in his eyes. “…Emma, huh?”

“Don’t roll your eyes,” you shot back quickly, pointing at him with the corner of your DVD case. “It’s hilarious, actually. And stylish. And Anya Taylor-Joy owns the role. You’ll like it. Promise.”

He looked down, shifting on his feet, hands still shoved in his jacket pockets. Then, quietly, “I’ve read that one too.”

You froze, then laughed in disbelief. “Of course you have.”

That earned you another real smile, small but warm, and he shook his head. “…Maybe I’ll check it out.”

“Good.” You tried to sound casual, though your heart was hammering. “I’ll sneak you the good popcorn. Perks of knowing the projector girl.”

Jason gave you a look then, still shy, but steadier, like he wanted to keep the conversation going even though neither of you had an excuse to stay in the aisle anymore. “…You sure you don’t just want someone to rant at about costumes?”

You grinned. “That too.”

masterlist a/n ☆ this was suppose to be a short thing, but i got carried away a little bit. i'm not the biggest fan of writing romantic stuff for jason, BUT this idea was too cute and as a film and literature student girlie myself i am very passionate about the shitty adaptation of wuthering heights.

[ffawnyy]

emo lil boi

[ffawnyy]

my life lately

[ffawnyy]

I’ve been giggling at this for ten minutes and I don’t see the end of it very soon

Based on a stupid meme of a pikmin with a hammer 👍👍

[ffawnyy]

𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀𝒾𝓃ℊ 𝒶𝒷ℴ𝓊𝓉 𝓙𝓪𝓼𝓸𝓷 𝓣𝓸𝓭𝓭''𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒶𝓉𝓊𝓇ℯ 𝓉𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ 𝜗𝒞

Alright, so we all now Jason is a sucker for books, and more specifically, classics. But what actual classics would he be into??

𝜗𝜚 First of all I’d like to start by saying, yes. Jason loves Jane Austen. I say and will stick with this forever, he’s a hopeless romantic lost into Austen’s lively books, sue him. I stand with the fact that his favourite would probably be Pride and Prejudice, as I think he would relate a lot to Mr Darcy. (I mean, let’s be honest here, they are so alike it hurts.) and he would 100% love all the slow burn and this whole enemies to lovers trope, I fear.

I also think he would, surprisingly, enjoy Emma. Even thou that book is quite literally all about gossip and Emma creating chaos all around Highbury based on her delusions, Jason might actually find it entertaining and I’m pretty sure he would enjoy it as a light read.

Also, I am convinced he would love Jane Eyre. I think that, again, he might relate to Eyre as well, understanding her character very deeply given that she is very loving to everyone around her, including herself, and she helped him realise that sometimes you need to gather the courage and start over.

Other books I think he’d find endearing would be Wuthering Heights, or The Picture of Dorian Grey. My thoughts are that he would pick up Wuthering Heights thinking it would be pretty similar to Jane Austen’s writing, but he clearly couldn’t be more wrong. He’s definitely surprised by the dark themes and complexity of every character, the fact that none of them are likeable, (which he finds a very interesting concept) but in a good way, nontheless. Actually, I’m convinced he would find it so endearing that Wuthering Heights would most probably become one of his favourites (He’s definitely a fan of the Brontë sisters).

Speaking about The Picture of Dorian Grey, I think he would have a few complains.. given the fact that he would be pretty disappointed in the book. He did enjoy it (most of it), he read it all but he felt like the philosophical topics in the novel are incredible, unfortunately they’re delivered by such unlikable characters it wasn’t an enjoyable read. I think he also would’ve liked more detail on Dorian’s sins (and he definitely skipped chapter 11). But I’d like to think him giving another chance to the book and reading The Uncensored Picture of Dorian Grey, which, dare I say, would chance his whole perspective on the book and would make it more enjoyable probably.

Alright, don’t even get me started on The Count of Monte Cristo. I am thinking it would most definitely be one of his favourites. Just by the way this book has so much action and wonderful plots and just such an interesting writing style, I’m thinking he would find it so enjoyable to read and the fact that it’s so interesting would just make those 1000 pages feel like 100.

I’m thinking that maybe he would find The Great Gatsby alright. I’m not very sure if he would really enjoy thou, I think he would stay neutral by saying it is a good book, but a bit tangling although I think that the Great Gatsby is pretty relatable giving the Gotham elite society so maybe, just maybe, that makes the reading a bit unpleasant, not entirely sure that’s accurate thou.

I have a feeling he would have a love hate relationship with Fyodor Dostoevsky. I think he would like his books until some extent. For example White Nights would be a book he’d pick up and read during break fast. Easy, light and beautiful. He would find it endearing. Although, as much as I love Dostoevsky and I’d want Jason to love it, I don’t think it would be exactly his type of book like The Brothers Karamazov or Crime and Punishment. I mean of course he would be able to acknowledge the fact that Fyodor’s a very good writer and his books have a very beautiful and deep meaning behind it but I just am not sure he would enjoy it as much as others would captivate him. Same with Franz Kafka. I think he would slightly enjoy Metamorphosis but pretty much just it.

I’ve been thinking if he really would enjoy Lolita and I’ve came to the conclusion that he would get too frustrated and just stop reading mid book because it’s just too much and he has enough problems.

So, in conclusion, In my opinion, Jason’s beloved authors would probably be Jane Austen, the Brontë sisters, and so on. And given the books there would be Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, etcetera.

𝒩ℴ𝓉ℯ𝓈: hihi just a little something, I wanted to make this a quick yapping session but clearly failed here </3 anyway, I’m thinking I might make a part two but I’m not sure thou, I’m pretty scared of posting this too, might take some courage to actually do it heee,,, sighhh I love being a bookworm xx (please don’t attack me if u disagree 💔 I’m open to thoughts and opinions but plss don’t be mean I rlly tried making this accurate 😞😞 ALSO WHY DO THE IMAGES LOOK LIKE THAT ON DARK MODE THEY ARE LITERALLY PNGS NOO just ignore it if you don’t have a white screen guys 💔💔)

[ffawnyy]

MY JASON TODD HEADCANONS ! j.todd x reader

"Careful, sweetheart. Arguing with me is starting to sound like foreplay."

— content: mention of weed/cigs, a tiny drop of melancholy maybe? idk

© fromdove— All rights reserved. Reposting, translation, or modification of these works is strictly prohibited, regardless of whether credit is given.

∿　 　 . `💭` ㆍ

Jason smokes.

Cigarettes, when he’s angry. Weed, when he’s in pain. He knows you hate both. So he keeps it outside, far from you—lights up on rooftops or the fire escape. (even though his thoughts always drift back to "they wouldn't like me doing this"). He always showers & brushes his teeth very excessively before he climbs into bed.

He reads banned books.

Not because he wants to be edgy—but because something in him has always gravitated toward the things people tried to bury. The books that were too violent, too honest, too messy for polite shelves. The ones that made people uncomfortable because they told the truth and didn’t flinch.

He’s funny when he lets his guard down.

Not the loud kind. More like the quiet sarcasm that slips out mid-argument and makes you roll your eyes even as you smile. He likes making you laugh. Acts like it’s not a big deal, but the corners of his mouth always twitch when he gets you to lose it.

He’s loyal in a way that’s hard to explain.

Jason Todd doesn’t half-love anything. If you matter to him, you matter. He’ll show up every time. No questions, no hesitation. Even if he’s limping. Even if he’s been up for 36 hours. Even if he said he wouldn’t. Especially then.

He’s bad at talking about feelings, good at showing them.

He’ll change your oil. Pick up your prescription. Memorize your coffee order down to how many ice cubes go in the cup. If he ever says "I love you," it comes out quiet and unceremonious, usually when you’re half-asleep and unlikely to make it a big deal.

He reads more than you’d expect.

Mostly things with messy characters who make bad decisions and get bloody trying to fix them. He’s got a thing for underdogs, for people who claw their way out of the dark (lmao). He underlines lines that hit too close to home and never talks about them. But if you pick up his book and ask, he’ll sit there and try to explain—even if the words don’t come out quite right.

He has opinions about coffee that no one asked for.

Will passionately debate pour-over vs. espresso as if world peace hangs in the balance. Drinks his black but keeps oat milk in the fridge because you like it, and that’s the closest he’ll come to saying “I’m trying.”

He’s deeply suspicious of happiness.

Joy, to Jason, is a trapdoor. But yours? Your laugh, your fingers in his hair, your bare feet on the kitchen floor—he can’t help it. He keeps coming back to you like a moth to a flame. Singed, a little bitter, and completely undone.

He keeps a spare key to your place in his boot.

Doesn’t tell you. Just likes knowing he could walk in, any time, and find you there. Like home is a person and not a place. Like love is a door he never thought would open again.

He hoards your things.

A sock (?? he's weird.), a receipt you forgot to throw out, lipgloss/chapstick, a grocery list with your handwriting. He won’t throw them out. They stay tucked in his pockets, his jacket lining, his duffle bag, the glovebox of his bike. It’s not sentimental, he swears. But every time he finds one, he holds it like it’s breakable.

He sleeps like a boy who doesn't trust the dark.

It takes time. He tosses. His body flinches like it remembers too much. But if you’re beside him, something in him loosens. Not all at once, but enough that he can drift. Your fingers in his hair help. So do your sleepy mumbles when you turn over and hook a leg around him without even waking up.

[ffawnyy]

❝ ‎secrets out ! ❞ — damian wayne x fem!reader

warnings .ᐟ kissing, swearing, damian may be ooc a/n .ᐟ enjoy!! summary .ᐟ batboys find out damian has a girlfriend.

The soft hum of the city felt distant as Damian stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him. It was a quiet night, the type where the world seems far removed, leaving only the warmth of the room, the soft scent of your perfume, and the steady rhythm of his heart, still pounding in his chest from the adrenaline of the night.

He sat on the edge of the couch, watching you with a rare soft expression that he didn’t realise crept onto his face. The dim light from the lamp beside you cast a warm glow, flickering softly in time with the music you were listening to. You were just a few steps away from him, currently flipping through the book you were reading, but the distance between the two of you felt like miles.

He hadn’t meant for this to happen — his feelings for you, this stolen moment in your bedroom when he was supposed to be on patrol, the way his heart sped up with every smile you sent his way. It was… new. New, but worth it.

“You’re staring,” you say without looking up from your book, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.

“I’m not staring,” Damian shot back, his voice cool but a slight flush creeping up his neck betrayed him. “I’m observing.”

“Sure you are,” you quipped, lowering the book a little to give him a look. “So, should I be worried about the intensity of your ‘observing’?”

Damian smirked, “No more than usual.”

You turned towards him with a smile, the kind that made his breath catch for a moment. It was the same smile that had been quietly unravelling him for weeks. The kind that said you made this all worth it — the danger, chaos and secrets. But in that moment, all that mattered was being here, with you.

He closed the distance between you in slow, purposeful steps, his usual confidence slipping away in favour of something a bit more vulnerable. Your hand reached towards his, the touch soft, a promise of something uncomplicated, something just for the two of you.

Neither of you said anything to each other at first — words felt unnecessary, and the silence between the two of you was more comfortable than anything he’d known. As if compelled by an invisible force, he took your face in his hands, gently cradling you like something precious. He leaned down, and pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

It was lighter than anticipated, tentative almost. You responded immediately, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, slow and heated, a spark igniting between the both of you. His heart seemed to hammer harder, the thrum almost deafening in his ears, as his hands moved towards your waist, his body betraying his pretense of control.

Just as the quiet moment reached its peak, a sudden crash made him freeze. His hand instinctively held onto your waist tighter, as he turned towards the window, his heartbeat thudding for a completely different reason than before.

You on the other hand didn’t notice. “It must have been the wind,” you said casually, but Damian wasn’t convinced.

The sound came again, louder, a thunk that made both of you pause.

The feel of his comm in his ear made his heart drop into his stomach. He slowly turned it back on, forgetting he silenced it before he had come up onto your balcony.

The channel was crackling with static for a moment — and then a voice came through, loud and unfiltered.

“Uh… guys?”

It was Tim.

“Does anyone else see that? On the second floor of the apartment building right there… that’s not a target. That’s Damian.”

Damian’s heart sank. You blinked, sitting up straighter. “Wait. Was that Tim?”

Before he could respond, another voice came through, louder and way too amused.

“No way. No way.” Jason this time. “Little D’s in a girl’s room. Making out.”

Damian moved to shut the comm off again, but it was too late.

“Wait, wait, wait—” Dick’s voice cut in, laced with disbelief. “Is that Damian??? In the window??”

“Oh fuck…” Damian sighed and put his head in his hands, the embarrassment colouring his skin, as you just smiled, amused by the entire situation.

There was a beat of stunned silence before the line exploded into chaos—Jason laughing so hard he was wheezing, Tim going “I KNEW IT,” and Dick trying (and failing) to sound responsible while still clearly freaking out.

You looked at Damian with wide eyes. “They saw us?”

Damian, red-faced and seething, crossed the room in a flash and yanked the curtain closed in one motion. “Apparently so.”

“Is that—are they watching us?” you asked, trying not to laugh but utterly failing at hiding your amusement.

“They are dead men,” Damian muttered, pressing two fingers to his temple as if it would somehow block out the sound of his brothers’ voices, which were still coming through the comm, loud and relentless.

“DAMIAN HAS A GIRLFRIEND—WHAT.”

That was Dick again, definitely shouting.

You doubled over in laughter now, unable to contain it. “Oh my God.”

Damian just groaned and sank back onto the couch, burying his face in your shoulder as you wrapped an arm around him.

“They’ll never let me live this down,” he mumbled into your sweater.

You kissed the top of his head, still laughing softly. “Probably not.”

[ffawnyy]

call jason todd a good boy and he will go on his knees for you, after jason.exe restarted.

it‘s the issues. all of them. mommy and daddy issues included.

[ffawnyy]

this is sooo adorablee

meet cute — dick grayson

synopsis. dick finally meets his match.

contents. fluff, meet cute, banter!!, dick found someone that matched his freak, matchmaker haley, established relationship

notes. quick drabble. there’s nothing i love more than writing banter for dick

The first thing Dick registers is the smell of coffee, its scent curling through the morning air. The second thing is the warmth pressed against his side, a familiar weight shifting slightly as the bed dips.

"You make the coffee, or am I dreaming?" he mumbles, cracking an eye open.

"Dreaming," you tease, brushing your fingers through his hair. "But I got up first, so I figured I'd be nice."

Dick hums, pulling you back down beside him. "Mm. Marry me."

"Already did, remember?"

"Best decision of my life." He presses a lazy kiss to your temple. Dick softly grips your chin before slotting his mouth against yours. Outside the bedroom, Haley lets out an impatient whine, toenails clicking against the hardwood.

A smile curves against your lips as Dick deepens the kiss, his free hand trailing down your back, holding you close like he never wants to let go. His grip is firm, his warmth intoxicating and you already know exactly where this morning is heading.

But the insistent scratching and pitiful whines from outside the door refuse to be ignored.

You pull away just as Dick leans in, earning yourself a dramatic whine of protest. His lips chase yours, his grip tightening. "Babe," he murmurs, a little breathless, "she can wait."

"She’s been waiting," you counter, amused. "And she’s missed you."

"Well, I missed you," he huffs, leaning in again, only for you to dodge him, fixing him with a knowing look.

He sighs, defeated. "Alright, alright. Duty calls."

Grumbling, he rolls out of bed, and you laugh, tossing a pillow at his back as he trudges to the door.

“Be nice,” you tease as he lets Haley in.

The second the door cracks open, she barrels into him, tail wagging so hard she practically vibrates. Dick catches her effortlessly, laughing as she smothers him in licks, all lingering traces of sleep and reluctance melting away.

“She’s our little matchmaker, after all,” you remind him, watching the way his face softens.

Dick looks up at you, a smile tugging at his lips between Haley’s eager kisses. His laugh fills the room, warm and familiar. Your favorite sound.

"How could I ever forget?"

Dick hadn’t expected anything unusual that day. It had been a normal walk. Until it wasn’t.

Haley was a good dog. A well-trained, even-tempered pitbull who never pulled on the leash, never bolted, never strayed. So when she suddenly yanked forward with enough force to nearly dislocate Dick’s shoulder, he barely had time to react before she took off.

"What the–" He staggered after her, half-jogging, half-stumbling as she dragged him down the street. "Haley, slow down! What has gotten into you?"

She wasn’t listening. Her ears were perked, tail wagging like she’d just spotted the world's biggest stash of treats. Dick barely had a second to brace himself before she barreled straight into a woman standing at the corner, nearly knocking her over.

"I'm so sorry–Haley!" Dick gasped, yanking the leash back.

The woman let out a startled laugh, catching herself just in time. "Wow, okay. Not how I expected to start my morning."

Dick winced. "Yeah, sorry about that. She doesn’t usually– uh– body-check people. Are you okay?"

"I think so. Can’t say the same for my dignity, though."

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, if it helps, she only does this to people she likes. Which is a very exclusive club, by the way."

"Oh? So I should be honored?" you asked, arching a brow.

"Very." He smirked. "You’re in the same category as rotisserie chicken and that one mailman she has a crush on."

You snorted. "High praise. I’ll try to live up to it."

The two of you linger on the sidewalk, grinning at each other like idiots. The moment stretches just long enough for him to realize he had forgotten to introduce himself.

“Oh– uh, I’m Richard. But everyone calls me Dick.”

Your lips twitch as you nod slowly. “Nice to meet you, Dick.”

The way you say it is so smooth, effortless. It shouldn’t make his brain short-circuit, but damn if it doesn’t send a spark straight through him. He swears he can feel it in his fingertips.

Great. He’s a fully grown man, and somehow, you’ve got him feeling like a teenager with a crush.

Haley’s tail was going so fast her entire body wiggled with it, pure joy wrapped in fur. You crouched down, scratching behind her ears. “Well, aren’t you gorgeous?”

Dick cleared his throat, barely audible. “Yeah, you are.”

Your head snapped up. “What was that?”

“Must’ve been the wind.”

“Oh,” you mused, turning back to Haley. “Your dad’s got a pretty face, but I think he might be a little unhinged.” You don’t bother being discreet.

The pitbull tilted her head, eyes flicking between the two of you like she was weighing the evidence.

Dick huffed a laugh. “She’s deciding whether to defend my honor or side with you.”

“Smart girl, taking her time with the verdict.” You grinned, giving Haley an approving pat. “But seriously, I’ve never seen a dog so determined to tackle a stranger. Did you train her to be your wingman, or is she just naturally talented?"

Dick placed a hand over his heart. "I would never exploit my dog for romance."

"Uh-huh. So this is just a coincidence?"

"Purely."

"Right." You smirked. "And I’m supposed to believe this isn’t a well-rehearsed scheme?"

Dick grinned. "If it were, I’d like to think I’d have prepared better material. I’m usually much smoother."

"You’re really not."

"That’s the tragic part."

You laughed, standing up and dusting off your pants. "Well, Dick, I think your dog just got you a date."

He blinked. "Was that a yes? Or did Haley just finesse me into this?"

"Guess you’ll have to keep up and find out."

Dick opened his mouth, then paused, brow furrowing. "Wait, did I even get your name?"

You grinned. "Did I give it?"

"No, but I feel like I should have it before I let you con me into a date."

You tilted her head, considering. "I suppose that’s fair. But where’s the fun in just handing it over?"

Dick huffed a laugh. "So what, I have to earn it?"

"You’re catching on."

Haley barked once, tail thumping against the pavement like she was enjoying this far too much.

"Alright." Dick crouched, giving his dog a scratch behind the ears. "Haley, girl, looks like we’ve got a mystery to solve."

You laughed, shaking your head as you turned to walk away. "Try to keep up, Dick."

In that moment, he knew he was in trouble.

Dick didn’t have to be told twice.

comments n reblogs are appreciated!

[ffawnyy]

he’s suchhh a gentleman

Sugar on the Rim vol. I

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

warnings: implied that reader is a virgin, age gap (bruce is older than reader), mentions of sex, smut in next part

You twist the stem of the wine glass around between your fingers slowly. Your chin rests atop your knees as you stare vacantly at the tiny puddle left of the drink. You could go refill it, but then you’d have to go back out to the main room and man…you really do not want to do that. So you’ll sit here, swiping your tongue across the bumps of the roof of your mouth as if it's a fascinating new discovery.

The creak of hinges has you shooting upright, your back thumping against the stair step behind you. You’re not immediately sure how to act as though it’s normal that you’re sitting in the stairwell outside the fundraiser rather than in it, fraternizing with old and new money alike. You freeze, trying to relax your posture so it doesn’t look like you’re alarmed at the sight of another person, but not so relaxed that you look as bored as you are.

Your neutrality stutters when you glance up to find the host of the fundraiser. The billionaire host of the fundraiser. Bruce Wayne, the billionaire host of the fundraiser. Your posture straightens right back up and your mouth snaps shut as you make eye contact.

Should you stand up? 

No, he’s rich, not royalty. 

You are in his house though—

He looks you over contemplatively, “I don’t know you,” It’s not accusatory, rather he says it like it’s something interesting.

You perk up at that, immediately formulating reasons to justify your presence. “Oh, uh, no—” the words nearly spill out of your mouth all at once. You clear your throat, “I’m just a plus one for my boss—”

“Who’s your boss?” he asks, relaxed. 

“Arthur Mullins.”

He looks to the side, squinting, “Mullins…he’s the executive at Williamson Industries, yes?”

You nod and he returns the gesture, slower, like he’s processing through something. “I’m Bruce,” he says warmly after a moment, holding his hand out to you.

You nod before you can even think to get any words to come out, “I—yeah, I know,” you accept his hand, shaking it as you tell him your name.

There’s a slight glint in his eye when he hears your name, and he repeats it quietly to himself. “A pretty name.”

“Oh, it’s just…” Just your name. But rather than fill him in on that fascinating tidbit, you let the sentence die off.

He smiles kindly anyway, “What are you doing in here? Party’s out there, or so they tell me.”

“I…I’m hiding in here,” you admit sheepishly.

He leans in towards you slightly, lowering his voice. “I’ll let you in on a secret—so am I,” he smiles at you like it’s easy.

Your grin matches his, “It’s your party,”

“That’s why I need to hide.” He tilts his head, “Doesn’t give you much of an excuse though, does it?”

“I don’t know anybody here.”

He puckers his bottom lip contemplatively, “Your boss.”

You shake your head, “I’m just his assistant. I’m pretty sure he just brought me as a precaution in case he needed a designated driver.”

He laughs at that, “Based on the way I’ve seen Mullins’ attempts to operate, his assistant would have to be a hell of a lot more important than just a designated driver.”

Well, he’s certainly right about that. Your boss doesn’t exactly “have it together” per se. He’s an unorganized man with little to justify his importance in Gotham, so he tends to insist on taking on more responsibility than he has any business having. Not to mention, he’s a bit of a try-hard and you’re constantly left to sweep up the pieces of his reputation that he shattered himself. Not to say he’s necessarily unprofessional, he just will do anything and everything to prove he belongs in any given space. It’s honestly a bit exhausting to watch. It’s more exhausting to try and convince him that the exchange went well afterwards.

You nod slowly, eyes on his shoes. “Mr. Mullins has…a unique approach to business. It does usually leave me fairly busy, I’ll give you that.” You take a quick deep breath, plastering on a fake smile. “But that means I occasionally get to go to fancy parties where I don’t know anyone, so..”

“Well then it sounds like you’ve got it all worked out,” he ribs, “Or don’t you agree?”

You smile coyly, “I would never be so bold.”

“I don’t mind boldness. For example, the reason I came in here is because he spotted me.”

You laugh at that, “Mr. Wayne—”

“Bruce.”

“Mr. Wayne,” you suppress your smile as you pause, choosing your words carefully. “I think he’s just networking.” He doesn’t have the money to give.

He nods surely, “He’s definitely just networking.” He really doesn’t have the money to give. You allow just the faintest wisp of a smile to adorn your face as you look down again.

You check the time and realize that you’ve been hiding away for too long and that if he hasn’t already, your boss will notice soon. You sigh quietly to yourself, “I should..”

He turns his head to the closed door where the chatter can be heard from beyond, sighing in defeat as he shakes his head looking back at you. “So should I.”

You feel a bit insecure as you stand, the gown you’re wearing is pretty but it is very much affordable and you’re sure someone as wealthy as Bruce Wayne would know the difference.

If he does notice he makes no deal of it, motioning you forward gallantly to walk ahead of him.

He follows after you, hands behind his back. “Would it be rude of me to ask you to distract him while I run for the bar?”

It’s busy, even for a Sunday afternoon, and you have to sidestep past someone nearly every step you take. You stick next to the windows of the line of boutiques down the road, trying to balance window shopping and not bumping into other pedestrians.

You're in a nicer district of Gotham, truthfully an area you don't quite belong in. So far you’ve only managed to find a couple shops that weren’t several ranges above your budget. 

A call of your name has you blinking rapidly and turning around as if you’re lost. It doesn’t take long for you to pick the six foot two billionaire out of the crowd and it’s only half a second longer before you realize he’s walking towards you. A few people collide shoulders with you as they move past thoughtlessly, no regard for the personal space of the idiot that stopped in the flow of traffic.

You let him approach a couple feet closer before you ask him, “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Wayne?” The presence of his figure in front of you allows for a break from being bumped into, as he seemingly makes for a far more easily seen and intentionally avoided target.

He sways a bit, “Bruce. I’m not sure yet,” he looks down to the couple of bags you’re holding, extending his hand out. “May I?”

It takes you just a moment to move past your surprise at the request, allowing him to hold them for you. “Are you in a rush?”

You shake your head quicker than you meant to, “No, I—not at all,” he gestures his head forward, allowing you to walk before him.

You traipse ahead in silence for a moment before deciding against biting your tongue, “What exactly is it you’re not sure about?”

He raises his voice a bit so you can hear him over the crowd, “Whether or not you’ve got plans on the 19th.”

You look back at him, “What’s on the 19th?”

He stops with you as you admire a set of jewelry inside a window display, “We’re hosting a gala for something or something else, hopefully less boring than the fundraiser.”

You blink, “You’re inviting me?” He nods. “Why?”

“I could use someone who wants to be there even less than I do.”

He said it so casually it takes you a second to even register his meaning. You blink, face contorting defensively, “That’s not—” you can barely make out the smile on his face as he continues on walking.

You shake your composure back together and trail after him, rushing to catch up. “I don’t think Mr. Mullins would be very happy to hear that I’m attending a business gala without him.”

He shakes his head as he scans over the crowd, “He can’t fire you for that.”

“He’ll try.” He would. A petty little man, he is. 

He scans across the rows of clothes leisurely. “Well, then he can speak to me about it. Besides, it wouldn’t be for business.” And then he just lets that sentence linger.

It takes you a moment to recover from those words and begin to start processing the world around you again. After a few more feet down the sidewalk he pulls you gently to the side by your lower arm, out of the rush of traffic, and looks at you dead on, “What do you think?”

You try not to waver under the weight of the eye contact, “I don’t…uh, I don’t really have…” you look down, hoping to get the message across without actually having to say the words.

He glances into the store window next to you and raises his eyebrows, “Well then I’d say we’re in the right place.”

You can’t manage to tell him that this store is definitely far too expensive for you, walking through the door as he opens it for you, albeit apprehensively.

Well. Up close window shopping is more fun anyways. 

The spotless white of the floors and walls has you intimidated, and just as much so by less by the no doubt designer clothes lining the walls. The saleswomen all look pretty highbrow themselves, hair up in tight buns and uniforms chic.

You only break from gawking at the store to look behind you at Bruce. You note the way his eyes roam around blindly, looking for something and clearly having no means to narrow down where it might be. You take one more glance around, immediately finding the women's section with no such difficulty. 

“This way.” You say, nodding your head over to the left. He recovers nicely and lets you lead the way towards the section of dresses. You peer back at him, “You don’t seem like someone that does much of his own shopping.”

Thankfully, he laughs at that. “Well, special occasions.”

You keep your gaze ahead this time, asking as casually as you can, “Is this a special occasion?”

He hums in consideration, “I’d say so.”

You stop upon approaching the dress section, taking in the immediately stunning display of options. 

“What are you doing up here anyways?” you ask, hand brushing across a particularly plush dress.

“Ah, I was headed to a meeting.”

“Oh,” you frown, looking at him. “Don’t you need to go?”

He shakes his head with a puckered lower lip, “No.”

A few seemingly heiresses roam down the aisle mindlessly, not caring much that you’re in their path. 

Bruce sees them before you do, knowing well that they were not going to excuse themselves. “Sweetheart,” he nudges you gently to the side, closer to him as the group passes. His hand remained open-palmed and flat as he guided you to the side, seemingly very careful not to touch you with uninvited boldness. Though you’re quite shaken by the chivalry of the gesture, a brazen touch wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world.

As your arm brushes against a rack of clothing your gaze follows, met with something rather appealing.

Bruce is quick to notice you admiring the sleek black dress that looks like something you’d see a model wearing on a runway. “You like that one?”

“It’s nice, yeah,” you murmur, not really thinking. You flip the price tag over and your face drops. “It’s $800.”

He nods thoughtfully, “We can find a nicer one,” he says, though it’s clear he knows exactly what your problem with the price tag was.

“I can’t—” you restart, “I would never have a reason to wear something this nice again.”

He shakes his head coolly, “That’s alright.”

Your shoulders drop and your head tilts seriously, “It’s not, though.”

“You like it?” He looks you in the eyes, his own searching for a truthful answer.

“I mean, of course, but it—”

He nods affirmatively, “Then we’ll get it. Problem solved.” He turns his back to the rack, casually observing the rest of the store goers. “Pick your size.”

Apparently not one to argue, you thumb through the row until you find one that should fit. 

You sigh, realizing that you’re running out of time to mention that you don’t have $800 to spend on a dress. “I can’t—”

“You don’t need to,” he says simply as he takes the dress off the rack and drapes it across his arm, making his way towards the salescounter.

You try to stop your mouth from hanging open as you follow, “It really is okay, I don’t need—”

His grin cuts you off, just in time for you to hear him mutter, “Sweet girl..” to himself. You stop right in your tracks, feeling very thankful that he’s not looking at you right now because you’re certain the look on your face would give you away.

He still doesn’t face you as he calls out, “Come on,” as he continues on.

Obviously you’re not stupid. You know what type of intentions a billionaire playboy must have with a younger girl that he doesn’t even really know. However, if said billionaire is offering to buy you a pretty dress…no, you’re not sleeping with him because he bought you a dress—of course not—and you’ve made absolutely no promises to do so, so what’s the harm in letting him? Really?

And yeah, maybe it’s a plus that he’s not bad looking, but how is that your fault?

You stand a bit awkwardly next to him as he puts his card in the machine, not even glancing at the outrageous number, and declines the offer for the receipt.

As you exit the store together and stand at the doors as he hands your original two bags back to you along with the new shiny black one that on its own looks like something people would pay for.

“You will be there?” he asks, eyes more hopeful than you were prepared for. 

You nod, gesturing the bag up, “Well you just bought me the dress.”

He shrugs that off, “I would’ve bought you the dress anyways.”

You linger in the midst of the ado wearing a dress that you feel far too overshadowed by, fidgeting with the half empty wine glass in your hand. Unfortunately, this time around you were invited by the host of the event and it would be extra rude to run away and hide. That doesn’t stop you from considering it, though.

A hand sliding across your lower back has you momentarily startled, and for reasons you couldn’t quite verbalize, you’d naturally assumed it was Bruce. The disappointment rings strong when you turn around to be met with the sight of an even older man, who looks considerably wine drunk. 

“Hello there, Miss.,” The words themselves are polite but the salacious smile on his face and the way his eyes have no trouble roaming your body gives you a solid idea of what this conversation is going to entail.

“Hello,” you fake a polite, tight smile and shift your attention to the rest of the room. 

This does nothing to deter him, as he takes a sizable step back into your line of sight. “Having a nice time?” 

The man is clearly from money, if his attire didn’t give it away his attitude sure did. There’s an heir of entitlement around him, like he’s inherently deservant of your attention—a quality you were notably surprised to not have found in Bruce. 

You give him your faux-smile again, this time tighter but half a second longer for the sake of politeness. A rookie mistake.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks, gesturing to the bar.

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say, gesturing your wine glass up.

A momentary flash of irritation crosses his face, but to his credit, he does a better job recovering from it than you would have expected. Though, that’s not really saying much. “Well, pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be all alone here,”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” Both of your heads snap to the side, finding a much more welcome surprise than you’d previously received. 

Your counterpart's posture straightens immediately, “Mr. Wayne,” he fawns, “What a lovely event you’ve thrown. I’m sure the Bernsteins will be appreciative.”

Bruce hums, eyes narrowed slightly. “You are…”

The man startles and rushes to finish off his sentence, “Alexander Watson, senior executive to the accounting department for the research wing of the company.”

He nods slowly, no recognition actually present in his eyes. “Ah. The research wing of the company that just blew fifteen million dollars on prototype self-operating cell phones.”

You’re trying hard to fight the smile creeping up on your face.

“What exactly is a self-operating cell phone?”

Watson’s face drops, hurrying to justify his approval of the proposal’s funding. As he rambles, Bruce’s gaze lowers to where Watson has once again placed his hand on your hip, though he’s not close enough to you for it to rest fully or naturally. You don’t know him well but you can say confidently that he doesn’t look pleased. 

He looks back up to Watson, attitude challenging. “Surely you’re not poking around where you’re unwelcome?”

Watson stutters at that, blinking and shaking his head quickly. “No, no, of course not! I was just hoping to provide the young lady with some company. That’s all.”

“And so you have.”

“I—,” about two steps behind in this conversation, Watson finally decides to retreat, “Yes, good evening, Mr. Wayne.” He bows his head and shuffles away back into the crowd.

“Mr. Wayne,” you smile knowingly, turning to him. “How are you?”

The hardness of his gaze fades quickly as he takes in your appearance, quite liking how you wear the dress you’d picked out.

“Things are looking up,” he smiles, “You look lovely.”

 “Thank you,” you glance over to where Watson has made his way to the bar, likely about to down an entire glass. “Mr., uh, Mr. Watson makes quite the impression.”

His smile turns a bit sullen, “You know last year he tried to convince the board that battery-powered battery chargers were going to be the next big thing?”

You blink, tilting your head, “Thought you didn’t know who he was.”

His eyes are fixed on the wall as he tugs the corner of his lip down, knowing he’s been caught but not really caring. “I’m sorry to have been away for so long, it seems everyone needs my attention at these things.”

“At the gala that you threw? I’d imagine so.”

He rolls past that smoothly, “You’re having a good time?”

“I am,” you say with a confirming head bob.

He regards the room with a numb expression, “You know, I think I’m getting bored with all of this.”

You smile at him, brow furrowed, “It’s only been an hour.”

He looks at you, eyes wide. “It’s only been an hour?” He’s exaggerating his surprise to make you smile, and it works.

“I think we should go,” he says lower.

You stare at him, bemused. “You still have a whole room full of guests.” 

He shrugs, “They’ll filter out on their own eventually.” 

He clocks your hesitation easily, accurately noting it to be more out of politeness than actually wanting to stay at the party. “What, you’re not ready to leave?”

You look around at all the mostly old, posh guests, disinterested small talk evident all across the room. You take a breath, “Alright, yeah. Let’s go.”

He smiles and leads you out a side door and through a corridor that’s significantly longer than you’d expected. 

“Do you always ditch your parties this early?” you ask, following closely.

He makes a sharp right at the next doorway, “If I can manage it.”

You look around at the high wooden ceilings and grand furniture. “Aren’t some of them friends of yours?”

He shakes his head, “My friends aren’t here.”

You frown at that, “Then why do you throw them at all?”

“Why did you show up last weekend?”

You nod slowly, understanding. “It’s your job.”

He returns the nod, adding, “Only difference is, there’s not a chance in hell you get paid enough for the work you do for Mullins.”

For the sake of maintaining your wishful facade of professionalism, you’re going to not acknowledge that incredibly accurate statement. Instead you smile politely and continue on walking. He seems to get the implication, returning it with an even brighter adornment.

“Well, money’s money,” you say wryly.

His smile fades a bit, “You shouldn’t have to worry about things like that.” 

You shrug, “A day in the life,”

He looks sullen upon hearing that, with more sympathy than you’d have expected from someone of his stature. He’s done nothing if not surprise you, though.

“Here,” he says, taking hold of the handle of a glass door. It opens to a garden, lit up beautifully by the moon and outdoor light. A fountain sits in the middle, water rhythmically gushing out of the top and trickling down the sides. The bite of the Gotham night air burns at your cheeks a bit and you find yourself thankful the dress you’d chosen is so long.

Bruce leads the way to an expensive marble bench positioned nicely in front of it, allowing you to sit first before following suit. Your hands find a place in your lap, clasped together awkwardly in an attempt to find warmth through contact.

It takes Bruce less than ten seconds to stand, remove his suit jacket, and drape it over your shoulders before sitting back down. The material is thicker and warmer than you would’ve expected, surely reminiscent of the perks of being owned by a billionaire.

He doesn’t look at you to acknowledge the grateful expression on your face, simply carrying on like it didn’t happen. “Was hoping it was warmer,” he murmurs.

Your focus momentarily goes to the icy cold stone of the bench under your thighs, initially finding it uncomfortable before deciding the coolness actually felt quite soothing. You remove your gaze from the gray stone and turn your head to find Bruce already focused on you.

You start to say something, though you’re not sure what it would’ve been, when he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down.

Well, he certainly knows what he’s doing, doesn’t he?

His eyes stay on your lower lip as he murmurs, “You’re a pretty girl, you know that?” 

God, he’s a professional.

You look up at him and refrain from saying anything, waiting to see if he follows it up with something that will make you regret agreeing to coming out here with him.

He doesn’t.

You shift, moving your hands off your lap to rest on the stone under you. “You can’t just do this—”

He smiles and lowers his chin to look you in the eyes, “Then what can I do for you?”

“You—” you blink rapidly, “Stop it.”

His coy beam persists, “Stop what?”

You raise your gaze up to him ever so slightly, a pouty expression across your face that you’re trying to sell as serious. “You’re trying to make me nervous.”

“Do I make you nervous?” He tilts his head down further, a ghost of a smile echoing on his lips, “I don’t mean to, sweet girl.”

Your eyes drop to the ground, biting your tongue. “Yeah.”

His simper grows, “I’m serious. I’d hate to scare away a new friend.”

You laugh at that and he perks up a bit at the sound, “What? We’re not friends?”

You cock your head to the side, “You’re the one who said none of your friends are here.”

He hums, “Maybe I spoke too soon.”

“You think so?” You should probably stop flirting so much. 

“Yeah,” he leans in a bit closer, “I do.”

“Why’s that?”

“Maybe I want to be your friend,” his hand finds a place atop yours. 

Your eyes flicker across his face as he closes in, “What if I don’t want to be yours?”

His eyes are on your lips, “I’m sure we can work something out.”

You take a slow deep breath, “Your intentions are blurry.”

He smiles lightly, amused. “We’ll have to clear that up then, won’t we?” His lips are inches away and his voice is soft as he says, “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

You look up at him eyes wide, barely processing his words as you nod. He gently grasps your jaw in his hand, tilting your head up. His other hand finds the back of your head, holding you in place as he kisses you with intention. Your hands hover in the air for a second before holding onto his forearms. 

He breaks the kiss only to give you another sweet one right after. Your mouths remain close when it’s over, eyes still shut, trying to catch your breath. You stay like that for a moment until he kisses you once more on your cheekbone before pulling away. His hands drop to rest on your knees, the weight of them gentle.

He hums lowly, “Sweet thing..”

Being under the heaviness of his gaze leaves you feeling vulnerable. It’s starting to get you concerned with the potential levity and implications of kissing him. The expectations.

“You…” you stare down at where his hands meet your skin, not quite sure that you actually meant to start that sentence. 

“What?” he frowns, brow pinched. Your chin lowers further as your mouth forms a tight line. He shakes his head, “No, it’s alright. What is it?” he asks gently.

It takes a surge of willpower for you to get the sentence out, “You just want to sleep with me..”

He frowns harder at that, pulling back a bit. “No. I’m…” he sighs, “I’m not trying to lure you in just to toss you out right after.”

That makes you look up again. His voice has a sincerity to it that you weren’t prepared for. 

He continues, “I would like to, yes. Yeah. You’re beautiful, of course I would, but..” he looks down at his hands before looking back up at you, “No, that’s not the most important thing to me.”

You break eye contact again, thinking over his words. If that’s not the most important thing to him, what is? You can’t think of what else he could possibly want from you, a billionaire who could have anything he wants..the only thing you could have to offer in his eyes is sex. 

Right?

He exhales, “If you want to leave, I’ll call you a car. No hard feelings.” He nudges your chin up gently so you’ll look at him, but he gives you the freedom to fight against it if you wanted to.

You let him move you.

“I don’t want to leave,” you tell him, looking into his eyes. “What do you want?”

“Whatever you want,” he says it like it’s automatic. You physically can’t help but roll your eyes at the corniness of it. He doubles down, though, “Seriously. Anything.”

You smile in disbelief, shaking your head.

“Alright,” he returns your smile, straightening, “Here’s what we’re going to do. Do you need a ride home?”

You blink at him, “I’m going home?”

“You are,” he nods softly, “Do you need a ride?”

“No.”

He nods again, more like he’s working through something in his head. “Okay. You’re going to go home and think through what you want. If you decide you want to, come back here next Saturday.” he stands up, extending his hand out to you, “Then you can let me know what else you want and we can get to work on that too.”

You start to shake your head, “I can—” 

He drops his chin seriously, “Think on it.”

You relent easily, taking his hand and coming to a stand.

“Alright?” Again, his question is genuine. He does really want to know if you’re on board with this plan. 

Already going against his request, you agree without a thought, “Okay.”

He starts to lead you back over to the garden door with a head nod and a kind smile.

It ultimately was not a decision you had to think very hard on.

You’d considered every scenario of how this could play out and none of them ended with regret as far as you could guess.

You’ll still admit though, there was one scenario you had missed, apparently, which is why you were immeasurably confused when you showed up and he invited you to play chess.

He’s not wearing a fancy three piece suit this time, but his clothes are still very nice. With the sunlight peeking through the windows, you’re able to see the manor more clearly than you had been the other night. It really is a beautiful home, clearly very old and charmed, but there’s a lot of little details of character and history scattered around. There’s portraits and photographs of his parents from when he was young and furniture decorated with trinkets all throughout, kept absolutely spotless and dust free. Everything is neat and tidy but there’s still traces of the house being lived in with the patched throw pillows and worn carpets. Still, it’s very, very placid.

You’ve met new money plenty of times over the course of dealing with countless businessmen for Mr. Mullins but old money is something entirely different. You don’t really have a frame of reference here. New money is almost always brash and demanding, they like things done quickly and correctly the first time around. They’re usually not very interested in hearing what you have to say (even if it would save them a lot of trouble) and prefer it when the assistants women keep their mouths shut. Bruce has proven to be very different from these standards already and you’re not sure where to begin with placing new ones.

You’re about halfway through a second game, and while you’re not awful at chess, you get the impression that he’s easing up on you considerably.

You sit on the floor in front of a short coffee table, the game having no clear lead so far.

“I think this is stressing me,” you mumble, no actual weight behind your words.

“It’s just chess,” he says, not looking up from the board.

You watch him move his knight forward as you ask, “And that’s all we’re doing?”

“As it stands, yes,” he looks up at you, though you don’t return his gaze.

“Yeah,” you sigh, sliding your rook, “But later?”

“Later?”

“Well, you said...” you meet his eyes, “You said you wanted to sleep with me.”

He nods slowly, “I do. Is that alright?”

You consider it for a moment. You already knew that, if you really weren’t okay with it you wouldn’t have come here. And yeah, the idea makes you a little shaky, but in a good way.

“Yes,” you tell him, moving your queen forward two spaces.

“Are you sure?” he presses, moving to sit on the side of the table rather than behind it.

You do the same, sitting on your knees. “Yeah, I just..” you shift your weight, eyes wandering. “I’m not…overly experienced.”

He just smiles at that, like it’s endearing. Your words didn’t quite convey your meaning but your tone did. In any case, he understands the implication. “That’s alright, sweetheart. I’m not going to throw you in the deep end.”

You nod, looking down again.

“You’re nervous,” he comments.

“No, I’m—I mean, maybe,” your voice is barely a murmur by the end of the sentence.

He’s quiet for a moment, observing the way you fiddle with your rings. “What if we get you something pretty to wear? Something that makes you feel pretty. Whatever you want.”

He fishes his wallet out of his pocket, opening and pulling out a lump of cash without even looking. He holds the money out to you wordlessly and you can see from the bill on the outside that it’s at least a couple hundred dollars.

You shake your head instantly, “I can’t take that.”

He doesn’t put the money down but his eyes turn to begging. “Please. I just want you to feel good.”

“Bruce—”

He wavers a bit at that but it’s more of a falter than you’ve seen from him before so it’s easy to take notice of. “What?”

He shrugs barely, “I like when you say my name.”

Your eye contact holds for a moment and your resolve starts to shake almost instantly.

You exhale, “I’m not taking more than a hundred.”

“Two hundred.”

“Bruce.”

He smiles and picks out some of the cash and pockets it, handing you the rest. You don’t comment on the fact that it’s a hundred and fifty more than you’d agreed on.

You look down at the money in your hand like it’s a foreign object, shaking your head. “I don’t even know what to get.”

His thumbs start to rub reassuring circles by the bend of your knees, “Anything you want,” he tells you. “What do you like? Silk, lace, cotton, anything.”

You look up, tilting your head at him with a furrowed brow. “It doesn’t matter what I like, th—”

“It only matters what you like,” He says seriously, lowering himself to meet your gaze. “I’ll love it, no matter what you pick. Don’t worry about that.”

You lean forward a bit instinctually, “Okay.”

His eyes scan across your face in something that you can only recognize as awe.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you whisper.

“I want to kiss you again,” he says, voice even quieter.

Your eyes go to his mouth and you can only manage a nod, lips already parted.

He moves forward not a second later, kissing you with more fire than you’d gotten to see the other night. His hands grab at your waist, squeezing lightly as you hook one hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

You hear the clatter of chess pieces falling over as he moves nearer to you, large frame leaning over you. You push up on your knees, meeting his lips up at his level. His hands caress around your hips as the kiss gets deeper.

You just start to fumble with the hem of his shirt when he takes your hands in his, pulling them away before breaking the kiss.

“Easy, sweet girl,” he smiles, nudging you back with little force.

You groan, “Why?”

He barks out a laugh at that, stroking your hips again. “I’m not fucking you for the first time on the floor.”

“Then let's go somewhere else,” you nod up towards the stairs.

He shakes his head, that soft smile still playing on his lips. “Not tonight.”

You sit back on your heels again, frowning.

He brushes your hair back, murmuring, “No. But for now, I'll kiss you ‘til you can’t think if that’s what you want.”

You really hope you didn’t perk up at that as much as you think you did.

part two

🌾🌽 i heard a rumor that if you like without reblogging your crops will be cursed but hey what do i know 🌾🌽

[ffawnyy]

ㅤ۟ㅤㅤ──ㅤ𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓ㅤ۫ㅤ ͏ㅤ𑜞᭄ ㅤ۪ㅤ⊹ㅤ𓈒

🧷 𑁯 𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐘 ── 𝓙𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐃 w/ an 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ! reader ഒ

♡ · REQUEST ── ❝ Could I pretty please request a fic thats Jason Todd X reader!!! But like... Reader is THAT girl . . . She has and always will be the shit of Gotham . . . Jason and reader have been friends since his robin dayz, and after he dies they still get back together and resume their bad bitch couple shit . . . it melts ppls hearts. ❞

⊹ 💬 · these reqs are so fun i love writing jaybeans and reader totally in love and being the hottest people in the room <3

ഒ DIRECTORY⠀;⠀RULES⠀;⠀TALK HERE⠀;⠀HEADCANONS

Jason thinks he knows what sanctuary feels like—heaven built brick by brick by the hands of an angel he once knew before the waves of the Lazarus Pit covered him completely. It changed his young skin into something marred.

He did come back. He clawed his way out of his grave. But he came back wrong. He left something of the boy he used to be under that dirt. The name ‘Jason Todd’ etched upon that gravestone was long forgotten by most.

By most. Not all.

There had been white lilies upon his grave. It was like clockwork. Every month She came to him—or where She thought he rested. He watched from afar. His eyes never left the angel he used to know—his sanctuary.

She had grown up into something otherworldly. She wasn’t the girl he used to see during the Galas Bruce dragged him to, clinging to her parents as if everyone else around her scared her. Her glossy eyed stare had found him then. It had been so easy to attach himself to Her.

She was his friend. Is still now by the look of it. She never stopped visiting with those White Lilies, grieving losing something as if he was something She held dear.

She’s something different now. The girl She was still lingered behind those sharp eyes—hypnotizing to a fault—eyes that used to trap him in their hold and still continue to do so to this day.

She walks with a purpose now. Every step is calculated. People in Gotham City worship or curse the ground She walks on. It doesn’t change the fact everyone knows Her. Everyone notices Her.

She shines the brightest in this whole damned city.

He had wished She could shine upon him as well. He took his chance. Like a dog scratching at its owner’s door, begging to be let in—he caved and ran to the only sanctuary he’d known—Her.

She opened the door.

It was a dark night when he visited Her. The alabaster moon’s light was akin to a halo around Her. Her hair was perfectly imperfect—styled but slightly messy from sleeping. Her skin just as alive as he remembered it.

Her eyes still looked at him as if She loved his own sea-green eyes. Her hands now slender and soft—different from the calloused hands of his—still tender as they grazed his face, testing if he was real. As if this was a dream for Her, as if She dreamed of him.

The way She brought him into Her hold felt like a dream. The way She let him wrap his arms around her felt like a dream.

He’d entered the sanctuary again after that night alongside Her. Or maybe, the sanctuary was always just Her.

Next to Her he felt alive. The boy Jason Todd came alive under Her touch. It felt akin to lightning under his fingertips. It felt like a drug he was getting addicted to.

She was his. He was Hers.

The wide-eyed stares the two of them got was ever so worth it. Gotham City’s angel had brought heaven to the devil. Her hands played the entire Gotham elite like an instrument. She was Gotham City’s crowned princess, and him—the prince.

The media was alive with rumors about the two of them.

‘Is Love Real? Jason Todd's Soft Eyes™ Only for Gotham's It Girl: Gotham gasps. Media combusts. Hearts melt.’

Jason wasn’t used to this kind of light.

Not from the moon, not from Her living room dimmed by candlelight, not from the soft flash of paparazzi bulbs trying to catch a glimpse of their joined silhouettes through the tinted windows of a passing car.

He wasn’t used to being seen like this.

Not as a weapon. Not as a story of resurrection gone wrong.

But as Hers.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

There's something about the way She walks beside him. Like Gotham belongs to Her and She’s just letting everyone else borrow the sidewalk.

Jason doesn’t flinch under the eyes anymore. He used to. Used to brace himself for whispers or stares, expecting judgment or recognition or worse.

But now—now the stares are different.

They’re envious.

Jason said, “You wanna ditch this place?” His voice carried the weight of a man who’d learned the value of simple pleasures after tasting both death and resurrection.

She turned to him, eyes gleaming like She knew every life he'd lived—and said, “Yeah. But I'm driving.” The words simple but carrying universes between them.

He’d never loved a voice more in his life.

The next morning, tabloids were in flames.

‘Gotham's Golden Girl and the Reformed Robin.’

A grainy photo of them in a booth at some dive on the east end—Her in his leather jacket, him smiling like he forgot how to scowl, like happiness wasn’t just something that happened to other people.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

Tim said, “So, this is a thing now?” His voice cutting through the manor’s morning quiet like a curious bird.

Jason shrugged, sipping coffee in the manor kitchen like he didn’t just spend the night wrapped in silk sheets and Her perfume, like dawn hadn’t broken over his skin with Her breath against his neck. “Guess it is.”

“Since when?”

“Since she opened the damn door.” And with those words, heaven had let him back in.

Dick walked in, caught sight of the look on Jason's face and went, “Oh my god, he's in love.” The words hanging in the air like a revelation.

That’s when Roy burst in through the back entrance, wild-haired and sleep-deprived, clearly running off three hours of rest and one Red Bull, a whirlwind of motion and disbelief.

“I just saw the photo, and I swear to God, tell me it's Photoshop.”

Jason blinked. “Morning to you too, Harper.”

Roy stormed into the kitchen, phone in hand, showing the now-viral tabloid shot of Her sitting on Jason’s motorcycle in a black leather mini-dress and his jacket like she was the poster girl for ‘my boyfriend’s a reformed vigilante and I run this city.’

“This. This is real?! You and her?!”

Jason didn't even look. “Yeah. Real.” In those two words, the certainty of a man who’d touched divinity and lived to tell about it.

Tim sipped his drink like this was better than reality television.

Dick leaned against the fridge, smirking. “He’s been soft for her since we were kids.”

Roy stared at all of them, processing, then slowly sat down at the kitchen island like his legs gave out. “No, I need a minute. I’m dizzy. Jason Todd has a goddess who voluntarily chooses to hang out with him?”

Jason raised a brow. “You good?”

“No! I am not good!” Roy pointed dramatically. “You’re hot in a feral, ‘I fought my way out of hell’ kinda way. She’s hot in a ‘Vogue cover and private yacht in Monaco’ kinda way. That math doesn't math.”

“Sounds like jealousy to me.” Jason just grinned like the devil himself got a second chance at heaven.

© petalbcrnes | all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are not allowed to be reposted, translated, or modified. viewer discretion is advised.

[ffawnyy]

my babyyyy

🪶love showers🪶

Jason Todd x gn!reader

Warnings: None this is just fluff. Get your mind out of the gutter🫩

🪶🪶🪶

Jason loves to shower with you.

He’s not ashamed to follow you from behind, until you two reach the doorway. He pauses and you spin around furrowing your eyebrows.

“Babe what’s wrong? I told you that you can join me.” The sound of confusion is obvious in your voice as you look up at your very tall boyfriend. Though, he’s looking very small in this moment.

“Yeah?” He asks quietly, like if he said it any loud it would smack some sense into you to say no.

Jason has never held back his love. He’d shout it from Gotham roofs if he could. That would definitely attract unwanted attention with the red hood screaming someone’s name and all. Instead, he cooks you all the food you ask for. Smothers you in all the kisses he has time for and tells you that you look absolutely beautiful just being you. He loves you. Most ardently.

However, when you love him back, pauses. It fills him with a sense of confusion and joy. He always wonders how someone as perfect as you would show him love in return. He would say he’ll wonder this till the day he dies, but he already did that.

You giggle and grab his shirt to bring him into a soft kiss. “You’re such a dork.” Turning away from him you begin to shed your clothes. You’ve never been shy about your body in front of him.

He laughs as he begins to shed his. “Yeah I figured you’d want company.” He teases.

The two of you step inside, letting the hot water cover you both. Well…try. Though that does matter because the minute you both step foot he has his arms wrapped around you instantly. The feel of your skin on his is a feeling like no other. He feels alive. The warmth of the water has nothing on you.

After a few moments he reaches behind you to grab the shampoo. He squeezes a whole lot more than you use and starts scrubbing your scalp. It feels like he’s shampooing a dog, though this makes you laugh. Your head starts bopping in different directions. “Jason calm down.” You say in between laughs.

You laughing makes him laugh as he switches sides with you so now you’re under the water. He leans your head back and wipes the shampoo away, this time a bit gentler.

“You’re so beautiful.” He says softly.

He beckons your head out of the water with his hands. You can’t help but lean toward him and kiss him. Deep and passionate just like him. You both stay like this. Caressing each other. Basking in each other’s presence. It might be his favorite thing to do with you.

You two eventually washed up and got out of the shower. You always tell him that you can dry yourself, but he insists on doing it. He brushes your hair and grabs one of his shirts for you to sleep in. He just can’t help himself when it comes to you.

He lays with you in bed before he has to go. A few more kisses and then he’ll leave. No. A few more cuddles and then he’ll leave.

“Did I mention you’re beautiful? You wanna date?” You laugh and slightly smack him on the chest. “Is that a no?” He asks again, smiling as you.

You simply shake your head while smiling back. He showers you with a few more kisses and then he’s out the door.

He cant wait for your morning shower.

🪶🪶🪶

Note: Just some simple Jason Todd fluff cause why not. I have so many scenarios in my brain, both smutty and fluffy, but this one won the battle. It’s not much but damn eat yo food😭I love shower fluff cause I find it so wholesome. I love when characters bask in each others presence and just love on each other. Idk if I wrote Jason good with the dialogue but I get that insecurity about dialogue allllll the fuuucking time🫩 it’s why I took so long creating a writing blog…

Also also the teasing is lowkey inspired by my partner they’re always asking me if we should date LOL!! Anyway I hope you are all are having a wonderful day/night! You are worth it🫶🏻