husband!gyro zeppeli who pretends to be asleep when you wake up, yawning and stretching like he hasn't been admiring you for the past hour. He takes you in his big arms, placing you right on top of him, kissing your face repetitive times even after you complain.

husband!gyro zeppeli who makes breakfast with you, humming an old melody he can't name while he heats up some water for coffee and you cut the tomatoes. He takes your hand and spins you, wrapping his arm around your waist and sitting you on the counter while he feeds you bites of your own toast.

husband!gyro zeppeli who takes a huge umbrella and some towels and goes to the beach with you. That's how you spend your mornings, bathing and tanning in the warm Italian sun, with Gyro spending most of the time in the water. You know better than accompany him, because if you put a feet in the cold water, he's already lifting you and taking you deeper so he can throw you around while he giggles.

husband!gyro zeppeli who gets tanned easily, his skin turns a soft caramel color just after two weeks of going to the beach.

husband!gyro zeppeli who also knows how to sit beside you in the towels, napping quietly or talking in whispers while you tan. He would love to cuddle in the sand, but last time that happened, he had your hand print in your back all summer.

husband!gyro zeppeli who, when you had enough beach, takes you back to your home, sharing a shower together where you wash each other's bodies. He has so much care of your curls, detangling them and applying shampoo exactly how you taught him. You're as careful as him even thought he doesn't really care and somehow always has the most luscious and shiny hair ever.

husband!gyro zeppeli who cooks for you, usually pasta. You both know at some point of your lives you'll have to learn how to cook something else, but you don't even care for that at the moment.

husband!gyro zeppeli who keeps you in his lap while you eat together with a glass of wine, once again feeding each other from the same plate because why bother with different things when you can just share?

husband!gyro zeppeli who tried ditching his job when he came back, he tried talking to his father, saying that he cannot handle that labor and can't find himself confessing his job to you. He can't imagine the look on your face when you realize that your husband is an executioner. But his father insists that it's his duty, that his blood dictates his job and that when his father dies, there has to be someone to take his place.

husband!gyro zeppeli who cries that night in your chest, leaving you confused about his feelings. His shoulders shake as he holds you tighter, you run your fingers through his golden hair, whispering soft questions, but he just buries his face deeper against you, breathing heavy and uneven.

husband!gyro zeppeli who finally pulls back after what feels like forever, his blue eyes all red and glassy under the moonlight coming through the window. He confesses everything right there, voice cracking as the words tumble out. How his family has this duty, how he is supposed to be an executioner, carrying out sentences that make his stomach turn every single time. He keeps repeating that he doesn't like it, that he hates it, that the blood and the finality of it all haunt him even when he is with you in your peaceful little house by the sea.

husband!gyro zeppeli who looks so terrified while he speaks, thinking every word is a risk that could make you pack your things and run. His hands tremble as they cup your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks, memorizing you in case this is the last time. He says he tried to leave it all behind after the race, tried to build this life with you without the shadow of his last name hanging over everything, but his father keeps pulling him back.

husband!gyro zeppeli who breaks down harder when he finishes talking, fresh tears spilling down as he waits for your reaction. He whispers sorry over and over, voice thick with fear that you will see him differently now, that the man who spins you in the kitchen and throws you in the waves could never be loved by someone who knows the truth.

husband!gyro zeppeli who feels your arms wrap around him instead as you tell him that it's okay. You still love him, all of him, you kiss his forehead, his wet cheeks, promising that his job does not define the husband who loves you so openly every single day.

husband!gyro zeppeli who clings to you after that, crying out the rest of his pain while you hold him close. Your words sink into him, easing the knot in his chest until his breathing evens out against your skin. He falls asleep like that, exhausted but lighter, with your fingers still tracing soothing patterns on his back.

husband!gyro zeppeli who wakes up the next morning to you suggesting you both talk to his dad together. His eyes go wide at first, surprised and a little scared, but then he nods, pulling you into his lap right there in bed. He kisses you slow, murmuring that he doesn't know what he did to deserve someone like you.

husband!gyro zeppeli who somehow manages to stand up to his father with you by his side, ditching his job forever and not caring about what he has to say. His father is a little surprised that this is the first time he's heard about his wife.

husband!gyro zeppeli who's now free for all the burden, going back to focusing all the attention on you.

husband!gyro zeppeli and you, who are still in touch with Johnny after the race. You send letters to him ever month, telling him little updates of your quiet life, urging him to come visit you some time.

husband!gyro zeppeli who makes years pass like weeks. Even when wrinkles start to form next to your eyes, he still looks at you like the moment you punched his face in the first stage of the race (the moment that he says he fell in love with you). Even after you start forming a family, heavily pregnant with your first child, he was the most loving husband ever. When that little kid runs around the house, giggling just like him, he runs behind her trying to catch her.

husband!gyro zeppeli who, eventually leaves before you when you're old enough to expect it. Your already married daughter organizes the funeral, your granddaughter cries even more than you. And of course you feel sad, he was the love of your life, the only one, actually. But you have done so much together, all your memories were shared with him. He never left your side, until now, and you know it's not going to take long until you find each other again.

Pink, blue, black…

You huffed as you rummaged through the same drawer for the third time, hoping what you were looking for would magically appear between the mess of cotton, polyester, and lace.

The bedroom was a complete mess; drawers drawn open, half-empty because you’d carelessly thrown their contents out trying to find the piece, some bras landed on the floor, some shirts on your velvet vanity stool, and there was a pile of skirts and dresses forming atop of the bed.

Your eyes scanned the room again, trying to catch even the slightest glimpse of the intense, scarlet red you were desperately trying to find.

Your reflection stared back at you from the mirror—hair styled to perfection, black dress hugging your figure, and your lips painted a deep red color that was supposed to match the lingerie you’re wearing under the dress.

You had the bra, the only thing missing were the panties.

It was a special night, your two-year anniversary with your boyfriend, and Jason—who always makes it clear he’s not a fan of lavish and over-the-top dates—had surprised you with a reservation at this fancy steakhouse in downtown Gotham with a rooftop lounge that overlooks the city and has live jazz music playing the whole night.

You wanted to surprise him back, wearing the delicate, red, lacy lingerie set you know is his favorite, so that at the end of the night—in the backseat of the car, on the couch in the living room, or wherever he decided he wanted to take you—, you could feel his breath hitch and watch him lick his lips as he undressed you.

Besides, as stupid as it sounds, that set holds some type of sentimental value.

You bought it over a year ago, it’s a high-end designer piece that caught your eye the moment you stepped into that luxurious, ridiculously expensive boutique. It cost you an arm and a leg—you remember contemplating if it really was worth going broke for as the saleswoman talked about the quality of the materials.

You decided to buy it before you could think too much about it, swiping your card through the terminal and almost wincing when you saw the money deducted from your bank account.

It was more for Jason than for you anyway, and that’s what convinced you. It was a few days until his birthday, and you wanted to wear it as one of the many gifts you planned on giving him.

That night, straddling his lap as he laid on the couch, you saw his pupils dilate, watched him suck in a deep breath and pull his bottom lip between his teeth as he took off your dress. You decided that it had been completely worth the money.

It’s also the only set that’s made it through more than three wears—since Jason seems to have a kink for ripping fabric off of you, but apparently he’s decided he likes this one so much that he can be a little more careful with it. He almost always asks you to keep it on as he fucks you.

You really didn’t want to—it was supposed to be a surprise—but after checking the clock and seeing it was almost time to leave the apartment, you stepped out of the bedroom and into the living room to ask the only other person who could have any idea where your panties were.

“Jason, have you seen—”

Well…

There was your answer.

Jason sat on the couch, legs spread as they always are—no matter how much you scold him for his manspreading—, wearing a burgundy dress shirt that had you impatient thinking about the moment when you finally get to unbutton it.

His gaze was focused on the book perched on his lap, and in the gutter of said book—between thin, black ink-stained pages—were your panties, their red color bright against the yellowed paper.

You simply sighed, it was your fault honestly.

You started it a few months ago, Jason had taken a night off patrol and vigilante duty, and Cass had kindly offered to cover for him—watching over Crime Alley and the other places he usually took care of so he could spend time with you.

It was almost 2:00 a.m., your cheek was pressed against his bicep—because there’s nothing you love more than resting your head on your boyfriend’s muscles—, your legs shifted beneath the sheets to tangle with his, the soft cotton felt cool against your flushed skin.

Jason’s left hand was busy playing with your hair, twirling the strands around his scarred fingers while his right held the book he was reading.

He’d made you orgasm more times than you could count in a single night and you were convinced that you were completely satisfied.

Until you teared your eyes away from the ceiling to look at him, and he looked so cute and hot and sexy with his drugstore glasses perched on his crooked nose, and his brows had that furrow of concentration, and his thick lashes fluttered as he read through whatever greek tragedy he was so focused on, and his pretty lips formed the cutest pout you’ve ever seen on someone.

The sight made you feel that familiar heat between your legs—the one that appears whenever you see Jason doing practically anything.

You peppered kisses on his naked, glistening chest—still covered with a thin layer of sweat—, your fingers tracing down the lines of his abs and his prominent V-line until they reached the hem of the sheet—the only thing covering his lower body.

Jason breathed out your name, his heartbeat sped up under the touch of your lips, and he tried telling you about how he was in a really interesting part of the book, attempting to convince you to wait—but he didn’t make any real effort to stop you.

You looked up at him through your lashes, tongue darting out to trace one of the scars on his chest. You told him you couldn’t wait—and that it was his fault for making you so horny.

Picking up the pair of baby pink panties he’d tossed somewhere on the floor when he slipped them off of you, you took the book from his hand and placed the lacy garment on the page he was reading before closing it and handing it back to him. Your eyes never left his as you did so, and you had to bite your lip to hold back your giggles.

Jason’s eyes were wide as he took the book from you, his expression completely dumbfounded, and you swear that’s the most adorable he’s ever looked.

For you, Jason’s a weak, weak man. He could never deny you anything—trust, he’s tried.

And after that, you didn’t need to do anything else to convince him. He simply placed the book back on the nightstand beside the bed and rolled his eyes.

“You’re insane,” he scoffed, “and insatiable.”

You didn’t bother trying to defend yourself, it was true after all. You simply smiled in victory as your hand slid under the sheets.

Since that night, you never saw that pair of panties again—a shame, truly, it was a beautiful pink—and a few more disappeared from your underwear drawer to be found in the bookshelves.

“Jason,” you sighed. “I’ve been looking for those panties for like an hour!”

Jason looked up from his book—a dystopian novel you forgot the name of—, smirking when he caught sight of you with your arms crossed, wearing the dress he’d bought you specifically for your anniversary date.

“You look nice,” he whistled, looking you up and down shamelessly.

“Can you please give me my panties back?” You walked up to him and extended your hand out, expecting him to return your underwear.

“No,” he almost laughed, “I need my bookmarks.”

That made you roll your eyes, and before you could process it, Jason wrapped his hand around your wrist and pulled you into him so you were sitting on his lap.

“Besides,” he whispered into your ear, his voice carrying that teasing, smug tone you would never admit turns you on, “why do you need panties?”

“You know what would be a nice anniversary gift?” He continued, fingers teasing the skin of your thighs through the glossy fabric of your dress. “You not wearing anything under that dress.”

short n sexy mini fic for my baby jason todd while i work on my beach date with dick grayson one-shot 🤭

sorry if this was kinda ass, the idea was better in my head, still hope you enjoyed!!

thanks for reading!! likes, comments, follows, and reblogs are always appreciated!!

please do not copy, translate, repost, or feed my work to ai (especially this!!)

images from pinterest

A gruff voice pulls you out of your thoughts, eyes blurry from pressing them against your palms as you try to find out which idiot decided to interfere in your wallowing. Etches of black fill your vision before you realized it was a leather jacket. And you only knew one man in your town who wore leather jackets and was as tall — Jotaro Kujo. Your crush. No, ex-crush. The boy who rejected you under the cherry blossom tree was here again in front of you after you had been rejected by a stranger.

Fate loved you the way you loved pineapples. It didn’t.

"Hop one," Jotaro repeats, his arms folded as the leather scrunched against the crevices of his biceps. Sea green eyes trace over your slumped figure with an air of nonchalance that you definitely don't need right now. Maybe you were too hurt to see the way his eyes softened with guilt at your reddened eyes.

"Leave me alone."

He doesn't.

Because Jotaro was nothing but stubborn.

A few minutes pass by. You have your head on your lap, cradled by your hands, wishing the bus would just put you out of misery. Kids who were out and about on the streets laugh, the happiness tinging the air with sweetness but it doesn't reach you.

"It looks like it's going to rain," He says, the same impassive look carved on his features like something permanent. It was true; it did look like it would rain, and you knew your mother would get worried if you got caught up. Letting out a huff, you stand before brushing against the fabric of your clothes.

"Fine," you murmur, standing next to the gleaming vehicle. He hands you the helmet, a circular black one that shined against the remaining beams of sunlight that filtered through the clouds.

"What about yours?" you ask him as he grips the handlebars, looking straight ahead. He doesn't look at you, just murmuring something about how it was a short distance. After strapping the helmet on, you climb behind him, sitting at the edge of your seat so as to put as much distance as one possibly could. Jotaro looks at you through the side mirrors, "Hold on to me, or you will fall."

"No. I can fig—" The string of words is cut off with a yelp when Jotaro starts driving the bike at a speed that was well beyond the speed limit as you instinctively hug his waist, pressing your head against the leather of his jacket. Once he feels your warm arms around him, he slows down slightly.

"Fuck you, jackass," you punch his bicep lightly before laying your head against his back, the cold winds striking you like chords of music, the fabric of your dress fluttering in the air. Maybe if you had looked a little longer at him through the side mirror, you might have noticed the slight curl to his lips.

You hadn't looked around your surrounding during the ride, all your will focused on making sure you don't fall of the bike. The slow stop of the bike paired with the smooth breeze made you believe you had finally reached home except when you open your eyes, you are greeted with the sight of the local bakery — your favorite bakery.

"Get down."

"Jotaro, why are we here?" you ask, your voice as calm as it could possibly be. No, you were not angry at the fact that you were greeted by the sweetened smell of vanilla and chocolate. It was the fact that Jotaro was being a confusing man right now.

"Get Down." Jotaro turned, his sea green eyes a lot more blue in the sunlight. Oh god, did he look beautiful! He always was. It was almost like the clouds dispersed, waving way for the blue sky just so you could see him in the light. Just so you could never forget how beautiful he is. But you needed no reminder. You couldn't forget the face of the boy you had loved since you were fifteen. Even if you tried, you couldn't after all, being next-door neighbours doesn't warrant that.

"No, take me home, and then you can do whatever the fuck you —- hey!"

"Good grief." Jotaro plants his feet on the asphalt below, tilting the bike towards the ground. You squeeze your eyes, clutching onto his arms as you shout. "Fine, fine. I'll get down."

Jotaro parks the bike while you step into the bakery to find an empty booth, the owner — Shizuka — waving at you. You had been at the tiny bakehouse more times than you can remember becoming one of their most valuable customers.

The ding of the bell sweeps your attention away as Jotaro stepped in. He was everything the bakery was not. Black leather jacket draped over white t-shirt paired with black jeans while surrounded by drapes of pink silk and white cotton. He looked straight out of a magazine, his hat with gold borders sat on top.

You look away when he catches you staring, heat warm in your cheeks. After a few minutes, a ceramic plate with hanami dango is placed in front of you. Jotaro slides onto the opposite side of the booth, face as nonchalant as always.

"What's this?" you ask, though you knew the answer as well as a person knowing their own name. He rolls his eyes before folding his arms. Minutes pass by, and you were sure you would not get an answer from him, as you take the skewer.

"Your favorite," he mumbles, voice so soft you could have missed it. Your eyes widen, almost loosing grip on the bamboo sticks.

"How did you know it's my favorite."

You were not sure whether you were wafting in a dream when you saw the slight red coating his cheeks. Jotaro blushed? Maybe you were dreaming. No, you are dreaming. This was the same man who rejected you under the cherry blossom tree a few months ago with a simple, impassive No.

You ignore him, munching on the pink dumpling. Once the first skewer was rid of all the three dumplings, you huff , settling back onto the cushion. Jotaro was on his phone, eyes focused intently like he was reading something.

"Why are you doing this, Jotaro?" you ask. Why was he being kind to you after that day? Though you were neighbors, you may have met him only two times in the entirety of six months — a result of avoiding him.

"Because you deserve better." It's almost immediate, like the words were sitting on the tip of his tongue waiting to be let out. To be heard. Jotaro doesn't look at you, he couldn't. Not when he was the reason behind it. You might never know, but he liked you; hell, he loved you. Loves you. But he couldn't bring you into a life of uncertainty. A life that could hold no promises. You deserved someone better. Better than him. But he didn't tell you that instead added something more credible "And your mother told my mother about your date."

The initial shock wears off as you roll your eyes. Of course your mother told Holly. They were best friends after all. But his words stayed like the cold in the air even when the sky cleared up. What did he even mean by that?

The bike ride back home was a lot more solemn. Something had changed, but you couldn't place it. Through the visor, you could see the front lawn of both your houses, bushes covering each side with pink blossoms. Once you got down, you gave him back his helmet with a roll of your eyes. Maybe it was easier being rude to him than figuring out what the words at the bakery meant.

His mother never told him about your date. He had heard it when your mother spoke on the phone to you in the garden. He heard how your date had stood you up, and you were at a part of the city that had sporadic bus routes. He hadn't even thought much about it, immediately grabbing his bike keys as a reflex as he ran out the door. A reflex for you.

Jotaro looks at your form disappearing past the front door. It was for the best to let you go. For you. For him. But did he really believe that? Will he ever do? He doesn't know, but the words stay like a bandage on his broken heart that he himself was the reason for.

Stupid; that’s how you felt after not having predicted this outcome. With all the warnings you’d been ignoring, you almost blamed yourself.

The silence stretched on, and your heart broke a little more at his lack of a response. You used to love how calm and collected Bruce was—thought it balanced out the temper you could barely control at times. Now you found yourself hating how unreadable his face was.

Frustration turned into rage, as you pushed against his chest and shouted, “Speak up already! You owe me that much, don’t you?!”

A disbelieving scoff left your parted lips. “Or is that also too much to expect after the two years you have spent making a fool of me in the public eye?” Your voice held steady, but your eyes betrayed you.

Beneath the surface, Bruce could recognize the hurt pooling in them.

But he couldn’t tell you the truth. Not involving you in his life of fighting crime had been a conscious decision. Keeping you in the dark was for the best, even if holding on to this secret would break your trust in him.

Bruce would rather have you hate him than have you be in danger as a result of his selfishness. He couldn’t be selfish; not with you. His love for you had stopped him from that before even his morality ever could.

He wasn’t deserving of good things. They never lasted. He knew that now. Hurting you had never been his intention, though. Fuck, he hadn’t even intended for you to get as close to him as you did. You were a civilian—someone who only knew him as Bruce, and not as the Bat.

You had no idea of what being with him truly meant. So he had tried to keep his distance, to stop whatever was happening between you two before it could ever truly ignite. But it was pointless. Your persistence, your affection, your warmth; they’d cracked his resolve quicker than he could have prevented it. You made it impossible for love not to bloom.

The seeds of trust you’d planted in the beginnings of your relationship blossomed in spite of the light Bruce lacked to nurture them at times.

Your love had felt like a magnolia in May. Seeing you like this made Bruce wonder if his neglect had truly caused its petals to wither away.

Bruce wanted to pull you closer. Instinct called for him to reach out to you, to reassure you, to tell you that none of these claims held any real substance to them. It seemed impossible to convince you, though, that the damning pictures paparazzi had leaked of him leaving a notorious strip club downtown meant nothing. He couldn’t tell you the actual reason why he was there—not without exposing his vigilante lifestyle.

He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it once more. Still, no words.

You felt a familiar burning sensation in your nostrils—a warning for the tears that were already beginning to sting at the corners of your eyes.

Schooling your expression, you took a step back from Bruce, as though being near him filled you with disgust. “Fuck you,” you spat out, but your voice lacked its previous passion. Then, you turned around and left. With you, you took any hope he had held onto for a brighter future.

A flower simply couldn’t persevere in the face of darkness, and if Bruce was honest with himself, he knew that the darkness had become a part of him a long time ago. He’d settle for admiring his magnolia from afar.

And he did. Letting you go had wrecked him, yet seeing you shine once more brought him back to life. Months passed, then a year, and still, Bruce found himself wishing he could have been the right man for you. If only he could’ve been the gentle-faced blonde man on whose arm you hung these days. The one that had no secrets to keep from you.

The one who Bruce heard had proposed to you recently. The one you had said yes to. In another world, would you have said yes to him too?

In a world where Bruce had been the one to ask you to be his wife instead of breaking your heart? A simpler world, one that allowed for him not to be the twisted man he was doomed to be in this one.

Marriage had been a thought for him at the time. More and more often had he looked at his late mother’s wedding ring and thought of what a future would look like with you by his side forever as Mrs. Wayne.

Bruce wondered if you would think of him when you walked down the aisle toward another man, stepping into a life that should have been his. A rotten part of him hoped you would. The astute part knew it.

em’s masterlist | bruce wayne masterlist wc: 1.0k request: no

˙⋆✮ a/n: feel like i started strong but got rly lazy at some point 💀 tbh i’m a bit cringed out by my metaphors in this but i cba to change ts 😬

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it’s fairly empty when the three of you step foot in through the doors, blue lights illuminating your path inside. the entrance is lined up with tanks featuring all kinds of fish, their scales almost luminescent underneath the dark lights. “no tapping on the glass, you’ll distress the fish,” was the only rule jotaro had to give before letting jolyne run off to one of the tanks.

she’s practically entranced as she looks into the tanks, following the smooth glide of one of the fish from one corner of the tank to the next. “we might have another marine biologist in the family,” you murmur, watching as she reads through the information board next to the tank.

“wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen, would it?” he notes, almost sounding proud of the possibility. it wasn’t a secret to either of you that as much as she tried to act unaffected by his absence, she craved his approval more than anything.

“which are these?” jolyne turns to look at her father, breaking the two of you out of your hushed conversation. she pointed towards a fish with a black body and a yellow ring around its eye. while the information board was right next to the display, she wanted to hear her father explain. wanted an excuse to talk about something he’s passionate about.

“pomacanthus paru.” jolyne’s head tilts to the side. oh shit, too much of a smart ass. jotaro clears his throat, bending down to be face to face. “that’s a french angelfish. the young ones clean up after the other fish and they tend to mate for life with their partner.”

the little girl looks between you and her father, giving you both a toothy grin. “like you and mommy?” you merely raise a brow, waiting for jotaro’s response.

he nods, gently tugging on one of her pigtails, “yeah, like me and your mom.” your heart does a little flutter in your chest. you’ve missed these moments with your husband, of actually spending time with him without any imminent danger.

the three of you walk over to the manta ray displays, a few people lined around the edges of the open tank to attempt to pet them as they swim past. “tell me something interesting!” jolyne prompts, rushing over to wash her hands at the station nearby.

ever the walking encyclopedia, jotaro responds, “just like your fingerprints, scientists are able to identify them by the pattern of their underbelly, additionally they have to keep swimming with their mouths open to keep oxygen-filled water passing over their gills.” you rinse your hands off before following them to the tanks, running your fingers through a few passing by.

“they’re all slimy, huh?” you let out a small laugh at the small wrinkle on her nose, watching her fingertips barely graze the surface. she nods, “but they’re so so cool, we should come here every week!”

A gruff voice pulls you out of your thoughts, eyes blurry from pressing them against your palms as you try to find out which idiot decided to interfere in your wallowing. Etches of black fill your vision before you realized it was a leather jacket. And you only knew one man in your town who wore leather jackets and was as tall — Jotaro Kujo. Your crush. No, ex-crush. The boy who rejected you under the cherry blossom tree was here again in front of you after you had been rejected by a stranger.

Fate loved you the way you loved pineapples. It didn’t.

"Hop one," Jotaro repeats, his arms folded as the leather scrunched against the crevices of his biceps. Sea green eyes trace over your slumped figure with an air of nonchalance that you definitely don't need right now. Maybe you were too hurt to see the way his eyes softened with guilt at your reddened eyes.

"Leave me alone."

He doesn't.

Because Jotaro was nothing but stubborn.

A few minutes pass by. You have your head on your lap, cradled by your hands, wishing the bus would just put you out of misery. Kids who were out and about on the streets laugh, the happiness tinging the air with sweetness but it doesn't reach you.

"It looks like it's going to rain," He says, the same impassive look carved on his features like something permanent. It was true; it did look like it would rain, and you knew your mother would get worried if you got caught up. Letting out a huff, you stand before brushing against the fabric of your clothes.

"Fine," you murmur, standing next to the gleaming vehicle. He hands you the helmet, a circular black one that shined against the remaining beams of sunlight that filtered through the clouds.

"What about yours?" you ask him as he grips the handlebars, looking straight ahead. He doesn't look at you, just murmuring something about how it was a short distance. After strapping the helmet on, you climb behind him, sitting at the edge of your seat so as to put as much distance as one possibly could. Jotaro looks at you through the side mirrors, "Hold on to me, or you will fall."

"No. I can fig—" The string of words is cut off with a yelp when Jotaro starts driving the bike at a speed that was well beyond the speed limit as you instinctively hug his waist, pressing your head against the leather of his jacket. Once he feels your warm arms around him, he slows down slightly.

"Fuck you, jackass," you punch his bicep lightly before laying your head against his back, the cold winds striking you like chords of music, the fabric of your dress fluttering in the air. Maybe if you had looked a little longer at him through the side mirror, you might have noticed the slight curl to his lips.

You hadn't looked around your surrounding during the ride, all your will focused on making sure you don't fall of the bike. The slow stop of the bike paired with the smooth breeze made you believe you had finally reached home except when you open your eyes, you are greeted with the sight of the local bakery — your favorite bakery.

"Get down."

"Jotaro, why are we here?" you ask, your voice as calm as it could possibly be. No, you were not angry at the fact that you were greeted by the sweetened smell of vanilla and chocolate. It was the fact that Jotaro was being a confusing man right now.

"Get Down." Jotaro turned, his sea green eyes a lot more blue in the sunlight. Oh god, did he look beautiful! He always was. It was almost like the clouds dispersed, waving way for the blue sky just so you could see him in the light. Just so you could never forget how beautiful he is. But you needed no reminder. You couldn't forget the face of the boy you had loved since you were fifteen. Even if you tried, you couldn't after all, being next-door neighbours doesn't warrant that.

"No, take me home, and then you can do whatever the fuck you —- hey!"

"Good grief." Jotaro plants his feet on the asphalt below, tilting the bike towards the ground. You squeeze your eyes, clutching onto his arms as you shout. "Fine, fine. I'll get down."

Jotaro parks the bike while you step into the bakery to find an empty booth, the owner — Shizuka — waving at you. You had been at the tiny bakehouse more times than you can remember becoming one of their most valuable customers.

The ding of the bell sweeps your attention away as Jotaro stepped in. He was everything the bakery was not. Black leather jacket draped over white t-shirt paired with black jeans while surrounded by drapes of pink silk and white cotton. He looked straight out of a magazine, his hat with gold borders sat on top.

You look away when he catches you staring, heat warm in your cheeks. After a few minutes, a ceramic plate with hanami dango is placed in front of you. Jotaro slides onto the opposite side of the booth, face as nonchalant as always.

"What's this?" you ask, though you knew the answer as well as a person knowing their own name. He rolls his eyes before folding his arms. Minutes pass by, and you were sure you would not get an answer from him, as you take the skewer.

"Your favorite," he mumbles, voice so soft you could have missed it. Your eyes widen, almost loosing grip on the bamboo sticks.

"How did you know it's my favorite."

You were not sure whether you were wafting in a dream when you saw the slight red coating his cheeks. Jotaro blushed? Maybe you were dreaming. No, you are dreaming. This was the same man who rejected you under the cherry blossom tree a few months ago with a simple, impassive No.

You ignore him, munching on the pink dumpling. Once the first skewer was rid of all the three dumplings, you huff , settling back onto the cushion. Jotaro was on his phone, eyes focused intently like he was reading something.

"Why are you doing this, Jotaro?" you ask. Why was he being kind to you after that day? Though you were neighbors, you may have met him only two times in the entirety of six months — a result of avoiding him.

"Because you deserve better." It's almost immediate, like the words were sitting on the tip of his tongue waiting to be let out. To be heard. Jotaro doesn't look at you, he couldn't. Not when he was the reason behind it. You might never know, but he liked you; hell, he loved you. Loves you. But he couldn't bring you into a life of uncertainty. A life that could hold no promises. You deserved someone better. Better than him. But he didn't tell you that instead added something more credible "And your mother told my mother about your date."

The initial shock wears off as you roll your eyes. Of course your mother told Holly. They were best friends after all. But his words stayed like the cold in the air even when the sky cleared up. What did he even mean by that?

The bike ride back home was a lot more solemn. Something had changed, but you couldn't place it. Through the visor, you could see the front lawn of both your houses, bushes covering each side with pink blossoms. Once you got down, you gave him back his helmet with a roll of your eyes. Maybe it was easier being rude to him than figuring out what the words at the bakery meant.

His mother never told him about your date. He had heard it when your mother spoke on the phone to you in the garden. He heard how your date had stood you up, and you were at a part of the city that had sporadic bus routes. He hadn't even thought much about it, immediately grabbing his bike keys as a reflex as he ran out the door. A reflex for you.

Jotaro looks at your form disappearing past the front door. It was for the best to let you go. For you. For him. But did he really believe that? Will he ever do? He doesn't know, but the words stay like a bandage on his broken heart that he himself was the reason for.

Jason was sitting on the terrace outside, having a dinner by himself. Suzie Su, his bodyguard wasn't always near him, keeping the distance but kept an eye on him. He sipped his champagne, watching the Sun set below the horizon and enjoying the quiet moment of solitude. He thanked himself and Blanc for deciding to invest in soundproof walls. With their help, people outside weren't disturbed by the noise.

When he was finishing, Jason noticed with a side glance his assistant approaching him.

"Excuse me for disturbing your dinner, sir."

"Nah, I'm almost done already, what is it?" Jason turned his attention to him, putting the fork aside.

His assistant glanced at his tablet before speaking again. "The special guest I've told you about two days ago is here. The one who ordered a separate table in the VIP area. He… made a wish to meet you."

Jason rose his eyebrows. Now it's getting interesting.

"Huh, what's his name?"

"Dacre Bell, model manager and promoter from local fashion modelling agency. He's accompanied by four other models that are appearing on Gotham Fashion Week."

Jason sighed. "Can you please tell him that I'm currently busy and cannot have any conversations."

Tell him to fuck off for me in a formal way please.

"Sir, as much as I know you find such conversations unpleasant, they affect the whole image of Iceberg Lounge sometimes."

Todd closed his eyes, running a hand down his face. "You find them crucial?"

"I find them useful." His assistant smiled with corners of his lips.

Sometimes he reminded Jason of certain somebody from his "past" life.

Jason exhaled, standing up. "I'll be in a minute, Mark."

Mark nodded and retrieved.

The air on the second floor of the nightclub felt hotter than on the first. And served cool drinks didn't help. You were sitting right next to Dacre. One your friend and co-worker was sitting on your right, other two were sitting on Dacre's left. The proximity felt uncomfortable. Not because of your friend Tara, no. Since you came in this nightclub after dinner in restaurant on East End, Dacre multiple times attempted to wrap hand around your waist and every time you gently were pulling him off you and multiple times he brought his face closely to yours to say something. So close you could sense the smell of his awful menthol gum. As "polite" as you could be, you kept pushing him back in his chest, creating distance between you two. You rarely went out with him and when you did. his behaviour was often the same.

You noticed Tara's sympathetic looks on you, but you said nothing. At least 18-year-old Larissa —who was sitting on the other side of the couch — wasn't bothered. She kept looking around curiously, sipping her soda.

People were passing by, not even trying to hide their staring at you and other girls.

Suddenly in the VIP section appeared tall figure of the young man. His silk burgundy shirt and a black suit strongly contrasted with the whole cold icy vibe of the nightclub. Your gaze followed him approaching your table as you kept sipping your dirty martini.

You knew who it was. You saw his face before in celebrity magazines and newspaper. You could recognise this white streak of hair easily.

New proprietor of Iceberg Lounge and Bruce Wayne's ward he doesn't mention often. Jason Todd.

Prince of Gotham as somebody in the media called him once.

For once, Dacre stopped rambling and gave mister Todd a wide smile. The right hand that was laying behind you on the back of the couch leaned to squeeze the hand. "Ah, mister Todd. Pleasure to finally meet you. Your manager warned that you might be very busy."

Jason sat in front of him on the square ottoman stool, smiling shortly. "Yeah, well. I always try to find time for our guests. And you wanted to… talk to me?"

You and Tara exchange glances.

Figures

Jason Todd still remains a new persona to Gotham "elite". And Dacre wants to intervene with his "partnership" thing.

Like he always does.

You take a deep breath and when Dacre attempts to touch you again, you stand up taking your purse. "I need fresh air. I feel like I'm suffocating here."

Tara just nodes. Dacre makes a mocking sad face, pouting. "Oh, come on, honey, we just started."

You look at him down with mildly irritated look. "I'm tired and need some time for myself." Dismissing Jason, you leave the table.

Before you reached stairs, you heard your "promoter" saying to mister Todd. "That was [Name] [Last name], our little Stargirl."

"She's actually a sweetheart, but can be difficult sometimes." added another model Antonia. "Don't read into it much"

The last thing you heard was mister Todd replying. "Right…"

You move between bodies, quickly. Heels' clicking is getting deafened by techno. You unintentionally hover over some people which makes easier for you to go through. You could feel piercing looks on your back. Of people who were recognising a celebrity in you, but most looks were different. Straight up staring, that could make somebody shiver.

Those were from men.

As soon as you stepped on the terrace balcony, you took a deep breath. From this place was opening a huge view at the city.

Shining and so deeply flawed Gotham.

You looked around searching for the smoking area. The balcony was wide. There was an area with tables and chairs, empty area with railing to enjoy the view. And the area to smoke.

It was in another corner enclosed by glass walls without the ceiling. There were some people sitting there, but not so much. Clicking of your heels causes men's attention inside. Their gaze follow you as you take a seat on the couch across from them right near exit with a heavy sigh. Smell of expensive tobacco was hanging in the air. LED strip lights were creating a cozy atmosphere.

You take the vape out of your purse and try to inhale a few times. To your misfortune, its battery was low. You curse under your breath, taking a pack of cigarettes out that you often kept just in case. You take one out of the pack and press it between your lips. And suddenly multiple lighter flame appeared in front of you. They were so fast, you didn't even have time to take your own lighter.

Your eyes trace each men. Way older, maybe in their 40s and some of them look smug. How many of them have wives at home waiting for them? How many of them portray themselves as "family men", while also hitting on young women in the nightclub? Are their wives oblivious, don't care about it or actually the same as their husbands? Absolutely disgusting.

You almost roll your eyes and huff, ready to draw them away from yourself, when suddenly they retrieve themselves on their own. And looks on their faces say that it's someone "big".

"Not very gentlemanly to disturb the lady." says the person.

You frown and lift your eyes. Mister Todd.

He was literally talking to Dacre a few minutes ago, why is he here?

Did he follow you or something?

"It would be even better if you all left. Like right now." He smiles at them mockingly.

And they actually rush to leave, putting out their cigarettes in ashtrays and leave.

When they're gone, you lift your at him again. And he looks at you back and doesn't break an eye contact.

Huh

You finally lighten a cigarette and the first drag relaxes you immediately. You lean back on the couch, crossing your legs.

He keeps standing, but then for some reason he decides to stay and sits down.

"That was dramatic." You break the silence first.

"I would've called it effective." He smirks.

"Oh, definitely. Accept my gratitude. Though I thought you were occupied with conversation with my manager." You exhale a smoke in opposite way of him.

"I was told by my assistant that one of my bodyguards noticed a situation." He replies with confidence, mirroring your position.

"That so? And you decided to check it yourself? Wasn't a conversation important?" You keep asking.

He smiles with corners of his lips. "It wasn't. Not to me at least."

Was it too bad that you were happy about Dacre's games not working on Todd? You often heard that mister Todd was detached in some way. He wasn't caught in any drama and that is what led to speculations around him. There were two or three intrudes when he just started running the place, but that was it. After, there was nothing major.

The smoking area falls into silence. You keep smoking, lost in your own thoughts. Your hand with the rehearsed grace that clings to you like a second skin. From time to time you shake the ash off in the tray and press the cigarette back to lips. You smoke and feel his gaze on you. But it's not heavy or creepy. It was a gaze of someone who tries to learn a person in front of him.

Maybe you should've asked him to leave, but you didn't see the point. He wasn't bothering you, didn't pry. Just sat n front of you casually.

"You seemed not to be interested in that either." Mister Todd speaks again. "That conversation, I mean."

"I get tired when I'm around people a lot. And… I also expected you talking to be as usual. Business, fake smiles and promises about future partnership or something, don't get me wrong." You reply, shaking the ash off. You were almost done with a cigarette.

He hums, saying nothing.

You squint your eyes. "And why are you still here?"

He gives you this small smile again. "Just making sure no one dares to disturb you again. Guests' comfort is always the top priority."

You smirk faintly and after last drag put the cigarette out. "Well then, I'm ready to go back into chaos again." You stand up, fixing your mini dress. "Thank you, again. I would also advise you to say something to Dacre later. I bet he found your actions weird. He doesn't like to be dismissed so fast."

Mister Todd simply nods and goes to exit first. He stands right outside, offering his hand to help to go down two or three stairs. Both of you know it's not needed. But you still give your hand. And he still keeps his eyes on you before you say goodbye.

"Maybe we will have a chance to meet again. Gotham is small." You give him last smile and disappear inside.

Later at night Jason was sitting in his office, looking through his papers, and then opened the Internet to search up about this Dacre Bell.

Something in conversation with him earlier that night felt off. The way he positioned himself, his manner of talking, his status in Gotham. Heavy on status. He gave an impression of cocky, arrogant and very assertive person. In the web was nothing major. Nothing that could catch Jason's eye.

Numerous interviews with him about his work, how he "helped" to make a name for many models in the industry, his influence as a whole. And one of those articles led to you. You were standing next to Dacre on some carpet, head taller than him, looking directly at the camera.

Young woman on this photo and who he saw earlier today weren't same. On the photo your gaze is confident, daring even, small smile is glued to your lips. Today he saw exhausted and quite vulnerable in some way person for who it became too loud in the crowd and they craved space.

Jason told to himself that it's just natural curiosity, surfing your pictures. Runway shows, red carpets, event paparazzis. Confident, graceful and smiling, always smiling. Always genuinely approaching fans for a picture and autograph, warming hugs with cancer patients and young girls, visits in Gotham youth centres, refugee camps in different regions of the world.

Truly people's sweetheart

"Remarkable person, isn't she?" Mark entered the office. "Though, as far as I heard, she remains very private about her life and rarely does interviews that have to do with something personal."

Jason didn't expect him to appear so sudden. "You should warn when you come in, Mark. I was just… curious."

His assistant smiled. "My apologies. I came to say that I didn't find anything special on mister Bell. He seems to be clean."

Jason turns to him. "Still would like to keep an eye on him. Something eventually may come out. He doesn't seem very trustful to me."

The way he was treating models that were accompanying him tonight didn't sit right with Jason either. Especially you. Jason didn't sit with them very long after you retrieved, but he noticed unnecessary nicknames and backhanded jokes. when you weren't around. Not only towards you, but also towards the other three ladies that were there.

Mark saw his boss's serious demeanour and nodded. "Of course." Photo of you on the Vogue Cover was still opened on Todd's desktop. "About miss."

Jason lifts his eyes. "What about her?"

"This week in Gotham takes place Fashion Week Show as I told you earlier. And miss [Last name] will perform for the brand on Wednesday."

Jason frowns. "Are you offering me to visit the show?"

Mark's lips twitched in smile. "The invitation to the show is still up. If you remain curious, might as well get to know the Miss better."

He hums, looking back at his desktop.

"Maybe we will have a chance to meet again. Gotham is small"

Jason rubs his chin for a moment and then nods. "Can be useful to learn more about Bell from the inside."

"Right, Bell, of course."

Todd doesn't miss his assistant's teasing, but decides to say nothing.

"Alright. Fashion Show it is…" he mutters and closes his desktop.

You're curled up in his bed with the sheets pooled around your waist, wearing one of his dress shirts. The top buttons are undone, revealing enough skin for him to know there's nothing underneath.

Bruce: You're going to be the death of me. You: and what a way to go that would be ;) You: wanted you to see what you're missing You: how's your meeting going?

He adjusts himself under the table, grateful that every investor in the room is focused on the presentation.

Bruce: It was going fine. You: was?

He needs to stop responding. He has twenty people around him. This is wildly inappropriate.

And yet...

Bruce: Send me another.

The three dots appear immediately. You were waiting for him to ask.

You: what do you want to see? Bruce: You know what I want. You: i really don't... you'll have to be more specific

His jaw tightens. Of course you're going to make him spell it out.

Bruce: Less shirt. More you. You: that's better You: give me a minute

That minute feels like an eternity. Bruce has stopped registering what Lucius is saying altogether, his mind stuck on you: bare legs tangled in the sheets, your body warm and soft on his side of the bed.

His phone buzzes.

You: [Attachment: 1 photo]

The shirt is completely unbuttoned now, falling open to reveal your bare chest. Your free hand rests low on your stomach, fingertips grazing the waistband of your black lace underwear where it peeks out above the sheets. Bruce has to physically stop himself from making a sound.

Bruce: Fuck. You: that good? Bruce: Don’t be so pleased with yourself. You: can't help it <3 Bruce: Clearly. You: tell me what you’re thinking about right now

Bruce glances down at the increasingly uncomfortable fit of his pants.

Bruce: What do you think? You: i think i want you to say it Bruce: You. In our bed. No clothes. You: what else? Bruce: Your hand. Where mine should be. You: just where mine is?

He swallows. He's still painfully aware of where he is, even if that awareness has done very little to restrain him.

Bruce: Not just there. Everywhere.

The typing indicator appears, disappears, then appears again.

You: i wish you were here Bruce: Tomorrow night. I promise. You: that’s so far away though Bruce: I know. You: i can't stop thinking about you

His pulse quickens.

Bruce: Yeah? You: mhm. especially about the morning before you left... You: what you did to me before your flight

He remembers. He'd woken you up with his mouth between your legs and made you come twice before he'd even properly kissed you good morning. You'd barely been able to walk him to the car.

You: i've been trying to recreate it but it's not the same :(

Picturing you alone in bed, touching yourself and chasing the same release he’d given you, makes him shift in his seat again.

You: want to help? Bruce: I'm still in this meeting. You: so leave.

Bruce starts typing out a response, something about how he can’t simply walk out in the middle of—

You: [Attachment: 1 photo]

In this one, the shirt's gone entirely. The phone's angled down over your body as you lie back against the pillows with your free hand slipped between your legs. The black lace he glimpsed earlier is fully visible now, darkened enough at the center to make his mouth go dry.

“Mr. Wayne?”

Bruce’s head snaps up. Every person at the table is looking at him.

The investor seated across the room gestures to the figures displayed on the screen. "Your thoughts?"

Bruce clears his throat, schooling his expression into something neutral. "I trust Lucius's judgment on this. I agree with his assessment."

Lucius raises an eyebrow but says nothing. The investors appear satisfied and return their attention back to the presentation.

Bruce looks back down at his phone.

Bruce: You need to stop. You: do you really want me to stop?

He hesitates, but only for a second.

Bruce: No. You: then don’t tell me to stop You: tell me what you want instead Bruce: More. You: more what? Bruce: Everything. I want to see everything. You: ask nicely.

A breathless laugh nearly escapes him. You really have no intention of making this easy for him.

Bruce: Please show me.

Then, just to indulge you, he adds:

Bruce: I need to see you.

For a while, there's no response. Then his phone buzzes again.

You: [Attachment: 1 video]

He stares at the thumbnail. He could watch it on silent. No one would know. His thumb moves toward the play button—

You: don't you dare watch that on mute.

He freezes.

You: i want you to hear every second of it You: so i suggest you find somewhere private

Before he can respond, his phone begins to vibrate with a call and your name fills the screen beneath the FaceTime icon.

The responsible choice is obvious: decline the call, pocket his phone, and give Lucius the attention he promised. Instead, he's already standing.

"Excuse me," he says, moving toward the door. "I need to take this."

Lucius glances from the phone in Bruce’s hand to his face, but Bruce doesn't wait for him to comment.

The hallway outside the conference room is mercifully empty. He finds an unoccupied office several doors down, steps inside, and locks the door behind him. Only then does he accept the call.

You appear on the screen with flushed cheeks, and your whole expression brightens with a smile when you see him. Somehow, that affects Bruce more than any of the pictures.

"Hi," you say.

The sound of your voice only makes it worse, sharpening his longing into an ache that feels almost painful.

"Hi." His own voice comes out rougher than intended.

"Did you watch the video?"

"Not yet. Someone told me to find somewhere private first."

Your smile widens. "Smart man. Watch it now."

Bruce props his phone against the desk and opens the video. It lasts no more than fifteen seconds, but it's devastating. You're on your back with your hand between your legs, touching yourself slowly, almost teasingly. The quiet sighs and whimpering moans that slip from your lips go straight through him.

When the video ends, the call returns to full screen. You watch him expectantly. "Liked that?"

"You have no idea what you're doing to me."

"I have some idea." Your gaze moves deliberately down his body. "Are you hard?"

"Yes."

"Show me."

Bruce exhales through his nose. “This is reckless, even for you.”

"You locked the door, didn't you?"

He glances toward it. "Yes."

“Then I think we both know you’re going to show me.”

A beat passes. Then his hand moves to his belt, and the sharp breath you take makes every risk worthwhile.

"There you go," you murmur as your own hand slips beneath your panties.

Bruce unzips his pants, finally relieving some of the pressure that has been building since that first photograph. When he wraps his hand around himself, your soft moan comes through the speaker.

"Fuck," he groans as his head falls back against the wall. "I miss you."

"I miss you too." Your breathing has already begun to quicken. "Tell me what you’d be doing if you were here."

“I’d put you on your knees first.” His hand moves in steady strokes, eyes fixed on the screen as you touch yourself. "Watch you look up at me with those pretty eyes while you take me into your mouth. Hear the way you gag when I pull your hair and push deeper."

Your hand moves faster. “And?”

“Then I’d have you beneath me in that bed. Taste you until you couldn’t remember why sending those pictures seemed like a good idea.” His voice drops lower. “Your legs around my shoulders while you try to stay quiet even though we both know you can’t.”

“Bruce…”

"Then I'd be inside you, feeling you squeeze around me." His grip tightens. "Listening to the way you say my name when you're close."

A shaky breath leaves you as your hips jerk upward. “Keep talking, please.”

"I'd take my time with you." His voice breaks on a moan. "Spend the entire night making sure you remember exactly what I do to you."

"God, Bruce, I'm close." You're visibly unraveling now, right on the edge, thighs trembling around your wrist.

"I know, sweetheart. Let me see. Let me hear you."

"Only if you come with me," you gasp out. "Please, Bruce. Together."

His hand moves faster, matching your rhythm through the screen. “Together,” he promises, the word coming out strained.

"I wish you were here, wish I could feel you."

"You will. Soon." His breathing is ragged now, everything building to that breaking point. "Look at me."

Your eyes find the camera, glazed and desperate. That nearly finishes him on its own.

"Please—I can't—"

"Now, sweetheart. Come for me now."

You break at the same moment he does. Your breathless cry of his name blends with his rough groan of yours through the phone. He watches you arch and shudder, aching to feel you clenching around him instead of his hand, the frustration of the distance somehow making it even more intense.

For a long moment, there's just the sound of both of you breathing, trying to come back down.

“Well,” you say eventually, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. “I think that was significantly more interesting than your meeting.”

Bruce huffs out a laugh as he reaches for a tissue and begins putting himself back together. "You're trouble."

"You like me when I'm trouble."

"I do." He picks up the phone and looks at you properly. You're glowing, hair tangled across the pillow, completely beautiful. "I really do miss you."

Your expression softens. "I miss you too." You pull the sheet over yourself. “Do you really have to stay until tomorrow?”

Bruce glances at the time. The current meeting is nearly over, and everything on tomorrow’s schedule can be handled remotely. “I’m moving my flight up.”

Your eyebrows lift. “Bruce, I was only complaining. You don’t actually have to do that.”

“I know.” He runs a hand through his hair, then smooths it back into place. “Everything tomorrow can be handled over video. I want to be home tonight.”

A smile slowly spreads across your face. "I love you."

"I love you too."

Bruce looks toward the locked door. "I should get back before Lucius comes looking for me."

"Do you think he knows?"

"Lucius knows everything."

"Wonderful. Love that for us."

"Would you like me to apologize to him on your behalf?"

You laugh softly, settling back against the pillows, and the sound makes him wish he was already home.

"So, see you tonight?" you ask.

"See you tonight."

"And when you get here?"

His gaze darkens. "You already know."

"I want to hear you say it again."

"Goodbye."

"Bruce!"

He ends the call while you're still laughing.

It takes him another minute to compose himself. He straightens his shirt and tie, checking his reflection in the darkened office window until he once again resembles a somewhat respectable man.

When he returns to the conference room, Lucius pauses only briefly before continuing the presentation. Bruce settles into his chair and opens the documents in front of him.

Lucius finishes explaining the next set of projections before addressing him. "Everything handled?"

"Yes."

Lucius studies him for a moment. "Good."

Bruce knows that tone. He ignores it.

“I’m returning to Gotham tonight,” he says. “I’ll join tomorrow’s meetings by video.”

“Of course. I’ll make the arrangements.”

No smirk. No teasing comment. Somehow, Lucius’s professionalism is worse.

Bruce's phone vibrates one final time.

You: can't wait to see you, baby <3

He makes himself wait to respond, and by the time he does, he's seated inside the Wayne Enterprises jet.

Bruce: On my way.