thelilytothepond - Tumblr blog

thelilytothepond · 13 days ago

Text

Ancient Dreams In A Modern Land

Chapter 15: Don't Tell Anyone Or You'll Be Just Another Regret

Masterlist

Chapter 14 / Chapter 15 (Here!) / Chapter 16

Sneaking out of Wayne Manor was pretty easy for Maximoff, actually.

The fact that all the vigilance cameras were down for maintenance (or so she overheard from Tim and Bruce’s conversation that morning while pretending to listen to something on her headphones during breakfast) and that she would be by herself for the afternoon certainly helped.

Adding super speed and help from beyond the grave? Piece of cake.

Besides, who could blame her for it? It had been the most stressful and boorish week in her whole life. She needed the break!

Ignoring the fact that it was just Wednesday, the stressful part was very much real.

The weekend was probably the worst days since she couldn’t get a moment to herself from the moment she set foot on the manor. Bruce had been very serious about things changing from now on, and it was horrible.

‘You will have breakfast with me and your brothers every morning before school.’

‘You must always answer my calls and texts. Or I will confiscate your phone and consider homeschooling as an option.’

‘No more clandestine practices. I want you home by 5:30. If you wish to try any other clubs or extracurriculars, you will consult with me, and I will consider it.’

‘If you wish to continue hanging around those boys, I need to have your location. I will not budge on this. It’s either this or I’ll tell the principal to change you out of your class.’

‘I don’t want you alone at any moment with Mr. Munroe.’

‘No unlocked doors. That’s final. Not until you gain back my trust.’

‘Any time you want to go out, you will tell me. I’ll decide if you can go or not.’

‘And lastly, I’m taking you to Dr. Thompkins next Saturday. I want to make sure you’re clean and that there are no other health concerns, am I clear?’

Needless to say, Maximoff did not take these new ground rules well.

She tried to work around them, still feeling the need to stick it up to the man despite the cold fear that went through her veins every time he walked into the room and stared at her with what he probably thought was fondness and affection.

It looked more like those uncanny valley images that Bobby had shown one day during lunch.

The effort was there, but it looked so wrong on him.

Maybe it was her head, trying to mess with her perception and jumping to conclusions. It wouldn’t be the first time nor the last. Her mind was a tricky place, and her thought process even trickier thanks to her mutation. The number of times that Bobby and Warren had to talk her out of making impulsive decisions, despite assuring them that she thought things through (at 0.5 seconds, but who was counting-), was a bit concerning.

But she couldn’t shake away the sensation of wrongness when Bruce’s gaze refused to stray too far away from her.

As if she would just take off the moment he didn’t have his eyes on her.

(…He wasn’t wrong. She did take the first chance she got to get away from him, but that didn’t stop it from being weird.)

Anyway, this didn’t stop Maximoff from pushing boundaries. Even while scared shitless.

She would wear her headphones at breakfast, making direct eye contact with Bruce while eating. She did answer his texts, but only a dry okay or a thumbs up, and was very glad that he wasn’t the phone call type of person. And she did leave her door open, while blasting her playlist through the speakers that Warren had lent her.

The whole thing with the practices and school? Well, that was more complicated to work around since she hadn’t been going to school due to the emergency that happened on Monday.

What emergency?

Nothing else than the kidnapping of a student in broad daylight.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

“I’m being serious,” she stressed while Bobby wheezed over his desk, and Warren just stared blankly at her. “Do I really look like I do drugs?!”

Warren blinked as Bobby fought for air, punching the hard surface and rattling his books. The blonde snorted, mouth twitching as he avoided the pointed stare coming from Wayne. “Well, you do act like your adrenaline is on high all the time. So, probably Meth-”

Bobby doubled over, tears coming out of his eyes and red in the face as he fell to the ground. Warren snickered despite the wack on the head he got from an invisible force.

“I hate you both so much,” Maximoff muttered, dragging her hands down her face and sighing with exasperation.

Once Bobby stopped choking on his breath, he stood up while giggling. “It’s just too funny. Out of everything he could think of? Drugs?”

“What are you brats talking about?”

Mr. Logan’s harsh tone made them whip their heads towards him. He entered the empty classroom, noticing how it was only inhabited by the three kids who had switched around the desks in a small circle so they could face each other while eating their lunch.

He also noticed the oddly shaped shadow near them, but decided to keep it to himself.

At least for now.

“Nothin’,” The girl grumbled, crossing her arms and blowing a curl off her face with a frown. “Just talking about a dumbass.”

“Language, bub.” He warned with a grunt, messing her hair up until she shoved his hand off with a laugh. “Don’t want to give your old man more reasons to visit the school.”

Maximoff snorted, “So you know about that?”

“Hard not to when he talked directly to me and the principal.” He noted, dragging a chair and sitting right beside her.

She couldn’t help the wave of shame crawling from the back of her neck up to her face. Even Wayne made a wincing expression, form becoming lightly translucent. Both of them wished that Bruce simply stay far away from the school grounds before he could interfere more in their somewhat peaceful routine.

He drove them to school that morning. Got out of the car and went to the principal’s office, demanding a reunion with her and Mr. Logan.

Maximoff didn’t stick around for that. She slipped away before Bruce could drag her into the office, almost forgetting to keep her speed as slow and normal as possible.

“So no more running, right?” She muttered, shoes scraping against the floor as she swung them up and down.

Logan didn’t say anything. He stared at the now crestfallen teen, trying not to growl at the smell of misery and distress that spilled out of her. He couldn’t help but feel even more anger towards the man who was making her look this unsettled and distraught.

So what if she didn’t tell him about it? Kid probably had her reasons. It was obvious by how the man was acting.

And instead of talking about it and trying to understand her, he was taking it away? Because he couldn’t admit that he had been doing things wrong?

Not on Logan’s watch.

Besides the family drama, Logan couldn’t let the kid go around without letting out some of that adrenaline on her body.

He had seen a restless speedster before, and it was not a pretty sight.

She needed an outlet, and he was more than willing to help her.

Even if he had to reach some middle ground with Mystique of all people.

He was not surprised to see her around here. Logan knew that sooner or later, Magneto would send one of his own to inspect and test things around Gotham. The only thing he was thankful for was that it at least wasn’t Sabertooth.

Lord knows that would have been a disaster.

Mystique was a pain in the ass, of course. Especially now that she was pretending to be the principal and could kick Logan out if she so pleased. But it seemed like Magneto had ordered her to act civilly with him. A small mercy, but he knew better than to let down his guard around her.

He would have to confront her sooner or later about why exactly she was here. Probably that very same day, since she seemed oddly invested in the Wayne girl.

Which could imply many, many things.

But that would be a problem for later. Right now, he needed to get rid of that awful, sad stench away from this room.

“If you’re willing to sacrifice your lunch and free periods, I can make something work.” He offered.

She almost fell out of her seat from the exaltation, face brightening, and arms almost knocking over the desk.

“For real?! You swear?!” She said in a high-pitched tone that got laughs out of her friends.

Logan could have sworn he heard another voice, but he was more relieved that the stench was gone. He chuckled and nodded at her. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you are skipping meals for-”

“Attention, students,” The intercom interrupted. The voice of the Principal boomed through it, gathering the attention of everyone. “Please report yourselves to the main gym along with your teachers. I repeat, report yourselves to the main gym along with your teachers.”

“What’s up with that?” Warren asked, scratching the back of his neck.

“Nothing good,” Logan growled, getting and making his chair screech against the floor. “Leave your things and follow me. No complaints.”

The three of them groaned at the same time, but stopped when Logan glared at them. They quickly scattered to the door, shoving and pushing each other until Logan wrangled them up by the back of their uniforms and walked them like that towards the gym.

Gotham Academy closed early that day and gave the rest of the week off to the students.

Amara Aquilla, from the seventh grade, had gone missing during the first period.

Her bag was found by the main gate of the academy.

No trace. No camera footage. No signs of anything.

She was just gone.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

So, the girls had spent Tuesday and Wednesday inside the manor with no privacy whatsoever.

While also making it everyone’s problem since Bruce decided that it was too dangerous to go out for now.

To Maximoff, it just seemed like the perfect excuse to keep her inside the manor without raising too much suspicion. The act of the protective and overbearing father was getting old real fast for her, and she couldn’t be blamed for taking these drastic measures.

Such as climbing through the giant fence of the manor while taking advantage of the family’s absence on a Wednesday afternoon.

“How the fuck did I do this while sleepwalking-” She grumbled from up the top of the fence while Wayne hovered over her with her arms extended, probably trying to help out, although it would do little to nothing if Maximoff were to fall.

Damian and Cassandra were out doing god knows what and wouldn’t be back for a couple of hours.

Dick went back to Bludhaven on Monday, claiming that he was needed on some new case or something.

Alfred was acting as a chauffeur for Bruce and Tim for a business meeting in the city, and it would take a while for them to come back as well.

It was the perfect scenario to sneak out.

Almost too perfect, but she was not willing to overthink it.

Her bones were basically vibrating out of her skin at this point. It was very uncomfortable, and she needed to do something about it. The run from her room to the fence had done almost nothing to keep her speed tremors at bay (it’s what Bobby named them. Those trembles and need to bounce her legs or fidget with her fingers. He came up with it after she tapped a literal hole on the benches.), and she was quickly finding out that heights were not really her thing.

Climbing was easy because you had to look nowhere but up. Coming down, however, was clearly not the easy part.

“Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down,” She whispered to herself, looking down to the side of the fence she just climbed off and feeling her stomach sweep up to her throat.

‘Fuck me and my choices. Oh my fucking-’

“What are you doing?”

Maximoff squealed, feeling her balance wavering for a second and gripping with shaking hands the metal beneath her. She took some deep breaths with her eyes closed before glancing to the other side of the fence where the voice came from.

Down on the ground, looking amused and a bit concerned, was Tim’s friend.

He was wearing a thick leather jacket with multiple sewn patches and denim jeans. His black hair looked windswept and falling over his forehead. A pair of round sunglasses on the top of his head.

His name was Conner, if she recalled well.

“Um, what are you doing here?” She countered back, trying not to panic over getting caught in this position.

Conner did look taken aback by her question. He scratched his neck and looked around, hoping to see any sign of Tim or maybe Alfred. Anyone who could explain to him why she was up on the fence, but found nobody nearby.

“I’m here for Tim,” He admitted with a sigh. “He hasn’t been answering my calls, so I came to check up on him.”

“He is out. Some business stuff.” She replied. “You could come back later if you want.”

Please leave. Just leave!

Conner frowned, coming closer to the fence and cranking his head to look up at her. “You haven’t told me yet what you are doing over the fence.”

Maximoff could hear the snickering coming from Wayne and the amusement oozing from her presence. She gave her a quick glare and looked back down at the noisy guy. He was even smirking up at her, probably figuring out already what she was trying to do.

The nerve of this guy!

“Just enjoying the view!” she boasted. “It can get stuffy inside the manor, y’know? I need fresh air!”

He laughed, nodding and shoving his hands in his pockets. “Sounds nice.”

“It is!” She flattered for a moment, feeling her hands sweating and her grip starting to tremble once again.

Conner could tell that she was bluffing. He could see her arms trembling from down there and how her heartbeat was going somehow so much faster than usual.

“How about you come down from there?” He offered. “I would like to talk without having to yell!”

“I would rather not!” She argued.

For all she knew, the guy would probably tell Tim about this and get her into more trouble. It would be better to just ignore him and wait until he leaves. She had had enough of black haired men messing with her life-

A blunt force to her shoulder made her lose balance, causing her to topple over the fence and lose her grip.

Both Conner and Maximoff yelled in surprise. He instinctively opened his arms, floating off the ground for a few moments until her body slammed against his. Then, he stopped floating and let gravity bring both of them down to the ground with a harsh landing.

She lay on top of him, a bit disoriented from what just happened. But then her head snapped up towards the fence while Conner pretended to have the air knocked out of him.

Wayne was leaning over the fence, smiling innocently at them with a pleased expression.

“That’s another way to go down,” Conner groaned from beneath her.

Maximoff gasped, quickly getting off of him and standing up while patting off her clothes. “I’m so sorry for that. My grip slipped-”

She offered her hand to help him up, which he took without much thinking. “It’s fine. I got bones of steel.” He teased.

Despite that both of them were already standing and looked without any injuries, they still didn’t let go of their hands. For Conner’s case, he was wondering about the tremors beneath her skin and entranced by the rapid pulse that had been engraved into his head from the moment he first saw her. As for Maximoff, she was caught off guard by the warmth of his hand and how gentle his grip was despite the obvious difference in size.

She also didn’t feel any weight when she helped him up. Which was weird because the guy was built like a brick house.

Broad shoulders. Long legs. Big warm hands that brought calm to the energy thruming down her vei-

“Thanks for that,” She yelped, taking her hand away from his and shoving it inside the pocket of her jacket.

“No problem,” He muttered, looking her over and glancing at the fence for a moment. “So, sneaking out while the sun’s still out?”

She shrugged while clicking her tongue. “Everyone is out. Sounded like a good idea.”

“But why?” He pried with a growing smile. “You’re grounded or something?”

“Or something.” She answered with a snort. Her feet started to move forward towards the road, passing by Conner’s side. She would rather not waste any more time before the rest of the family made it back to the manor. Wayne had already chosen to stay behind, just in case anyone tried to get into her room before Maximoff got back from her little walk.

But it looked like a certain guy didn’t take a hint.

“Wait!” He yelled, catching up to her with just a few steps and walking alongside her. “You’re not really walking all the way down to the city? Right?”

“Yeah, I am.” She stated, not stopping her walk.

“That’s thirty minutes by car, you know?”

Maximoff hummed for a second before answering. “I like walking.”

“It’ll probably take you an hour and a half to get there.”

“Then I’ll run.” She countered, giving him a side glance. “Like I’m sure you just did.”

Conner stopped walking, but she didn’t. He stared at her with a frown and gaping. He then caught up to her again.

“How are you so sure I ran over here?” He questioned, touching his elbow against hers.

“I don’t see a car around here, so you either walked or ran here.”

He hummed to himself. Conner did run all the way here, but he was a special case since he had his superspeed, and he was pretty sure she was not aware of that part of him. He couldn’t recall if she was aware of her family’s night job (he was practically blowing up Tim’s phone with calls just so he could tell him something else about her-), but he would rather play it safe and act normal.

It felt a bit weird. Most people in his life knew about his powers, and it was odd to hide them from people who were not civilians.

Acting normal was not something he really did. He didn’t feel the need to do it, not in a long time.

But he could. Just for a day.

“Mind if I joined you for your walk?” His tone made Maximoff stoop and look back at him, an eyebrow raised. Her gaze was making him a bit nervous since he felt like she was looking right through him.

“Are you a snitch?” She asked seriously, which made him laugh.

Conner put his hand above his chest, right where his heart was, and spoke. “I swear I will not tell a soul about today.”

It took her a moment to say anything. He saw her eyes wandering to the manor, eyes squinting at the top of the fence before looking back at him and nodding with a smile.

“Fine,” She said, starting to walk backwards and speeding up when she turned to face the road. “But you have to keep up with me!”

“Hey, that’s cheating!” He yelled, a grin splitting his lips as he started to run after her.

Maybe he didn’t need to act too normal around her.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Worthington Industries was founded over 150 years ago by the Worthington family. It’s an international conglomerate with holdings in advanced aviation technology, periodicals, experimental alternative fuels, and fancy frozen yogurts. It had an uncountable net worth as well.

But Tim wasn’t surprised by the need of Mr. Worthington to reach out into more fields. Powerful men needing more power was not something unusual in this world.

Mr. Worthington was a charismatic man. Blonde with grey creeping at his temples. Tall and 1000 watts smile that made him grimace at how plastic it looked on him. Always made direct eye contact and stretched hands with everyone in the room, along with a friendly pat on the shoulder that was followed with a small talk that got even Bruce to tighten his well-practiced Brucie front.

It was a mutual and obvious dislike for the man, which made this meeting somewhat bearable for Tim.

If the proposals at the table weren’t interesting enough, he would have probably walked out and pretended he had an emergency.

But they were very interesting, so he stayed.

After all, it’s not every day Tim gets to see up close original documents related to the Sentinel Program.

“Since Mr. Stryker was no longer trusted with the program,” Mr. Worthington explained when he had handed over the files. “The government entrusted me with the files after I had given my proposal for the vaccine I had mentioned in the past.”

“Right, right,” Bruce had nodded with a laugh while directing the documents in Tim’s direction. “I think I remember it. But, would you mind refreshing my memory? It’s been a busy week and-”

Tim didn’t need to listen to that part of the conversation. He knew everything he needed to know about this, and he could leave Bruce to play the ditzy act by himself.

For about two years now, Worthington Labs has been trying to develop a new type of vaccine. A special antimutagenic antibody, created from the DNA of a mutant with the ability to nullify the powers of other mutants when they come near them. The mutant had signed up by free will when the labs had offered him a good sum of money, with only the condition that their identity was never revealed. And now, the vaccine was officially done.

A mutant cure. Right on Tim’s hands.

Tim had studied genetics. Had read many books about the subject and researched even more when it came to the X-gene. He even had several papers and books written by the number one expert in this field, Prof. Xavier.

There was no cure. It is simply impossible. There’s no way around it.

Sure, gene therapy existed. And it worked in certain cases. But not when it came to the mutant gene.

You can’t simply rewrite the genetics and DNA of a being without having extreme consequences.

But Mr. Worthington claims that it’s true. That this ‘cure’ does work, no matter how crazy and unbelievable it sounded.

“Has it been tested yet?” Tim breathed out, feeling his ears ringing from all the blood and thoughts rushing to his brain.

He didn’t even feel Bruce’s pointed stare.

“Not yet,” The blonde man assured, jaw clenching for a moment. “But we have a willing candidate. I just need to mass-produce a few more vials for when the results come back positive. That’s where you come in, Bruce.”

Right. That was part of the negotiations.

Wayne Enterprises would form a partnership with Worthington Industries to announce the vaccine.

It was an odd proposal. Why would Mr. Worthington want to share his oh-so golden glory with anyone else? It didn’t make a lot of sense, unless there was some missing factor in here. Maybe the research funds were too much, and he needed more income? Or was he genuinely trying to bring more attention due to the reputation Bruce had? Was it the influence of Wayne Enterprises?

It wasn’t making sense, and he didn’t like it.

“What about the security system you mentioned?” Bruce cut in with a drawl, getting Tim out of his spiral. “I think that’s something more up my alley.”

And definitely more on Tim’s alley as well.

The security system that they had been anticipating certainly didn’t let them down.

For some context, we will need to go on a bit about who William Stryker is.

William Stryker is a specialist in undercover operations and a military scientist. He used to be an assistant of none other than Bolivar Trask back in the 70s, where he would enlist mutants against their will to fight in wars and suicide missions. During that decade, Trask invented the ultimate weapon against the ‘mutant threat’. This weapon was passed to Stryker once Trask passed away under mysterious circumstances.

That weapon was called the Sentinels.

The Sentinels were machines designed to hunt down mutants. For the public's view, just to keep them in check. The real purpose? It was a much darker intent.

Back in the middle of the 90s, once Magneto made Genosha an official country and a member of the United Nations, the production of the Sentinels was banned in all countries, and the project was shut down when Stryker was thrown in jail.

Project Sentinel was supposed to have all the files burned and destroyed, including all data related to it.

And somehow, Worthington got access to them and planned to do a security system with them.

All that Tim could think of was the number of things that could go wrong if this were to fall into the wrong hands.

The Justice League was already on thin ice with Magneto. If he were to find out that not only the government lied about destroying Project Sentinel, but that a billionaire got hold of it and was planning to do a freaking security system with it, while also adding the fucking vaccine on top of it, Tim was sure blood was gonna rain all over Gotham.

But what worried Tim the most was the thinking expression on Bruce’s face as he listened to the plans Mr. Worthington had in mind.

He knew what that expression meant, and he did not like-

“More tea, sir?”

A smooth, soothing male voice got his attention. Tim looked to his left side and found a tall man with kind eyes behind black framed glasses.

He had an odd eye color, a mix between hazel and green. Dirty blonde hair brushed to the side in an old-fashioned way. His suit was brown, combined with a white collared shirt and a deep red tie.

He looked straight out of an office sitcom.

“Vic, please,” Mr. Worthington cutted in, waving his hand dismissively. “I told you to wait until the meeting was over.”

The man, Vic, fumbled a bit with his tie as he lifted the teapot he was holding. “Sorry, sir. Thought Mr. Drake could use a drink.”

“I wouldn’t mind a coffee.” Bruce offered, giving his signature dimpled smile to both men.

Mr. Worthington took a second before nodding towards Vic. “Bring us some coffee after you're done with Mr. Drake.”

Vic nodded and served Tim some tea into his empty cup before walking away from the office without another word.

Something was odd about that man. Tim could feel it. Something about his movements seemed… off.

“Now, back to business!” The blonde man said with mirth while Tim tried not to sink into his chair.

He was gonna need coffee instead of tea if he was going to make it through the rest of this reunion.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

“You need to let go of the wall.”

“I will not!”

Conner tried hard not to laugh in her face, but a chortle escaped, and Maximoff gave him a deadly stare.

It did nothing but make him laugh harder. It was easy to do so, since she was crouching against the short wall of the roller skating rink, knees shaking nonstop while she glared up at him.

That walk easily became a hangout.

The two of them had taken their impromptu race very seriously and ended up in the city in less than twenty minutes. Conner intended to turn back around, but their stomachs had made it clear to them that they needed to grab something to eat first. So that turned into a fast food hunt and tons of talking.

Conner came to find out quite a lot about her in the span of the last two hours they spent talking.

That she had a huge dislike for cold weather and silence. She felt the need to just fill in those silent moments with random facts and out loud thinking. It usually got her into trouble and a rant from her friend Warren about learning to keep her mouth shut.

That her favorite colors were green and silver. Though she preferred gold jewelry, because it reminded her of her mom. He quickly changed the subject when she slipped into silence for a few seconds.

He also found out that he liked to listen to her voice.

She also had a wide taste in music because her best friends just kept shoving more songs into their shared playlist. He tried not to feel offended that she had never listened to Simple Plan.

He would have to change that.

Conner also found out that she hadn’t done a lot of things as well.

She had never been to a beach before. She had never gone to a theme park. Never tried out sushi. Never drove a car. Never gone outside of Gotham. Never gone to the movie theater. Never-

Too many nevers to count.

It had shaken him. Hearing about all of this while she downed her ninth burger like it was nothing, while they sat on a bench in a nearby park.

That was another thing he found out.

How can the daughter of a billionaire go around with no money in her pocket or a credit card? Tim had around six credit cards, and he was always insisting on paying for everything whenever they hung out by themselves or with the rest of their friends, saying that Bruce had enough money to waste.

So why not her? It didn’t sound right. Lois and Clark had basically engraved into his head the importance of having money on him just in case it was needed. He had an allowance for a reason. Didn’t all families do that?

Rich people are really weird.

“Just hang on to me, you’ll be fine.” He insisted with a laugh as he put his hands over her white knuckled ones.

She shook her head quickly, making her ponytail whip around and hit him in the face, and getting more laughs out of him. “No! I don’t trust you! Not one bit!”

After eating at the park, Conner decided that he could at the very least take a ‘never’ out of her list before walking her back to the manor. Which led them to the nearest arcade on the street block where they were roaming around.

The beaming expression on her face was bright enough to distract him from the nagging voice on the back of his head that sounded a lot like Barbara, telling him how this was a really bad idea.

Maximoff had been jumping around from console to console, excited and unable to choose which one to use until her eyes landed on the Dance Revolution game. She almost pulled Conner’s arm out of his socket when she dashed directly towards it and insisted on trying this one first.

She used to play this with Billy. She could remember it very vividly.

And while Conner definitely wasn’t Billy, she enjoyed having just a little moment that felt as close to home as it could.

Not long before Conner tapped out of the game because he was stomping too hard and almost ragging on the machine for not registering his footsteps, he pointed out the roller skating rink on the back of the building.

And that’s how they ended up here. With a half-empty rink and a stubborn girl who refused to trust him.

They had taken off their jackets, leaving them behind at their table since they were still flushed over playing that dancing game. Conner had stepped in first, explaining to her how to stop the skates and small tricks while she got used to it. And she was very confident about understanding it until she set foot on the rink and held onto the wall for dear life.

“Listen,” He inclined to her level, speaking with a light tone. “I promise you won’t fall. Just hold on to me and we will do just one lap and that’s it.”

Her glare softened a bit, biting her lips for a moment before answering. “If I fall-”

“You won’t, because I’ll catch you before you do.”

Maximoff was still hesitant, but Conner noticed her grip loosening beneath his fingers. He slowly let his fingers interlock with hers as she let go of the wall and straightened up from her crouch, letting him guide her slowly towards him and away from the wall.

“See? Not so bad.” He cheered, pulling her closer until she was right in front of him and gripping his hands tightly.

“Yeah. Not bad at all.” She stammered while looking down at the rink.

To Conner, it looked like she was nervous about skating around the rink. Which was fine since it was her first time. She just needed a little push to lose some of that fear and let loose. All part of trying new things.

But to Maximoff? She was simply nervous about getting caught staring at his arms.

From the moment that asshole took off his jacket, she couldn’t help but look. The tight navy blue shirt certainly didn’t help the case as well. So she tried to stick to the wall and as far away as she could.

How is it possible someone his age could have muscles like that?! It’s cheating!

And then Conner had to be a good sport and believe she was scared of skating and try to help her out. Why was he such a good person while she was over here having sinful thoughts?!

Oh, I am gonna make you pay, Wayne!

“Eyes up,” He ordered, gathering her attention back to him. “We’ll try one lap, alright?”

She nodded, letting go of one of his hands so he could move to her left, leaving her right hand to hover near the short wall as they began to move forward.

It became easy to grasp the trick of skates when she stumbled a few times. Each time it happened, Conner gripped her hand and checked on her. And each time he grinned when she waved him off and started to move faster and faster.

Soon enough, she was dragging him around the rink while laughing and forgetting about doing just one lap.

They were having so much fun and enjoying the rink for themselves that they didn’t notice someone looking at them from behind an arcade machine.

The man had a black hoodie. Tall and muscular, with a streak of white hair sticking out on the front of his head. He began to approach the rink while stomping towards the couple, who were now shoving themselves around the rink and laughing as they neared the exit.

“I need to try this again! It’s so fun!” She exclaimed with a grin as she pulled Conner by the elbow, rolling backwards as she faced him.

“You should try the one at Metropolis,” He suggested, eyes crinkling as he let her contagious smile affect him. He ignored the heating flush of his ears. “It’s way bigger and we could-”

“Date’s over, Kon.”

Conner and Maximoff snapped out of their bubble and looked at the source of the voice. Blocking the exit, looking more pissed off than usual, was Jason. With his arms crossed and a thick vein pulsing against his neck.

All the easy and fun atmosphere was gone in an instant. Replaced with a nauseating, dreadful sensation as Jason glared down at the two of them.

More specifically, their still joined hands.

Maximoff felt her mouth go dry when Jason’s eyes drifted up to hers. Maybe she was too nervous about getting caught like this by him, but she swore she saw his eyes glint green for a couple of seconds before it vanished.

His words were just the nail in the coffin with her name on it.

“Take your stuff. You’re in deep trouble.”

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

It fell short to say that Tim was beyond exhausted when he reached the manor.

Bruce had decided to have some mercy on him and send him straight home with Alfred. He could face the board of directors and organize the upcoming schedule on his own. If Tim wanted to patrol tonight, he would have to crash for the next three hours before Bruce gets back from Wayne Enterprises.

He could feel his head splitting right down the middle of his head from all the information overload he had from that hellish meeting.

Alfred offered to make him some calming tea as he made his way up the main stairs, but he refused to. He had the feeling that if he drank it, he wouldn’t wake up until tomorrow afternoon.

Which didn’t sound so bad. He could use the sleep, especially if he didn’t have to dream about drowning in green pools.

“Fuck this, man,” He muttered, rubbing his eyelids roughly, feeling them pulse against his fingertips.

Too many things to do. Too many thoughts.

He just wanted to close his fucking eyes and forget about everything.

Get some damned sleep and no fucked up dreams about choking in murky water.

All that he needed was-

Tim came to a full stop. His hands were covering his face, slowly coming down as his eyes slid open carefully. The hall he was walking on had big windows, the curtains wide open and letting the long and sharp shadows of the trees from the outside move around the space, making it look smaller and darker than it was supposed to be.

Then, he heard it.

It was very faint. As if it were miles away from him.

But he still recognized that melody.

“What's lost is found,

What's fierce is bound

We're broken and we're burned.”

He couldn’t describe the sensation that covered him from head to toes. It came close to that feeling of being wrapped up in a sheet that was so soft, you could barely feel it was there. But it still brought on the sensation of home and comfort.

Sweet, sweet comfort.

He could even feel his headache fading off into nothing! It was like walls crumbling down or falling into the soft mattress after carrying a boulder. He couldn’t get enough. He needs more. He needed it closer. He needed it louder. He needed and needed and needed-

Then, it stopped.

The keys faded into nothing. The melody was soaked up by the walls. Not even a trace of echoes was left behind.

And his headache came back at full force, making him stumble on his feet and grasp the wall for support.

“Hey,” He croaked, wincing at his voice. “Come back. Don’t-”

This time, the song sounded closer. The melody now replaced by rhythmic tapping and humming. His head snapped to the end of the hall, eyes widening at the sight before him.

Standing from behind the right corner at the end of the hall was a head full of long, black hair and dripping with thick, dark liquid on the left side. Its greyish hand with blackened long nails tapped against the wall, giving a slow rendition of the melody.

When the light of the moon hit right at that corner, the figure let its hair show the lower part of its face. A wide, sickly smile split from its lips as a black, greenish liquid stained its teeth and slipped down the chin.

Then, the hall grew smaller with each blink he took. The figure growing closer and larger, the grin becoming even wider.

Tim almost choked on his breath as he stumbled down to the floor, kicking his feet back to drag himself away from the figure. But he continued to blink rapidly, trying to wake up from whatever the hell he was seeing.

It came closer.

It became taller.

Tim’s back hit a wall. Panting and feeling as if his chest was about to burst from the painful weight that was pinning him there.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.

Too soon, he felt the cold drag of nails against the skin of his cheeks.

His eyes couldn’t move away from the empty sockets that stared directly at him with that horrid grin, making the liquid drip over his clothes.

Then, it spoke.

“Sleep well, Tim.”

With a shrieking scream, Tim’s world became dark and black.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Author's Note: God, I'm so sorry for the delay guys. Hope you enjoy this chapter!! First thing, I'm starting the new semester next week and I will be taking a break from writing until I get used to my new schedule. So there will be no chapter until next sunday (The 17). My asks will remain open, and remember that I love seeing you guys comment!! Other than that, we got the sneak peeks through the week of waiting for next chapter! Here's the link to join the tag list! And now we got Conner's Playlist as well! I will be dropping Warren and Bobby's as well so keep an eye out!! Love you all to bits and i can't wait to see how you guys react to all the new information in this chapter!! Lots of tight hugs and love, GG✨

Tag List:

@bat1212 @kneelforloki @1abi @galaxypurplerose @yhin-gg @cxcilla @momentomoribitch @stargirl404 @welpthisisboring @icefox8155 @bunniotomia @alittlelostmoonchild @devotedlyshamelessdetective @shycreatorreview @nirvanaxx1942 @soulsire @ryuushou @rinkydinkythinky @lithiumval @ithoughtthinks @reeyy0-2 @cssammyyarts @lordbugs @ilovecoffe0 @kore-of-the-underworld @fortunatelydifferentqueen @vanessa-boo @livingund3ad @aelxr @im-so-goddamn-tired @lovebug-apple @staarflowerr @xoxoyukixoxo @whyiseveryuseenametaken @holderoflostmemories @doggyteam2028 @leeiasure @shadowypeachsweets @jjoppees @astraeasworld @wrenbirde @scarletdfox @letsbedragonstogether @exactlynumberonekryptonite @randomlyappearingartist @angwlart @ceramic-raven @vndexd @suneaterscape @initial-ari

Bonus Memes:

434 notes · View notes

thelilytothepond · 15 days ago

Text

New Chapter tomorrow at Midnight!

Stay tuned tomorrow for Chapter 15!

37 notes · View notes

thelilytothepond · 15 days ago

Text

HELLO - IMPORTANT DSSS UPDATE

ahem

hello

i am sorry to inform that i might not be able to write/update for a few days

i accidentally spilled boiling water on my legs and now i cant sit on my desk chair because my thighs are burnt

anyways

i was almost 1/3rd into day 3 (chap10) of DSSS

i cant write on my phone guys😭 but i will try to see if there is a way i can use my laptop without feeling pain

anyways

might post SMAUs since thats doable on my phone

if you guys have any SMAU ideas please do tell me

love you all and thanks for your support❤️❤️

sorry to disappoint the DSSS readers I PROMISE ITS NOT ON HAITUS

ILL TRY TO KEEP WRITING IT ON MY PHONE BUT IDK IF I CAN

I THINK I CAN CONTINUE WRITING IT IN A FEW DAYS DW GUYSS

I WILL FIND A WAY✊

41 notes · View notes

thelilytothepond · 17 days ago

Text

Can’t Help Crushing (On You)

Jason Todd x Outlaw!Reader Series

Chapter 13: Epilogue: Something Definitely Happened

A.N.: an added chapter because Roy and Kori needed to know it finally happened.

⸻

previous chapter

⸻

The mission had gone shockingly well.

The warehouse was in shambles, Monarch’s men were toast, the seller was officially in Earth custody until Tamaranean police could come pick him up, and the Tamaranean tech was safely in Outlaw hands. The mission had gone off almost too perfectly. No explosions. No injuries. No last-minute betrayals. A rare Gotham miracle.

But something… was off.

It started small.

Jason walked into the safehouse first—armor scratched, helmet under one arm, and for once, not scowling. In fact, there was something weird on his face.

Upon closer inspection, Roy reached a horrifying conclusion.

It was a smile. Jason Todd. Smiling. Like that. That “I just did something I never thought I’d get to do and now I’m in a dopamine coma about it” kind of smile.

The kind that never reached his face unless something really good—or really stupid—had just happened.

Suspicious.

Behind him, you trailed in with your own soft kind of glow. You looked like you were about to float off the ground, hoodie sleeves pulled down over your hands, eyes sparkling brighter than they’d been in days. You weren’t limping. You weren’t bleeding. And yet… you looked completely wrecked in the emotionally combusted kind of way. The kind that screamed: something happened.

Suspicious x 2.

You and Jason kept… glancing at each other. And then looking away. And then glancing again. Like two middle schoolers sitting three inches apart at a movie.

Suspicious x 3.

Roy Harper—Agent of Chaos, Certified Himbologist, and President of the “Just Kiss Already” Club—immediately squinted in their direction.

Jason murmured something to you. You laughed. Not a little chuckle—an actual laugh, quiet and breathless and warm like it had been pulled straight from your ribs. You swatted him lightly on the arm as they passed by the kitchen island, and Jason looked away like he was fighting for his entire life.

Suspicious x 4.

Roy froze mid-sip of his energy drink.

Kori clocked it at the exact same moment. She didn’t say a word at first—just raised one delicate brow at Roy and tilted her head like a bird of prey scenting blood.

Jason cleared his throat. “So. Mission success. Files are uploaded. Monarch’s drones are fried. And, uh—good job, team.”

“Yup,” you chirped. “Good job, team.”

That was it. No bragging. No banter. No Roy asking who broke the most bones. No Kori declaring victory in the name of Tamaran. Just weird little smiles. Weird knowing smiles.

Kori leaned in to Roy and whispered, “They’re being weird.”

“They’re being weird.”

Roy didn’t even have to ask who “they” was.

“I know,” he hissed. “That’s the third time Jason’s smiled this hour. I’m starting to think it’s a medical emergency.”

“Right.” She murmured back, astonished. “Also, what’s up with the silence?”

“I know,” Roy muttered back. “They’re never this quiet unless something unholy happened.”

Kori narrowed her eyes. “Look at their proximity. The hovering. The shared glances. The mutual unspoken giddiness. It reeks of rooftop confessions.”

“I swear to god,” Roy muttered, “if they confessed without me present to see it…”

Before he could finish the sentence, Jason cleared his throat and addressed the room.

“So, uh… I’m gonna go check on the med kits. Inventory.”

“Yup,” Y/N said again, fidgeting with her sleeves. “And I’ll go… not do that. Somewhere else.”

They turned and walked off—in opposite directions—but still managed to brush shoulders and go red in the face like they’d been caught kissing behind the gym.

Roy’s eyes narrowed.

They turned and immediately brushed shoulders in the hallway. Both froze like deer in headlights, eyes wide, pink creeping into their faces. Then they bolted in opposite directions.

Gone.

Silent.

Suspicious x 5.

Kori turned slowly toward Roy with the expression of a woman who just discovered her favorite soap opera was real and unfolding in her living room.

“Roy.”

“Oh, I know.”

“Roy.”

“I know.”

“They finally—”

“Something happened up there. 1000%. I can smell the hormones from here.”

“Should we interrogate them?”

“Maybe,” Roy said, already lunging for the clipboard stashed beneath the couch. “We need to figure this out.”

Roy flipped open the Clipboard of Cupid Failures™ like a man possessed. A man wronged. A man who had spent weeks watching two oblivious, emotionally repressed people pine from opposite sides of the couch, only to finally—finally—smell victory in the air like fresh pie.

The clipboard was a graveyard of beautifully labeled heartbreak.

Attempts #1 through #6 stared back at him, reminders of his total failures.

So many dreams. So many schemes. So many near-successes that ended in emotional combustion and, inexplicably, zero making out.

But now—now he could feel it in his bones.

Jason and Y/N had returned from that mission different. Lighter. Floatier. Glowing. Smiling like absolute lunatics. Hovering like two magnets playing chicken. There had been arm touches. Shoulder brushes. Muted giggles.

And worst of all: they weren’t fighting it anymore.

Roy scrawled across a new page in all caps:

ATTEMPT #7 (???): UNPLANNED. ROOFTOP KISS????? STATUS: SUSPICIOUS BEHAVIOR. INVESTIGATION NEEDED.

“Okay,” Roy muttered, pacing. “Let’s run it back. They disappeared after the mission. Gone for ten minutes. Jason came back with that look. Y/N had that weird post-kiss glow. And they’re acting like they committed a federal crime in front of us. They keep smiling at each other like idiots and looking away like it hurts. That’s post-kiss behavior. That’s giddy-post-kiss-and-I-don’t-know-what-to-do-with-my-hands behavior.”

Kori nodded gravely. “This calls for subtle extraction techniques.”

Roy blinked. “You mean, like, spy stuff?”

“I mean,” Kori said solemnly, “we interrogate them separately. With snacks.”

Before he could ask, she was already floating toward the kitchen with unnerving purpose. Roy scrambled after her as she rifled through the Outlaw snack cabinet—her face lighting up as she retrieved one unopened emergency packet of strawberry Pop-Tarts, a bag of gummy bears, and an ancient, slightly smushed granola bar.

He stared. “You’ve been hoarding interrogation snacks?”

“One must always be prepared.”

“...You’re terrifying.”

She smiled beatifically.

“Okay,” Roy said, collecting himself. “I’ll take Jason. You take Y/N. Casual vibes. No pressure. Just two extremely normal friends asking invasive emotional questions. Watch for signs of flinching, sudden hoodie attachment, or unexplained blushing.”

Kori grinned. “Do not worry. I am very good at secrets. And even better at finding them.”

Roy raised his pinky.

Kori looped her pinky with his. “May the odds be ever in your favor.”

⸻

Meanwhile.

You stood in the hallway trying to breathe. Not that your lungs were malfunctioning or anything. But something about kissing your best friend under the stars and then brushing shoulders in the hallway and then walking away like you hadn’t just confessed lifelong feelings via hoodie exchange was making it extremely hard to function.

You clutched your sleeves. Your brain was spiraling. Did I imagine it? Did he imagine it? Did the kiss actually happen or did I black out from emotional overload? Was it real if we didn’t talk about it yet?

Enter: Koriand’r, floating into view like the soft, glittery chaos goddess she was.

She smiled sweetly, holding something behind her back. “Would you like a Pop-Tart?”

You blinked. “…Is this a trap?”

“No! Of course not!” She revealed the silver-wrapped pastry like it was a gift from the stars. “I simply thought you might want to… process your emotions. With me. In the form of sugary carbohydrates.”

You blinked.

She handed you the Pop-Tart. You took it, suspicious.

“…Did something happen on the roof?”

You choked on your bite. “What!? Wh—why would you say that?”

Kori beamed. “No reason. You are glowing like someone just whispered sweet nothings into your heart.”

You blushed hard and stuttered.

She tilted her head. “Something romantic, perhaps?”

You nearly dropped the Pop-Tart. “I—I—no! I mean maybe! What—what do you mean romantic?!”

“You are glowing,” Kori said softly.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Flushed down to your toes.

Kori smiled. “If you need a distraction, we can braid each other’s hair later.”

You sputtered something unintelligible.

Kori nodded sagely and floated away, giggling to herself.

⸻

At the same time.

Jason was cleaning his guns in the armory in the least convincing display of casual behavior the safehouse had ever witnessed.

He wasn’t polishing them so much as repeatedly wiping the same spot on his sidearm like it had personally offended him. His expression was blank. Or at least trying to be.

Then Roy walked in with a smoothie.

And the energy of a man who knew everything.

“Soooooo,” Roy said, dragging out the syllable like it owed him money. “Kissed any emotionally volatile best friends lately?”

Jason immediately dropped the rag he was using.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Roy shrugged, sipping obnoxiously. “No reason. You’ve just been, I dunno—smiling.”

“I always smile.”

“Yeah, when you’re hitting someone in the face.” Roy leaned in. “You’re being weird, man. Giddy. Lightly dazed. Like someone just confessed to loving you.”

Jason froze.

Roy’s mouth fell open as his eyes widened. “NO.”

“Don’t—”

“NO. WAY.”

Jason opened his mouth. Closed it. Walked straight into the gun locker.

“Oh my GOD,” Roy whisper-yelled. “YOU TOTALLY KISSED—”

“Shut up,” Jason snapped, but he was already red in the ears.

“YOU KISSED ON THE ROOFTOP—”

“I said shut up, Harper!”

“DOES THIS MEAN I WIN THE BET WITH KORI?”

Jason groaned and slammed his head against the locker—on purpose this time.

⸻

Later that night, once the dust had settled and all interrogation snacks had been consumed, the safehouse fell into a rare pocket of peace.

You were curled up on the couch under a blanket that definitely wasn’t yours (it was Jason’s, obviously), hoodie sleeves still tugged over your hands. You were scrolling half-heartedly through your phone, not reading a word.

Jason wandered in, silent, steady, and a little bit hesitant.

He sat beside you like he always did—close but not too close, casual but deliberate. You didn’t look at him, not right away. Just nudged his knee with yours and exhaled softly.

There was a beat of silence.

“…So,” you whispered, not looking at him, “you’re still smiling.”

Jason glanced at you. Then away. “…So are you.”

Silence again. But the kind that wasn’t awkward. The kind that buzzed under your skin, warm and unfinished.

You finally leaned your head on his shoulder. “So. Is this a thing now?”

“Dunno,” he murmured. “You still naming stuff after me?”

His hand found yours beneath the sleeve, fingers warm.

You grinned. “You still gonna let me keep the hoodie?”

He laughed—quiet and real—and rested his head against yours.

“…I was gonna give it to you anyway.”

⸻

Across the room, behind the cracked kitchen door, Roy was vibrating with uncontained energy.

“I KNEW IT,” he hissed. “I FREAKING KNEW IT. SAY IT, KORI. SAY I WAS RIGHT.”

Kori rolled her eyes, smiling fondly.

“You were right,” she said. “But only because I softened their hearts with emotional encouragement and Tamaranian wisdom.”

Roy did a fist pump and scribbled the final note on his clipboard:

CONFIRMED. ATTEMPT #7: SUCCESS. OPERATION: OUTLAW LOVE – COMPLETE.

Kori hovered closer, reading over his shoulder.

“…Do we count this as our success, even though it was accidental?”

Roy chewed his pen cap thoughtfully.

“Uhm? DUH. They wouldn’t have cracked if we hadn’t softened ‘em up with the Fake Dating Mission™ and the Only One Bed™ gambit. We laid the groundwork. This was just the natural emotional combustion.”

Kori beamed. “I love emotional combustion.”

Roy smirked. “I’ll take a kiss over a concussion any day.”

82 notes · View notes

thelilytothepond · 17 days ago

Text

It’s A Love Story

(Wally West x batsis!reader)

Word Count: 1,930

Synopsis: you and Wally have been friends forever, but something’s changed. Can you feel it too?

Warnings: not beta read. Just tooth rotting fluff.

Notes from the batcave: Shout out to Pookie (@sobbingscripter ) for the idea and getting my creative brain juices flowing ❤️

Wally doesn’t think he could pinpoint the exact moment his brain chemistry went a bit askew when it came to you. When he started seeing you as a woman and not just his friend.

As long as he can remember, it’s been the two of you gossiping, playing games, having movie nights, and dinner dates, and so much shit talk about each other’s partners. All that typical best friend stuff.

You two practically grew up together, along with your older brother, Dick, and the original Teen Titans.

He was privy to all your phases growing up, every step you took living in the public eye as Bruce Wayne’s daughter. Wally watched the way you grew and matured and changed your image ever so often, though he wasn’t sure if it was to stay relevant in the media or if you actually just wanted to fade away from the cameras.

He saw your hyper-femme, pinks and lace and gold accessories.

He saw your preppy plaid skirts, and knee-high socks with sweater vests.

He saw you finally settle into some kind of old money aesthetic. You truly looked like you had been born with that silver spoon you had simply inherited in your tailored blazers and fitted skirts. Expensive jewelry you never flashed or showed off, just existing with the Rolex on your wrist, and a strand of pearls laying over your neck like it’s normal and typical.

You’d always looked beautiful, of course. That was never a question, but something about seeing you standing out on the balcony of the Wayne Manor, dressed to the nines in a gown Wally is sure cost more than his annual salary… something made it click in his mind that just maybe he’d been looking at you wrong your entire relationship.

There’s only a few years difference between you and the speedster. Wally can recall days of you two and Dick running around this very manor as young kids and him calling you annoying, because at the time you were just Dicks annoying little sister. Wally also remembers how you cried when he said that and Dick smacking him hard upside the head to apologize to you.

Always the princess.

Wally remembers when Dick first left the manor and started the Titans. That’s when your friendship really blossomed because you chose him to complain to. He didn’t get it at first. He can still hear your voice saying, “Your Dick’s best friend, you’re the only one who would get it.”

And eventually, those phone calls got longer. Inside jokes became fashioned into the threads of your friendship, and the very core of who you two were. Jokes, belly-aching laughs, and a mutual platonic love for who each of you was as people.

You also joined the team eventually.

A stray thought would cross Wally’s mind from time to time, of course! He was a teenager, and you… well, you were gorgeous. Model material. You smelled like you came straight out of heavens bakery, expensive and just out of reach.

But those thoughts were intrusive. You were his best friend! And not to mention his other best friend’s little sister. And he was just some guy from a small city in Kansas who in no world would ever be good enough.

Especially now when he sees you all dolled up for the Wayne Family Gala, and neither of you are teenagers anymore. You’re a gorgeous woman of 23 now. A floor-length gown hugging your frame as you lean onto the balcony ledge of the upper floor in the ballroom, just far enough away from the chaos to catch your breath and let down the mask of being a Wayne for a handful of moments.

You’d always told Wally there were two versions of yourself. The you in the public eye and the you behind the mask. And he could see where they stood as different personas.

You, in the public eye, were a Wayne with far too much PR training. You could sniff out the paparazzi faster than anyone he’d ever met, not that he knew many people who deal with them, but still. You were put together, a perfectly curated young woman of high society that cared a lot about philanthropy and fashion.

Then there was the you behind the mask, who was by all accounts a bad-ass vigilante that was rooted in justice and feminism and making sure your message was always centered and clear when cleaning up the streets. You wanted little girls to see your heroic acts and know that they could be destined for greater things. Let the men have all the fun saving the day? You would never.

But Wally knew that there was a third version of you, one that very few people ever got to see. Wally knew the real you. The one who steals his clothes because they’re comfy, and makes the excuse that you’dnever be caught dead in a Walmart, but these are cozy. As you curl up with him for movie nights. The you that made him your personal gopher when you’d go shopping and always insisted to the paparazzi that he was your friend, sometimes you’d say assistant. Other times you’d ramble off that he was your dog walker, your stylist, anything to fuck with the intrusive questions while wearing a smile so sincere it would make anyone believe you.

He knew the you that didn’t feel the need to be so guarded when it was just the two of you. You who would laugh loudly, or kick your feet when you’re giddy about the latest gossip. Who’s naturally a bit more brazen and unkempt. You who dances around and sings off-key. The you who would devour a plate of bone-in wings and not worry about the sauce being all over your pretty manicured fingers and face because the only one who sees is him and the television set.

He sees the you that’s so perfectly imperfect, not just the made-up exaggerated version standing there looking like a damn panting out of the Louvre.

“Hey, you alright?” He asks, coming up behind you, the crisp nighttime summer breeze blowing past you both.

You turn your head just a bit, that prepared camera-ready smile relaxing to something more genuine when you realize it’s him and nod.

“Yeah. Just needed a minute.” You answer, looking back out over the garden of the manor.

Wally feels like you’ve stolen his breath away the way the moonlight dances across your skin and makes your eyes sparkle. He’s making mental notes to thank Bruce for allowing him to come tonight just to see this ethereal version of you standing before him.

He hums in response to you, moving to lean on the ledge beside you. You must have felt comfortable because for a couple of fleeting moments it’s like you forget where you are, that cameras are littered around the event looking for a story to make, or maybe you just don’t care what the reporters might skew as you delicately lay your head on his shoulder and just enjoy the quiet of the night and the soft roar of the party happening inside.

Wally was so down bad.

His heart was skipping, and he’s certain there’s an entire zoo wreaking havoc in his stomach, not just butterflies, especially when you tip your head to look up at him through those false dark lashes that frame your pretty eyes better than any poet could ever write into words.

He swallows hard, leaning down to press his forehead to yours, letting his eyes fall shut because he’s scared if he stares too long he’s going to start blurting things he can’t easily take back.

He loves you.

He loves how you smile when he brings your favorite flowers every time you say you’ve had a rough day. He loves the way your eyes soften when you talk with little kids, and how they light up when you hold a baby. He loves how you drink iced coffee when there are feet of snow out in the streets. He loves the way your nose crinkles a bit when you take that first sip of champagne. He loves that mischievous smile you get when you’re being spontaneous. He knows every lyric to your favorite Taylor Swift songs, He could go on and on and-

Yeah, he’s sure. He loves you.

He doesn’t know when the yearning started or how it got to here, but part of him doesn’t want to screw it all up, and tell you and be wrong about the little inkling in his chest that just maybe you feel the same way for him.

Maybe you yearn for him too. You notice the little gestures. The flowers. The good morning texts. The sweet dreams voice notes. You remember his favorite comics, and his every order and every restaurant the two of you have ever eaten at. You’ve counted every freckle that litters his face… maybe you do it too. He has suspicions.

You’ll stare his direction a little too long, or so easily collapse into his arms after a tough mission. You’ll make little comments that eat at his brain because he just knows deep in his soul that you have to love him too, right?

But how does he ask that?

What if he’s wrong?

What if he screws this all up and loses you and the friendship the two of you built?

But as he pulls back from you, your pretty gaze on his green eyes again, he swallows hard. There’s electricity in the moment, you feel it too, right? You have to, he’s sure of it.

His eyes linger over your face, taking in every small detail that he memorized long ago. His hand comes up, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and he catches the way your breath hitches just a bit.

“You look beautiful tonight.” He says softly, his words coming out just above a whisper, and that sweet smile he loves pulls at your plush lips, a pink dusting your cheeks.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” You say back, your entire focus on him and this moment that feels like maybe, just maybe he might finally make the move you’ve been waiting for ages for.

“I- um…” God, he’s trying so hard to find the words, to do or say something that doesn’t make him seem like a complete idiot, and you just wait so patiently for a few fleeting moments, trying not to scare him off before he finds his footing in the conversation. “Would you- I mean, can I-“

“Are you going to kiss me or not?” You finally blurt out, trying not to laugh at how he was tripping over his words, and he grins, ear to ear, like you just told him he won the lottery.

“Can I?” He asks, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek as well, holding your face delicately, like something precious, a piece of art to be admired.

“Obviously.”

He presses his lips to yours in a somewhat timid, soft kiss filled with trepidation. Slow and steady, the complete opposite of either of your hearts. But for a first kiss, it’s filled with sparks and longing, and all the built-up tension between you is finally finding somewhere to simmer other than the longing spaces in either of your souls.

He didn’t have to yearn anymore. He has you, and you’ve just confirmed it for him, and he’s so excited to see what the future with you may hold.

❤️click here to join my Taglist ❤️

🦇return to the batcave🦇

🪺DCU Masterlist🪺

491 notes · View notes

thelilytothepond · 17 days ago

Note

half shocked wally didn’t show up and snatch streamer!reader away from the manor in the recent fic

★ TAGS: blatant jealousy, it's dick's birthday and you're invited over as a gift, wally being a smug little shit, dick being a jealous little shit, they're both down bad af for you <333

★ A/N: i was acc half-contemplating doing this but ran out of time so here's a 'what if' instead! in reference to this post. tho you don't need to read it to enjoy this little snippet imo. it can be read as a separate thing. oh, and before you ask, the reader and wally are not together, he's just being his smug little self, that's all

★ F!STREAMER!READER MASTERLIST ★

You feel a rush of wind pass by before you see him.

It's quick, and you have to blink when it gets dirt in your eyes, but then you're seeing a sight you definitely hadn't bet on upon arriving at the manor, and you find yourself blinking a few more times in disbellief.

But the Flash still stands there after you're done.

Your mouth drops open.

"Wal— Flash"—you can see Dick's hands form fists from the corner of your eye—"what are you doing here?"

He's practically hissing through gritted teeth, and the Flash all but smirks back at him.

"Just here to see my main man on his birthday." Then his attention turns to you, and his voice drops in tone to drawl, "Wasn't expecting to see my main woman too."

His hands take one of yours before you can even blink.

Then his smile turns dreamy as he pulls you closer, and Dick's voice exclaims in the background, "Your main woman?!"

"Flash," you utter, and his attention is fully on you in less than a second, "You know Dick?"

"Oh yeah," he responds with a shrug. "Knew him since childhood. Did you know he was a huge brat as a kid?"

Dick growls, teeth clenched so hard they could shatter in his mouth.

Then Flash speaks again, and you think Dick's teeth really do shatter in his mouth.

"Say, you don't mind if I whisk her away for a bit, do ya?"

"What?!" the birthday boy exclaims. "Of course I mind, the fuck?! It's my birthday! She's here for me, not you!"

But Flash must've heard a 'yes' because the next thing you know, he's whisking you straight off your feet and sending a wink Dick's way. "Thanks bro, appreciate it."

And just like that, you're gone with the wind.

"WALLY!"

836 notes · View notes

thelilytothepond · 17 days ago

Text

Can’t Help Crushing (On You)

Jason Todd x Outlaw!Reader Series

Chapter 12: Finally.

A.N.: THE MOMENT YOU ALL HAVE BEEN WAITING FORR IS HERE.

this chapter is dedicated to this wonderful reader: @thejokersfavouritecrowbar

⸻

previous chapter

⸻

The rain hadn’t started yet, but the sky over Gotham was swollen and dark, the kind of night that promised a storm. Inside the safehouse, it was warmer, but just as tense. The hum of the holotable filled the quiet room, glowing blue against the low lights, illuminating tired eyes, scarred knuckles, and worn gear.

They’d been in the field all week. No one had slept properly in days. And yet… something about this mission had the Outlaws sharper than usual. Focused. Edged.

Jason Todd stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, face unreadable. Tactical mode, activated.

He clicked a few buttons and then the hologram above the table lit up.

The footage floating above the table was grainy, taken from a distant drone: a warehouse on the edge of the city, flanked by loading docks and floodlights. The camera zoomed in—frame by frame—on a massive crate being unloaded under heavy guard.

It shimmered faintly, wrapped in a containment field of alien design.

Kori’s expression changed the moment she saw it.

“That crate is Tamaranean,” she said quietly, voice clipped and cold.

“Alien tech,” he said, gesturing to the glowing crate frozen midair. “Illegally smuggled onto Earth, scheduled to be sold tonight to a human buyer.”

Kori narrowed her eyes. “The design is pre-exile. This weapon was supposed to be destroyed decades ago.”

Jason stood next to her, arms crossed tightly over his chest, eyes locked on the image. He didn’t look away.

“Well, it wasn’t,” he said. “And now someone’s trying to sell it to a human buyer with too much money and no clue what they’re dealing with.”

He tapped the side of the holotable, pulling up a schematic of the warehouse—detailed, clean, annotated with intel they’d compiled in the last 48 hours. Entry points, weak spots, roof access, guard rotations.

Roy gave a low whistle and leaned back in his chair, boots up on the edge of the table. “So we’re dealing with space contraband and war relics. Love that for us.”

You stood at Jason’s left, flipping through another set of images—still shots of heat signatures, weapon scans, timestamps.

“They’ve been moving crates in and out for days,” you said, zooming in on the northwest loading bay. “We don’t know how many, but it’s at least six. Maybe more.”

Jason glanced down at you. “We need someone close enough to count them.”

“If we set up here,” you said, pointing to the northern rooftop, “we’ll have line of sight on the loading bay, the interior floor, and every exit. Best place to count crates, tag henchmen, and maybe catch a glimpse of the buyer.”

Jason nodded. “You and I will take the rooftop. Recon only unless things go sideways.”

“Rooftop?” Roy repeated, chewing on a protein bar like it was a cigar. “Just the two of you? On a dark, isolated roof?”

Jason didn’t even look at him. “Yes.”

Roy cackled. “What a totally strategic and not at all emotionally charged choice, boss man.”

“Stop messing around, Harper.” Jason hissed.

Roy kicked his feet up onto the table. “Of course. Strictly business. Zero pining. Just mission talk and rifle scopes.”

“Roy,” Jason said flatly. “You’re going in.”

That got him to sit up.

Jason brought up a second schematic—security footage of various mercenary groups moving through Gotham. One of them looked suspiciously like Roy, if Roy had five more pounds of muscle and two fewer brain cells. But with a cap and some dirt on his face, and is he tied his hair back a bit, Roy could definitely pass as him.

“You’re posing as hired muscle. Monarch’s crew is bringing in new guards tonight, probably local. You’ll slip in with the group at the south entrance and act like you belong.”

Roy cracked his neck. “So I blend in with the morally bankrupt scumbags and buy time by being loud and suspiciously overconfident. Perfect.”

Jason didn’t deny it.

“Keep your comms open,” Jason said. “No heroics. Just ears and eyes. Your job is to stall and listen. Arsenal you will record any and all conversation necessary and your job is to blend in.”

“I’ll also look very cool while doing it all,” Roy added, already spinning a knife in one hand. “You may call me… Glornak.”

Kori didn’t look up. “No one is calling you Glornak.”

“Yes you are.” Roy fake-glared, amused.

“You are not going into a black market arms deal using the name Glornak,” you said, trying to keep the laughter from slipping into your voice. “No one will take you seriously.”

“I demand to be taken seriously,” Roy said, gesturing to his whole face. “Look at me. I’m terrifying.”

“I’m begging you to shut up,” Jason muttered.

You coughed into your sleeve to hide a laugh.

Jason pointed to another section of the schematic—a thin access corridor on the eastern side of the warehouse. “Starfire, you’ll enter from above. There’s a reinforced catwalk system tied into the rafters. It’s the only way in without tripping the sensors. Once Roy’s inside, you’ll move. If necessary, Arsenal will provide an excuse as to if you make a sound and if you need an escape plan Arsenal will act as a distraction. The main goal is for you to not be seen. Get close to the crates and confirm what we’re dealing with.”

Kori’s eyes darkened. “If I can get close to the crate, I’ll confirm whether it’s authentic. But if the weapon has been modified—”

“Then we figure it out from there,” Jason said. “But don’t engage unless you have to. Stay cloaked and keep moving.”

She nodded silently.

Jason tapped the table again. A final image popped up: a shadowy figure, half-obscured by distortion and static. No face, no features—just a tall frame and a sharp coat. The alias MONARCH blinked in red underneath.

“Buyer’s identity is still unconfirmed,” Jason said. “All we know is they’ve got money, power, and zero sense. If they walk out of there with Tamaranean tech, we’ve got a planetary problem. But this person has been poking around in off-world tech markets for months. This isn’t their first deal—it’s just the first one we’ve been able to catch in time.”

“And probably, hopefully, the last if we get this right,” you added, crossing your arms.

“Assuming no one screws it up,” Jason said, glancing at Roy.

Roy saluted with two fingers and a sarcastic smile. “Sir, yes sir. Glornak reporting for chaos.”

Jason ignored him.

“You and I will stay on overwatch,” he said to you. “Rooftop gives us the best vantage. Count crates. Confirm henchmen. ID Monarch. No action unless I call it.”

You nodded. “Clean and quiet.”

Roy muttered under his breath, “Romantic.”

Jason ignored that, too.

Roy flicked a peanut in the air and caught it with his mouth. “So: I stall. Kori scans. You two make out on a rooftop—”

“—Observe on a rooftop,” Jason corrected flatly.

“Right. Observe each other’s feelings,” Roy muttered under his breath.

You kicked his chair lightly. “Focus, Glornak.”

Kori clipped her comm to her ear and checked her weapons. “The buyers will arrive in less than an hour.”

“Then we move in twenty,” Jason said. “Everyone check your gear. Load light. In and out.”

As the group broke apart to prep, you lingered near the table, watching the holoscreen slowly flicker through each camera angle. The weapon glowed faintly in the darkness of the warehouse—sleeping, waiting.

Jason stepped up beside you. You didn’t look at him, but you felt the heat of his presence anyway.

“Still think rooftop’s our best call?” he asked, voice low.

You smirked faintly. “Unless you want to send Roy up there with you.”

Jason visibly shuddered. “No. God, no.”

You finally looked at him, smile teasing, pulse louder than it should’ve been.

“Besides,” you added, “I pack snacks.”

He exhaled—almost a laugh. “We’re not eating on the roof during a weapons op.”

You shrugged. “You might. If things go sideways.”

His lips twitched. “That why you always volunteer for rooftop duty?”

You didn’t answer.

⸻

The city was restless below, wind picking up as storm clouds muscled their way across the skyline. Lightning pulsed silently behind thick clouds.

The Gotham waterfront was cloaked in fog and steel, the heavy scent of oil drifting off the bay.

From your perch on the rooftop ledge, you could see almost everything: the flickering floodlights casting long shadows over the loading bay, the line of armored crates being wheeled toward the center floor, the thick-bodied mercs with bad attitudes and worse aim patrolling the perimeter.

You had just finished positioning and loading your sniper and fishing out your binoculars.

Beside you, silent and steady, Jason shifted into position, his weapon mirroring yours.

You adjusted your scope and whispered into your mic.

“North rooftop. Visual on the loading bay confirmed. Crates are being moved inside—currently counting six. At least fifteen guards.”

A pause.

Then Jason’s voice crackled in your ear, low and clear. It came from the comms and from next to you.

“Copy. I see them. No movement near the secondary exits. Maintain surveillance. We’re looking for the buyer and any signs of secondary personnel.”

He moved with precision—fluid, practiced. No wasted energy. Even now, crouched beside you in the dark, rain soft against his jacket, he carried the weight of leadership like it was a second skin. He didn’t have to remind you he was in charge. He just was.

But that wasn’t why your pulse was quickened.

The proximity was.

The silence.

The quiet knowledge that his leg pressed against yours through combat pants and Kevlar, and neither of you were moving away.

You swallowed and focused on your scope.

He seemed to be invested in the mission with full focus.

Except for the way he kept glancing at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

Below, guards paced the loading area. Most were human, dressed in mismatched tactical gear. A few were armored, helmets full-faced and polished chrome. They moved like trained mercs—sharp and silent—but not sharp enough to notice the two shadows watching from above.

Then, a black van pulled up to the loading dock.

The seventh crate was being moved into the warehouse. You tracked it with the scope, noting the containment shimmer. Definitely off-world tech. Definitely dangerous.

Jason adjusted his comm frequency. “Arsenal, status?”

Roy’s voice came through instantly, too casual, when when he was whispering.

“Inside the lion’s den and blending beautifully, RH. They bought the fake creds. I’m now officially muscle for hire, guarding space crates for an anonymous warlord. They think I’m here to babysit the shipment while the buyer shows. Real friendly guys. Smell like wet dog and gun oil.”

“Status on the guards inside?” Jason asked.

“Four on the floor, three near the bay doors, two at the crate perimeter. Couple of floaters upstairs. All human, no alien movement yet. Buyer hasn’t shown.”

Jason’s jaw shifted slightly. You could feel the tension radiating from him.

“And the tech?”

Roy’s tone dropped, serious now.

“It’s glowing, RH. Real deal. Crates are tagged with sigils. One of the crates started humming a few minutes ago. I don’t know what it does, but I definitely don’t want to be here when it turns on.”

Jason looked toward the far side of the warehouse, narrowing his eyes.

He exhaled through his nose. “Starfire. Status.”

There was a soft crackle, then Kori’s voice—calm, whisper-quiet.

“Rafters breached. Making my way across the south beam. No eyes on me yet. Scanning now.”

You flicked through thermal overlays on your scope, catching the faint red streak of her body heat weaving through the steel framework high above the floor. Silent, efficient, deadly.

“She’s in position,” you confirmed.

Jason adjusted his rifle slightly. The quiet scrape of his gloves against the metal stock was somehow louder than the wind.

He then exhaled slowly. “Alright. We hold. Eyes open, fingers off triggers. We ID Monarch, then we move.”

“Copy that,” you said, shifting slightly to brace against the wind.

You nodded, still watching the warehouse floor—but your awareness was split. Half of it on the mercenaries below. The other half on him.

The rooftop was slick under your boots, the metal damp from the rising humidity. Thunder rumbled faintly in the distance, low and tense, like the city was holding its breath.

You reached for your thermals again, pausing just long enough to feel the warm brush of Jason’s shoulder as he leaned in to check your screen.

You didn’t move away.

He didn’t, either.

You’d been on rooftops with him before. Missions like this weren’t new. But something about this moment was different.

He was too close. Or not close enough.

“Think this is gonna go smooth?” you murmured, just for him.

Jason gave a quiet snort. “It’s Gotham. Nothing goes smooth.”

He didn’t sound nervous. But his jaw was tight.

“Still,” he added, more quietly now, “I’m glad it’s you up here.”

You blinked, pulse catching just slightly.

You didn’t know quite what to say, so you just let the silence stretch.

Then, a few minutes later, he was the one to break it again.

“You good?” he asked suddenly, still looking through his scope.

You turned your head slightly, voice low. “Yeah. You?”

A pause. Then, softer than it had any right to be: “I’m good when you’re here.”

Your breath caught. Not enough to break formation. Not enough to lose your edge. But enough.

He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to.

But before you could answer, Roy’s voice buzzed into both your ears, shattering the serene moment.

“Glornak reporting in: still unstabbed. Situation stable. Probably gonna blow up in fifteen, but stable.”

You bit back a laugh. Jason did not.

“Comm silence unless it’s relevant, Arsenal.”

“I am relevant,” Roy argued. “I’m so relevant.”

“Muting you,” Jason said flatly.

You heard Roy’s indignant squawk before the click.

Thunder rumbled again. Below, one of the guards lit a cigarette and glanced up—then moved on. No sign they’d seen anything.

Jason leaned forward, adjusting the zoom on his scope.

“Stay sharp,” he said. “The buyer should be here any minute.”

You nodded, lowering your voice.

“I’ve got you covered.”

His eyes flicked toward you. Held.

You looked back, steady. Quiet. Sure.

Then:

“Yeah,” he said, almost too soft for comms. “I know.”

⸻

The storm was still holding back. Just wind now—steady, low, brushing across the rooftop and carrying the cold bite of the harbor with it. The warehouse below had settled into a rhythm: guards rotating, crates secured, weapons checked. No sign of hostility. No sudden moves.

You adjusted your rifle and scanned the floor again, then double-checked the loading bay. Nothing out of place. Monarch’s people had arrived, but the deal hadn’t started yet. It was nearing the end—another two hours, maybe three, and the Outlaws would be done here.

Finally, a clean op.

Starfire was able to check the tech, plant a tracker on it, and she even managed to tamper with it quite a bit so it wouldn’t be deadly.

Anytime anyone was close to seeing or hearing her, Arsenal would provide a distraction.

The crates were counted. The guards had been tagged and tracked. Kori was a shadow in the rafters, and Roy—despite the fake accent and refusal to shut up—was doing an annoyingly decent job stalling the buyer’s team.

The warehouse lights flickered below, the soft hum of generators rising faintly through the rain-slick air. From where you were posted—high up on the north rooftop—you could see everything.

Including the boy sitting silently beside you.

Jason was perched just a few inches away, one knee up, his rifle steady against the ledge.

You exhaled, letting your cheek rest briefly against the scope, muscles finally beginning to unwind from their tightly coiled readiness.

Beside you, Jason shifted.

Not with urgency. Not the way he usually moved during a mission.

He reached one gloved hand up to the side of his helmet and tapped the comm once—muting it. The small green light blinked off.

You blinked at him in confusion.

He then took off the helmet, only the fabric of the black domino mask were left to hide his face.

He turned to look at you, and even through the shadows, you could feel the warmth in his gaze. Not urgent. Not mission-critical. Just… something else. Something softer.

He gave a small, half-smile.

Then he nodded toward your comm—gently, like a suggestion, not a command.

He made a subtle gesture: two fingers, a short arc in the air.

That meant ‘mute your comm.’

You blinked, surprised. “Jason—”

He met your gaze. Not sharp. Not demanding.

Just… quiet.

Even through his silence, his eyes spoke thousands of words.

‘Please.’

You hesitated only a second, then mirrored his motion. The line clicked off, and just like that, the world went quieter. No voices in your ear. No status updates. Just wind and the occasional distant rattle of thunder.

Now it was just the two of you, crouched together in the dark, the city wind curling around your shoulders, the only sounds the soft hum of floodlights and the distant boom of thunder over the bay.

Jason leaned back a little against the rooftop vent. From your spot, you could just barely see curve of his mouth and the soft stubble on his jaw. His hair was damp from the mist, a few strands curling near his forehead.

He wasn’t looking at the warehouse anymore.

Just you.

Then he spoke, voice low.

“I know we’re not supposed to talk during ops.”

You looked over at him. “Pretty sure you’re the one who made that rule.”

“Yeah, well,” he murmured, eyes still forward. “I think I’m gonna break it.”

You tilted your head. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly. “Yeah, no—it’s just—”

He exhaled a soft laugh and glanced down at his gloves, suddenly fascinated by the seam on one of the fingers.

You waited. Not pushing. Just… there.

He finally turned his head, met your gaze.

“I like this,” he said.

The wind tugged at the edge of his jacket. Rain dotted his shoulder, beading on the matte grey armor. His voice, low and soft, cut through the hum of the night.

“Not the mission. Not the weird space weapons. Just… sitting here. With you”

For a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

Jason glanced away—like he wasn’t sure he should’ve said that out loud. His thumb tapped idly against the barrel of his rifle, a restless tic he only had when he was thinking too much and saying too little.

You tried to keep your voice even. “Even with all the rain and rooftop rust?”

“Especially with the rooftop rust,” he said, glancing back up at you with a crooked grin. “And the fact that you keep pretending your snack bag is standard mission gear.”

You nudged him gently with your shoulder. “Snacks are essential in a high-stress environment.”

“Oh, definitely,” he said. “That’s why I always bring you on overwatch. Tactical granola bars.”

You both laughed softly, rain pattering gently around you.

Then, quieter now—less joking, more earnest—he added:

“I know it’s stupid,” it sounded softer than the earlier banter. “But every time we end up posted on some rooftop together, watching bad guys do stupid shit—I don’t know. It feels… easier.”

He laughed once, under his breath. Not sharp. Not bitter. Just tired.

“You don’t look at me like I’m gonna snap. Or like I already did.”

Your stomach twisted. You sat up slightly from your rifle, shifting so you were facing him more fully now. The warehouse below was still, quiet. Nothing moved.

“You always look at me like that?” he asked suddenly, not quite meeting your eyes.

You blinked. “Like what?”

He hesitated.

“Like I’m the only thing in your world,” he murmured. “Even when we’re surrounded by chaos.” His eyes found yours again, steady, unflinching. “Like I’m the only one that matters.”

The words hit hard—too raw to be rehearsed. Too soft to be a deflection. You felt it in your chest, a slow, aching swell of emotion that had no safe place to go.

You froze for a half-second. Then—heart full and voice barely above a whisper—you said,

“Jason,” you said quietly, “You are.”

No hesitation. No caveats. Just truth.

His eyes widened just a little, like he hadn’t expected you to say it out loud. His mouth opened like he was going to say something equally devastating back, and then promptly forgot how to speak.

He stared at you for a long second, eyes searching. And then something broke behind them—not violently, not painfully. Just… cracked open. Like whatever wall he kept between the world and himself had quietly given way, just for you.

He melted.

“Wow,” he said.

You smiled. “Yeah.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, ears visibly red under the edge of his hair.

“I swear, if you say one more thing that makes me feel like I’m gonna explode, I might actually fall off this roof.”

“You’re The one who muted the comms to talk.”

“I know,” he groaned. “Worst idea ever. Now I want to hold your hand and possibly die.”

You giggled.

He smiled.

And for just a second, with the city below and the storm above, there was nothing between you but warmth and want and all the things left unsaid.

Jason turned back toward the warehouse slowly, mouth twitching into the faintest of smiles.

“I knew I liked rooftops for a reason.”

⸻

Rain misted lightly over Gotham, the storm still dragging its heels somewhere beyond the skyline. The docks were quiet now, settled. Monarch’s crew was stalling, guards were on loops, and the Tamaranean tech had stopped humming. Everyone was in position.

Everything was going according to plan.

And still—Jason hadn’t unmuted the comms.

You sat cross-legged next to him on the rooftop, your rifle resting at your side, the mission all but forgotten in the silence between you. The two of you had been talking—really talking—for almost half an hour now. Quiet voices, soft laughs, just enough space between your knees to say I want to be closer but I’m trying so hard not to make it weird.

Jason leaned back against the rusted rooftop vent, one arm draped casually over his knee. His helmet resting behind him like a helmet-shaped paperweight. His hair was damp, his jaw slightly scruffed, and he looked at ease in a way you almost never saw.

His expression was relaxed. Genuinely relaxed. You didn’t see that often.

He tilted his head toward you, thoughtful.

“Okay,” he said. “Serious question.”

You turned your head. “Hit me.”

He pointed at you with a gloved finger, dramatic. “Waffles or pancakes?”

You blinked. “That’s your serious question?”

“Extremely serious. Critical. The entire future of our partnership depends on your answer.”

You squinted at him. “This feels like a trap.”

“It is a trap,” he said. “Choose wisely.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, leaning back on your hands. “Fine. Waffles. No hesitation.”

Jason blinked. “Wrong.”

“Excuse me?”

He grinned. “Pancakes. Easy. Classic. Better.”

“Pancakes get soggy,” you argued. “Waffles have structural integrity. Waffles were designed by engineers. Pancakes are just floppy bread discs with a superiority complex.”

“They get fluffy,” he argued, sitting up slightly. “And they hold syrup better.”

You shook your head. “Waffles have little syrup pockets. They were engineered for joy.”

Jason looked personally offended. “Wow. You’ve clearly never had my pancakes.”

“Wait—you cook pancakes?”

“I cook great pancakes.”

“Oh, now I have to see this for myself,” you said, grinning. “Next safehouse breakfast. Prove it.”

He pointed at you again. “You better be prepared to apologize when I make you the fluffiest, golden-brown, melt-in-your-mouth pancakes of your life.”

You shrugged. “You talk a big game, Todd.”

“And I deliver.”

You both broke into laughter, and for a moment it was just that—laughter echoing across a rooftop, warm and low and easy.

Then Jason spoke again.

“Okay,” he said, “next one. Top three favorite movies. Go.”

You groaned. “That’s evil.”

“Exactly.”

You thought for a moment, tapping your fingers against your thigh.

“Okay. Number one is that old sci-fi epic with the terrible effects but the really good alien romance subplot.”

Jason raised a brow. “You mean The Great Moon Alliance?” (A.N.: fake movie names guys I got no idea what movies to put)

“YES. It’s terrible but also perfect. And the scene where they kiss in zero gravity? C’mon.”

“You cried during that scene, didn’t you?”

You gave him a flat look. “First of all, rude. Second of all, absolutely.”

He gave you an amused look.

You groaned. “It was a good kiss! The alien glowed when they touched!”

Jason laughed again, full and genuine this time. “That is so on brand for you.”

He laughed softly, and you continued.

“Top 2 is probably ‘Love, Technically’”

“You’re into rom-coms?” He inquired.

“Of course??? Who isn’t? Anyways top 3 is probably….. ‘ The Third Wheel’”

“Ooh I like that one.”

“RIGHT? IT’S GREAT!”

He chuckled again, leaning his head back to look at the sky.

You glanced at him—at the soft smile tugging at his lips, the way his hair curled damply at his temples, the way the wind didn’t seem to bother him when he was with you.

God, you loved seeing him like this. Peaceful. Light.

“What about you?” you asked. “Top three?”

He suddenly looked serious. “Don’t laugh.”

“Never.”

He sighed dramatically. “The animated Robin Hood.”

You blinked. “The one with the fox?”

He groaned. “I said don’t laugh.”

“No, I’m not laughing. I’m just—oh my god that’s adorable.”

He scowled. “It’s nostalgic!”

“It’s adorable,” you repeated.

He muttered something under his breath that sounded like regret. You leaned your chin on your knee, smiling at him.

“Okayy…” You trailed off. “Top 2 and 3?”

He tilted his head. “Dying Runner. And probably that one weird indie movie about the guy who makes grilled cheese for a living.”

You laughed. “The Cheese Sandwich?”

“It’s soothing,” he defended. “He opens a food truck and heals generational trauma.”

“You are so much softer than you pretend to be.”

Jason shrugged, pretending to inspect his gloves. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation.”

You smiled, letting the silence settle again, this time warm and heavy like a blanket.

Below, the warehouse continued its quiet rhythm, but it felt far away now—like something happening on a different planet. Up here, there was only the two of you.

You looked up at the sky—dark and full, streaked with faint stars trying to peek through the clouds.

Jason followed your gaze.

“We don’t get a lot of stars in Gotham,” he said softly.

“No,” you murmured, “but sometimes the ones we do get feel like they’re just for us.”

Jason was quiet a long moment. You thought maybe he was going to let it drop. But then—

“When I was a kid,” he said, “I used to sneak onto the library roof at night. Lay there and count the planes overhead and pretend they were stars.”

You glanced over, heart tugging.

“I didn’t think I’d ever leave the city,” he added. “Or meet anyone who made me feel like I wanted to.”

You didn’t speak. Not yet.

He looked at you, and this time, he didn’t look away.

“But then there’s you,” he said.

Simple. Gentle. Honest.

And you felt it like a pulse under your skin.

You smiled.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “There’s you, too.”

Then it quieted for a few minutes.

Not awkward. Just… still.

Jason glanced out at the skyline. The soft orange glow of Gotham lights bled into the fog. The city looked almost peaceful from up here—like it wasn’t full of villains and shadows and all the things that had made both of you who you were.

“I like this,” he said suddenly.

You turned your head toward him again. “The view?”

“No,” he said. Then corrected, “Well, yeah. The view’s nice. But I meant…”

He hesitated. Then looked back at you.

“I like this. Us. Sitting here. Talking like this. No pressure. No mission noise. Just… you and me.”

Your heart skipped something unsteady.

You swallowed. “Me too.”

“I don’t get to do this often,” he said. “Actually relax with someone. Feel like I’m allowed to enjoy it.”

“You are.”

He gave you a look. “Yeah, well. That’s easier to believe when it’s coming from you.”

You blinked, caught off guard.

“What do you mean?”

Jason ran a hand through his damp hair, eyes dropping for a moment.

“I don’t know,” he said. “You just… you look at me like I’m not broken. Like I’m not this walking graveyard of every mistake I’ve ever made. I’m used to people flinching, or walking on eggshells, or treating me like I’m about to go off.”

You shook your head. “Jason—”

He glanced back at you.

“But you don’t do that. You just… show up. Like it’s easy. Like I matter.”

Your breath caught.

He said it so simply. No dramatics. No defenses. Just the raw truth of it, resting in the space between you like something sacred.

You leaned forward slightly, voice quiet but steady.

“You do matter. Not because of the things you’ve done or haven’t done. Not because of what people expect from you. But because you’re you. And I care about you. A lot.”

Jason looked away for a second, his jaw tightening like he didn’t know what to do with that much sincerity.

You smiled gently.

“I’m serious,” you said. “You’re one of the best people I know.”

“That’s concerning,” he muttered, but his voice was soft, and his ears were a little pink.

“Sorry,” you said, grinning. “You’re stuck with me now.”

He glanced at you, something warm flickering behind his eyes. “I’m not complaining.”

Silence fell again, but it was full this time. Full of unspoken things. Full of the kind of comfort that only came when you stopped pretending you weren’t completely and stupidly in love.

You nudged him with your knee.

⸻

Jason hadn’t said anything in a while.

Not because there was nothing left to say—no, the air between you was thick with all the words that hadn’t been spoken yet. But because he was looking at you the way someone might look at a sunrise after surviving a year of storms. Like you were something he didn’t want to blink and miss.

You were quiet, too. But not uncomfortable. Not awkward. Just here, breathing the same night air, hearts syncopated, legs brushing on the ledge of a rooftop that, for once, didn’t feel like a war zone.

Jason had been glancing at you more and more often—like he couldn’t help himself. Like something had shifted and now he didn’t know how to put it back where it was. His helmet was off, and that alone made him look softer, but it was the way he was smiling that really got to you.

Like you were snlight and he hadn’t seen daylight in years.

Finally, he exhaled. Slow. Measured. But not steady.

He rubbed the back of his neck suddenly, a rare flicker of nervousness crossing his face. “Hey… can I tell you something?”

You turned toward him, curious. “Yeah, of course.”

He didn’t look at you at first. He was watching the skyline, the way the rain shimmered against glass, the soft pulse of red lights in the distance. He spoke like it had been sitting in his chest for a while.

“I thought you liked someone else.”

You blinked. “What?”

He glanced away like it was safer to look at the skyline. “I figured I didn’t really stand a chance. I mean—you were always close with Roy. And sometimes you’d talk about people you met during undercover missions. You were always laughing. And I guess I assumed… I don’t know. That I wasn’t on the list.”

You stared at him.

Then you burst out laughing.

Jason blinked. “Hey—why is that funny?”

“You thought I was in love with Roy Harper?”

Jason looked defensive. “Don’t laugh. He’s got the dumb hair and the stupid smile. He is stupidly charming.”

“And a disaster. He once lit a microwave burrito on fire while it was still frozen,” you reminded him, grinning. “That’s who you thought I had a crush on?”

Jason shrugged, looking way too proud of himself. “Look, I’ve seen your taste in movies. You’re unpredictable. Plus, stranger things have happened.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “You idiot.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, voice dropping, “maybe. But I just… didn’t want to hope too hard.”

That made your smile falter a little. Not in a bad way—just enough for your heart to squeeze.

You shifted, facing him a little more. “You wanna know something stupid?”

Jason looked at you. “Always.”

“When I was younger, before I got my powers, I was maybe six or seven,” you said, “I used to make up these stories. Space adventures. Galaxies and pilots and found families.”

He tilted his head, curious.

You smiled, just a little shy. “And I had this starship—the best one in the fleet. It was called The Jason. It was the fastest one. Could outrun anything. The most loyal, too—never left anyone behind.”

Jason’s expression froze. “Wait. Seriously?”

You nodded. “Didn’t even know who you really were yet. Just knew the name. I had heard my mom say ‘Jason’ on the phone one time. And it just… stuck. I liked it for some reason. It sounded brave. Sharp. Like someone who protected people and didn’t take crap from anyone.”

Jason looked like he’d been hit with a tranquilizer dart made of emotion. He blinked once. Twice. Slowly.

“You—you named a spaceship after me?”

You nodded again, trying not to laugh at his expression. “She was sleek, red-trimmed, nearly indestructible. Saved all the other ships more times than I could count.”

His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

He made a helpless little noise and dropped his face into both hands. “Nope. Nope. I can’t handle this. I’m out.”

You were grinning now. “You okay there?”

“I was already at the edge,” he said, voice muffled behind his hands. “This just shoved me over.”

You leaned closer, voice light. “You short-circuiting, Mr. Hood?”

“I need a minute,” he muttered. “I’m rebooting.”

And still—you could see his smile. Even with his face buried in his hands. He peeked out between his fingers, cheeks flushed pink.

“You’re seriously trying to kill me.”

“I would never,” you said, grinning.

“Okay. Yeah. I’m done. You’ve killed me. That’s it. I’m dead.”

You giggled. “That easy, huh?”

He looked up, face red, but glowing. “You’re not allowed to be this perfect. It’s unfair.”

Jason exhaled, shook his head slowly, then looked up at you again—eyes soft, completely unguarded.

He stared at you a little longer, like you were the most ridiculous, wonderful thing he’d ever seen.

And then—like it was the most natural thing in the world—he leaned in.

Slow. Tentative. Like you were a wish he was scared to say out loud.

Then you heard him mutter, voice barely a whisper.

“Can I kiss you now, or do I have to earn that after I actually build you the spaceship?”

Your breath hitched and you blinked. Then slowly nodded.

“Please.”

Jason didn’t rush it.

He reached for you like he’d done it a hundred times in his dreams. His hand found your cheek, gentle, careful, like you were something precious. You leaned in, and he did too—until your noses brushed, breath mingled, and then—

His lips met yours.

And it was perfect.

Warm. Slow. Full of years of aching and waiting and not saying the things you wanted to say. It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t messy. It was tender. Like he had time. Like he wanted to savor every second of it.

It deepened slowly—rain misting over your shoulders, city lights flickering in the distance, but none of it mattered. Because Jason was kissing you like you were the center of his world. Like nothing before had ever made sense.

His hand cradled your face, your fingers curled in the fabric of his jacket, and you kissed him like the world had finally aligned.

When you finally pulled apart, foreheads resting together, you both just sat there, eyes closed, smiling like idiots.

"You have no idea how long I have been dreaming of doing that." His warm breath hit your skin.

You smiled. "I think I do."

He pulled your body closer, cradling you into his chest.

You then breathed, “So… can I keep your hoodie for real this time?”

Jason let out a breathy laugh, still dazed. “I was gonna give you my last name. But yeah. Start with the hoodie.”

You opened your eyes, grinning against his skin. “I already have your last name, Mr. Hood.”

He smirked, eyes still half-lidded and fond in a way that made your whole chest ache.

“Not that one,” he murmured. “Future Mrs. Todd.”

You snorted. “Oh my god.”

Jason laughed, completely wrecked in the best way.

And then he kissed you again. Just because he could.

Turns out, they didn’t need the chaos siblings and their flamethrowers, fake dating, or matchmaking antics.

All it took was one rooftop, some tension, and spaceship talk. And a reason to kiss.

⸻

A.N.: Would you guys wanna see an epilogue? Like Roy and Kori's reactions? Cause I might have a draft of it already...

95 notes · View notes

thelilytothepond · 18 days ago

Text

BATBOYS BUT IT'S DICK'S BIRTHDAY AND BRUCE INVITES F!STREAMER!READER OVER AS A GIFT.

★ TAGS: older!damian wayne, older!duke thomas, crack, the boys are majorly obsessed with you—but it's right in front of your face this time, it's dick's birthday but the boys have no problem stealing you away from him, duke glows when he's flustered and it's so cute, your username is just your name

★ A/N: sorry guys, i lost track of the taglist so i won't be using it here 😭 oh, this is another requested one!! you guys are so creative with these requests, i swear. i'll never run out of material at this rate. as always, you don't need to have read the rest of this series to read this!!

★ F!STREAMER!READER MASTERLIST ★

The manor is taller than you imagined—looming to the point where you're forced to crane your neck up at an angle that blooms pain down your spine.

It's a bit creepy too, stood here, quite a ways away from the hustle and bustle of Gotham city, no other buildings in sight.

Billionaires sure are eccentric.

With a gulp, you swallow the nerves building up in your throat and take a step closer to the gate, fingers twiddling behind your back.

The speaker in front of you sings static as soon as you get closer, and you take it as a sign to announce your presence.

"Um"—you swallow thickly—"this is [Name], the, uh, streamer invited over for Dick Grayson's birthday?"

A pause.

Your palms start to gather sweat, your mouth going dry, and just as the thought crosses your mind that you may have possibly been baited into showing up at the entrance of a rich man's house for no reason—

—the gate creaks open.

"Oh, okay, cool," you mutter to yourself, a habit you picked up from constantly commentating. "At least I know that letter was legit now."

Why you, of all people, were invited, you still have no clue.

Regardless, you continue your trek down the road to Wayne Manor, each step heightening those nerves you thought you swallowed down before, pumping them with air until they all but rise back up your throat by the time you get to the large, wooden doors.

You're barely able to lift a fist before one of said doors opens.

"Ah, Miss [Name], come in. The Masters have been expecting you."

You blink, the accented voice a bit of a surprise to your twitching ears, but not as much as the person they come from.

There, behind the open door, dressed in what you can only describe as a butler's uniform, stands a man nowhere near your age, poised and dutiful, with a perfectly raised brow you haven't a clue as to how is even possible.

You shift in your spot, suddenly feeling severely out of place.

"Miss?"

You perk up. "Oh, uh, right."

Taking a shaky step forward, you enter the large manor with yet another gulp of that bundle of nerves in your throat—

—only to flinch at the sound of a plate shattering nearby.

Whipping your head to the right, you're face-to-face with a man the press has no shortage of encounters with.

Stood there with his hair combed to the side and eyes just the slightest bit wide to indicate what you presume to be his own surprise, is who could quite possibly be one of your top chat donators.

Damian Wayne.

His stare burrows through you, and awkwardly, you bring up a hand to wave at him. "Uh, hi."

"Beloved," he whispers, soft, light, in a tone of such disbelief, it almost convinces you that you're not at all supposed to be here. "What are you doing here?"

Okay, this is really not doing your doubts any wonders.

"Uh, I was invited for Dick Grayson's birthday..."

"Grayson?"

You open your mouth to confirm, when another voice cuts you off.

In comes a grinning man dressed all casual, in a normal shirt and trousers (certainly nothing you'd expect from a person with enough money to afford all the branded clothing in the world), holding a bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other.

"You..." starts the man, looking towards Damian before turning and trailing off as soon as his eyes land on you, "called...?"

Another shatter bounces off the walls.

You clear your throat.

"Hey! Uh, Dick, right?" You move your hands to twiddle behind your back as he just continues to stare at you with his mouth agape. "Happy birthday!"

A thud.

Your lips part. Then close. Then part again. Then close.

"Did he just fai—?"

"Allow me to get your coat for you, Beloved."

You gasp, the feeling of a warm breath ghosting over your ear almost causing you to jump right out of your skin.

Then it's followed up by the ghost of a touch over your bare arms, and you think you really will jump right out of your skin.

Your eyes flit to the side, and all the breath in your lungs disappears the moment you see the way Damian looks at you; those lidded eyes and that near-reverence in his gaze.

If you had any doubt that he was your top donator before, they're all gone now.

A shiver runs down your spine, his fingers over your bare skin practically a breeze as he slowly—almost a little too slowly, like he's savouring the moment—aids you out of your coat.

But then he slinks past you to hook it near the door, and you're left wondering if you just imagined the intimate moment altogether.

You stand there for another few seconds before clearing your throat, shaking your head, and averting your gaze—

—only to find it landing on a familiar groaning body struggling to get off the ground.

Immediately, your eyes go wide.

Then both your hands are grasped by another pair, and your gaze is ushered to the side, though not without a bit of reluctance.

"Uh," you start, sending another glance over your shoulder with knitted brows, "shouldn't we help him up?"

"Nonsense, Beloved, he can get up on his own," Damian dismisses without so much as a second glance. "Allow me to tour you."

"Um, okay."

With one more concerned glance tossed the birthday boy's way, you're whisked straight into another room and immediately greeted with the sight of another man. This one sprawled across the couch with one leg dangling off and his eyes glued straight to the screen in his hands rather than dropping something right in front of your eyes and staring at you like a fish out of water.

"Here we have the living room, you may find yourself in here during times of leisure," Damian explains, gesturing one hand out in front of him for less than a second before it's back in your own. "Please ignore the sight of the couch, it's not usually so hideous."

The unnamed man's nose twitches, scrunching up not a moment later as his eyes leave his screen in favour of looking up. "Who you calling hideo—?"

Then he freezes, and that phone in his hands slips right onto the floor.

Oops, you may have jinxed it.

"[Name]...?"

Once again, you find yourself pushing your lips up into that awkward smile, the urge to fiddle with your collar growing within you. "Hello."

He blinks once. Then twice. Then—

"Shit!"

The man scrambles to get up, eyes immediately darting down as his hands went all over the place to fix the creases on his shirt before shooting straight back up to send daggers to Damian.

"Demon spawn, why the fuck did you not tell me she was here?"

Damian all but sent him one disinterested glance. "Your incompetence is not my fault, Drake."

Drake grinds his teeth, and those daggers of his turn into sharp swords wide enough to pierce even you despite them not at all being directed your way.

"I'm gonna fucking kill you—!"

"Damian!"

Your eyes flit to the entrance of the room, finding the birthday boy stood there with his hands on his knees and his form slightly hunched over, panting, before immediately snapping upright and sending those same daggers Drake sent to Damian himself.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? Bruce invited her over for my birthday!"

And like he did with Drake, Damian only sends a disinterested glance Dick's way. "So?"

"So?! So?! So that means she's my birthday gift and you shouldn't be taking all her attention away from me!"

"Tt. That hardly matters when she's going to be my wife."

You blink. "Wife?"

But Damian keeps talking like he didn't just give you the news of your life about your own future marital status, and Dick argues right there with him.

So you're left blinking, awkwardly stood in the middle of this rich family feud wondering why you even accepted that invite in the first place.

But then your fingers are slipped out of Damian's hands and straight into another pair, and you're gently tugged away and out of the room.

Your eyes follow the hand in your own up, only to meet with a pair of dazzling blue staring back at you.

"I'm Tim, by the way," says Drake—or well, Tim.

Ah, Tim Drake. That makes more sense. For a second there, you thought Bruce Wayne had adopted another kid with a less than fortunate name, to say the least (what with the very existence of the song 'Not Like Us').

You clear your throat, shaking your head clear of your thoughts before saying, "Hi, Tim. Uh, where are you taking me?"

He grins. "To my room."

You blink at him.

He blinks back at you.

Then slowly, your lips curve back into that familiar awkward smile. "Woah there, dinner and a movie first maybe?"

At that, he lets out a laugh, and it's warm and real and melts straight into a smile you can only describe as that of a school girl's when staring at her crush, all dazed and dreamy.

"You're so funny..."

You blink again, letting out a nervous laugh. "Thanks..."

You've met parasocial fans before, but you think these guys take the cake for sure.

Still, you let yourself be dragged into his room because, for what it's worth, he doesn't set off any alarm bells and you like to believe the best in your fans.

Plus he's kinda hot. That's always a bonus.

"Here, let me just—"

You blink, watching him rearrange his bed before slowly guiding you to take a seat on it and rushing over to his closet with a bounce in his step you've seen many times from many other people before.

"Fuck, where is it?" comes his voice from... inside the closet?

A walk-in closet. Holy shit, that's rich.

"Uh, you okay in there, Tim?"

The only thing that responds to you is a little dreamy giggle.

"Tim?"

Another dreamy giggle. Maybe you should stop saying his name.

"Oh! I found it!" He calls. And then he's rushing out of his closet with a box that falls in front of you with a loud 'thud' not a moment later.

You blink down at it.

Your face stares back at you.

"This is a box of all my merch from you!" yells Tim, practically squealing the words out as he opens the box and starts taking things out one-by-one to show you.

"Here's the first ever hoodie you sold!

"Oh, and here's the limited edition Youtooz of you from a year back, I got it the second it was available.

"Oh yeah, and here's the figurine of you from that red dead redemption collab you did! You look amazing as a cowgirl."

You gawk, barely able to keep up with him as he flashed all your merch at you with the speed of the Flash, and you've met the guy in person.

Still, there's something oddly charming about how excited Tim is, those bags under his eyes practically non-existent with how wide with wonder they are right now.

That's probably why you can't stop yourself from smiling.

And when he finally notices, he goes quiet, a blush as red as the blood beneath your skin spanning from one side of his face to the other.

Then his door bursts open, and that blush evaporates.

"Yo, replacement, I need you to look into this lead—"

You turn, finding yet another pair of blue eyes staring straight at you. A pair that seems to slyly curl at the corners.

"Well hello there, pretty girl," drawls the new guy, crossing his arms and leaning against the door as his gaze rakes all over you and he whistles low. "No one told me you'd be over. Woulda dressed up real nice for ya if they did."

Wow, this household sure is swimming with good-looking men, huh?

"Jason," Tim hisses through gritted teeth as you let yourself look, "what are you doing here? Get out."

"Nah"—his lips quirk up—"don't think I will."

You glance back at Tim for a split second. But that split second is enough for you to see the steam practically shooting out his ears.

"Don't think you have a choice," he growls back, fists clenching by his side.

But Jason just ignores him, slinking on over to your side and plopping down like he owns the place, his hand moving to loop around your shoulders as he ducks his head down and speaks to you like you're the only one there.

"Y'know, you're a lot prettier in person."

Your lips are curving up before you can even stop them, heat warming your skin. "Oh... really?"

He tilts his head, moving closer, lips a breath away from your own. "Yeah really."

"Jason!"

You then blink as the arm around your shoulder is removed, and you're left feeling a cold breeze pass over it instead.

Your head tilts up to see Dick with his arms crossed and his brows furrowed furiously at the man who was just holding you.

"What the hell are you doing?!" he yells, before directing his attention straight at Tim. "You too, Tim! How many times do I have to tell you guys it's my birthday?!"

"So?" Jason scoffs.

"So?! So?! Argh! You—!"

You blink, registering yet another face by the door and, this time, getting up to go somewhere of your own accord.

"Oh my God! Duke!"

Duke blinks, almost looking like he would've stumbled back had you not grabbed ahold of his hands in time.

"How are you?!"

He blinks again, staring at you with his lips parted and his eyes wide with a little disbelief, just like they were when you first met.

"Did you like that plushie I won you?"

He stares at you for a few seconds more, still not saying a word, and you find your lips tugging down in concern.

"Duke?"

Then he bursts. Quite literally.

You squint, a sudden flash of light blinding you for just a split moment before you hear someone clear their throat and that light is no more—at least, not obviously.

But you swear that it looks like there's something glowing under Duke's hoodie...

"Yeah," he says quickly, before awkwardly clearing his throat again and averting his gaze to the side. "I mean—yeah, I liked it."

You blink once, then your lips curve up again and you beam back at him, responding with a, "I'm glad." before he's clearing his throat again and speaking, that glow under his hoodie appearing to be a little brighter.

"Do you wanna come to my room and go see it?"

You look around, seeing everyone still arguing with each other in their own world. "Sure!"

Then you let Duke lead you out, leaving behind the three shouting brothers and the fourth silently glaring one behind.

Dick, despite having been gifted the best present Bruce has ever gotten him for his birthday ever, is having one of the worst days of his life.

First, his favourite cereal runs out, so he's stuck having to eat his second favourite instead (ugh). Then, his favourite shirt is in the laundry because Alfred put it in last night, so he can't wear it on his special day. And then, his favourite streamer is ripped from him by every single brother he has when it's not even any of their birthdays and she's not here for them.

So now here he is, sat on the balcony with his chin slumped on his hand, staring out into the night sky because he's long since given up on trying to divert your attention to him.

"So much for a happy birthday," he mutters with a sigh, kicking the air beneath the lounger he's sitting on like it's personally the one that ruined his day.

Then the sound of the door sliding open chimes from behind him, and he's immediately perking up and turning around.

"There you are, birthday boy."

It's you, and you're gently sliding the door shut again behind you, the light of the mansion hugging your form with a warm, welcoming glow that's only furthered by the way you smile down at him.

"I was wondering where you ran off to."

His mouth parts, a sort-of awe taking over and stealing his tongue as you move to sit beside him, to lower yourself to his level.

"Not good with crowds?" You nudge his shoulder with a bit of a teasing smile.

"Great with them actually," he responds, and you blink in surprise. "Just... not feeling it today."

Your smile softens a little at that, tone gentle as you say, "That's okay." Then you follow it up with a playful, "Us human beings are complicated creatures, y'know. I, myself, have a lot of layers."

His lips twitch up. "Yeah?"

"Oh yeah."

Dick's smile widens a little at that, and a chuckle passes through his lips before he can even stop it—not that he could've in the first place. You're his favourite streamer for a reason, after all.

The two of you fall silent right after, and you turn your head to the view in front, eyes losing that teasing glint to make way for something kinder, warmer.

"Sorry I haven't been paying much attention to you," you say, almost absentmindedly, and he blinks a little in surprise—you had noticed? "Your brothers are a little..."

"Crazy?"

You chuckle. "Sure, let's call it that."

"It's all good," he responds, taking in the way the stars twinkle in your eyes. "I didn't take it personally."

"Still"—your lips tug down a little—"it's your birthday. Your dad invited me over for you. I should've spent more time with you."

He doesn't say anything. Too kind to pin the blame on you and too selfish to deny that what you had just said was exactly what he wanted.

But he doesn't need to say anything, 'cause you continue talking anyway.

"But I'm here now," you say.

And then you're turning your head back to him and smiling with all your heart, and suddenly—

"Happy birthday, Dick."

—Dick finds himself not minding how this day turned out after all.

2K notes · View notes

thelilytothepond · 18 days ago

Text

Can’t Help Crushing (On You)

Jason Todd x Outlaw!Reader Series

Chapter 11: The Six Times Cupid Failed

⸻

previous chapter -

⸻

Batburger’s neon sign buzzed like it was one short-circuit away from spontaneous combustion. A bored teenager stood behind the counter, barely glancing up as two bloodied vigilantes walked in like it was a Tuesday night tradition.

Jason didn’t bother taking off his helmet this time. He was too tired. Too sore. Too focused on one thing.

“Double Nightwing burger,” he rasped, voice deepened by the voice modulator and muffled under the helmet. “Extra cheese. Large curly fries. Joker shake.”

You blinked at him from behind. “You’re seriously ordering that while looking like you just lost a knife fight with a paper shredder?”

Jason turned his head slightly. “I won the knife fight, thank you very much.”

You gave him a look. “Barely.”

“You healed me. That counts as a tactical advantage.”

You stepped up to the counter, wincing as your own ribs protested. “Just a small fry and... I guess the Robin Nuggets. Don’t ask me which Robin, I’m emotionally fragile.”

The cashier didn’t even flinch. Gotham teenagers were built different.

A few minutes later, you were both seated in a reclusive corner booth, away from prying eyes and hidden by the shadows, a mountain of greasy food between you, still smelling faintly of blood and gunpowder. Jason had his helmet on the seat beside him, hair flattened and a smear of dried blood trailing along his jawline. You took your (his) helmet off your head and placed it next to you as well, leaning your elbow slightly on top of it.

Your domino-clad eyes stared at the whites of his domino mask.

You shoved a fry in your mouth and broke the silence. “We’re going to get salmonella. Or sued.”

Jason shrugged, mouth full of burger. “Worth it.”

You watched him chew. Watched the way his eyes looked just a little more tired than usual, a little less guarded. He was alive. He was here. He was eating a grotesquely large burger and pretending like everything was fine.

And somehow, that made it a little easier to breathe.

“I thought I lost you,” you said suddenly.

Jason paused mid-bite. He swallowed. Slowly.

“I know.”

You fiddled with your fries. “It didn’t feel nice at all.”

He stared at you, his burger almost forgotten in his hands.

Then: “You didn’t lose me.”

You looked up.

“I’m still here,” he said quietly, nudging your foot under the table. “Thanks to you.”

You stared at him. At the messy hair and calloused knuckles and those stupid, stupid teal eyes that were way too soft right now.

You grabbed a curly fry and chucked it at him.

He blinked. “Rude.”

“You’re not allowed to almost die and then say emotionally significant things at Batburger.”

Jason grinned. “Okay, fine. I’ll wait ‘til dessert.”

“Jason.”

“What?”

“Thank you.”

Jason blinked, mid-chew, like the weight of your voice cut through the haze of grease and adrenaline still lingering in the air between you.

He swallowed. Tilted his head.

“For what?” he asked, voice quiet. No teasing this time.

You hesitated. Just for a second.

Then you said, softer than before, “For… trusting me. For believing I could do it. That I could save you.”

His gaze didn’t waver. Not for a second. “Of course I believe in you.”

You smiled—barely. It trembled at the edges.

“Even when I don’t.”

Jason reached across the table, fingers brushing against yours—just enough to feel the warmth of your skin.

“Especially when you don’t.”

You paused for a moment, gulping. “What if it hadn’t worked? What if I couldn’t save you?”

Your eyes welled up with tears.

Jason didn’t answer at first.

He just looked at you. Really looked at you. Like maybe he could memorize the exact shape of your guilt and wring it out of your lungs himself.

“You always could,” he said finally, voice low. “I just reminded you.”

You swallowed hard. Your eyes stung.

He let his hand grip yours in comfort from over the table. His tight grip lingered for a moment too long before he let go.

And just like that, the noise of Batburger—the buzzing lights, the faint sizzle of fry oil, the obnoxious speaker playing some godawful remix of the Bat-Signal—faded into the background.

Because the only thing that mattered right then was this: Jason was alive. He was here. And he believed in you, even when you couldn’t.

You didn’t speak after that. Just sat across from each other in quiet understanding, fries half-eaten, milkshake slowly melting between you.

Maybe tomorrow you’d deal with what that almost-confession meant. Maybe tomorrow you’d talk about what was really said in that warehouse.

But for now… he just passed you a napkin and said:

“You’ve got ketchup on your face, Mrs. Hood.”

You looked at him, then at the napkin, then you grabbed the bottle of ketchup and squirted some straight on his check, touching the edge of the domino mask.

He groaned, dropped his head to the table, and muttered something about “betrayal.”

You smiled anyway.

Because you were both still here.

And that’s what mattered.

⸻

The safehouse shook just slightly as something, no—someone—landed in hard on the roof.

Then, a thud echoed through the living room, followed by the telltale shimmer of alien light as Princess Koriand’r of Tamaran walked gracefully across the safehouse—eyes glowing, boots steaming, fiery hair floating like it had its own personal wind machine.

She touched down with all the drama of a celestial goddess, right in the middle of the rug Jason had spilled ramen on last week.

“Home,” she said brightly, then paused. Sniffed. “...Why does it smell like melted protein powder and ketchup in here?”

No one answered.

She looked around the empty room, then sighed and pulled a comm from her belt. With one graceful motion, she flicked it on.

“Roy,” she called. “Are you alive?”

There was static. Then a rustle. Then Roy’s voice came through, far too smug for someone allegedly working a recon job in Blüdhaven.

“Well, well. If it isn’t Queen of the Stars herself. Miss me?”

Kori rolled her eyes, floating a few inches off the ground again as she glided toward the kitchen. “Only during moments of peace and silence.”

“Ouch. Harsh.” He sounded like he was smiling. “How’d it go?”

“Four intergalactic smugglers apprehended, three diplomatic treaties signed, and one attempt at assassination thwarted by simply existing. You know. Friday.” She opened the fridge and made a face. “Why are there three half-empty bottles of hot sauce and nothing else in here?”

Roy snorted. “Ask Jason. He’s the one treating condiment storage like emotional catharsis.”

At that, Kori paused.

Her smile turned sly. “Speaking of Jason…”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Roy groaned. “Oh no. You’ve got that tone. The ‘I’ve returned and am ready to cause romantic chaos’ tone.”

Kori drifted up onto the couch and settled there cross-legged, looking far too regal to be sitting next to a throw pillow that said ‘Live Laugh Lock & Load.’

“I was gone for one week, Roy. Please tell me something finally happened between them.”

Roy sighed. “Define ‘something.’”

Kori perked up. “Did they kiss?”

“No.”

“Confess feelings?”

“Nope.”

“Hold hands while dying?”

“…Okay, that one’s a maybe.”

“Ah,” she said, glowing slightly. “Progress.”

Roy groaned again, louder this time. “You weren’t even here and somehow you’re still scheming.”

Kori’s grin widened. “Of course I’m scheming. You and I are the only competent ones left. Those two are walking tension coils with matching trauma disorders. If we don’t intervene, they’ll be seventy before someone confesses.”

“I give it six more missions before one of them faints from sheer romantic repression.”

“Five,” Kori countered. “I sensed tension through atmospheric interference.”

“…That’s not how tension works, Kor.”

“It is when it’s them.”

Roy sighed heavily. “I don’t get it. They’re already basically a couple. They fight like one. They brood like one. She stitched him back together last week and then sat next to his bed for hours like some tragic Victorian novel.”

Kori sighed. “And he didn’t say a word about it. Not even a thank-you kiss?” She paused. “Or a dramatic declaration of undying affection?”

“Not even a flirty bandage comment.”

She gasped. “Blasphemy.”

“I know. It’s criminal.”

She floated into the kitchen again, opened the pantry, closed it dramatically. “Jason Todd is the most emotionally constipated human in the galaxy.”

“Right behind you-know-who.”

She smirked. “Which is why they’re perfect for each other. Equally terrible at vulnerability. Equally likely to die in a warehouse trying to avoid their feelings.”

“And we love them.”

“Very much.”

“So… what do we do?”

Kori hovered back toward the couch, firelight in her hair and mischief in her smile. “We create an environment in which they must either confess their feelings… or combust.

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes. I’m thinking: morning training session. Close quarters. Casual praise. No supervision.”

Roy’s jaw dropped, “You want to trap them in a room together.”

Kori grinned, “Emotionally, yes.”

He groaned. “Jason’s gonna know exactly what we’re doing.”

“Of course. But he’ll be too flustered to stop it. And she will start rambling. And then… something will slip.”

“I swear to God, Kori, if this works—”

“—we are naming their first child.”

“Yes.”

They paused for a moment, proud, chaotic, and way too invested.

“Tomorrow morning. Training room. You bring him in.”

“And you just happen to leave Y/N there alone?”

She beamed. “Exactly.”

“…It’s insane. But I’m in.”

She floated off the couch again, already glowing with excitement. “Operation: Push the Idiots Together resumes at dawn.”

Roy hummed. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Jason ambush?”

“Exactly.”

They grinned—miles apart, but in perfect sync.

Because if the traumatized, emotionally repressed idiots in love wouldn’t make a move… their chaos siblings absolutely would.

⸻

Back at Batburger, you and Jason were having the time of your lives.

The ketchup slowly began to dry on his cheek, glinting faintly under Batburger’s flickering overhead light.

Jason sighed, dramatically dragging a napkin across his face. “Let the record show, I almost died and you ruined the mood.”

You snorted, stealing one of his curly fries without remorse. “You ruined the mood when you ordered a Joker shake.”

“Oh my god, let it go—”

“Literally named after your murderer.”

He groaned and thumped his head lightly against the booth wall. “I’m re-dying. Right now. You’re killing me again.”

You leaned back too, mirroring him, your muscles finally starting to unclench. A slow breath left your lungs, like your body had just remembered how to breathe again. “Well. At least this time, you’ll go out with fries.”

Jason turned his head toward you, cheek still pressed to the wall. His knee bumped yours beneath the table—just a small, unspoken check-in. You didn’t move away.

“You really scared me,” you said.

“Yeah,” he murmured, voice low. “Me too.”

You looked over at him. The ketchup was drying. The grime clung to his suit. And still—somehow—he managed to look at you like you were the only steady thing left in the world.

And then he smiled. Just a little. Soft. Honest. A smile just for you.

“…Wanna split a Bat Brownie?” he asked.

Your heart hadn’t stopped racing since the warehouse. But here, in this booth, in this quiet moment where nothing was crashing down… you nodded.

“Yeah,” you said. “Yeah, okay.”

Jason flagged down the teenager behind the counter with a lazy two-finger wave. “One Bat Brownie. Extra fudge. It’s for medical reasons.”

The kid raised a brow but didn’t argue. Gotham teenagers knew better.

You nudged Jason under the table.

He nudged you back.

Because maybe trauma did taste better with fries. And maybe—just maybe—dessert could taste like hope.

⸻

Operation: Push the Idiots Together: ATTEMPT NUMBER 1:

The next morning…

The safehouse training room was quiet, save for the low mechanical hum of the lights and the soft whir of the ceiling fans overhead. The mats were freshly laid. Sparring dummies reset. Weapons racks polished to near obsessive perfection.

Kori hovered in front of the mirror wall, adjusting a training pad on her arm with unnecessary precision.

You stood near the lockers, tugging your shirt down over your still-sore ribs. You hadn’t really slept, and the memory of Jason’s voice saying “Especially when you don’t” kept looping in your head like a cursed lullaby. But your limbs needed to move before your brain exploded, so here you were.

“Hey,” you said casually. “Didn’t think anyone else was up yet.”

Kori turned toward you, radiant and far too awake for 8:00 a.m. “Oh, just finishing cooldown. I was about to head out.”

“Oh. Cool,” you said, stretching your arm across your chest.

Kori smiled. “You should stay. I hear training clears the mind. And perhaps… the heart.”

You blinked. “Uh—”

The door slid open behind you with a hiss. Boots on tile. You turned.

Jason.

Of course it was Jason.

“Morning,” he said, a little hoarse. His hoodie was slung half-on, hair damp from a recent shower, the curve of a bruise still fading under his jaw.

You froze like a socially awkward deer in combat boots. “Oh. Uh. Hey.”

Kori’s eyes sparkled like she’d just won a galactic lottery.

“Well, look at the time!” she announced. “I must go… do something elsewhere.”

She floated gracefully to the door, patting Jason on the shoulder as she passed. “Enjoy your session.”

Jason furrowed his brow. “Wait, session? I thought— Roy said I was just—”

The door hissed shut behind her.

Then locked.

Audibly.

There was a pause. Then:

Jason tried the panel. It blinked red. “Uh. What the hell?”

You walked over, tried it yourself. “It’s locked?”

“Yup. We’ve been locked in.”

You both turned toward the security camera in the upper corner.

Somewhere—maybe in the comm room—Kori and Roy were probably high-fiving like giddy evil masterminds.

Jason rubbed his face. “God. It’s an ambush.”

You groaned. “They’re matchmaking again, aren’t they.”

“Feels like it.”

You both stood there for a second in awkward silence, exactly five feet apart like you’d been choreographed by fate and social anxiety.

Finally, you cleared your throat. “So. You wanna train? Or just dramatically pretend to train and wait them out?”

Jason grinned faintly, stretching one shoulder. “If we’re stuck, might as well get sweaty.”

“…That wasn’t meant to sound weird,” he added quickly.

You gave him a look. “Mm-hmm. Punch me, Todd.”

He laughed—relieved, maybe—and stepped onto the mat.

Because Operation: Push the Idiots Together was officially in motion. And the first rule of emotional warfare?

Sweat makes it harder to lie about feelings.

⸻

Kori hovered cross-legged in front of the large monitor, still in her workout gear, sipping on a bright pink smoothie that looked aggressively radioactive.

Roy stood beside her with his arms crossed, eyes narrowed at the screen.

On the monitor: a muted security feed of the training room. You and Jason were sparring—actually sparring—with brutal focus and minimal talking. The occasional half-smile or casual snark was there… but no lingering stares. No accidental confessions. No surprise kisses in the middle of a roundhouse kick.

Just tension. Muted. Suppressed. Fully repressed.

Kori stared blankly. “They are—how do you say—emotionally defective.”

Roy sighed loudly and slumped into the chair beside her. “They beat the crap out of each other for forty-five minutes straight.”

“They barely made eye contact!” Kori cried.

Roy threw up his hands. “I saw more sexual tension between him and a gun last week!”

Kori pointed at the screen. “And did you see? She fell. He caught her. He had her in his arms. And what did he do?”

Roy deadpanned, “He helped her up. Said ‘you okay?’ And then went back to punching things.”

They both groaned in synchronized despair.

Kori sipped her smoothie. “Attempt number one: complete failure.”

Roy grabbed a sticky note off the desk and scribbled in Sharpie: “Operation: Push the Idiots Together — Attempt #1: LOCKED ROOM → STATUS: Useless Garbage Outcome.”

He stuck it on the whiteboard next to several other mildly unhinged Post-it plans.

“I should’ve gone with my sleep-deprivation hallway trap idea,” Roy muttered.

“I was in favor of the shared shower prank,” Kori replied solemnly.

He gave her a Look.

She sipped her smoothie.

A long pause.

Then Roy said, “Alright. What’s next?”

She didn’t blink. “Movie night.”

Roy blinked. “What?”

She set her smoothie down with the gravity of a royal decree. “We initiate a casual group bonding activity. Pillows. Blankets. Dimmed lighting. Limited seating.”

Roy leaned in slowly. “…You're thinking shared couch confinement.”

“With proximity. And warmth,” Kori confirmed. “Human bonding is accelerated by perceived safety and oxytocin regulation. Also… blankets.”

Roy nodded solemnly. “God, I love it when you go full science on their emotional constipation.”

She beamed. “We lure them in with popcorn. You curate the couch arrangement. I shall distract everyone else.”

“Operation: Accidental Cuddling. Attempt Number Two,” Roy muttered, already digging through the kitchen drawer for Post-its.

He slapped a new one on the board.

📝 OPERATION: PUSH THE IDIOTS TOGETHER ATTEMPT #2 — MOVIE NIGHT → STATUS: IN PROGRESS

⸻

The lights were low. The TV cast a flickering glow across the room. A truly cursed “Gotham’s Funniest Criminal Bloopers” DVD played on-screen—Roy’s idea, naturally.

Blankets and pillows were stacked like a fort across the couch. Snacks were everywhere. Jason was sandwiched in the corner seat, hoodie on, arms crossed like he’d rather be anywhere else but also kind of didn’t want to move.

Roy tossed popcorn into his mouth with dramatic flair. “Okay, seating plan is sacred. No switching. Movie law.”

You raised a brow. “That’s not a real law.”

“Is now,” he said, already half under a weighted blanket. “Now sit. We’re watching a four hour montage of the Condiment King falling off of dumpsters and rooftops in HD.”

Kori floated in from the kitchen with a bowl of glowing Tamaranian trail mix and parked herself on the opposite end of the room with suspiciously pointed disinterest.

You shrugged and flopped down next to Jason. Close. Too close. The only blanket left was the one already covering him. Roy handed it to you with a grin too wide to be innocent.

“Sharing is caring,” he sing-songed.

You glared. Jason looked away. But neither of you moved.

Ten minutes in, your shoulder brushed his.

Fifteen minutes in, your head tipped against his bicep.

Twenty-five minutes in, you were asleep.

Jason Todd did not move a single muscle for two full hours.

Not when your hand curled near his chest. Not when your knee bumped his. Not even when Roy fake-coughed “awww” into his popcorn.

Jason just stared straight ahead like a man being interrogated by Deathstroke. His heart was doing 200 BPM. His soul had left the building.

Eventually, you stirred. Blinking groggily, you sat up fast.

“Oh my god. I—sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Jason snapped out of his statue state, blinking down at the spot where your head had been. “It’s okay. You, uh… looked comfy.”

You sat bolt upright on the opposite side of the couch like the blanket had betrayed you. You didn't touch him again for the rest of the movie.

Jason didn’t reach for you, either.

Because you thought you’d made him uncomfortable. And he thought you regretted it.

But in your mind, you were thinking, ‘He didn’t push me away. That means something… right?’

While Jason was internally freaking out, ‘She moved away. She didn’t want to stay. She thinks I’m weird. I’m going to dig a hole in the floor and live there now.’

Across the room, Roy stared at the two of you like he was witnessing the death of joy.

Then, with zero ceremony, he stood, turned the TV off mid-fall, and left.

Kori followed a second later, shaking her head and muttering something in Tamaranian that probably translated to “May the stars grant me patience.”

You stared at the paused screen, hugging your knees under the blanket. Jason stared at the floor.

⸻

Somewhere in the hallway, Roy slammed the whiteboard marker down and wrote:

Operation: Push the Idiots Together — Attempt #2: MOVIE NIGHT → STATUS: Hellish Disaster

He underlined it. Twice.

Then added:

ATTEMPT #3: ??? — BEGINS TOMORROW.

Because chaos doesn’t rest. And neither does love.

⸻

It was the next night.

The Outlaws were lounging around the safehouse’s living room, post-mission and post-shower, scattered across beanbags and couches in various states of mental exhaustion.

It started as a joke. A harmless suggestion. Kori had been floating lazily above the couch, sipping a fizzy neon drink and watching Roy dramatically re-enact their latest mission disaster with sock puppets when she said, “We should play a game. Something of bonding. Perhaps… Truth or Dare?”

Jason groaned immediately. “Nope. No way. Absolutely not.”

Roy grinned. “Which means we’re definitely doing it.”

You didn’t mind. It had been a rough couple of days. A little distraction couldn’t hurt.

You did not know what was coming.

TEN MINUTES LATER.

Kori was glowing faintly. Jason was slouched against the arm of the couch like a man being sentenced to death. You were cross-legged across from him, chewing on a Twizzler like it was a stress cigarette. Roy was too enthusiastic.

Kori pointed at Roy. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“I dare you to do ten pushups while singing your nation’s anthem.”

“Bet.”

He dropped to the floor immediately. “O say can you SEEEE—ugh, who put a gummy worm under this pillow?!”

You burst out laughing so hard you nearly fell over. Jason smiled quietly to himself.

Roy groaned through his pushups. “This is not the freedom I fought for.”

“You’ve never fought for anything but the last slice of pizza,” Jason said dryly.

“Exactly,” Roy wheezed. “A patriot.”

Kori clapped once. “Your turn!”

Roy rolled over and pointed at Jason, gasping dramatically. “Truth or dare, Red Death?”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “Truth.”

“Lame,” you and Roy said at the same time.

Jason flipped you both off without looking.

Roy grinned. “Alright, lover boy—what’s your type?”

Jason blinked. “What?”

“Your type,” Roy repeated, grinning like a man with zero survival instinct. “You know, romantically. Spill.”

Jason made a noise like a car refusing to start. “I—That’s—Why would you—”

Kori perked up, eyes glowing. “Yes. This is of the intrigue.”

Jason looked at you for half a second, then looked anywhere else. “I hate all of you.”

Roy leaned forward. “C’mon. We won’t judge. Much.”

Jason groaned and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Fine. Whatever. I guess… someone who’s not afraid to throw a punch. Or punch me, if necessary.”

Kori nodded. “Strong spirit. Good.”

“And… funny,” he muttered. “Like… not a try-hard. Just naturally funny. The kind who doesn’t even realize they’re funny.”

You tried very hard not to visibly combust.

Jason continued, barely above a mumble. “Also… someone who doesn’t give up. Even when it sucks. Even when they’re scared.”

Roy wiggled his eyebrows. “Anyone we know?”

Jason stared at him like he was planning Roy’s slow, creative death.

Roy held up both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, geez, chill with the death stares will ya?”

Jason didn’t look at you.

You didn’t look at him either.

Kori’s grin was visible from orbit.

And then she turned to you next. “Truth or dare?”

“…Truth.”

“What was your first impression of Jason?”

You choked on your Twizzler.

Jason froze.

Roy dropped his drink in anticipation.

You scrambled. “Uh—loud. Bloody. Way too much leather.”

Jason looked mock-offended. “Excuse you, the jacket’s vintage.”

“I thought you were gonna shoot me in the face.”

Roy grinned. “You thought wrong. He was just falling in love.”

“ROY,” Jason hissed.

You avoided eye contact with everyone.

Roy was still snickering when you turned the tables. “Okay, Harper. Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“I dare you to—” you squinted at the snack pile, “—build a crown out of Twizzlers and wear it like the drama king you are.”

Roy bowed deeply. “Your wish is my cursed command.”

He immediately began constructing a sticky mess of candy hair art.

Jason leaned toward you, voice low. “You realize this is only encouraging him?”

You shrugged. “He’s having a good time. And I get to watch him struggle with food-based arts and crafts. It’s a win-win.”

Jason huffed a laugh under his breath.

Roy flopped dramatically onto the couch, now crowned with a very wonky Twizzler tiara. “Behold. King of the Idiots.”

“Long may he trip over his own shoelaces,” Jason muttered.

You clapped. “Okay. My turn again. Jason. Truth or dare?”

Jason looked at you for a moment—then said, “Dare.”

You smirked. “I dare you to say three nice things about me. Out loud. Right now. No sarcasm.”

He blinked.

Kori perked up like a cat hearing a can opener.

Jason rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s cruel.”

“Still counts,” Roy whispered loudly.

Jason looked at you again—long enough that your heart hiccupped in your chest. Then, finally:

“You’re brave. Even when you think you’re not.” “You’re fast on the field. Smarter than you let on.” “…And you’re good at keeping me grounded. Which is hard to do. Trust me.”

You stared.

Kori’s smile turned downright evil.

You cleared your throat and looked down at your lap, suddenly very interested in the remaining Twizzlers.

Jason turned away just as fast, tossing a popcorn kernel into his mouth like nothing happened.

Roy whispered, “This is better than reality TV.”

Kori nodded solemnly. “I am emotionally invested.”

You kicked Roy’s leg. “Truth or dare, King of the Idiots?”

“Truth.”

“…What’s something you’ve never told us?”

Roy thought. Looked around the room. Then said very seriously:

“I once tripped on my own bowstring and fell off a rooftop. I told you guys it was enemy fire. But it was me. It was always me.”

Jason snorted so hard he nearly choked.

You wiped a tear from your eye. “This game was a good idea.”

Kori beamed. “I always have the good ideas.”

Jason grumbled, “You also had the idea to ‘accidentally’ trap me in the training room.”

“I plead the fifth,” Kori said brightly.

Roy gave her a high-five behind your back.

Kori clapped her hands once, like she was summoning drama from the heavens. “Final round,” she declared. “The grand finale dare.”

Jason immediately looked suspicious. “Nope.”

“Oh yes,” Kori said sweetly. “And it goes to… you and Y/N.”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

Roy grinned with far too many teeth. “Group dare. Bonding exercise. No take-backs.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like where this is going.”

Kori tilted her head innocently. “You are both dared to... kiss.”

Jason froze.

You nearly choked on your own soul.

“WHAT,” you said, voice cracking like a teen on live TV.

“Just a little one,” Roy added way too casually. “It’s tradition. End-of-game bonding. Totally normal.”

Jason made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “That’s not a thing.”

“It is now,” Kori said brightly. “Come, it is just lips. You both have them. Use them.”

You stared at Jason.

Jason stared at you.

Time crawled.

Then Jason stood up way too fast, knocking over the popcorn bowl.

“I—uh—left my—my—gun. Somewhere. I should go find it.”

“You don’t even use it in the house!” Roy called after him.

Jason was already halfway to the hallway, muttering something about “tampered rules” and “emotional blackmail” and “not falling for the chaos twins again.”

You, still frozen in place, blinked at the empty space he left behind.

“…Cool,” you said weakly. “Coolcoolcool.”

Kori slowly turned her head to Roy. “I thought it would work.”

Roy picked up the abandoned Twizzler crown, placed it on his own head again, and sighed. “They’re incurable.”

Kori slumped onto the floor like a deflated star.

Kori lifted her smoothie in a solemn toast. “To repressed feelings and stubborn boys.”

Roy clinked his Capri Sun against her glass. “May tomorrow bring better nonsense.”

Somewhere down the hall, Jason was probably hiding in a closet.

And back on the couch, you stared at the empty popcorn bowl and thought: ‘…Did he just run out so he wouldn’t have to kiss me? He hates me. He likes someone else. I knew it. I knew it. Oh god oh god.’ While Jason, curled up in emotional chaos, was thinking: ‘She must hate me now. What did I do? I totally gave her the ick. I’m moving to a cave.’

Attempt #3: failure.

The mission had failed.

But the chaos?

The chaos had only just begun.

⸻

Later that day, in Kori and Roy’s mission plan room, Roy scribbled furiously on the whiteboard:

📝 Operation: Push the Idiots Together — Attempt #3: FORCED KISS DARE → STATUS: Immediate Disaster Casualties: One bowl of popcorn, Jason’s emotional stability, everyone’s dignity

He stared at it for a moment.

Then added: ATTEMPT #4: TBD. WE REGROUP AT DAWN.

He looked at it one more time.

Then underlined “DISASTER” five times.

Next to him, Kori hovered with a pensive frown.

“We need to escalate,” she said.

Roy muttered, “Next attempt: fire. Literal fire.”

They high-fived in solemn solidarity.

Because these two idiots? Were gonna need divine intervention. Or a flamethrower.

⸻

ATTEMPT #5: FAKE DATING MISSION

The safehouse briefing room was unusually quiet.

Which meant something was terribly wrong.

You knew it the moment you walked in and saw Kori standing in front of the mission board with a laser pointer in hand, a slideshow titled “Operation: Smooch & Surveillance” already queued up on the projector.

Roy was slouched in his chair with a Capri Sun and an evil glint in his eyes.

Jason entered just behind you, took one look at the setup, and muttered, “Nope,” before turning on his heel.

“You sit your emotionally stunted butt down,” Roy called cheerfully. “This one’s gonna be good.”

Jason sighed like a man who already regretted every life choice that led him here, then grudgingly took the seat beside you.

Kori beamed. “Excellent. Let us begin.”

The lights dimmed. Roy dramatically hit the spacebar on the laptop like he was announcing the next Marvel Phase. The screen displayed a photo of a high-end Gotham gala invitation—gold trim, fancy cursive, probably smelled like rich people and corruption.

“The couple we are surveilling,” Kori said, clicking to the next slide, which showed two grainy photos of a man and woman looking like they were about to devour each other, “will be attending this charity gala tomorrow night. Very touchy. Very suspicious. Possibly smuggling illegal tech. But also—” she tapped her pointer with increasing intensity, “—very handsy.”

You squinted. “What kind of intel is that?”

“Body language, Y/N. It reveals much,” Kori replied solemnly. “They are always kissing. Touching. Whispering sweet nothings.”

“Gross,” Jason muttered.

“They’re in love,” Kori corrected.

“No, they’re in tax fraud,” Roy added helpfully.

“Anyway,” Kori continued, undeterred, “to successfully blend in, we need to send a couple who can… mimic this energy.”

You started getting a bad feeling in your stomach. A terrible, sinking, Kori-has-a-plan kind of feeling.

Roy grinned. “That’s right. We’re sending in our most emotionally constipated agents.”

She clicked to the next slide. It was a picture of you and Jason from last week, standing sort-of close while arguing over whether or not decaf counted as a war crime.

Jason narrowed his eyes. “Why do you have a PowerPoint folder of us?”

Roy took a loud sip of his Capri Sun.

“That’s not important,” Kori said. “What is important is this: you two will be attending the gala. Together. As a couple.”

You blinked. “A fake couple. Right?”

“Oh, yes,” she said sweetly. “So fake. Entirely pretend. Very not real.”

Jason leaned forward, face a mask of horror. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on,” Roy cut in. “You two already flirt like you’re in a low-budget romcom.”

“We do not—” you and Jason said at the exact same time.

Roy pointed triumphantly. “See?! THAT! That right there!”

Jason threw his hands up. “This is entrapment.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t make you share a fork,” Kori said.

You stared. “That was an option?!”

Roy grinned. “We’re saving it for Attempt #8.”

Jason turned to you, eyes wide. “Please tell me you have an escape plan.”

“I did,” you said flatly. “Until you followed me in here.”

Roy was scribbling something into a notebook labeled “Stupid Love Mission Logs.”

Kori clicked her pointer dramatically. “You’ll dress up. You’ll hold hands. You’ll smile like you’re not internally combusting. And you’ll gather intel while looking adorable.”

Jason buried his face in his hands. “God help me.”

You folded your arms.

Roy tapped the whiteboard with his marker. “Repeat after me: Fake dating. Real danger. Maximum chaos.”

Jason groaned. “You people are demons.”

You sighed. “And we’re doing it anyway, aren’t we?”

“You’re doing God’s work,” Roy said solemnly.

Kori gave you two thumbs up. “Operation: Hot People in Love commences at 1900 hours.”

Jason slumped back in his seat like a man already writing his own eulogy.

Roy, meanwhile, whispered under his breath, “This is gonna be so dumb. I love it.”

“Congratulations,” Kori beamed. “You’re fake dating now.”

And just like that, the trap was set.

Attempt #5 had begun.

And neither of you were emotionally prepared.

⸻

You stepped out of your room, heart doing a weird double-flip in your chest. The dress Kori had picked out was stunning—a floor-length, deep red number that hugged you just enough to be flattering but made you feel ridiculously exposed at the same time. You tried to ignore the way the black trench coat felt heavier than usual, like it was silently daring you to survive this mission without melting into a puddle of awkward.

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror outside your room. ‘Not bad’, you thought. You took a deep breath, psyching yourself up.

Then, you stepped into the living room.

Jason was there, leaning against the edge of the couch, adjusting his gloves—because apparently he needed gloves for this mission, too, as if being a walking brooding leather jacket wasn’t enough. You cleared your throat.

He looked up.

And then just… stared.

For a beat. Too long a beat.

You felt like every inch of your skin was suddenly under a microscope. Did something snap? Did a seam rip? Was there a Twizzler stuck to my shoe? You swallowed hard, managing to squeak out: “…What?”

Jason’s eyes darted away like you’d just asked him to solve a Rubik’s Cube while juggling flaming bats. His voice came out a little choked, and you could tell he was trying desperately to sound casual but failing miserably.

“Nothing. Just… good to know trench coats can look that good.”

Did he just—? Your brain was short-circuiting like a busted circuit board. You couldn’t even think of a snarky comeback. You just kind of… died a little inside.

Jason was immediately regretting it, you could tell. His cheeks darkened to a shade of red that you had never seen before. You swear he looked like he wanted to crawl into a fireplace or disappear through the floor.

‘Why did I say that?’ he thought, mentally facepalming. ‘Why didn’t I just say, “You look fine”? Or “We’re here to do a job”? No, let’s definitely compliment a jacket when the girl’s wearing a stunning dress’.

Meanwhile, your own thoughts were racing.

‘He noticed. He noticed and he said something—kind of? Sort of? Oh god, does this mean he likes the jacket or me or both? Am I reading into this wrong? Probably wrong. Definitely wrong. Stay cool. Don’t hyperventilate.’

From the hallway, Kori’s excited squeal shattered the fragile bubble of silence.

“Oh my gods, you two!” she chirped, floating in with the enthusiasm of a kid at a candy store. “This is exactly what I was picturing! The trench coat with the dress? Iconic! And the matching colors? PERFECT!”

Jason shot her a look that clearly said You’re gonna pay for this later.

You tried to match Kori’s grin, but your brain was still reeling from Jason’s unexpected compliment.

Jason coughed again, voice barely above a whisper. “I—uh—yeah. You look good.”

‘Okay, definitely an improvement from “trench coats are great”,’ you thought, smiling despite yourself. But inside, your heart was doing somersaults.

‘He said I look good. He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world, but I bet he spent ten minutes trying to figure out how to say it without sounding like an idiot. He’s a mess. But he’s my mess. UGH I love him so much.’

Jason caught your eye and quickly looked away, but this time you caught a flicker of something different—something soft, maybe even a little shy.

You cleared your throat, trying to act like it wasn’t a Big Deal™, but your fingers were twitching with nerves.

“Well,” you said, trying to sound casual, “I was gonna say ‘thanks,’ but now I’m wondering if you meant the jacket or me.”

Jason’s head snapped back toward you, eyes wide. “I meant—uh—both! Definitely both. The jacket’s killer, but you… you’re just… something else.”

You tried not to smile like a total idiot.

‘He’s blushing. Jason freaking Todd is blushing. This is new territory’

Kori floated over, practically vibrating with excitement. “This is progress, people! Emotional growth in action!”

Roy peeked his head in from the other room, grinning. “Did I miss the part where they actually kissed yet? No? Okay, carry on.”

Jason groaned, throwing a cushion at Roy. “Not helping.”

You laughed softly, feeling the strange, warm glow of something like hope—or maybe just relief.

Whatever it was, you were pretty sure this mission just got a whole lot more interesting.

⸻

Once you two had infiltrated the enemy territory—aka, successfully entered the event as Mr. and Mrs. Dodd, (Dodd? Really Roy?) —you scouted the area for your targets.

You looped your arm through Jason’s like a pro—calm, composed, utterly undercover. You had rehearsed this a hundred times in your head, and yet, your heart was thumping like a drumline on parade. Professional. Calm. Fine.

His hand found your waist almost before you could even blink.

You completely flatlined.

‘Okay. That was unexpected’. You could feel the heat radiating from where his fingers settled, light but firm. Like he was trying to anchor both of you in the moment. And somehow, it made your insides both freeze and melt all at once.

Jason’s voice was low, just above a murmur. “Relax.”

You blinked, eyes wide. “You’re touching my waist.”

He didn’t pull away.

“Yeah,” he said, voice dry but not unkind. “That’s the job.”

You scoffed quietly. “I hate the job.”

“Same.” He sounded like he meant it.

But Jason’s mind was a mess. ‘Okay, focus. You’re here on a mission. Act cool. Act normal.’

But every time his hand moved a fraction of an inch closer to you, his brain short-circuited.

‘She smells like jasmine and something like rain. Why am I noticing this?’ ‘Her laugh last night? The way she bites her lip when she’s nervous? OH SHITTT MY HEARTT—’ ‘Keep it together, Todd. This is not the time to freak out over a waist touch.’ ‘But damn, it feels… right. Steady. Like I’m not completely alone in this insane world.’

He squeezed just a little—not enough to be obvious, just enough to remind you he was there. That he had your back.

And your mind was doing somersaults too. ‘He touched my waist. Not like a panicked “I’m protecting you” grab, but a steady, confident kind of touch’. ‘Is this what normal people do when they’re undercover?’ ‘Why does this feel like the most intimate thing anyone’s done to me in forever?’ ‘Focus. The mission. The gala. Don’t melt in his arms.’ ‘But also—he’s right here. Right now. And it’s… not scary. It’s comforting. Even when I want to punch him for being so calm.’

Jason leaned in just a fraction closer, voice dropping another notch. “You look good. Like… not just tonight. Always.”

You almost missed it because your heart was beating too fast. You glanced sideways. He was looking right at you, eyes shadowed but sincere.

You swallowed hard and whispered, “You look good too. Like… real good.”

He smirked, that half-grin that made your knees go weak. “Glad to hear I’m still in the game.”

You squeezed his arm gently. “You’re not just in the game. You’re winning it.”

Jason’s gaze flicked to the mission board across the room, where the target couple was mingling under glittering chandeliers.

He sighed softly. “Right. Back to work. But—” he glanced down at your joined arms “—we’re doing pretty well, undercover or not.”

You nodded, suddenly feeling a little braver. “Together.”

Jason’s hand tightened on your waist, a silent promise.

The mission was serious. The stakes were high. But somehow, wrapped in this moment of fake dating, everything else faded into background noise.

Because for once, maybe, you weren’t just fighting a battle against villains—you were fighting for something real.

The night went by in a blur of dances and surveillance.

You found yourself holding Jason’s hand as you crossed the polished dance floor. The soft clink of glasses and muted classical music filled the grand hall, but all you could focus on was the electric tension humming between your fingers.

‘Why did I agree to this again?’ you thought, eyes flicking nervously to the two guards watching you like hawks. ‘Because Kori said so. Because Roy promised no flames this time. Because apparently ‘fake dating’ is the only way to not get caught.’

Jason’s thumb brushed lightly over your knuckle.

You forgot your own name.

‘What the hell is he doing?’ The simple, steady movement was so small, so casual — and yet it made your heart flip like a gymnast.

Jason’s voice came low, barely above a whisper but sharp with command. “Smile. That guard is looking at us all suspicious.”

You forced it, a shaky grin tugging at your lips. “You’re going to kill me.”

He smirked without looking down. “That’s rich. You’re the one in that dress.”

You rolled your eyes. “Professional attire.”

He arched an eyebrow, lips curling into a teasing grin. “Sure. Professional murder.”

You squeezed his hand back, trying to steady your racing thoughts. ‘Okay, focus. We’re here on a mission. Just two pros, pretending to be a couple. No awkward feelings allowed.’

But as you glanced at him, the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth, the steady warmth of his hand holding yours—it was all a lie. Just pretend. For the mission.

Jason’s inner monologue wasn’t any calmer:

‘God, she looks good’. He stole a glance down at the red dress hugging your figure beneath the trench coat. ‘Too good. This is supposed to be a job, but I swear every time she smiles like that, I’m one step closer to messing it all up.’

His thumb brushed over your knuckles again, a silent promise.

‘Just get through this.’‘Keep your damn cool’.‘But maybe… don’t let go just yet.’

Two guards stiffened as you passed, but you and Jason kept your smiles practiced and steady—two perfectly in-sync actors on a dangerous dance floor.

⸻

BACK AT THE SAFEHOUSE.

Mission complete. Intel secured. No actual heart attacks confirmed—though you definitely came close to one or two.

The safehouse was quiet except for the low hum of Kori and Roy reviewing the mission footage side by side. You and Jason dropped onto opposite ends of the couch, bodies still buzzing with adrenaline and relief.

Kori glanced up, eyes gleaming with mischief. “So... did you kiss? You know, to make it convincing?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What? No. That would've been—unprofessional.”

Jason’s head snapped up, eyes wide, and he nodded way too quickly. “Yeah. Didn’t need to. It was... convincing enough.”

Roy, who had been silently watching, let out a strangled, “Oh,” before bolting upright and sprinting for the door.

Kori chased after him with an exasperated laugh. “Roy! Come back! We still have plans!”

Left alone, you and Jason exchanged a glance—equal parts amused and exhausted. You both shrugged simultaneously, a silent agreement that some things just couldn’t be helped.

The moment stretched quietly, the chaos of the mission replaced by the quiet weight of unspoken words and unfinished business.

And maybe that was exactly how you wanted it—for now.

⸻

Later that night, in his own private hell of emotions, Jason Todd lay face-down on the couch, whispering softly into the cushion like it was the only safe place for his feelings to escape. “She looked so good... I’m never recovering.”

His thoughts raced, chaotic and wild: ‘Why did the coat look so damn good on her? Why did her smile hit harder than any punch? I’m officially screwed. How do people survive this?’

Down the hall, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, heart pounding in the quiet darkness. Your voice was barely a whisper, a confession to the empty room. “His hand was on my waist… Oh my….”

You replayed the moment again and again, the warmth of his touch sending sparks through your veins, the way his voice had been low and steady, like an anchor in the storm. ‘Why does he have to be so infuriatingly perfect?’

Both of you, rooms apart but tangled in the same chaotic feelings, trapped in a silent symphony of mutual pining, wondering how something so simple—a touch, a look—could feel like the entire world tilting off its axis.

And neither of you dared to say it aloud. Not yet. But maybe… maybe soon.

Attempt #5: complete disaster.

Attempt #6: incoming. God help them all.

⸻

Roy flung his clipboard across the room with a spectacular thwack that echoed off the walls. “I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE,” he yelled, voice cracking somewhere between frustration and despair. “THEY’RE TOUCHING WAISTS AND TALKING ABOUT JACKETS AND NOT KISSING?!”

Kori hovered nearby, her glowing eyes softening as she gently patted his back. “Next time, we bring fire. Actual fire.”

Roy turned dramatically to face the whiteboard, his finger stabbing the air like a general issuing battle commands.

📝 Operation: Push the Idiots Together Attempt #5: Fake Dating Mission → Status: Mutually Assassinated by Feelings → Casualties: Roy’s clipboard, Y/N’s heartbeat, Jason’s brain function → Plan for Attempt #6: ??? → Escalation Level: 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Kori sighed, floating a little lower. “At this rate, we might need to bring a flamethrower and a marching band.”

Roy wiped a sweat drop from his forehead. “And maybe a therapist.”

They shared a knowing look — because when it came to Jason and you, subtlety was clearly not their strong suit.

⸻

A few days later, Roy burst into the safehouse common room like he’d just uncovered the secret to world peace.

“Alright, team! Listen up!” he announced, hands on hips, eyes sparkling with the kind of enthusiasm only a man who’s been living on caffeine and chaos could muster.

Kori floated down from the ceiling, eyebrows raised. “What now, Roy? Another one of your brilliant plans to ‘fix’ the team?”

“Better!” Roy declared, pulling out his phone and waving it like a trophy. “I’ve booked us a two-day hotel stay. A vacation! Away from missions, drama, and… well, each other for a bit.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, folding his arms. “You sure this isn’t just another attempt at matchmaking? Last time, you nearly blew up the training room.”

Roy grinned sheepishly. “That was… tactical. This time, it’s pure R&R. Relaxation. Bonding. Maybe some room service. No combat, no chaos. Just us, a hotel, and maybe a little… vacation magic.”

You leaned forward, intrigued despite yourself. “Sounds… suspiciously nice. What’s the catch?”

Roy’s grin turned mischievous. “Catch? There is no catch. Just pack your bags. We leave tomorrow morning.”

Kori clapped her hands excitedly. “I’ll bring the glitter.”

Jason muttered, “Great. Can’t wait to see how this goes.” But even he looked a little curious.

Roy winked. “Trust me. This is exactly what the Outlaws need.”

⸻

The sun had barely risen over Gotham when Roy swung open the kitchen door like he was hosting a reality show and not a staged matchmaking mission disguised as a ‘team bonding experience.’

“RISE AND SHINE, LOSERS! It’s vacation time!” You blinked at him from the couch, still wrapped in a blanket burrito. “Roy, it’s 6 a.m.” “Exactly!” he beamed. “Optimal road trip launch window!” Jason, emerging from the hallway with his hair still damp and his shirt half-buttoned, muttered, “I will launch you into the sun.”

Kori floated in behind him, holding a tray of neon smoothies. “We must pack snacks and matching shirts. It is a sacred ritual.”

“What kind of ritual—?” Jason began.

“The fun kind,” Roy said, tossing him a travel pillow shaped like a flamingo. “Catch.” Jason didn’t catch it. The flamingo bounced off his shoulder and hit the floor with a sad little phoomf.

You eyed Roy warily. “You’re being suspiciously enthusiastic.”

“Excuse you,” Roy gasped, clutching his chest. “I simply care about your mental health. And you know what’s good for your mental health?”

“…Sleep?” Jason offered.

Roy pointed dramatically at you both. “Wrong. Romance.”

Jason looked dead into the camera that wasn’t there.

⸻

The Outlaws had crammed themselves into Roy’s tragically named SUV—the Red Rocket—a vehicle that rattled slightly at 60 mph and smelled vaguely of hot Cheetos and weapon oil. It had survived more missions than any of them, which said less about the car’s durability and more about their disturbing luck.

Kori was happily humming along to some alien pop track she found on an intergalactic playlist. It sounded like dolphins screaming in harmony with a kazoo. Roy claimed it slapped.

You were in the backseat, sipping a drink Roy had insisted was “hydration juice” (it was very much an energy drink with glitter in it). Jason was sitting next to you, behind the driver’s seat.

And Kori was enjoying life in the passenger’s seat.

Jason looked one wrong lyric away from throwing himself out the window.

You turned in your seat to check on him. “Doing okay?”

Jason’s voice was flat. “I’m being crushed by Kori’s third suitcase and someone’s knife. And, I found a fork in the seatbelt slot.”

“That’s mine,” Roy called from the front. “Emergency snacking fork.”

Jason stared blankly. “You’re banned from cutlery.”

Kori smiled sweetly and handed Jason a smoothie that glowed neon blue. “Here. For hydration.”

He held it like it might explode. “This is bubbling.”

“That means it’s working!”

Jason looked like he was contemplating death.

You fought a grin and turned back to look out the window. “This trip’s going great so far.”

Jason muttered something about mutiny and seatbelt homicide.

After about 30 minutes of driving, Roy had finally given in and let someone else touch the playlist. That someone was you. Which meant chaos.

“Absolutely not,” Jason said the moment the opening chords of Careless Whisper played.

“Too late,” you smirked, turning it up.

Kori gasped. “Is this the ‘saxophone of seduction’?”

“That’s the one.”

Jason groaned and leaned his head back against the seat. “This is a hostage situation.”

But then he looked at you—and you were smiling, wind in your hair from the cracked window, legs curled up in the seat, lip-syncing to George Michael like you were the main character in a tragic spy rom-com.

And Jason Todd, grump of the century, completely short-circuited.

Jason’s brain: ‘don’t look at her’ ‘you’re looking at her’ ‘STOP SMILING. SHE’S GONNA NOTICE’ ‘oh god she smiled back abort abort—'

You interrupted his thoughts with a confused “What?”

Jason’s brain short-circuited, “Huh?”

You tilted your head. “You were staring.”

Jason coughed. “You were lip-syncing. It was… distracting.”

“…In a bad way?”

Jason looked away so fast he nearly snapped his neck. “No.”

Roy, watching through the rearview mirror, was vibrating with unspoken screaming.

Then, about an hour into the road, Jason had shifted so that his knee was now brushing against yours. It was innocent. Probably. Maybe. Possibly?

You hadn’t moved an inch.

Jason hadn’t either.

You didn’t speak of it.

Jason was now actively cataloging every molecule of contact like it was a case file. ‘Contact time: 32 minutes. Point of impact: right knee. Threat level: catastrophic.’

He glanced at you. You were leaning your head on your hand, hair brushing your face, smile faint but real.

Jason forgot how to breathe for a second.

You, meanwhile, were trying not to spontaneously combust.

He smelled like soap and leather and maybe regret. His thigh was right there. His hair was still messy from the morning and— ‘Abort mission.’

You bit the inside of your cheek and turned toward the window. ‘Breathe. In. Out. He doesn’t like you like that. He’s just being polite. Don’t fall for the knee. IT’S JUST A KNEE.’

Jason’s voice broke the silence. “So… uh. Room assignments.”

You flinched like he’d caught your thoughts mid-thirst. “What about them?”

“Roy said—uh—what did he say about the rooms?”

You nodded. “Apparently 3 or 4 rooms I’m not sure what he said exactly.”

“…Right.”

Silence.

You both nodded awkwardly at the same time.

Jason’s brain: ‘Cool cool cool. I will now cease to exist.’

Your brain: ‘Time to fake my death and flee to space.’

From the driver’s seat, Roy exhaled loudly. “Y’all good back there?”

You and Jason said, in perfect unison: “FINE.”

Roy raised a brow. “That was terrifying.”

And lastly, about an hour and a half in, you all calmed down.

Roy was now humming again. Kori had fallen asleep with a smile, head tilted toward the window.

You and Jason had drifted off too—heads slightly leaning toward each other, shoulders almost touching again. Not quite. Just… close.

Jason cracked an eye open and saw you like that. Peaceful. Trusting. Beautiful.

And he whispered, to himself, quietly enough for no one to hear: “…I’m so screwed.”

⸻

The Outlaws pulled up to the hotel driveway just after noon.

It was—unfortunately—gorgeous.

A sleek boutique place nestled in the hills outside Gotham, with ivy-wrapped balconies, huge glass windows, and a smug air of “couples who stay here definitely kiss under moonlight.”

Jason looked up at the heart-shaped topiaries. “That’s a red flag.”

You tilted your head at the glowing sign above the entrance. “Did that say 'Lover’s Escape'?”

Roy was already unloading bags from the trunk of the Red Rocket. “Yeah, it’s got great Yelp reviews.”

Jason blinked. “From who? Hallmark characters??”

Kori hummed dreamily, floating beside you. “The hot tub has rose petals.”

You elbowed Jason lightly. “Maybe we are dying here after all.”

Inside, the lobby was a fever dream of soft jazz, dimmed chandeliers, and uncomfortable intimacy. A crystal bowl of heart-shaped mints glistened on the check-in desk like a threat.

“Okay, team,” Roy said cheerfully, slapping down a set of hotel keycards. “Room assignments!” Jason raised an eyebrow. “You booked four rooms, right?” “Obviously,” Roy said. Kori nodded. “Two for us. And…” There was a pause. A long one. A dangerous one.

Then Kori clapped her hands. “Oops! We already checked in!”

Roy handed her one of the keys and turned to you and Jason, smiling like he hadn’t planned this whole thing with three spreadsheets and a playlist called Slow Burn but Make It Unbearable. “There… may have been a mix-up.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “What kind of mix-up.”

Roy looked to Kori. Kori looked to the ceiling.

“Well,” Roy said, “we meant to book four rooms—”

“But Roy clicked on the wrong option,” Kori cut in sweetly.

“I wouldn’t say wrong,” Roy muttered. “Just… romantically optimized.”

Jason blinked slowly. “Romantically. Optimized.”

Kori nodded. “We ended up with a deluxe honeymoon suite. For you two!”

You stared.

Jason stared.

The air was silent except for the dulcet sound of an actual waterfall somewhere in the building.

“…What,” you said flatly.

Roy held up a brochure. “It has mood lighting. And a fire pit!”

Jason stared at it like it might bite him. “Is this a brochure or a threat?”

You snatched it and flipped it open. “‘Romantic moonlit balcony… couples spa menu… lover’s swing set?’ What the hell, Roy?!”

Kori, already steering him toward the elevator, called back:

“Oh noooo. What a tragic oversight!”

“You did this on purpose!” you yelled.

“You Googled romantic getaways! Don’t lie!” Jason added.

“I regret NOTHING,” Roy cackled as the elevator doors slid shut.

You and Jason turned to each other.

Then to the remaining keycard.

Then to the front desk, where the receptionist was already smiling like she’d seen this trope play out a hundred times.

Jason inhaled sharply, like a man preparing to argue with fate. “I’m fixing this.”

You blinked. “How?”

“By not dying of emotional whiplash tonight,” he muttered. “Watch me.”

He stalked over to the front desk like he was storming a battlefield. You followed half a step behind, still holding the offending keycard like it might explode.

The receptionist beamed at him—early 30s, business casual, eyes gleaming with dangerous matchmaking energy. Her name tag read Cindy, and you were 90% sure she wrote Reylo fanfiction in her free time.

“Hi there!” she chirped. “Checking in?”

Jason gave his most intimidating glare. It had felled crime bosses, mercenaries, and at least three coffee shop baristas. “Yeah. About that. There’s been a mistake.”

“Oh no,” she said, with theatrical concern. “What kind of mistake?”

Jason slapped the keycard on the counter like it had offended his honor. “We were supposed to have two rooms. Not a… honeymoon suite.”

Cindy gasped. “Oh, you’re the Todd couple!”

You winced. Why did Roy register you as a couple. Why ‘Todd’. Why anything.

Jason ground his teeth. “Look, can we switch? Please? We’ll take anything. A broom closet. The roof. Anything.”

Behind him, you physically deflated, ‘Is it that bad to share a room with me? Did I do something wrong?’

Cindy gave a regretful little wince. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr. Todd. We’re fully booked this weekend.”

Jason squinted. “Fully booked?”

You leaned forward. “There’s like seven cars in the lot.”

Cindy smiled brighter. “We’re hosting a very exclusive Lovers’ Retreat this weekend. Silent yoga. Couples pottery. Firelight confession circles.”

Jason visibly recoiled. “That’s not even legal.”

“Would you like a complimentary rose-scented massage oil basket?” she offered.

You gently elbowed Jason before he could explode. “It’s fine. Let’s not make a scene.”

“It’s not fine,” he hissed. “They’re gaslighting us with aromatherapy.”

Cindy slid the keycard back across the counter, along with a heart-shaped mint. “Enjoy your stay, lovebirds.”

You and Jason both stared at the mint.

It sparkled.

You and Jason both stared at the sparkling mint like it had cursed your bloodline.

Jason slowly turned away from the desk, muttering under his breath, “We’re gonna die here. I’m going to strangle Roy with a complimentary robe belt.”

You were halfway through sighing when Cindy perked up again.

“Oh, before you go!” she chirped. “May I take your bags up to your suite?”

Jason blinked. “No thanks, we can handle it.”

“Oh, I insist!” she practically sang, snapping her fingers. A bellhop appeared out of nowhere, looking like he’d been summoned from the shadows just to participate in your emotional demise. “We’ll get everything delivered. You two just relax and enjoy the experience.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “What experience.”

But before either of you could argue, your bags—your actual luggage—were already being rolled away toward the elevators like hostages in a rom-com-themed ransom video.

Cindy smiled angelically. “We want your stay to be… unforgettable.”

You both turned at the same time. “What.”

Then the real nightmare began.

Because when you tried to follow the bellhop to the elevators, Cindy stepped directly in your path.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, clearly not sorry at all. “Your room’s still being... prepped. Something about setting up the champagne fountain. But not to worry! While you wait, why not enjoy one of our included amenities?”

Jason’s jaw clenched. “What kind of amenities.”

She produced two glittery pink wristbands and snapped them onto both of you before you could react. “You’re just in time for our couple’s massage session! Oils, stones, maybe even a shared playlist. Super intimate!”

“I hate this hotel,” Jason whispered.

You stared at your wristband. It had a tiny heart sticker on it. “How do we always end up in situations like this.”

“Roy,” Jason said simply. “It’s always Roy.”

Speak of the devil—because the elevator dinged and Roy emerged in matching tropical swim trunks and sunglasses. He held a virgin piña colada and the soul of a man who had just made a deal with the matchmaking gods.

“Heyyy, you guys ready for your romance itinerary?” he asked, far too gleeful.

Kori walked down beside him, beaming in a flowing wrap dress and sandals. “We’re doing the full Lover’s Escape experience! Couples spa, moonlit swim, the heart-shaped pasta buffet…”

You and Jason stood frozen. Trapped. Betrayed.

Jason looked at you. “Run?”

You sighed. “Too late. We’re glitter-coded now.”

⸻

Fifteen minutes later, you were lying facedown on a massage table beside Jason, separated by a potted fern and a lifetime of unspoken tension.

Soft harp music floated through the air. A diffuser hissed lavender mist like it was mocking you.

“Please,” the masseuse cooed, “take each other’s hands. The oils respond best to shared energy.”

Jason didn’t move.

The masseuse took your hand and guided it towards Jason’s.

Your fingertips brushed his.

Jason made a sound that might’ve been a suppressed scream. Or a sigh.

The masseuse beamed. “Perfect. Now release the tension. From your soul.”

Jason whispered into the table cushion, “I am the tension.”

You couldn’t even laugh. You were too busy trying not to spontaneously combust from the contact.

‘His hand is warm. Oh my god. This is happening. I’m going to die on this table and they’ll have to bury me in this stupid robe.’

Meanwhile, Jason’s brain was a Category 5 disaster.

‘Don’t flinch. Don’t look at her. Her hand is soft. What does that mean? Why does this feel like a blood pact?’

⸻

After the massage (and what Roy loudly dubbed “Hot Oilgate”), the group made their way to the pool.

Roy immediately cannonballed into the deep end.

Kori swam beside him like a celestial being made of sunlight and sunscreen.

You and Jason hovered by the edge like a pair of socially awkward mannequins.

Jason folded his arms. “This swimsuit was a mistake.”

You tried not to look too hard. “You look fine.”

“…Fine?”

“Great. Fantastic. Like… offensively hot. Shut up.”

Jason blinked. “Okay.”

He didn’t shut up. He smirked.

You turned so fast you nearly fell into the shallow end.

He followed you in. Which was rude. Also, illegal, probably.

“I’m just saying,” he muttered as he waded over, “if Roy’s plan was to drown us in unresolved tension, he’s doing great.”

“Stop talking,” you hissed, dunking yourself underwater.

When you came back up, Jason was still there.

Still close.

Still too pretty in the sunlight.

The kind of pretty that made your brain stutter and your lungs forget how to oxygen.

Roy, floating past on a flamingo floatie, called out, “YOU TWO LOOK SO CUTE TOGETHER.”

Jason immediately tried to drown him with a splash.

You laughed, wiping water from your face. “You missed.”

Jason leaned closer, voice low. “I wasn’t aiming for him.”

You stared at him. He stared at you.

It was a moment.

It was dangerous.

You looked away first.

“Let’s go to the room before Roy tries to start couples karaoke,” you muttered.

Jason nodded. “Agreed.”

You both turned back toward the front desk, hearts racing.

Neither of you noticed Cindy watching from the front desk, sipping her latte like she’d just orchestrated the fall of Troy.

Roy gave her a thumbs-up behind his sunglasses.

Attempt #6 was going perfectly.

⸻

By the time you and Jason finally dragged yourselves upstairs, the sun had set and the hotel hallways had dimmed into a soft golden glow—like the building itself was trying to seduce you.

Jason muttered under his breath, keycard in hand. “I swear to god, if this room smells like vanilla and heartbreak…”

He tapped the door.

It clicked open.

And the two of you froze in the doorway.

“Oh my god,” you whispered.

Because the room was insane.

Rose petals. Everywhere. Scattered across the floor, artfully arranged in a heart on the bed, sprinkled in the champagne bucket like someone got drunk in a flower shop.

Mood lighting glowed from the corners of the room, flickering soft and pink. A fireplace crackled gently, as if it had been waiting for your unresolved feelings to arrive.

There was a chocolate fountain.

An actual, three-tiered chocolate fountain.

And champagne. And wine. And some kind of rose-scented candle melting slowly in the shape of an anatomically incorrect heart.

Jason stepped inside cautiously, like he expected the furniture to start whispering romantic poetry at him.

“...This is a threat,” he said.

You stared. “This is an ambush.”

He opened a mini-fridge.

It was filled with chocolate-covered strawberries and chilled lotion samples.

He closed it immediately.

And that’s when it hit you.

You turned slowly, dread pooling in your chest.

“Oh no.”

Jason had already realized. His shoulders tensed.

He turned toward the bed—the one, very large, very romantically lit bed.

You and Jason exchanged a long, silent look.

It was huge. Way too huge. Way too tempting. Way too awkward.

Jason broke the silence first, rubbing the back of his neck like he was fighting a war. “You need space, right?”

You nodded too quickly, forcing a smile. “Oh, definitely.”

Jason looked at the floor. It was covered in rose petals and what might’ve been edible glitter.

“I’m not letting you sleep on that carpet,” he said, like it was non-negotiable. “It’s cursed.”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool despite the sudden rush of adrenaline. “We could… pillow barrier?”

Jason nodded. Too quickly. “Pillow barrier. Tactical. Strategic. No eye contact.”

You both moved at the same time, walking around the bed like it might detonate.

Jason grabbed two pillows. You grabbed four.

Neither of you spoke.

The tension in the room was louder than the fireplace crackling.

You arranged the pillows in a sad little Great Wall of Denial across the center of the bed. Jason added one with too much force, like he was mad at it for existing.

Then, the two of you stood on opposite sides, staring at the bed like it was a moral dilemma.

“So,” you said.

“So,” Jason echoed.

“I’m gonna change,” you blurted, grabbing your bag and fleeing to the bathroom.

“Cool,” Jason said to the empty room, running both hands through his hair. “Great. Normal. Totally not losing my mind.”

He looked at the champagne bottle.

He looked at the bed.

Then he looked at the chocolate fountain and muttered, “Roy Harper, I’m going to strangle you with fondue.”

From the bathroom, you stared into the mirror, whispering to yourself, “It’s just a bed. Just one stupid bed. You’ve survived worse. You survived stage five of genetic hell. You can survive… proximity. Besides, we have slept next to each other many times before…. But that was because of nightmares… And not on a romantic suite king-sized bed…. UGHHH”

You banged your head on the sink (gently).

You opened the door to find Jason standing in a loose t-shirt and sweats, arms crossed, face unreadable.

Your heart betrayed you instantly. He looks so good when he’s mad. Stop it. STOP IT.

Jason looked up. You smiled awkwardly. “Your turn.”

He nodded and slipped past you into the bathroom.

You got into bed first.

The sheets were warm.

The pillow barrier was already failing.

Jason returned, hesitated for a moment, and then climbed in on the other side.

Neither of you moved.

Neither of you breathed.

Jason’s voice was soft in the dark. “If I roll over and accidentally crush you, just… yell or something.”

You bit back a laugh. “Got it. If I kick you in my sleep, it’s not personal.”

“Totally fair.”

Silence.

The glow of the fireplace danced across the ceiling.

And eventually—eventually—Jason mumbled, so quietly you almost missed it:

“…Goodnight.”

You swallowed.

“Goodnight, Jay.”

And for the first time all day, neither of you moved away.

Not even when your fingers accidentally brushed across the pillow wall.

Not even when your heart tried to leap out of your chest.

Not even when Jason—half-asleep and dreaming already—shifted a little closer.

And somewhere in the hotel security office, Cindy and Roy high-fived.

⸻

You didn’t sleep.

Well—you technically did. But it was the kind of sleep where your body shut down while your brain screamed into the void because Jason Todd was three inches away and breathing softly like some sort of emotional torture instrument.

And when you woke up?

His arm was around you.

Your face was on his chest.

One of your legs was definitely—definitely—involved in some kind of scandal with his.

You stayed still for five full minutes, trying to convince yourself this was a normal platonic accident and not the exact thing you had dreamed about and then immediately felt guilty for.

Jason stirred beside you with a groggy grunt. His voice was still rough from sleep. “...Morning.”

You panicked.

“YEP. YES. GOOD MORNING. HAHA.” You flung the covers off like they were on fire and made a beeline for the bathroom.

Behind you, Jason groaned into a pillow.

⸻

Later, at breakfast, you and Jason sat across from Roy and Kori at a heart-shaped table in the hotel’s scenic breakfast patio. Everything smelled like waffles and forced intimacy.

Nobody spoke for the first few minutes.

Jason poured himself coffee like it was whiskey and avoided looking at you. You buttered your toast with military precision. The tension sat between you like a fifth wheel in a rom-com.

Roy leaned back, sipping orange juice through a straw. “Sooooo…” he said, way too casually. “Did you two sleep okay?”

Your hands froze mid-spread.

Jason visibly tensed.

And then, like a synchronized diving team trained in awkward avoidance, you both lifted your coffee mugs at the same time and sipped silently.

Roy raised his brows. “Wow. That was terrifying.”

Kori blinked slowly, watching the two of you like an astrologer reading your deepest secrets. “Your auras are… closer today.”

Jason choked on his coffee.

You knocked over the syrup bottle.

It splashed across the table, narrowly missing Roy’s lap and landing in a sticky puddle next to Jason’s toast.

“Sorry!” you blurted, grabbing napkins like you were trying to put out a fire.

Roy leaned over, unbothered. “Don’t worry, sweetie. Tension syrup accidents happen. Totally normal after cuddling your soulmate all night.”

Jason flinched so hard he nearly knocked over the butter dish. “I DIDN’T—WE DIDN’T—THAT’S NOT—”

Kori blinked innocently. “So you did cuddle?”

You stood up so fast your chair screeched. “I need fresh air.”

Jason stood at the same time. “I’ll—uh—go with her. For air. Oxygen. That.”

You both fled like you were escaping a crime scene.

Roy turned to Kori, smirking. “That went well.”

Kori stirred her tea, unbothered. “Their body language revealed synced heart beats this morning.”

Roy fist-pumped the air. “Attempt #6 is thriving.”

⸻

It all started with the spa fire.

Well, technically, it started with Roy trying to light one (1) heart-shaped candle during the rooftop couples meditation.

“I swear I followed the instructions!” he yelled as a very flammable towel ignited behind him.

Kori had to put it out with her bare hands. The instructor wept.

Then came the Power Outage of Doom™.

Turns out the ancient hotel wiring system wasn’t built to handle a chocolate fountain, two champagne coolers, sixteen heart lamps, and a Bluetooth speaker blasting Barry White.

Everything short-circuited. Half the rooms lost power. The other half got stuck in Romantic Emergency Lighting Mode, which was just a red filter and the faint scent of cinnamon despair.

You and Jason were just stepping out of the elevator when the lights flickered.

Jason looked around. “Is this… supposed to happen?”

The hallway lights dimmed to an ominous red hue.

From somewhere in the walls, saxophone music began playing—slowed down, haunted.

Jason deadpanned: “We need to leave.”

And then the fire alarm went off.

Somewhere down the hall, Roy screamed, “I DIDN’T EVEN LIGHT ANYTHING THIS TIME—!”

Kori floated into view, covered in glitter, holding a fire extinguisher. “The chocolate fountain has… melted through the table.”

You grabbed your overnight bag.

Jason grabbed the car keys.

Roy ran up, soaking wet, barefoot, and holding his broken flamingo floatie like a war casualty. “Wait—WAIT. We’re not done! We haven’t even gotten to the private couple’s vow exchange under the moonlight!”

Jason shoved past him, stone-faced. “We are going home, Harper.”

“NOOOO—”

⸻

The drive back was silent.

No one spoke. Not even Kori, who had somehow fallen asleep mid-air during the ride.

You sat shotgun. Jason drove like a man escaping a cursed prophecy. Roy sat in the back, sulking loudly with every breath.

By the time you reached the safehouse, the mood was officially grim.

Jason dropped the keys on the table. You dropped your bag beside his.

Roy flopped onto the couch like a rejected Bachelor contestant. “I just wanted a little love… a little magic… a tasteful montage—”

Jason grabbed the remote and turned on the news. “No more romance ops.”

Kori floated by and patted Roy’s head. “Attempt #7 will require more planning.”

Jason turned the TV up louder. “NO IT WILL NOT.”

You flopped next to him, exhausted. “At least we didn’t die.”

Roy lifted his sunglasses to glare at the ceiling. “But you didn’t kiss either. Not even once. Not even by accident.”

Jason blinked slowly. “You tried to trap us in a room with a rose-scented chocolate hot tub.”

Roy whispered, “And you still didn’t kiss. I’m losing my edge.”

Kori handed him a clipboard labeled Plan #7: Marriage of Convenience AU??

You immediately threw a pillow at it.

Jason groaned and rubbed his face. “I’m moving into a cave.”

But then, later that night—when you quietly climbed into his bed like you always did after a nightmare—Jason shifted just slightly closer.

Not close enough to admit anything.

But close enough to say:

“…Next time, we’re booking our own hotel.”

You whispered back, “Deal.”

And neither of you mentioned how your knees touched under the blanket the whole night.

93 notes · View notes

thelilytothepond · 19 days ago

Text

In time✧₊⁺

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

pairing|dick grayson x daughter! reader (feat. The batfamily)

summary|someone appeared in the batcave.. they look suspiciously like nightwing.

word count|1562

warnings|mentions of deaths.

notes|sorry guys, I’m having major writer’s block rn😭

masterlist

Tim was sitting in the Batcave, files open, energy drink in hand. Quiet night. Bruce was upstairs, Damian on perimeter patrol, and Dick was running solo. It was rare to have this kind of peace.

Of course, it didn’t last.

A sudden crack of lightning echoed unnaturally through the cave. Every bat in the ceiling rafters scattered in a shriek. Tim almost toppled out of his chair.

His head snapped up as a swirl of blue-white smoke and sparks spiraled into being—dead center in the Cave.

He shot up, hand already reaching for his staff.

When the smoke cleared, a figure stood there. A girl.

A teen, dressed in a matte black bodysuit with a familiar blue bird symbol stretched across her chest and shoulders. She had a short domino mask, a gray utility belt slung low on her hips, and Eskrima sticks strapped to her back. She looked like—well, she looked like Nightwing. A younger, female Nightwing.

Her eyes met his.

They both froze.

“…Who the hell are you?” Tim demanded, moving closer, carefully.

“I’d love to explain,” she said quickly, voice calm but tight, “but I really don’t have time for this.”

And before he could get another word out, she tossed something to the ground—fwoosh, smoke—and disappeared in a blink.

“Shit,” Tim muttered, coughing. “Bad. Bad—really bad.”

Five minutes later, he was at the comms console, pacing.

“Nightwing, come in. Now.”

“What’s up?” came Dick’s voice, casual.

“Some girl just poofed into the Cave. Wearing your suit. Like, exact same style. She said nothing useful and then disappeared.”

“You let her get away?”

“That’s beside the point! I think she’s going after you. Be careful—she’s trained, confident, and clearly knows us.”

Dick turned around slowly after the call, eyebrows furrowed—and stopped short.

There she was.

Same girl. Same grin. Same blue Nightwing symbol.

Hands on hips, head tilted, eyes shining.

“Nightwing,” she breathed, awe in her voice. “Wow.”

Dick narrowed his eyes, stepping forward cautiously.

“…Hi?”

“Hi!” she said brightly, before adding more nervously, “Uhm, sorry for the—drama. Is there any chance you know where Batman is?”

Dick blinked. “He’s actually right there—” he pointed behind her and the girl instinctively turned.

Click.

She gasped as metal cuffs clamped onto her wrists.

Dick gave her a cocky grin. “Way too easy.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

“You caught her?!” Tim jogged over in full gear.

“Tt. More than you can say,” Damian muttered, stepping out of the shadows, arms crossed.

“She’s barely resisting,” Duke noted from a monitor, eyes still half on the security feed.

Dick dragged the girl over to a bench. “She says she’s not a bad guy. Repeatedly.”

“I’m not!” she huffed, sitting down stiffly, annoyed.

“Yes, you’ve mentioned.” Dick leaned in.

Damian was immediately by her side, katana unsheathed and hovering at her throat. “Who are you.”

“(Name). I’m��(Name),” she answered, trying not to flinch.

“Just (Name)?” Damian echoed, unimpressed. “No last name?”

“She’s not in our system,” Tim said, scanning from his tablet. “No ID, no facial match. It’s like she doesn’t exist.”

“You poof into the Cave wearing Nightwing’s exact outfit,” Duke added. “And now you’re dodging every question. Suspicious much?”

“I’m not magic,” she blurted when Damian opened his mouth again. “And I didn’t poof. I time traveled.”

A pause.

Dick’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“I’m your sidekick,” she added quickly. “From the future. I can’t explain everything right now. But—please. I’m not the enemy..”

“…My sidekick,” Dick repeated slowly.

“From the future,” Tim added, brow raised.

“You’re saying you time traveled?” Dick said incredulously.

“It’s possible,” Tim muttered. “Time travel’s not unheard of.”

“If that’s true,” Damian said coldly, “then why are you here?”

The girl hesitated—just a second too long.

“I’m… just touring. It’s common. Time tourists.”

Duke and Tim exchanged a look.

“Touring?” Dick repeated, deadpan.

Damian scoffed. “If you’re Nightwing’s sidekick, he trained you poorly.”

“You’re not getting it,” she said, frustrated now. “I can prove it.”

“Try.”

“Damian Wayne. Tim Drake. Duke Thomas. And Dick Grayson.” She pointed to each of them.

They froze.

“…how do you know that..?,” Damian said immediately, though the crease between his brows deepened.

“I already told you,” she sighed, exasperated, “I know you guys, I’m not here to hurt anyone.”

“And yet you appeared in the middle of our headquarters,” Tim snapped, arms crossed.

Dick folded his arms too, brow furrowed as he stared at her, still unbelieving, “Where did you even get that suit?”

The girl hesitated. “you got it for me.”

Dick raised a skeptical brow. “I don’t take on sidekicks.”

“Not yet,” she replied quietly. “But you do. In a few years. You call me Kestrel.”

Duke blinked. “Kestrel? That’s kinda cool, actually.”

“You’re dodging the real question,” Tim said, stepping closer, voice sharp. “If this is a time travel thing, why now? Why here?”

Before she could answer, a familiar low voice cut through the cave like a blade.

“That’s what I want to know.”

All heads turned as Batman emerged from the shadows at the far end of the platform, cape trailing behind him, his towering presence swallowing the room’s tension whole. The girl’s breath caught in her throat.

Her eyes locked on him.

Bruce Wayne.

Alive.

He stepped forward slowly, voice low and commanding. “Uncuff her.”

“Are you sure?” Dick asked.

Bruce gave a single nod. “If she meant harm, we’d already know.”

Dick hesitated before reaching forward and removing the restraints. The girl rubbed her wrists, glancing up at Bruce with something unreadable in her expression — awe, reverence… grief?

He noticed.

“What’s your name?” Bruce asked.

She hesitated. “(Name). Just (Name).”

“No last name.” Damian pressed again, arms folded, unrelenting.

Bruce cut in. “You said you’re from the future. Are you here to stop something?”

“I… can’t say.”

“You will say,” Bruce pressed. “If you’re here because of a threat—”

Suddenly, an alert blared across the Batcomputer screen. All eyes turned.

“Priority Alpha. Location: Gotham Docks. Target: Deathstroke.”

Dick’s brow furrowed. “Slade? Now?”

Bruce was already striding to the computer. “He’s resurfaced. And if he’s here, it’s not for anything good.”

“I’ll go with—” Dick started, but Bruce cut him off.

“No. I need stealth. And backup on comms. I’ll go alone.”

“That’s a bad idea,” Tim interjected.

“Not up for debate,” Bruce said, already suiting up.

The girl’s heart pounded. Her entire body tensed. This was it — the mission. The catalyst. The moment it all went wrong.

She waited until everyone was distracted, then slid back, creeping toward the shadows. No one noticed.

Except one.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Dick asked, turning sharply.

She froze. But didn’t answer.

Ten seconds later, both she and Bruce were gone.

Gotham Docks – 3:14 AM

The rain hit like bullets against the metal containers. Bruce stood silently atop a crate, scanning the area with infrared.

“You shouldn’t have followed me.”

He didn’t even turn. But he knew she was there — crouched in the shadows behind him.

“I wasn’t going to let you face Slade alone,” she whispered, stepping out. “I can’t let you die again...”

Bruce turned, narrowing his eyes behind the cowl. “What did you say?”

Her breath hitched. “…Nothing.”

Footsteps echoed. And then the ambush began.

Slade dropped from the rooftop, twin blades drawn. Gunfire erupted from every side — a trap. Just like in the history files.

“Move!” she yelled, lunging forward and knocking Bruce out of the way as a grenade rolled past them.

They fought together — surprisingly in sync. She moved like she’d trained with him a thousand times. Like she knew his style, his counters. Even Slade noticed.

“You picked up a new Robin?” he taunted. “She’s faster than the last one.”

“I’m not a Robin,” she hissed, swinging her escrima sticks with blinding speed.

In the chaos, Bruce got hit — a shrapnel piece slicing deep across his side. He staggered back, weakened. Slade advanced.

The girl stood in front of Bruce, protective, wild-eyed. “Stay down, grandpa—!”

Silence.

Bruce blinked.

“What… did you call me?”

Her eyes widened. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

A voice cut through the comms: “Nightwing en route. Just got to the docks. What’s going on?”

Bruce was patched up. Alive. And silent. He hadn’t spoken since the docks.

The girl stood awkwardly near the medbay, arms crossed.

“You called him ‘grandpa’” Tim muttered. “She called him grandpa...”

“You think it’s a play?” Duke asked.

Damian stepped forward, pulling something from his pocket. A vial. “I took a sample. Hair from her mask.”

Dick’s eyes widened. “Damian—”

“You’re all fools,” Damian scoffed. “I ran a rapid sequence DNA test. The results came in ten minutes ago.”

He looked at Bruce, then at the girl.

“She’s Grayson’s. 99.7% match.”

The cave went deathly still.

Dick stared at her, throat dry. “You’re… my daughter?”

She bit her lip, shoulders hunched. Then nodded slowly. “I didn’t want to tell you. I’m not supposed to.. Not like this.”

“Why?” he asked, voice quieter now. “Why not?”

“Because in my time… you’re gone. You died a year ago. And Batman… he died tonight. I came back to stop that. I couldn’t lose you both.”

Dick looked at her for a long moment. The tension cracked. He stepped forward, pulling her into a tight hug. She froze, then melted into it.

“Hi… Dad,”

1K notes · View notes

thelilytothepond · 19 days ago

Note

Patiently waiting for a part 2 to trauma bonding 🙏🙏🙏

it’s coming some time soon💔💔

9 notes · View notes

thelilytothepond · 19 days ago

Text

Random Things He Does In His Daily Life - HC

Tim Drake Headcannons

Summary: a series of headcannons and things I think time does in his day-to-day life

word count: 538 words

⸻

Tim has a playlist called “Noise That Keeps the Voices at Bay,” and it's just thunderstorm loops, jazz from the '40s, and the sound of a subway tunnel with distant screaming.

Before drinking his coffee, Tim whispers a fake curse into it to keep the bitterness in. He claims it’s for taste.

When he's too tired to think, he speaks in riddles without realizing it. Once told Dick, “The moon is full and the lights are off, so yes, I did the thing with the thing.” Dick just walked away.

Tim keeps a sticky note on his desk that says: “⚠️ You Are Not Bruce. Eat a Bagel.” (It’s been there for years. It works.)

He rotates through seven hoodies in different shades of black. They all look the same. One of them says “World’s Okayest Detective” in dark grey embroidery. No one has ever seen it up close.

Tim will text someone 47 messages in a row, go radio silent for 10 hours, then send a photo of a raccoon wearing sunglasses with no context.

He writes notes to himself like: “Check Blüdhaven cameras.” and “Buy more duct tape.”

Tim’s laptop has at least 14 tabs open that say things like “how to tell if you're sleep-deprived (besides being dead)” and “bat echolocation vs human insomnia.”

He talks to his tech. Not like, “Siri, set a timer,” but like: “Okay, sweetheart, don’t crash on me. You’re better than this. You’re beautiful. You’re strong. Please open the encrypted files before I cry.”

He puts his hand over candles at restaurants to see how close he can get before it hurts. He doesn't flinch when it does.

He drinks his coffee black and violently bitter, but orders hot chocolate like a five-year-old: extra whipped cream, two marshmallows, and a little chocolate drizzle. No one is allowed to speak about this.

His phone’ protection screen is always cracked. Not badly. Just enough that it looks like it’s been through things. Like him.

He doesn’t use bookmarks. He remembers the page. Always. Even if he hasn’t touched the book in six months. “I never forget where I leave off,” he says, and he means more than just books.

He says “please” to vending machines.

Tim gives the worst answers to “Are you okay?” “I’m vertical, that’s what matters.” “Well, I haven’t ascended to the astral plane… yet.” “Physically? Sure. Emotionally? I’ll circle back.”

Tin takes photos of weird graffiti like it’s modern art.

Tim says he “prefers tragic characters” and then acts surprised when everyone looks at him.

He buys those tiny novelty notebooks and uses them for extremely serious notes like “How to emotionally recover from that weird look Dick gave me at brunch.”

Tim has a favorite pen. He will notice if someone uses it. He will hunt it down if it goes missing. He calls it “Excalipen.”

Tim named his printer. (Inkjet)

He once sat in the same spot in the library for so long the lights automatically turned off. He didn’t notice. “Darkness helps me think,” he muttered, surrounded by twelve open books.

When he’s overwhelmed, he listens to elevator music. Not lo-fi. Not classical. Actual elevator music. It’s the only thing that doesn’t trigger a memory.

57 notes · View notes

thelilytothepond · 19 days ago

Text

Can’t Help Crushing (On You)

Jason Todd x Outlaw!Reader Series

Chapter 10: Almost Lost You (But I Got You)

⸻

previous chapter -

⸻

“You know Roy’s gonna throw a fit when he finds out we got this one without him,” you said, dragging a chair up to the mission table and flopping into it.

Jason didn’t look up from the holographic map flickering in front of him. “Yeah, well. He’s busy playing undercover Romeo in Blüdhaven.”

You raised your brows. “Is that what we’re calling intel gathering now?”

He smirked, the corner of his mouth tugging up, but didn’t rise to the bait. “Kori’s off-world, Roy’s unavailable, and that leaves us. Dynamic Duo: Discount Edition.”

You gave him a mock-wounded gasp. “Excuse you?? I am prime outlaw material. I bring chaos and charisma to the team.”

“You bring snacks and questionable decision-making,” he corrected, pointing at you without looking. “Which, to be fair, sometimes works out.”

You leaned in, propping your elbow on the table. “And what about us? What’s our strategy tonight?”

He finally looked up, eyes locking with yours for a second too long. “Recon only. Dock 47. Black Mask’s crew is moving some heavy-duty weapons tonight—possibly meta-tech, maybe experimental, definitely not street legal.”

Your smile faded a bit. “Confirmed?”

“Babs intercepted some chatter. Enough to bet on.” Jason crossed his arms and leaned against the edge of the table. “Buyer’s unknown. We’re thinking international, possibly ex-military. They’re trying to stay off-grid.”

You tilted your head, brow raised. “And we’re just watching?”

Jason nodded. “Observe and report. No going in. No grand explosions. No—”

“—‘Accidental’ fights I didn’t technically start?” you finished with a sweet smile.

Jason gave you the flattest look imaginable. “Exactly.”

You leaned a little closer, just enough to make his shoulders tense.

“So,” you murmured, lips quirking, “in and out, no trouble? Just your classic no-explosions kind of date?”

Jason looked up sharply. You didn’t realize how close your faces were until you met his eyes.

“Mission,” he said, voice low. “Not a date.”

“Oh, totally. Definitely not a date.” You nodded seriously. “Unless we both survive. Then it’s kind of romantic.”

Jason blinked. Just once. And then—blush. A flash of red across his cheeks that he tried very hard to hide by glancing back at the map.

“Focus,” he muttered.

“I am focusing,” you said, resting your chin in your hand and absolutely not looking away from him. “On your face. While you blush.”

“I’m not blushing.”

“You’re a little pink. Kinda charming, honestly.”

Jason cleared his throat and gestured to the screen. “Look. We’re going in for recon only. No engagement unless necessary. We get eyes on the buyer, confirm the cargo, and get out. Quietly.”

You smirked and leaned back in your chair. “So, mission rundown: no contact unless necessary, ID the buyer, confirm what they’re moving, and get out?”

“Exactly.” Jason tapped the map. “Warehouse is on the edge of the Narrows. High security. Quiet approach. You stick close to me.”

“Gladly.”

His jaw twitched. You didn’t miss it.

“Focus. We will gather intel and make no contact.”

“Got it,” you nodded. “Be invisible. Like ninjas.”

“Cool. You can be the ninja. I’ll be the exhausted babysitter.”

You grinned. “Aw, don’t be like that. You love going on missions alone with me.”

His mouth opened, but no words came out. His jaw worked. He looked at you, then at the table, then back at you, and finally said—

“I’ll be in the garage.”

You stood too, already heading for the door. “Try not to fall in love with me mid-mission, okay?”

“Not a problem,” he called after you.

And then he walked out, ears red, leaving you alone with the map and a smug smile.

⸻

The second the door slid shut behind him, your smile dropped.

“Oh my god,” you muttered.

You stood there, staring at the space where Jason had been like the silence might offer answers. It didn’t.

Was that too much?

You replayed the last few lines in your head—every single one of them suddenly sounding way more embarrassing than they had two seconds ago.

“Try not to fall in love with me,” you repeated under your breath, voice rising in horror. “What the hell was that??”

You turned in a slow circle like you were trying to physically walk away from the memory. “Why would I say that? Why do I speak?? Who gave me the right??”

You stopped pacing and planted your face in your hands.

“He definitely thinks I’m annoying,” you groaned. “He’s probably in the garage right now texting Roy like ‘please get me out of this mission with this lunatic.’”

Your cheeks were on fire.

“And then I said he was pink. I said he was blushing. Out loud. To his face. Oh my god, kill me.”

You flopped face-down onto the couch like it might swallow you whole. You were never flirting again. Ever.

You were going to be so normal on this mission. Ice cold. Professional. Like a sexy little robot.

No charm. No banter. Just you, your stealth skills, and the void where your dignity used to be.

⸻

Jason stalked into the garage like he was being chased by that conversation.

He made it to the tool bench, stopped, and just—stood there.

Staring at nothing.

For a full five seconds.

Then he muttered, “Kinda charming?”

He said it again, louder. “Charming??”

He slapped a hand over his face and dragged it down like it might wipe the memory from existence.

“Why would she say that?” he whispered to the empty garage. “Why would she call me that?”

He braced his hands on the edge of the bench, trying to breathe like a normal person. He couldn’t. He was full of static.

“She said I was pink. She said I was blushing. I was blushing.”

Jason let out a strangled noise and leaned forward until his forehead hit the cool metal surface.

“Try not to fall in love with me mid-mission,” he mimicked in a high voice. “Okay cool yeah no problem except I already freaking am.”

He stood upright again, ran both hands through his hair, and paced a tight circle.

He looked up at the ceiling like it personally offended him.

“I hate this. I hate that she does this to me. I hate her. Who am I kidding? I love her. Oh my god.”

⸻

You showed up in the garage exactly three minutes later, jogging in like you weren’t ten seconds away from a breakdown—fully suited up, boots on, jacket zipped… and completely helmetless.

Jason turned when he heard your footsteps, already straddling his bike, one gloved hand adjusting something on the dash.

Then he saw your empty hands.

And blinked. “...Where’s your gear?”

You froze.

Blink. Blink.

You tried to look casual. “Okay, so... funny story.”

Jason dropped his head with an audible thunk against the handlebar.

“Unbelievable,” he groaned.

“In my defense,” you started, jogging up to him like that would somehow make you seem more prepared, “I thought I grabbed it from the other safehouse. But it turns out I just brought... vibes.”

Jason raised his head to look at you, expression unreadable behind the domino mask. “You can’t wear vibes into a recon op.”

“Not with that attitude.”

He stared at you.

You smiled. Innocently. Slightly desperate.

With a sigh that sounded like it came from his soul, Jason reached under the seat compartment and pulled out his spare gear bag. He rummaged around, then tossed you something.

You caught it—and immediately froze.

The red helmet. His spare Red Hood helmet.

It was heavier than you expected. Scuffed in places. Clearly worn, clearly his.

You blinked. “This is—”

“—cleaned and recalibrated,” he cut in quickly, eyes not quite meeting yours. “Has a fresh comms link. Take it.”

You stared at it.

And then at him.

And then back at it.

Oh my god oh my god oh my god—

Jason cleared his throat. “Also brought extras.” He held out a holster belt and a set of throwing knives you recognized as his own design. “You’re lucky I overpack.”

“I’m gonna put that on a mug,” you mumbled, taking them from him as casually as you could, despite your hands absolutely shaking. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He was already looking away again, shifting forward slightly on the bike. “Get geared up. We’ve got a ten-minute ride to the docks. But before you put these on, just— stand still.”

He stepped closer and started strapping armor onto your elbows.

You blinked. “You’re helping me gear up?”

“I’m not letting you go in wearing fingerless gloves and vibes.”

You obeyed—lifting your arms, still holding the damn red hood helmet, as he adjusted the chest piece and clipped the side straps with practiced movements. His hands brushed your sides and your brain promptly blue-screened.

So calm. Totally normal. Not thinking about the way his fingers graze my ribs. Definitely not noticing how good he smells. Nope.

You cleared your throat, trying to hide the rising heat in your face. “You know, this is very ‘rom-com montage where the guy teaches the girl how to swordfight.’”

Jason clipped the last piece into place, stepped back slightly, and said flatly, “I’m not giving you a sword.”

You grinned. “A girl can dream.”

You nodded, turning away to hide the fact that your face was on fire.

As you strapped on the belt, slid the knives into place, and slowly—so slowly—put the helmet on, you tried not to notice how it smelled faintly like leather and aftershave and him.

Stay cool. Be normal. Sexy little robot mode: engaged.

Helmet in place. Weapons ready. You turned to face Jason like you weren’t internally combusting.

Jason froze. Just barely. Then cleared his throat and mumbled something that might’ve been “Let’s go,” or possibly a soft prayer for divine intervention. He then placed his own helmet on his head… the exact copy of the one you were wearing at the moment.

Your heartbeat? Off the charts.

You swung a leg over the bike behind him, trying to get comfortable—and then he said, “Hold on.”

“Right,” you nodded. Professional. Cool. Chill.

You wrapped your arms around his waist.

And immediately lost your damn mind.

His body was warm and solid beneath the kevlar. Your palms rested just above his belt and every inch of him screamed Jason—the scent of his cologne, the hum of his breath, the way his back tensed slightly the moment you touched him.

I’m fine. This is fine. I’m not internally screaming at all.

Jason twisted the throttle, trying very hard to focus on literally anything except the fact that your arms were around him and your helmet—his helmet—was resting lightly against his shoulder.

If she lets go I will crash this bike directly into the river. I will not survive. This is how I die. Again. The best way to go.

The engine roared to life beneath you, and the two of you shot out of the garage and into the night—hearts pounding, hands clutching, pretending not to notice the way your chests rose and fell in perfect sync.

⸻

The ride to Dock 47 was quiet, save for the roar of the engine and your heart pounding like it had something to prove.

You held onto Jason the entire way, helmet pressed lightly against his shoulder, the chill of the night doing nothing to cool your face. He didn’t say a word, didn’t glance back once—but you could feel the tension radiating off him every time you shifted even slightly.

Ten minutes later, he pulled off into a side alley near the edge of the Narrows. The docks loomed ahead: rusted metal, floodlights sweeping lazily across the yard, and the shadowed bulk of a massive warehouse at the end—Dock 47.

Jason killed the engine and lowered the kickstand, motioning silently for you to dismount.

You did, making sure the helmet was still secure (of course it was its high quality). He followed a beat later, and for a moment you both stood there, side by side, your matching helmets tucked onto your heads like some kind of weird, matching, tactical couple photo op.

“Ready?” he whispered.

You nodded. “Let’s go ruin someone’s night.”

Jason smirked. “That’s the spirit.”

⸻

Ten minutes later, you were inside.

The vents were wide—old infrastructure—and Jason had already mapped the layout. You crawled ahead, both of you ghost-quiet, the only sounds your breath and the faint creak of metal beneath your limbs.

You reached the vent above the storage floor and slid the grating open a crack.

Jason was just behind you. Close. Very close.

“Target in sight,” you whispered, peering down.

Below, half a dozen armed men were unloading crates from an unmarked truck. Black Mask wasn’t visible—yet—but the weapons sure were. Sleek, compact. Definitely meta-tech. Maybe alien, maybe WayneTech knockoffs.

You started recording on the mini-cam in —his—helmet, recording everything.

Jason synced his eye feed to yours to get a better look.

You didn’t mean to notice how warm he was next to you. Or the way his thigh brushed yours in the cramped space. Or the sound of his breathing through the mic in your shared comm channel.

But you did.

Focus. Intel. Mission.

“Buyer’s not here yet,” Jason whispered. His voice was low, gravelly in your ear. “They’re prepping. We’ve got time.”

“Should we move for a better angle?” you asked, shifting slightly.

His hand shot out instinctively to steady you. It landed on your waist.

Your. Waist.

You both froze.

“Careful,” he whispered.

“Right,” you whispered back, not breathing.

A moment passed.

Neither of you moved.

Then—slowly—he withdrew his hand and shifted back just an inch.

“Let’s try behind the crates on the lower level,” he said. “Vent exit leads straight into a blind spot. We can get closer without being seen.”

You nodded too fast. “Totally. Love blind spots.”

Jason’s expression behind the helmet was unreadable, but his voice crackled in your comms: “You are the most suspicious recon partner I’ve ever had.”

You smirked and started moving again. “Yeah, but I’m charming.”

He let out a short, soft breath that might’ve been a laugh. Maybe.

The grate slid open, and you dropped down into shadow.

Jason followed a second later.

The two of you ducked behind a stack of crates, hidden from the guards but with a clean line of sight to the truck. You crouched close together, back to back.

More whispers. More recordings. More heat in your chest that had nothing to do with adrenaline.

Everything was going smoothly.

Too smoothly.

Which meant, obviously, someone was about to jinx it.

⸻

Someone jinxed it.

Everything was going smoothly.

One second, the Black Mask crew was unloading weapons like good little criminals. The next—

BANG.

Gunfire erupted from the far end of the loading bay.

You flinched instinctively, crouching lower behind the crate as the sound echoed through the metal walls.

Jason’s voice snapped through your comms. “That’s not us.”

“Nope,” you whispered back, adrenaline spiking. “Definitely not us.”

More shots. This time, from the shadows near the truck. Figures emerged—half a dozen armed mercs in tactical gear, faces covered, weapons drawn.

��Buyers?” you guessed.

Jason cursed under his breath. “And they brought backup.”

The buyers wanted to steal the weapons without payment. That much was obvious.

Jason growled, “They’re hijacking the sale. Skipping the payment part.”

The Black Mask goons scrambled for cover, returning fire with zero aim and way too much yelling. You pressed tighter against the crate, just barely peeking through a crack.

“Should we intervene?” you whispered.

Jason hesitated. “Not unless—”

CRACK.

A stray bullet tore through the crate beside you—and then another hit low, splintering the wood at your feet.

THUNK.

The entire stack of crates tilted.

Your eyes went wide.

“Red Hood—”

CRASH.

The pile collapsed, and you fell with it, hitting the ground in a tangle of limbs and splintered wood. Jason landed beside you in a crouch, already raising his guns—but it was too late.

They saw you.

“WELL, WELL, WELL,” a voice drawled, cocky and loud from across the room. One of the buyers stepped forward, tall and broad, face scarred under his tactical visor. His rifle was aimed lazily in your direction. “If it isn’t Gotham’s favorite little psychopath. Mr. Red Hood.”

You scrambled to your feet beside Jason, brushing off splinters and broken crate debris. He didn’t look at you—just stood tall and tense, guns in both hands, locked on the threat ahead.

The buyer tilted his head. “Oh wow, and lookie here.” His grin widened, shark-like. “We got ourselves a Mrs. Hood too?”

You blinked under the helmet. “I’m sorry—what now?”

Jason did a full-body sigh like the universe had personally offended him.

Black Mask himself stepped out from behind the truck then, looking like a pissed-off mob boss who just got third-partied in a PvP match.

“Well this just keeps getting better,” he growled. “First you ambush my sale, now you’re playing dress-up with your girlfriend?”

Jason didn’t move. “She’s not—”

You spoke at the same time: “We’re not—”

Silence.

Jason groaned under his breath. “Great.”

The buyer raised his gun. “Doesn’t matter what you are. You’re outnumbered, outgunned, and stupid enough to wear matching helmets.”

You muttered, “Okay, rude.”

Jason shifted, raising one of his pistols a fraction higher. “We’re not outgunned.”

You tilted your head. “Or outmatched.”

A dozen weapons cocked around you. Red laser sights dotted your chests.

The buyer smirked. “Then let’s test that theory.”

Jason muttered through your comms: “On your cue.”

You nodded once, fingers twitching toward your borrowed knives.

“Let’s ruin everyone’s night,” you whispered.

And then the warehouse exploded into motion.

⸻

Gunfire cracked through the warehouse like thunder.

You and Jason moved as one.

He ducked left. You rolled right. Bullets splintered the crates behind you, ricocheting off metal and slicing through air—but none of them hit. Not when the two of you moved like this. Like a system. Like synced gears in a weapon forged for war.

Red Hood fired first.

One shot—clean, low—and a goon screamed, clutching his knee as he dropped. You didn’t even flinch. You were already in motion.

You launched forward, using a crate as a springboard and slamming your boot straight into another merc’s chest. He hit the wall hard enough to dent metal.

Jason fired again—over your shoulder. You didn’t need to look. You knew it hit.

The warehouse was chaos: crates toppled, sparks flew, smoke poured from broken light fixtures, and above it all was shouting—dozens of voices, weapons raised.

One man ran full-speed in your direction, firing shots at you. He missed them all.

He thought you were the weak link.

What a bitch.

You ducked under a swinging pipe and countered with a full spinning elbow to the jaw. The man went down, teeth flying. You snagged his weapon mid-fall and tossed it to Jason.

He caught it. Didn’t break stride.

“Thanks,” he grunted through the comms.

“Anytime,” you panted, ducking behind a support beam as a barrage of bullets peppered the wall beside you.

Black Mask was barking orders at the far end, and the buyer—still grinning, bloodthirsty—was flanking to the left with three men.

Jason noticed. “Left side’s pushing.”

“On it.” You burst from cover, blades drawn.

You spun low and fast, a blur of motion. Your borrowed Red Hood knives flashed silver, slicing across goons’ skin with surgical precision. One merc tried to grab you—big mistake. You twisted, dragged his arm down, and drove your elbow straight into his throat.

He dropped, choking. You didn’t stop.

Jason launched into a forward roll, fired mid-spin, and landed with one knee down. His bullet caught a sniper on the catwalk above—one shot, straight through the scope. Blood sprayed. The rifle clattered down beside him.

He stood, tossed his empty pistol, and caught the one you’d thrown earlier.

Another merc tried to flank him.

You were already there.

You swept in from behind, driving your heel into the side of the guy’s knee with a sickening crunch. He collapsed screaming—and Jason stepped in, clocking him in the temple with the butt of the pistol. The man crumpled like paper.

The two of you stood back to back, panting, surrounded by fallen bodies.

For a moment, everything slowed. The smoke swirled around your boots. Jason’s breathing was sharp and modulated through the helmet. Yours matched it, rhythm for rhythm.

Then came the growl.

“Well, well,” Black Mask snarled, stepping forward with the buyer at his side. “Cute little couple routine you’ve got going. Shame I’m about to put both of you in body bags.”

You raised your chin, bloodied knife still steady in your grip. “Yeah? You’re gonna need more guys.”

The buyer cocked his rifle. “Oh, I think we’ve got enough.”

Jason twitched slightly beside you. “Y/S/N?”

“Yeah?”

“You take the buyer.”

“Thanks,” you muttered. “He’s got a punchable face.”

Jason charged Black Mask without another word.

You launched yourself at the buyer.

He opened fire.

You dove into a roll, bullets hissing past your helmet. You came up low and slashed upward, catching the barrel of his gun and jerking it aside. He tried to knee you—you caught it. Twisted. Drove your head forward and slammed your helmet into his faceplate.

CRACK.

He stumbled back. You struck again. A slice across his arm. A jab to the gut. You twisted under his wild swing and drove your knife into the gap of his vest, just under the ribs.

He roared.

Meanwhile, Jason and Black Mask were trading blows like titans. Mask was strong—brutal and fast—but Jason was smarter. Cleaner. He blocked a punch, slipped inside his guard, and slammed his knee into Mask’s side.

Mask coughed blood. Jason didn’t stop.

You ducked a punch, drove your elbow into the buyer’s collarbone, and twisted the knife free. He was bleeding now—heavy and fast. Slower. You drove your foot into his gut and sent him crashing into a wall of crates.

Jason disarmed Black Mask with a brutal upward strike, then cracked the butt of his pistol across his face. Bone snapped. Mask went down—coughing, bloody, snarling.

You and Jason met in the center of the chaos—backs to each other again, surrounded by groaning bodies and scattered weapons.

A beat of silence.

Then Jason said, deadpan through the comms, “So. Romantic recon mission?”

You coughed a laugh. “Shut up and help me zip-tie these idiots.”

“Copy that, Mrs. Hood.”

You turned—ready to argue—but Jason was already kneeling beside a merc, securing cuffs with brutal efficiency. His pants were a bit ripped. His knuckles were bleeding. And still, he moved with perfect control.

You exhaled—shaky, adrenaline-thrumming—and muttered, “God, I’m so screwed.”

Jason didn’t hear it.

Probably.

Hopefully.

Maybe.

(He did. You had comms on.)

⸻

It should’ve been over.

You were already on your third zip-tie, crouched beside a moaning merc with a busted leg, while Jason knelt across from you with his boot on another guy’s spine. The worst of it was done. Bodies littered the warehouse floor—unconscious, groaning, some very, very dead. Smoke still hung heavy in the air. Your muscles ached. The adrenaline was finally starting to fade.

Until—

CRUNCH.

The sound of boots on shattered glass. Fast. Rushing.

You looked up just in time to see two remaining men charging from the shadows—one raising a pistol, the other already mid-swing with a combat knife.

Your eyes went wide.

“Jason—!”

But he’d already seen it.

He moved before you could even register it—shoving you hard to the side.

Then everything happened too fast.

The gunshot rang out. You hit the ground with a thud. Jason caught the first guy with a shot to the gut—clean, brutal, final. But the second man—knife in hand—was too close. Too fast.

Jason spun to meet him, caught the arm, twisted—

—but not fast enough.

The knife plunged deep into his chest.

You screamed. “Jason!”

He didn’t fall.

Didn’t make a sound.

He just grunted—a raw, guttural sound—and ripped the knife out of the guy’s hand with his bare hand before driving his elbow into the man’s skull with enough force to knock him out cold.

Then—finally—he staggered.

You scrambled to your feet, rushing to his side just as he dropped to one knee, clutching his chest.

“Shit, shit—Jason—” You dropped beside him, hands already moving, eyes wide behind the helmet.

The gash was deep. Too deep.

The blade had pierced just under his pec, blood pouring from the wound in a steady stream. His Kevlar was slashed open, and the surrounding armor was cracked from impact. You tore off your gloves and pressed your hands against the bleeding without thinking.

His voice rasped through the comms. “You okay?”

You stared at him. “Me?”

He met your eyes through the helmet’s visor—breathing heavy, blood soaking his front—and said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “You were closer. You didn’t see him.”

“You—” Your throat clenched. “You took a knife for me, Jason.”

He didn’t answer.

Not really.

Just let out a ragged breath and slumped back against the floor, one hand weakly pressed to his chest. Blood coated his fingers. More was soaking through the shredded edge of his Kevlar, spilling from the gaping stab wound just above his heart.

It was bad. Deep. Messy. The kind of wound that didn’t wait around for help to arrive.

You dropped to your knees, scrambling to press your hands over it. “No, no, no—stay with me. You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

His breathing was uneven—shallow, rasping, each one sounding worse than the last.

You didn’t even think. You tore your glove off, pressed your bare palm to his chest, fingers trembling. “C’mon. Just breathe. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, I’ve got you—”

Jason coughed, and a fresh wave of blood spilled out from under your hand.

“I’m serious—stay awake,” you said, voice shaking.

And then Jason laughed. Just a little.

A broken, breathless sound.

Soft. Rough. Nearly swallowed whole by the blood in his throat.

“Y’know…” His voice was gravel, barely audible over the comms. “You’re… kind of blurry right now.”

“Don’t you dare pass out,” you snapped, choking on panic. “Jason—Jason, stay with me.”

His hand reached up, shaky fingers brushing your arm.

“Hey. Look at me.”

You looked. Eyes wide. Hands trembling.

He smiled—barely.

“Just so you know…” He sucked in a breath, grimaced. “If I don’t make it…”

You looked down, eyes wild. “Don’t say that.”

His eyes found yours through the cracked visor of his helmet.

“I lo—”

You pressed harder over the wound, cutting him off. “Shut up. Don’t talk. Save your strength.”

You didn’t register the way his voice caught. Or what he was trying to say.

All you knew was that he was losing too much blood and you weren’t fast enough.

“Come on,” you whispered, leaning over him. “Come on, heal, dammit. Heal—heal—”

Your powers surged beneath your skin, like electricity in your veins. The warmth in your palm bloomed outward—sinking into his skin, knitting torn muscle, closing ruptured vessels. You felt it working—his blood flow slowing, the wound starting to close—but it wasn’t fast enough. It never felt fast enough when it was him.

Jason gasped. His back arched slightly under your hand.

“I know—I know,” you murmured, pressing harder. “It hurts. Just stay still.”

Jason shuddered under your hand. “That… tingles.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Shut up. I’m trying to save your life. You’re not dying tonight, not on my watch.”

His hand—bloodstained, still trembling—reached up and barely brushed your elbow.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he murmured.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t.

Your throat was tight. Your hands were slick with blood. And you were so focused on keeping him alive that you didn’t hear the words he hadn’t finished.

Didn’t realize.

Not yet.

You stayed like that, crouched over him in the ruined warehouse, until the wound sealed and the bleeding stopped and the worst was over.

Only then did you whisper, “You’re okay. You’re okay now.”

But your hand stayed pressed to his chest long after the bleeding stopped.

And Jason didn’t ask anything.

He just leaned his forehead against yours and whispered, “Thanks for saving me, Mrs. Hood.”

You smacked his arm—gently.

“Don’t make me stab you.”

“Too late,” he groaned.

You laughed again, shakier this time.

But he was alive.

And you were both still here.

Even after a few, long minutes, Jason didn’t move, still catching his breath, chest rising and falling under your palm. He didn’t repeat what he’d tried to say.

And you didn’t ask.

Because you didn’t hear it.

Didn’t register it.

Didn’t know.

Not yet.

⸻

The warehouse was silent now.

Smoke still drifted lazily through the air. Broken crates and shattered weapons lay scattered across the floor, the aftermath of chaos frozen in place. Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed faintly. But for now, no one was coming. And for now, the two of you just… sat.

You had Jason’s head resting in your lap, one hand absently brushing back the sweaty strands of hair that had fallen over his forehead. He was quiet, helmet off, face pale but alive. His chest rose and fell under the torn remains of his body armor. The wound was gone—sealed, clean, not even a scar was left—but your brain hadn’t quite caught up to that fact yet.

You kept glancing down at him like he might suddenly stop breathing.

Like if you blinked, he’d vanish.

Jason, of course, noticed.

“Hey.” His voice was rough, tired. “Don’t die on me.”

You blinked. “That’s… not how that works.”

He gave you a lopsided grin. “Could’ve fooled me. You’re the one doing the intense brooding.”

“I’m not brooding,” you muttered, eyes flicking back to the spot on his chest where the knife had gone in. Your hand drifted there again—hovering just above the place. You didn’t even realize you were doing it.

He reached up and poked your thigh gently. “Y/S/N. I’m literally fine. Calm down, Doc McStabby.”

You snorted, but it came out watery.

“I thought you were gonna die.”

“Well… you did scream like I died.”

“Because you were gushing blood like a horror movie.”

“And you were glowing and yelling at my chest to ‘heal, dammit.’ Pretty sure I saw God for a second.”

You huffed. “You’re an idiot.”

“Your idiot,” he said, then blinked. “I mean. A idiot. Not—y’know.”

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t trust yourself to.

Instead, you let your fingers drift through his hair again, gently untangling the knots of sweat and blood. The way he closed his eyes at that—like it was the safest place in the world—made something in your chest twist.

The silence stretched.

Then Jason opened one eye. “So… Batburger?”

You stared at him.

“I almost watched you die.”

“Yeah, but now I’m not dead. Which means I deserve curly fries.”

You exhaled sharply, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “You’re so—”

“Charming? Handsome? Hungry?”

“Deranged.”

Jason grinned wider. “Come on, admit it. Grease and trauma are the perfect combo.”

You shook your head, finally, finally feeling some of the panic drain from your bones. “You’re covered in blood. Your suit is literally ripped open. You look like you just crawled out of a horror film.”

He sat up slowly, wincing as he moved—but the pain was gone. The wound had healed. Just soreness remained. You watched his muscles shift under the ruined kevlar, the fresh pink skin where the knife had been.

He caught your gaze.

“I am fine,” he said softly, more serious this time. “Thanks to you.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. You just gave a tiny nod and stood, holding out a hand. He took it.

A minute later, the two of you limped out of Dock 47—still in your bloodied gear, ripped suits, probably looking like urban cryptids—and climbed onto his bike.

“People are gonna stare,” you muttered as you tugged your helmet back on.

Jason revved the engine. “Let ’em. I nearly died and didn’t even get a milkshake.”

And so, still covered in blood and smelling faintly of smoke and gunpowder, the two of you rode off into the Gotham night.

Straight to Batburger.

Because trauma tastes better with fries.

⸻

82 notes · View notes

thelilytothepond · 19 days ago

Text

live in gotham they say... | mondays, am i right?

summary: what idiot willingly moves to gotham city of all places? you, apparently.

word count: 2.5k

warning: none! just chaos hehe

author's note: slowly breaking my huge writer’s block by revisiting some of my works. so here’s another one of these!

AO3

Things were starting to look up.

A week ago, you never thought you’d be tying a stained apron—backwards—around your waist and manning a leaking espresso machine during a night shift you desperately took from one of your co-workers that called in sick. More like drunk himself silly and had too much of a hangover to come into work—it worked out for the better anyway. And yet, here you were, working as a new barista in this small pocket café tucked away between an old library and a bank that had closed down a couple of years ago.

It was the first stable job you’ve managed to snag since being in Gotham. Albeit the pay wasn’t going to get you an apartment anytime soon—might have to be sleeping in your car for another week or two—it was still better than freelancing or practically begging for someone to request a photographer for any and all events.

The watch, well, you were able to sell it off at a small shady pawnshop. Get you a good stack of green to pay for meals and maybe gas. But by the time you spent it on the necessities, you barely had a penny left to even think about paying the first month of rent even at the cheapest apartment you could find in the city.

Hence becoming a barista.

Tonight was quiet. Well, except for the distant sirens. But after about a month here, you start to get used to the tense ambiance. You’d have to, if you were going to make Gotham your home for the time being.

“Hey, newbie.” The gruff voice of your manager appeared when he poked his head out from the manager’s office. The smell of cigarettes wasn’t missed as he nodded his head toward the back. “It’s startin’ to smell like shit in here. Go get rid of the trash in the back. The smell’s gonna scare the customers away.”

You nodded with a purse on your lips. “Right.” After finishing up a cold caramel brew with a quad shot of almond milk, you trudged to the back while your manager disappeared back into the office. The trash can in the kitchen was full, but the smell wasn’t as bad as the cigarettes wafting in the air now.

“Scare them away my ass.”

Taking the two full bags of trash out of the cans, you pushed the back door open and stepped out into the quiet alleyway. Fortunately, the bags themselves weren’t heavy and were easy to throw into the dumpster. Before you knew it, you were free of the weight and slight stench coming from the bags as you made your way back to the door—

THUMP—CRASH— “SHIT!”

The dumpster shook at the large blur that had fallen into it. You froze, hand gripping the handle of the door. Inwardly, you cursed yourself for not having a weapon with you. By now you should’ve known better. Next time, you’d use your paycheck to buy a pocketknife and some good pepper spray.

In the next second, someone exploded out of the dumpster making you yelp in surprise, pressing yourself right up against the back door now.

“Argh! Damn it!”

It was a man dressed in yellow armor, wearing a helmet that obscured most of his face. He flailed about; his gloved hand slapped the side of the metal bin and then tumbled hard onto the pavement with a pained grunt.

You blinked, still keeping yourself pressed against the back door. “Um…are you okay?”

After a short pause, the guy groaned and sat up. You watched as he yanked a banana peel off his helmet. “Uh, yeah, I think so.” He then stumbled to his feet, brushing off the sticky trash that managed to stick to him from the dumpster.

The golden armor was dirtied, maybe even covered in splatters of blood—you couldn’t tell, nor did you want to find out. You reluctantly pushed away from the door and watched him both as if he was a newly discovered creature or a secret serial killer on the loose. “Um…do you need me to call anyone?” You looked up at the sky, trying to figure out where he could’ve fallen from. “The police? A psych ward?…God?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, appearing more slightly disoriented as he searched around the alleyway. “None of those actually—where is it?—But thanks for offering—WAIT!” He turned to look at you, his eyes wide as if he had come up with an idea. “Do you have a car?”

You blinked, taken aback by the question. “Depends. You’re gonna have to give me a lot more than some guy being thrown into a dumpster…” You took in his outfit again. “And who looks like they escaped some weird cosplay convention.”

“I wasn’t thrown into the dumpster, I dove.” He huffed as he finally grabbed what looked like a high tech watch off the ground and wrapped it around his wrist. “It was a strategic exit.”

You sighed, God, could you just have one week where nothing weird happens? “Sure, man.”

The armored man sighed, “Okay, I don’t mean to be rude or pushy—but do you actually have a car or am I wasting my time here?”

“I may or may not have a car. Maybe.”

“Ma’am.”

“Sir.”

He grunted and massaged his face without removing his helmet. His skin was dark and smooth, and he seemed to have a little bit of stubble. But he couldn’t have sounded any older than a teenager. “Look, I need to catch an 11:15 express to Bristol. A metahuman is headed there—my bike’s destroyed, and I need a ride.”

At that, you blinked and tilted your head as if looking at him for the first time. “Wait…are you like, one of those vigilantes I always see in the papers.” There were always stories of people in masks flipping around the city, beating up bad guys and saving old ladies from a sprained ankle in Gotham’s Gazette. You’ve just never run into one of them.

Well, until now.

He swallowed as if he were being put on the spot while you continued ogling at him. “Whoa, which one are you? The small one or the one with the bat wings?”

“Uh, the name’s Signal.”

You blinked once more. “Hmm, never heard of him. But then again, I’ve only been here for a month so, all names are kind of gonna go over my head for a while. So, I guess you could call me a tourist? Or a half tourist and a half tenant? Anyway, it’s nice to meet you. I’m— “

“Look, miss,” Signal cleared his throat, sounding as if he was really trying to hide his irritation now. “Can you give me a ride or not?”

You paused.

“Like an Uber driver?”

“I’ll Venmo you.”

“Deal.”

“Maybe I should make a living out of this.” You murmured. “But is any amount of money worth this much traffic?”

Fortunately, you were able to leave the café in the hands of your unnecessarily high manager. It was dead enough there for him not to do much anyway—just for long enough until you got back.

Now you navigated the streets, driving at 15 mph over the limit, trying to get to the train station with an anxious vigilante smacking what looked like a police scanner to stop the static interrupting the radioed voices.

“Argh! Fuck!” He hissed, smacking the scanner against the radio once more.

“Hey! Hey! I just got that fixed—it’s already wonky enough!” You snapped, smacking his hand away.

Signal huffed at the scanner but cleared his throat sheepishly, “Sorry, I’ll add that to the pay, I guess.”

You shifted in your seat, gripping the steering wheel with sweaty hands. “Well…you don’t have to do that. But if you must, the radio costs fifty dollars for me to replace.”

“Fifty!?”

“Just around that area, yeah.”

Signal groaned and dropped his head in his hands. “I’m already screwed for involving a citizen. Damn it, he’s gonna be pissed with me.”

The light ahead suddenly turned red, but you barreled right through it anyway, earning a swerved car and a few honks out of anger. You glanced toward him a few times, the silence becoming both awkward and far too long for your liking. “So…uh…do you do this often? Ya know, beat up a girl’s car radio and fall into dumpsters?”

At that, he grunted and leaned back in the passenger seat. “I don’t know…I’ve jumped off about ten—twelve buildings this past week. And it’s only a Monday.”

“Yeah…” You frowned, unsure how to respond to that. “Mondays suck anyway.”

“No shit.” He snorted softly and then pointed at the upcoming light. “Turn here.”

You made a sharp turn, the wheels skidding against the sidewalk as the car continued to rumble through the streets. Signal glanced toward you curiously now. Even though you couldn’t see most of his face in his helmet, somehow you could tell he was furrowing his brows together upon looking at you. “So, out of all the places to move to you chose Gotham?”

“Well, I’m not exactly liquid enough to live it up in Metropolis or Star City.” You shrugged, keeping your eyes forward on the road. “Didn’t have enough money for a one-way train ticket to either city when my folks kicked me out. So…I guess I’ve just been trying to figure out this whole…thing by myself, you know?”

Signal was quiet for a moment, pointing out a left turn at the next stop sign. His police scanner continued to glitch and static before he placed it on top of the car dashboard. “You don’t have any friends or relatives out here?”

“No. Just me.” You hummed, glancing at him with a small convincing smile.

“Wow. That’s gotta suck.”

“Eh, it’s not so bad.”

There was another silence that settled between them. This time, you didn’t mind it much. Perhaps you hoped he didn’t ask any more questions about the past. Life before Gotham. It was all in the past for a reason. There was no point in dwelling in it, right?

Suddenly, Signal began patting his pockets and began looking in the cupholders, even your glove compartment. “Oh shit…”

“What?” You frowned, glancing toward him to see what he was looking for.

He gulped, “My wallet. I think I dropped it.”

“Do you remember when you last had it?”

At that, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh…back in the dumpster.”

Neither of you said anything. And then, a groan left your lips.

Signal shook his head, “I can just go back for it—WHOA!”

Whatever words he would’ve come up with were left stuck in his throat as you made a wide U-turn, causing Signal to lurch forward and hold onto the dashboard. “Dude! Are you insane?!”

“Maybe! Or it might be the three shots of espresso finally kicking in!”

You stomped on the gas and drove back in the direction of the café—hoping you could reply on getting there by shitty memory and one month of living in this place.

It was about 11:13 by the time you parked haphazardly in front of the train station. After going back to the café to grab Signal’s wallet, then making an extra stop so he could take down a thug stealing a poor elderly woman’s purse, and contemplating whether using the window wipers to push off a dead pigeon was immoral or not, you made surprisingly good time.

Signal unbuckled his seatbelt, “Thanks again.” He pushed open the passenger door and stepped out before ducking his head back in, “I usually don’t ask strangers for rides or to drive me to a train station to catch a psycho metahuman.”

You snorted, “Well, I’m doing a lot of firsts in this city so, at some point it won’t be weird.”

At that, he offered a grin, “In that case, welcome to Gotham.” Something on his wristwatch began to blare, making him jump and remember why he was there in the first place. “Oh shit, uh, gotta go! Drive back safely and don’t run any more red lights! Seriously, you may need your license revoked!”

He ran off, heading for one of the trains that was about to leave. You yelped when you remembered something, rolling the windows down. “I didn’t get your Venmo!”

But of course, with your luck he was already gone and out of reach, jumping onto the train right as it left the station.

You grumbled and started your car, “So much for the Uber driver business.”

Fortunately, you didn’t lose your job. Don’t know how but if you had to guess, it would probably have something to do with the fact that your manager passed out from all the smoking. No really, you had to open the office door to make sure he wouldn’t suffocate on all the smoke in there. Then there was opening all the windows to air out the stench…let’s just say it was a long closing night.

It wouldn’t be a couple days until you had an afternoon shift where the café was at it’s busiest. Which, you were relieved by. At least you had something to do to pass the time instead of cleaning the small puddle before the espresso machine for the fifth time.

Although, you were pretty tired of the convoluted coffee orders by equally convoluted people.

The bell above the door rang and you looked back to find a young man—probably a teenager—entering the shop. He had to be about sixteen or seventeen, wearing a simple hoodie. It looked like he got a haircut recently with the clean fade on both sides of his head.

You forced a friendly albeit tired smile. A don’t-piss-me-off-with-a-stupid-drink type of smile. And he shifted on his feet, returning the smile nervously. Good. He seemed to catch her message. “What can I get for you today?”

“Uh,” He looked up at the chalk written letters listing all the drinks they had to offer here. “Can I just get a double espresso with a muffin?”

You nodded and moved to grab from the stack of cups. Maybe it was because you hadn’t gotten much sleep lately, but you could’ve sworn his voice was familiar. Maybe he was a returning customer, and you only just realized it.

While you made it drink, you glanced back at him a few times and noticed he was carrying a backpack, slung lazily on his shoulder. “Heading to school?”

He blinked, realizing you were talking to him and then nodded quickly, “Oh, yeah. Just needed a little pick me up before I deal with my shitty classmates.”

“Been there.” You snorted as you grabbed his muffin and tossed it in a small plastic bag when you suddenly snapped your finger as you remembered something. “Oh right, I always forget to ask. Can I have a name for your order?”

“Duke.”

You nodded and wrote his name down on the cup, glancing at him one last time before you offered another smile. “Your drink will be ready in just a few. Hope you don’t mind waiting, it’s been pretty busy here and the customer service is shit here.”

Duke grinned, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I think I’ll survive. Too smart to care about being on time anyway.”

“Just another Thursday, huh?”

He nodded, his smile growing. “Way better than Mondays, that’s for sure.”

444 notes · View notes