The sound of the lighter sparking to life is music to your ears. You lean against the side of Roy’s car, watching the sparks fly from under his thumb as he tries to get it to light. 

“Ah, shit,” he curses when the cold night air snuffs it out once again. 

Cigarette pressed between your lips, you can’t help but smile just a little. 

When you’d first called him twenty minutes ago, you’d been a complete mess. Crying, dressed in yesterday’s sweatpants, moaning to him about your problems. 

You hadn’t even wanted to leave the house, but with the promise of a fresh pack of darts and a joyride around the city, you couldn’t possibly resist. 

Finally, Roy manages to get a solid flame going, the orange light casting shadows over his face like sunlight. He’s pretty like this—pretty all the time—but especially with flames dancing in front of him. 

You lean in, Roy cupping a gentle hand over your face and bringing the lighter to the end of your cigarette. You inhale, the end turns amber and the sweet taste of nicotine fills your mouth. 

You cock your head back and sigh in relief. “Thank you.”

Roy joins you in leaning against his car, the side of his shoulder brushing yours. “Anything for you.”

The stars glimmer over head, Roy having drove the two of you far enough out of the city to actually make out the lights. 

Another puff of smoke and you find the tension in your shoulders easing. 

“Feeling any better?” He asks.

“Felt better the minute I got in the car,” you admit. 

Roy’s suddenly grateful for the darkness, if only so you can’t see the way his face is hearing up. He hums in acknowledgement, jabbing a thick finger up towards the starry sky. 

“Is that the big dipper?”

You squint, waving away another murky cloud of smoke. “Which one?”

He grabs your hand, pointing your own finger up towards the constellation. You close one eye, trying to focus. 

“That one, right there.”

You laugh slightly, “I don’t think so, that’s a circle.”

“Is it not a circle?”

Your slight laughter turns into full on giggling, the sound falling easily from your lips. Roy laughs with you, albeit quieter so he can hear you better. He thinks, if only for a moment, that it might be his favorite sound in the whole world. 

You finish off your cigarette, dropping the butt to the ground and snuffing it out beneath your foot. “Ready to go?”

Roy nods, and you pluck the butt off the ground and run it over to a nearby trash bin. 

Getting back into the passenger seat of his car, the heat is on and quiet music is playing. You lay back against his seat, head turned on your side so you can face him. 

He’s drumming a beat on the steering wheel, nodding his head along in concentration. He hasn’t put the car in gear yet, too focused on his song. 

Your heart flutters at the sight. 

“Roy?” You ask before you register what you’re doing. 

“Hm?”

“Can I—can you kiss me?”

And he pauses then, a lull in the beat he’d been mimicking. “Right now?”

You shake your head and a goofy sort of smile falls over his face. He nods, just once, and then he’s leaning in, cupping your face the way he does when he lights your cigarettes. 

His lips are soft on yours, the lingering taste of smoke and spice and something sweet on his mouth. You lean into him, give yourself to him, falling the rhythm he makes with his mouth. 

He pulls away, still smiling, “come home with me?”

You nod. 

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If you asked Stephanie Brown who Batgirl was, she’d say it depends. 

Barbara’s Batgirl was strong, brave, and cunning. A pathfinder, a wonderful hero who saved countless lives and gave everything she had to the life. She was a pioneer, a champion who pathed the way for the rest of them.

Cass’s Batgirl was different, a fresh take on an old hero. Though she’s quiet, though she’s vicious in her fighting, she’s still heroic.  She brings a calm sort of comfort wherever she goes. 

But if you asked her about herself, she’s not sure what she’d say. She’s a civilian amongst gods, someone dressed in a knockoff costume playing pretend while the others do the real heroic work. A cheap imitation of the real thing.

As far as hero-ing goes for her, she already feels that she doesn’t have much going on. Not that she needs the reminder.

Entering the Batcave, already exhausted from her lack of sleep and the incredibly long day she’s had, she’s not sure what to expect. Maybe the usual arguing amongst Bats, Tim and Damian trading insults like a normal day while Cass sits quietly and reads in the corner.

Definitely not the scene that comes to play out in front of her—Barbara and Cass teaching someone new to spar, someone she’s never seen before who is very much dressed in a rendition of the Batgirl costume. She blinks, rubbing her eyes like the scene will disappear when she does.

It doesn’t.

Her lips purse into a frown. Another Batgirl? Something ugly twists in her chest. She’d fought like hell for this mantle, had done it all on her own against the will of pretty much everybody, and here’s someone new, wearing it with the support of both her predecessors.

She shakes her head, blonde hair bouncing. No, that’s not fair. She forces a smile, stepping up to the mat to watch.

She watches quietly for a few minutes while you trade blows with Cass, watches you fight as hard as you can to keep up with Cass who’s very clearly restraining herself. Cass sweeps a leg, taking you down to the mat easily, your mask bouncing off your face.

You squeak, sitting up and rubbing the back of your head where it hit the mat. 

Steph’s eyes widen slightly. You took that hit like a champ, and now, seeing you without the mask, she can’t help but think how pretty you are. That twistiness inside of her only grows heavier. 

“Hey, good timing,” Babs calls, waving her over.

Steph tugs down her hood and mask. “Hey, guys.” She strains to keep her voice as cheery as usual, “who’s this?”

Cass introduces the two of you, and Steph can’t help but note the way she already seems warmed up to you. How long has this been going on? 

You smile and step forward, offering her a hand. “I’ve heard so much about you!!”

“Hi.” She takes your hand, that same strained smile on her face, and shakes it. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

She can’t help but notice the softness of your palm against hers—not yet calloused by night after night of hard fighting and acrobatics—and the purple sheen on your nails, almost perfectly matched to her costume. Her hand lingers just a moment too long.

“She’s helping us with this drug trafficking operation at the docks,” Barbara explains, and Steph wonders if she can see through the facade she’s putting on. “Cass and I are helping her brush up on her fighting skills.”

She nods thinly, “right.”

“The Batgirl thing is just temporary,” you explain. “I just needed something to conceal my identity and Babs—”

Stephanie winces at the way the nickname rolls off your tongue, like you’ve always been friends.

“—just had this one laying around.” You finish.

You do a little twirl in the costume, the long cape splaying out as you do. Steph can’t help but look you up and down, examining the way the costume seems to fit and accentuate every curve on your body. Her eyes widen slightly. It fits you like a glove.

The three of you get back to your training, leaving Steph to watch on the sidelines. Slowly, she edges her way out until she’s back outside in the Gotham rain.

If you asked Stephanie now who Batgirl was—her version at least—she could only tell you one thing: replaceable.

The Batgirl thing, it seems, is not just temporary, and Stephanie can’t seem to escape you.

She’s gotten used to your presence now—the way you linger nearby on missions, the way you spend more time with Cass than without, the way your eyes occasionally meet hers only for you to look away quickly like it never happened. She’s never quite sure if you’re judging her, or trying to get her attention, or some other third thing she hasn’t thought of yet. 

It would almost be sweet, if it didn’t have her feeling so self-conscious. 

It’s after patrol one night, the summer sun just beginning to kiss the horizon of Gotham City, when you catch up with her.

“Steph, hey, Steph, wait up!” 

She’s tempted, if only for a moment, to speed up and pretend she hasn’t heard. And yet, for some reason, she can’t. You’ve never been anything but perfectly nice to her, and this jealous mean girl act of hers is so high school.

She tugs down her mask, turning to face you. “What’s up?”

“I think Cass and I were going to this cafe this morning for breakfast, do you want to come?” You smile awkwardly, tilting your head to the side, “they have amazing coffee.”

She considers it for a moment, gears whirring in her head. Some coffee and breakfast would be amazing right now, as well as some time with Cass. But you’ll be there, like a constant reminder of everything she isn’t, and she knows she won’t be able to keep up her positive mood the whole time.

She flashes you a weak grin, “I think I’m just gonna go to sleep.”

“Oh,” disappointment flashes behind your eyes. “No worries, sleep well.”

You turn on your heel to leave, approaching the edge of the old warehouse rooftop you’ve been standing on, when suddenly you look over your shoulder. The golden light of the rising sun reflects off your skin, making your eyes glow and your skin shimmer. You look so pretty like this, Steph can’t help but be a little grateful she only sees you at night.

“I’ll get Cass to text you the address,” you say, that familiar hope back on your face, “y’know, in case you change your mind.”

“Thanks.”

Despite what she said, an hour later Steph finds herself freshly showered and digging through her closet. 

She pulls out a casual pink sundress and tries it on, standing in the mirror and examining herself. She frowns at her reflection, smoothing her hands over the dress like that’ll make it fit better. It doesn’t.

Discarding it in the growing pile of clothes on her bed, Steph goes back to the drawing more. She pulls different garments out, trying them on only to drop them back in the pile. She always never struggles this much getting ready, least of all for a casual breakfast with friends.

Sighing, she lets herself flop onto her bed, sitting on her mountain of clothes. It’s just a casual outing, Steph, she tells herself. Just pick a damned outfit,

But she can’t, because all she can think about is what you’re going to be thinking. Are you going to look at her with those eyes like you usually do? She wonders what you’ll be wearing, if you’ll be dressed casual or cute or comfortable. Knowing you, it’s probably some perfect combination of the three.

Her eyes flutter closed as she pictures it. You, wearing some comfy practical outfit, hair perfect, sipping on some fancy drink from the cafe. She thinks about how your face will light up when she walks into the cafe, the way you’ll smile and wave at her when she approaches the table.

“Glad you can make it,” you’ll probably say, or some other line of the sort.

Her heart speeds up at the thought, stomach doing a whirlwind. You’re so…perfect, and here she is, sitting in her mess of a room, unable to pick a damned outfit. It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair. 

Tears prick at her eyes. One minute, that’s all she asks. One minute where you’re not constantly on her mind, where she’s not constantly wondering about what you’re doing, who you’re with or how you’ll replace her next.

She doesn’t end up going to the cafe.

Steph’s not sure how she ended up here.

The two of you, trapped in a burning warehouse, surrounded by low level lackeys. She’s not even sure who they work for, their outfits a mess of colours and patterns that she can’t quite make out through the steadily thickening smoke.

Your back is pressed to hers, the warmth of your body seeping through both of your costumes, acting as a comfort. At least, it would be a comfort, if the two of you were in any other situation.

The masked men close in, the roar of the distant fire burning gets louder. Steph’s nerves catch fire, buzzing with the impending promise of action. She bounces on her heels, loosening up her muscles just like she was taught. One more step, one more step and she’s ready.

The heel of the closest man inches forward. Steph pounces. All hell breaks loose.

It’s a blur of action, of fighting her way through the seemingly neverending wave of goons. Her muscles ache, every punch and kick only making the burning under her skin worse. The warehouse gets hotter, the smoke rises, clogging her senses.

Behind her somewhere, the sounds of your own violence echo off the walls. You’ve always been a good fighter—probably better than her—but something in the back of her mind buzzes with worry. Like something bad is going to happen, like she needs to look out for you.

She shakes it away, diving back into the action, trying to ignore the constant nagging in the back of her mind.

She finishes off the last of her men, freezing at the sudden silence. She can’t hear you fighting anymore, can’t see you through the smoky haze. Her heart hammers in her chest. Where on Earth could you have gone?

One second. That’s how long she’s distracted for, maybe less. But one second is all it takes for someone to come up behind her, a forearm pressed over her throat and a leg hooking over her ankles. She’s taken quickly to the ground, back thudding hard against the hard ground.

Stars explode behind her eyes, the wind knocked out of her. Through the haze, she just manages to make out the masked goon above her and the gun barrel shoved inches from her face. She cringes, bracing herself to duck and roll, to do anything but lay here and take it.

And just like that, he’s gone, slammed into the ground by a familiar figure. You’re breathing heavily above Steph, eyes wide behind your mask as you reach a hand to help her up.

She grabs you, letting you tug her to the feet, and the way your hand lingers on hers reminds her of the day you met. Your jaw is slack, worry written across every feature. Steph blinks, letting the air come back to her lungs.

“T-thanks,” she gasps.

“We need to get out of here.”

Steph nods curtly, letting you tug her after you as you search for the exit, only dropping her hand when you brace yourself against the emergency exit and shove hard. Cold night air greets her, filling her burning lungs with sweet relief. 

She’s dizzy from the smoke, dizzy from the hit she took. Her lips purse into frown. It’s surely going to leave a big, ugly bruise. Goodbye sundresses.

Standing on the rooftop of the burning warehouse, she watches you approach the edge, scoping out the ground below for any sign of the goons who almost overwhelmed you.

You turn to face her. “Tim called the fire department, they’re on the way.”

She braces her hands on her knees, still lightheaded from the fall. The fall. She forces herself to stand up straight, peeling off her mask and hood. “Where did you go back there?”

“Huh?”

“You—you disappeared, it distracted me. Where did you go?”

She cocks a hand on her hip, waiting for an explanation. She was too busy worrying about you, about your safety, to take care of herself. If it weren’t for your impromptu disappearance, she wouldn’t be coughing her lungs up like an amateur right now.

You scratch the back of your neck awkwardly. “One of them tried to get away and—”

“You couldn’t have told me that?” She snaps, walking towards you, closing the gap until you’re inches away. “We’re partners, you’re supposed to tell me these things.”

“I didn’t think I had time!”

“Or you just wanted the glory for yourself,” she spits bitterly.

You pause, lips parting in confusion. She tugs at her hair. Even now, a slight cut on your cheek and sweaty from battle, you still look perfectly cute. She’s sure she must look a complete mess, sweaty and dirty and bruised.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She tucks a sweaty strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Nothing, just—nevermind.”

You shake your head. “No, what did you mean?”

“I mean it’s—it’s—” Frustration bubbles up in her chest, muscles pulling taut like she’s about to enter another fight. She’s not even sure where she’s going for it, what word vomit she’s about to shove in your face now. You’re inches away, staring at her like a deer in the damn headlights, and she’s the lone car on the road with the choice to hit you or not.

“It’s what?”

“It’s you! Always being so—so perfect about everything, being everyone’s favorite, having everything come naturally to you and—and—”

And that urge buzzes beneath her fingertips, that urge she’s always felt just beneath the surface. The one she felt that day you met, when she’d had that fear you’re replacing her. The one she’s felt every day since when you’re around, the same one she gets before a big fight.

She raises a hand and you don’t even flinch, looking up at her with those damn wide eyes. She’s not sure who’s more confused by what she’s doing—you, or her.

And then she’s kissing you, the taste of smoke heavy on both of you. Her hand reaches to cup your cheek, thumb swiping over the length of your cheekbone. It’s hot and tense and she feels more that she’s trying to eat you alive than kiss you.

She pulls away, taking a big jump back like she’s been burned.

“Steph,” you breathe her name.

She shakes her head, closing her eyes. “No.”

“Stephanie—”

“No, okay? I don’t—I don’t want to talk about it.” She’s shaking slightly, her voice breaking on the words, “I don’t even—I don’t want to see you right now. Okay? Just…just forget it.”

She spins on her heel, bolting over to the far end of the rooftop. She can still taste you on her tongue, like smoke and leftover chapstick and something else buried beneath. She wipes at her mouth and the taste still lingers, follows her down the fire escape at the edge of the roof, chases after her on the way home.

It’s only when she’s in the shower, desperately trying to wash it away, that she feels she can breathe again. What on Earth was that?

Your soap isn’t enough to wash away the smell of smoke on your body, or the taste of Steph’s chapstick lingering in your mouth. You stand under the water for what must be an hour, scrub every inch of your body twice, and still, it doesn’t help. Stephanie’s voice still rings in the back of your head.

You disappeared, it distracted me.

You just wanted the glory for yourself.

Always being so perfect about everything, being everyone’s favorite, having everything come naturally to you.

I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to see you right now.

Coming from Steph of all people, someone you’ve looked up to, pined after, tried to forge a friendship with, the words hurt. They leave you cold and numbed, a new weight in your chest that wasn’t there before the mission.

She’s always been the sun in your eyes, warm and scalding, bright and beautiful, painful to look at. You’ve always gravitated closer to her, done your best to accommodate her, and this is where you end up. With a bitter kiss and more distance between you than there was to start.

You blink the thoughts away, staring into the steam rising from your kettle on the stove. Your phone buzzes, an unfamiliar number popping up on your screen.

Hey, it’s Steph. Can we talk?

You pick up your phone, contemplating opening the message and answering, and yet you can’t. What do you even say to her right now?

You turn off your phone. Let her sit with it for a while.

A while turns into a week. A week of unanswered texts and calls, of attempts by Barbara and Tim and Cass to get the two of you to talk. You shirk your duties as Batgirl, spend as much time as you can locked away at home, far far away from your double life.

Still, Stephanie isn’t one to give up.

The knock at your door comes early in the morning, so early, it rouses you from your sleep. You rub the sleep from your eyes and sit up in bed, the pink hue of the rising sun greeting you.

Another knock at your door sends you stumbling down the hall, slippers barely on your feet. You squint through the peephole, stomach syncing when you see who it is.

Steph stands there, dressed in low rise jeans that suit her just a little too well and a baby tee. Her hair is still wet, curling slightly at the ends where it’s started to dry. She must have showered and ran over here right after patrol.

You sigh, turning away from the door, fully intent on ignoring her.

“I can hear you,” she calls.

You stop in your tracks.

“I know I screwed up,” she says, “please just hear me out.”

“I thought you didn’t want to see me.”

“You know that’s not what I meant, I almost just died, c’mon.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, taking a deep breath. Deep down, you know she has a point. You almost wish she didn’t, if only so you could stop seeing it from her side.

Despite yourself, you turn around and unlock the door, inviting her in.

She looks sad, undereyes sallow like she hasn’t been sleeping properly. She steps on the backs of her shoes, peeling them off before falling you inside.

“Do you want something to drink?”

She shakes her head, blonde strands falling into her face. You settle in on the chair in your living room, Steph settling in on the far end of your couch—the distance between you hurts, but you’re not sure you could take it right now if she was sitting any closer.

“I’m sorry,” she starts.

You nod, tight lipped.

“About everything.”

Everything. She doesn’t say it outright, but you can hear what she hasn’t said: I’m sorry for kissing you.

“I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have said what I said, I was scared and-and frustrated, and I took it out on you and it wasn’t fair.”

You always take it out on me, you’re tempted to say. It lingers on your tongue like her lipgloss from the other night, heavy and toxic and yet filled with something sweet.

“It’s hard, you know?” Her voice cracks on the word, pretty eyes brimmed with tears, “I’ve been Batgirl a while. I-I fought to be Batgirl even when nobody wanted me to be.”

You remember Barbara telling you about that, heard whispers about it from Tim. It was strange to you, you couldn’t possibly imagine a world where Steph isn’t Batgirl. Someone as wonderful and capable as her.

“But then you show up and it’s like, what’s even special about me anymore? And you do everything so well, you’re so—so perfect all the damn time, and everyone loves you and it’s like…what’s even left for me?” Tears brim at your lashes and Steph’s face drops. She frowns, reaching forward like she can stop them from coming. And then you’re laughing, the sweet feeling of relief flooding your chest.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make yo—”

“Do you think I don’t feel that way?”

Her lips part, shock clear on her face. “No,” she mumbles out.

“Do you think I don’t find you perfect and capable and honestly, really fucking intimidating?” You shake your head, “you left some big shoes to fill, Stephanie and—and it hasn’t been easy.”

She laughs, equally as wet and filled with emotion as your own. “You really think so?”

You rise to your feet, shuffling over to the couch and sitting down next to her. She’s so close, you can smell her strawberry scented body wash and the vanilla lotion she put over top of it. 

“Yes, god.” You giggle, and it tastes like relief, “I wish you would’ve just told me this before. We could’ve had this talk a long time ago.”

And she laughs with you, the sound like heaven and sunlight and everything you thought you could never reach, and her laugh makes you laugh more. You let your eyes flutter closed, leaning your head back on the couch, ribs starting to ache from the laughing you’re doing.

And then she’s cupping your face and kissing away the laughter, vanilla flavoured chapstick heavy on your tongue. She moves against you, body pressing to yours and pressing you further into the couch.

She pulls away, cheeks flushed. “Does this mean you forgive me?”

You press a hand on the small of her back, pulling her in again. “You might need to do that a few more times.”

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She took a deep breath, twisting her fingers together. “Okay, so… I know we’ve been keeping things quiet between us. But I don’t want to hide anymore… not for this.” She paused, glancing around at the growing audience before locking eyes with you again. “Will you go to prom with me? Like, as my date? I can’t picture going with anyone else. It wouldn’t feel right.”

Her words hit you hard. She was really doing this right here, in front of everyone. Your heart pounded so loud you were sure she could hear it. A small smile tugged at your lips as you stepped closer.

“Yes,” you said, not even needing to think about it. “Kori, I’d love to be your prom date.”

Relief washed over her face and she let out a little laugh. “Oh my god, really? I was so scared you’d say no or that it would be weird...”

You reached out and gently brushed a curl from her face, your fingers lingering on her soft cheek. “It’s not weird. It’s perfect. I’ve been hoping you’d ask.”

Her eyes softened, she squeezed your waist right then, her favorite little habit, pulling you closer until your bodies were almost touching. The touch sent warmth rushing through you, making your knees feel weak like always.

“Can I kiss you?” she asked, her breath brushing your lips. “Right here. I don’t care who sees anymore.”

You smiled, heart racing with pure joy. “Yes. Please.”

Kori didn’t hesitate. She leaned in and pressed her lips to yours, soft at first but quickly growing more intense, letting all the pent-up feelings from every hidden make-out came rushing out. Her hands gripped your waist tighter, yYou kissed her back just as deeply, one hand sliding into her pink curls, the other resting on her cheek. It felt like fire and honey all at once. 

When you finally pulled apart, both of you a little dizzy and smiling, she rested her forehead against yours. “I’ve been dying to do that in front of everyone,” she whispered. “You’re mine now. For prom… and hopefully way longer than that.”

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Those thoughts led to one last text message he left last night. 'I hope you come to my gig.'

And there you were, standing in the far back, holding a cup of whatever while you watched him play. Your face was devoid of any expression, watching him with a blank stare and lips pressed into a tight line.

He didn't let it mess with his head. That night, he played better than he's ever played.

— ONE WEEK AGO.

"You look fine. Pretty, even." Roy chuckled, glancing at you as you checked your teeth for the umpteenth time in the vanity mirror. You were now aware of never asking Roy how you looked; he was always going to say you looked pretty. It was one of those sweet things that became annoying over time.

You swore you could still feel some remnants of the veggies you ate earlier lodged in the gaps of your teeth, hence why your finger was still nudged in your mouth, trying to find where the salad was, as it muffled your speech. "I cou hill heel ik!" You muffled, straightening your posture once again to look in the mirror.

A few moments later, you proved Roy wrong. There was, in fact, a small bit of salad stuck between your molars. Before leaving the car, you took one last look at yourself in the mirror. You were going to meet his friends today, and you were determined to impress them.

They were pretty popular on campus. A wallflower like you heard a few rumours here and there, but still knew well enough not to let those rumours cloud your judgement. After all, giving Roy a chance at that house party made him become your partner, your significant annoyance.

You walked into the bar with him, looking around to take in the atmosphere. It was probably a little fancier than the usual dive bars people you knew frequented. You wouldn't know — you've stepped into many taverns filled with pointy-eared humans and those with skin painted in bright greens or purples, but not actual bars that served alcoholic drinks. Mentally, you thank Roy for not making you remain a total dork.

"Theeerreee he is!" A voice boasted, lifting his arm to direct the two of you to a booth in the far end corner of the bar. He was another ginger, tall and a little bit lankier than Roy. His hair was curly, face peppered with visible freckles. You finally recognise him to be none other than Wally West.

Surprisingly, you've talked to Wally a few times before due to common interests. Hell, in freshman year, you hated him for stealing your spot in the college's e-sports team (which, to be frank, he earned fair and square.)

"Oh, hey!" He grinned, dabbing you up with so much energy you wondered if he had super speed. "Haven't talked to you in a while, dude." He said, throwing his arm around your shoulder to walk you closer to the gang.

"Wally, can you let them breathe first?" Says the only girl in the group, staring at him with the familiar look of siblingly annoyance. "Ignore him, he's just excited to have someone new on the table."

Donna, like Wally, was familiar to you, too. She was the first person most clubs scoured to hire whenever pictures needed to be taken. A semester ago, your D&D club booked her to be the photographer for your annual meeting. By some magic miracle, she managed to make your club look cool.

"Mhm." The guy next to her nods. You'd be living under a rock if you say you didn't know him. Dick Grayson was the campus heartthrob — you've seen him pretty much everywhere, with your favourite appearance of his being the one where his entire face was on a huge banner in front of the accounting faculty. He wasn't even learning accounting.

Roy eventually rolled his eyes, pulling you closer to him by the collar of your shirt. He took the chance to jest, accepting the risk of being punched in the arm. "Guys, chill. Please. This is their first time interacting with human beings."

Of course, you punched him in the arm. "Dick." You huffed, to which Dick Grayson says, "Me?"

Donna snorts. "Anyways, where the hell's Garth?"

"Swim meet. Didn't you read the group?" Wally answered, reaching out to steal another one of her fries.

The rest of the night went well — more than well, really. They had you caught up with their inside jokes, told funny stories they would never stop repeating to new people they meet, and even talked about letting you join their future meetups. Even though you still preferred being alone in your room, the fact that they thought of inviting you was nice.

The sound of a microphone's feedback makes you wince, ruining the comfortable atmosphere of the conversation. You turned around, seeing a girl on a stage with a TV above her head, displaying the lyrics to the song she was about to sing.

Roy had brought you to a karaoke bar.

When you turned to face him, you were met with a pout and pleading puppy eyes. "No," you said, immediately turning him down. "There's no way in hell am I going up there to sing, Harper."

A few moments later, you sat at the table, watching Roy belt out an old eighties love ballad, unable to hit a single note. He caressed the microphone stand, moving with nothing but unadulterated passion. For a second, his eyes found yours, flustering you before you looked away.

You weren't the only one to have noticed that. Beside you, Wally eyed you with a suggestive smirk. The redhead nudged Dick, "Think he's got anyone in mind, Dicky?"

"Oh, definitely." Dick laughed, also looking at you for a moment. The four friends broke into quiet laughter, sending suggestive looks your way, implying something you didn't know.

"Why the heck are you guys looking at me like that?" you asked, looking at them as you fidgeted with the edge of your cup.

Donna chuckled, answering with a sarcastic shrug. "Oh, I dunno, maybe the fact Roy's pretty much in love with you?"

That made your heart drop. Not in a good way. A dam in your head broke, flooding your head with thoughts that weakened your nervous system. Roy Harper. In love with you? You face the man on the stage again, watching him as he practically humps the microphone stand with how passionate he's singing. You suddenly felt physically sick, unable to process that statement even if they meant it as a joke.

Roy Harper, in love with you? The change of perspective felt too sudden. Your body went limp as if you'd been hit by a high-speed bullet train. The way you see everything he's done for you changes — from the Renaissance Faire to the dance in Ollie's kitchen.

To you, it was still ridiculous. It didn't make sense. The mere thought of him loving you more than a friend felt as impossible as the concept of time travel itself. The polaroid girl's face is etched in your mind, being the voiceless figure that reminds you to never fall for Roy Harper, because he doesn't go for geeks like you. You're not his type, and you never will be.

Yet… why does it make sense? That would be the answer to his kindness towards you, the reason behind why Roy would've pushed everything aside just to see a smile on your face, even if it was only for a second.

Common sense was pushed aside as the anxieties in your head grew stronger. It protected you as much as it harmed you. It reminded you to be aware of who you were, plaguing your thoughts with deeply rooted insecurity while simultaneously keeping you away from potential heartbreak. Deep in your bones, you felt insurmountable guilt for making Roy seem like he liked you.

Before you could even think, your legs walked you out of the bar.

— PRESENT DAY.

Roy wipes the sweat off his forehead, eyes squinting as he takes the handkerchief off his face, blinded by the bright spotlight shining on him. His gaze returns to the direction of the crowd, blinking the sunspots away for a few moments before seeing you again, still in the same position.

He reached down to grab his water bottle, taking a big gulp to moisturise his throat that dried at the sight of you. He hadn't practised what to say to you — he didn't even think you'd show up.

With a deep breath, Roy walked off the stage, pushing through the dense crowd with polite 'excuse me's. Once he was finally standing in front of you, everything seemed to be quiet. He couldn't hear the sound of the crowd, just his heart beating so hard and fast he was sure he could die of cardiac arrest right then and there.

"Hey," was the first thing he could think of. He stands motionless, his eyes looking at you with the now-familiar softness he's only used for you.

"Hi." You greeted, also not knowing what to say. Was 'Hey, my insecurities are rooted so deeply in my soul that I thought I was a terrible person for making people think we were dating. Sorry.' too straightforward? Probably.

"I'm really glad you came." He mumbled, scratching the back of his neck nervously. "I thought you weren't gonna show up."

"It was a last-minute decision." You replied truthfully, suddenly finding the floor to be an interesting sight.

Those words made his heart break a little. Even though you were standing here in front of him, it wasn't your initial choice. "Right," he forced a laugh to detensify the atmosphere, but nothing seemed to help. "Look, just… Let's cut to the chase and talk, can we?"

You've been dreading this. Since your arrival here was a spontaneous decision, you came unprepared, unsure of what to say to him. "Yeah. Sure. Outside?"

A tumbleweed rolls by the two of you as you stood outside the bar. Figuratively.

It's so silent you could hear each thump of your heart, thrashing against your ribcage as you waited for him to speak. Roy looks as unsure as you are, judging by his clammy hands and the way he was tapping his feet. After a full sixty-three seconds — yes, you were counting — you broke the silence. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

You should've known better; it was an extremely stupid thing to say to a man who's been suffering over the lack of your presence. Roy's mouth opens at first, but he's immediately at a loss for words. For the first time in your friendship with him, he's letting himself be angry at you. "Are you kidding me?" he sighed, crossing his arms. "Is there anything for us to talk about except for the fact you've ghosted me for an entire week?"

Embarrassment renders you unable to speak.

Roy continues, doing all he can to hold back his anger and think clearly for you. "We do everything together. Everything." He bit his lip, finding his words, "I just want to know what made you stop wanting that."

Your reaction was immediate. You finally face him, using up all your willpower to look into his eyes. "No, Roy… I want that. I do, it's just—"

"Just what? What the hell happened to you that made you stop answering all my texts? If it's me, then just tell me—"

"It's not you!" You answered, rubbing your face in frustration. "And nothing happened..."

"So tell me. Tell me why I've been ignored this entire week by the only person I care about on this stupid campus." Those words came out before he could even reconsider them, but he didn't care. For you to know just how bad your absence had affected him, you needed to know the truth.

You couldn't answer that. At least, not in a way that wouldn't have hurt him. "I… I guess I wanted you to spend less time with someone like me?"

His expression doesn't seem to change. He's still looking at you with narrowed eyes and a gaze so charged with anger it burned on your skin. "Someone like you?"

"Y'know, me. A total geek everyone laughs at? Someone who can't dress even if their life depended on it? Someone who's the literal opposite of cool?"

His look softens. It doesn't turn sympathetic — the anger remained, but there was slightly less than before. "So what, just because you feel insecure, you'd throw away everything we had? You're really gonna let your head win?" He asked, not really expecting you to answer. "I get self-sabotaging, I really do. But are you not even gonna try to fight it? For us? For me? For your own, self-proclaimed loser self?"

You slumped against the nearby wall of the building, closing your eyes. "Guess I wasn't."

He scoffed, leaning next to you. "Y'know, D&D weekends and ren faires don't make you a loser. Quitting does." He stated, uncrossing his arms. "You know I don't care, right? I genuinely don't give a single flying fuck about what people think of me. If I woke up tomorrow to people throwing tomatoes at me just because I hang out with you, I wouldn't care. You mean more to me than that."

As your eyes remained closed during the onslaught of emotions you felt at the moment, you felt the ghost of his hand next to yours. Slowly, his fingers laced with yours, holding your hand firmly — his way of saying he wasn't going to let go. "I'll hold onto you. I'm not gonna let you run away and actually become a loser who quits."

You kick his leg. He smiles.

"There you are." He hummed, pulling you closer by your intertwined hands. "My favourite person to bother."

You couldn't help but let the smile force its way on your face. Roy Harper was the only person who could ever successfully crumble down the walls you've built around yourself. It's been that way since he first met you at the house party that seemed so long ago now.

"You're the coolest person I know, y'know that?"

"Roy—'"

"You are. I love it when you talk about your campaigns or your favorite supervillains. It's cool." he murmured, those words reserved just for you. "And I think your geeky shirts are cool too. They're vintage. They suit you well."

Seeing the way you were reluctantly taking in those words, he considered his mission of convincing you to have some self confidence a success. "C'mon," he smiled, tugging you inside the building. "You need some music in your veins."

Another band had taken over the stage, playing a punky rendition of a twenty-tens love song you've heard on the radio a long time ago. In the warm, low lights of the bar, you let your eyes wander around his face. You find a few things you didn't initially notice, like the small scar on his right cheek or the small mole under his jaw, hidden in the subtle dust of orange stubble.

Rather than halting your thoughts before they had the chance to become less than platonic, you let them happen. You let yourself blush when he turns to smile at you. You let your heartstrings tug when he puts his arm around your shoulder, needing you closer.

That night, you let yourself fall for him, without thinking about yourself or the polaroid left forgotten in his car.

extra scene:

You and Roy were holding separate microphones, waiting for the lyrics to kick in. The smirk remained on his face, even when you gave him a death glare. You would've killed him if your body wasn't incapacitated by terrible stage fright.

"You areee… my fiiiireee…" He started, lips way too close to the microphone. It was unhygienic, but there wasn't much you could do when it came to Roy Harper.

"The one, deeesiiiireee…" You continued, stiff as a pole, as your eyes darted aroundthe crowd, trying your best to ignore Donna's phone trained on you and Roy.

Roy turns to you, far too excited to be singing Backstreet Boys. It was to a point where he had you genuinely wonder if he was drunk. "Believe, when I say…"

In tandem, the two of you sang. "I waaant it thaaat way."

likes & reblogs appreciated !!

stars by @/pixopix, drumsticks by @/mouseygraphics

One thing to know before dating Wally is that he’s possessive. You’re his, and only his, and he’ll make sure you know it. 

He plays it off casually in front of friends but it’s not long before he’s dragging you away for a quickie, pulling down your pants or lifting up your skirt and fucking you against the wall. 

“Fuck, baby,” he’ll groan in your ear, a finger rubbing your clit, “whose pussy is this?” 

You fight through the shaking in your voice and the ache in your pussy to mumble out a pathetic, “yours, Wally.”

But the best part for Wally comes after that. It comes when he slams his hips flush against yours and buries his face in your neck, stuttering as he cums deep inside of you. He’ll hold you tight until he’s drained every last drop inside of you, biting at your neck. 

He pulls out after, quickly tugging up your panties before any of his cum leaks out. You turn to face him, Wally pulling you in for a deep kiss. 

“There,” he pats your pussy gently, a sheepish smile on his face. “All mine.”

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