#dcu reader insert

Dishes clank in the sink as Dick dutifully cleans up after dinner. Laid on the couch, as Haley's rests near your legs, you open your camera app, tilting the camera inconspicuously to capture the broad frame of your clueless boyfriend.

Petting Haley's short, gray fur, you call out to him. "I think i'm gonna go home early."

Watching his head pivot towards your voice in the living room, he stills his work in the sink, face riddled with dismay, "What–why?"

Holding your laugh in you continue on, "I think I just wanna go home."

Struck with disbelief, he wipes his hands and makes his way over to you, "I just wined and dined you though."

Watching his saddened expression, you finally break, smiling lightly, "You're so cute, I can't.

"It was a prank baby."

He exhales then, and kisses you on the head. "Good, cause there's no way I was gonna let you go."

JASON TODD

After a long day of work for the two of you, you'd finally gotten the opportunity to put some time away for you and Jason.

Now, the two of you were laying lazily on the couch. You're just scrolling as Jason is playing some cartoonish juice tycoon game he's been obsessed with lately, content as he sits there with your legs on his lap.

You, on the other hand, were growing bored. Thinking back to this couples trend you saw a few scrolls ago, you think you should try it on Jason.

Laying your phone on your chest silently after pressing record, you look up at Jason, mischief painted over your face with faux boredom. "I'm gonna go home now."

Hearing your words you watch his brows furrow as his phone slides slowly out his hands, "No you're not."

"No, I'm gonna head ou-" You're cut off as he flops right on top of your frame. Squealing you try pushing him off, but he only grows closer, wrapping his arms around your waist tightly.

"Jay," you muffled out through strained breaths, his head by your throat–yet all his weight on your chest.

"You're not leaving," he muttered into your throat, tickling your senses thoroughly from his deep voice and close proximity.

Phone long gone now, probably slid off to the floor somewhere. He adjusts himself slightly so you're not suffocating underneath him. God, he looks so gorgeous like this.

You run your nails along his the base of his soft hair, earning a low groan on his end. Biting the inside of your cheek, you break the silence silently, "It was a prank Jay…"

You feel his body tense, and watch as his head slowly rises to meet yours, pursing your lips to hold in a laugh. He narrows his eyes out at you, bringing his lips up in a pout. You giggle softly. "I'm sorry…"

Moving your hands from the base of his neck to the side of his head. "I love you… even though you might be a little pouty baby."

Grunting, his petty expression stays glued on his face, "Yeah, yeah."

You smile at his faked nonchalant act, watching as the corners of his mouth slowly lift up. Pulling his face closer, you scatter kisses and pecks all over his face.

Breaking out to a little smile, he caves, capturing his lips to yours. Sheepish, you pull away, leaning your forehead against his.

He exhales slowly, "I love you too."

So technically, very technically (grasping at straws, really), we didn’t really broke up. I know that’s probably my hurt ass trying to rationalize it in some way, but we didn’t say the forbidden word at any point, so it maybe didn’t really count, did it? Things have been weird since the fight, and truly, I couldn’t quite believe the warnings at first, how awkward it could be and such - yes, it did take M’Gann and Connor some type to get used to it, but it wasn’t really hard. They tried to be professionals and eventually got back together, like they were meant to be. Were Dick and I that way too? It was... Intense. But the more I think about it, the more I think I was right to not back down. I guess this is what happens when things aren’t talked out properly, which is something that - well, neither of us were good at since the start.

We didn’t start in a conventional way, truth be told, and that might be a part of the problem: it was the adrenaline, the rush of the moment, the excitement of sometimes being alive and wanting to hold onto something dear, precious - Dick has been that for me for a long time. He’s saved my ass and the team’s in more than one occasion, which I’m extremely grateful for. He’s always been a point of reference in our lives, when we were lost and wandering; I particularly wasn’t on the “good-end” of things when they recruited me. Gotham is a hard place to live in, and Gotham’s East End district it’s even worse: I was not ashamed when contacted of the thing I was doing. Jason never judged me, or as I came to know him first, Red Hood; and that felt like valid enough at the time.

Red Hood and I didn’t get to talking until our third encounter. We had met briefly, always in our secret identities, and it was pure and mere luck that we got to intervene in the same places, at the same time. I never was one for gossips and rumors - but he was a legend I almost grew up with; an urban myth that a lot of kids aspired to. When I first got my powers, I thought it was my chance, but I never really got the kind core that others had - like Dick, among others. These type of people naturally tended to do things that came out of their hearts; something I never felt the impulse to, truly. Maybe that is why I always felt more comfortable with Jason - we were both a bit fucked up, a bit beaten up by life. Dick didn’t really understand, but he tried to, and eventually we grew accustomed to each other: my heartless nature, my terrible logic was useful at times, and slowly I became part of his team, among others. I never intended to be special, but we tended to each other, again, just like opposites attract.

I shared one drunk kiss with Jason, not Red Hood, after a particularly rough night before joining the team. I had two with Nightwing, not Dick, after two extremely successful missions - and it left us embarrassed for days, in an awkward momentum until the second happened, a week after: we knew that we wouldn’t be able to stop at our third. It was not wise to do things the other way around, I know that perfectly: we started kissing, then sleeping and hooking up together, and after making out, in secret, with brief and small taints of love here and there. Nightwing was my hero, someone I deeply admired and who most importantly I desired; but Dick was extremely humane, vulnerable and... A coward at the same time. I now know it’s all a product of my expectations -  but he was at the wrong too. He created and delighted himself in the sensual and confident image I projected on my other “persona”, and that’s not fair - not since I’ve always been clear at it, particularly explicit in not confusing my two images. Jason never did, and he frowned when I told him about us: probably because it was his brother and because we were never really confident in those kind of things.

“I mean, I’m not clingy, I know that, but he makes me feel sometimes like I’m... Very detached. Cold, even. Doesn’t he understand where I come from? Like, not literally but-”

“I get it, yeah”.

“Well, then-I guess-ugh. I just wish I could somehow explain it all to him like I’m doing with you right now just with the assurance that he will try. I swear sometimes I think he only looks at me, not-”

“Listen, yeah. I know that: welcome to my world!”. His tone was ironic, slightly bitter; and thus I let it be.

...

— You’re kidding — . He complains. Dick sighs, rubbing his forehead - probably out of frustration, having discussed this previously with the other team. And well, we already knew that the hard piece would be Jason.

— I wish, really but-

— No, fuck off! I didn’t ask for this, Dick!

— You owe me! And I owe Bruce. It will be just this once.

— But no one’s going to believe us! Come on! No offense, gorgeous, but we would not make a good pair — . Jason’s smile is up there, but it still hurts for some reason. I try to give it back and feign I feel the same way, just shrugging my shoulders —. And plus-

— It’s been talked, and we tried multiple combinations; but as it comes out, Connor has the charm of a rock, M’Gann is not suitable for those kind of settings, Cassie would be considered too brutish and thus outcasted from the inner circles which we need to access —. I’ve been sitting around for some time. And well, Dick’s argument do make sense. Still, Jason’s resistence is something I did not expect; since I’ve joined the team, we haven’t been able to participate in any together, him being on his own and me, well, with them —. I know (Y/N) has some experience from the Wayne Enterprises Gala that Damian co-hosted some months ago, and I know you at least are smart enough to move occasionally to the bar and make some well-thought small talk. Out of everyone, you and I are the best for this mission!

— Look, you both getting into a messy hookup does not involve me! I don’t want to pay just because you now don’t talk to each other. Yes, Dick, we talk; and you really should do it more, with her, cuz’ my ear is going to fall off some day if she continues ranting like that.

Before I can stop him, Jason has shot every single bullet, piece of information, I had confided in him. Well, at least some of the most intimate and recent ones. I know he’s impulsive, and I see the reget in his eyes as soon as he has exploded, which I evade: my eyes stick to the floor. They shout some more before Jason walks out - and I’m sure he would have stomped out if possible, but electronic doors and carpeted floor makes that difficult.

— ... Look (Y/N), I’m sorry, but you know-

— It’s for the best, absolutely. I haven’t complained at all, have I? — . You hate that. The pity in his eyes, like he-like he hurt you, and you were vulnerable and crying yourself to sleep. Which you weren’t. You just did that the second and third night — . And your reasoning it’s logical. I’ll talk him into it, kay’? I’ll be back.

He makes the attempt to say “sorry”, probably; maybe even talk it out longer, the thing that we lost, that we will probably never have back, but I cut him out. Instead, I walk out.

. . .

— I hate dressing up.

—If you hadn’t been such a little asshole, I would have saved you the tie. And just say thanks I didn’t make it tighter. Or that I didn’t make yours at all, I could have really just-

—I’m sorry. I really am, trust me. It was just-I hate- —. I always found his inability to find the right words cute, human; Jason wasn’t really talkative, save the occasional ironic comment or Roy Harper being around, which was probably why I liked so much that he always tried to be clear and well, tried at all to talk to me—. I hate this. The galas, the people faking it till they really make it in some dirty business or another; it’s full of hypocritical and fucking-

—Shush it down, handsome. We just got here—. The car stops. The dress is tight on my figure, I can tell; but the shawl makes me feel like I’m somehow floating, hugged in some way and protected. He comes out first, flashes blinding us instantly. And it was nighttime! —… But I completely get it. When Dick took me to Damian’s Gala my feet almost bleed out and he almost snoozed up on a corporate’s shoulder which-

—Can you please just concentrate, Gamma team? You are the distraction, so, give them something to talk about.

…

Dick’s voice in both of the intercoms take her more by surprise, almost like she forgot it was a mission. Jason smirks and helps her get out of the car, her midnight dress following around: the diamonds in the gloves sparkle, and the shawl hugging her feminine figure makes her naked back tempting, sexy. He now sometimes tends to forget he can look at her that way; it’s not prohibited, not forbidden. His coldish hand rests on the small of her back, guiding her up, and he feels proud by the way she almost snuggles to his figure, protected. Flashes blind them on their way up in the stairs, with other famous-like figures around, but everyone is focused on her, more than him; and who wouldn’t? She looks spectacular.

Jason is tense. He doesn’t like this kind of places, this kind of settings; it’s always been difficult to socialize, feign some smiles, throw some comments here and there positioning always yourself like it’s a constant battle. It’s tiring. But for some reason, the small comments she murmurs to him, makes it all easier. Almost something to look forward once they enter the big place:

—Jason, your hand doesn’t need to go that down.

It takes him by surprise this time. He frowns, looking from one side to another; she seems oblivious to the call out, which means he said that privately. And he hates that – it flares him up. Like almost instantly noticing that, her hand goes to his chest, rubbing it like one of those famous couples.

—Is everything alright? Did you see Luthor?

Right, the objective for the night.

—Let’s just separate and reconvene in fifteen—. She nods, and she goes. Which is what he needs, just that time to have a long talk—. Hey Night? Yeah, put it on private, cuz’ the kids are not going to like what I’m gonna say, you little jealous piece of-

. . .

Everyone is accompanied by someone. I feel a bit left out, in my long dress, with my short stature and among other couples; not left out, but vulnerable for some reason. They seem close to Luthor, and seem to know something about the night’s event, but they are not willing to just say it out, are they? They like to play. And so do I.

—Actually-

—Hey kitten. I lost you after talking to the Windsor’s – what a pair, aren’t they?

The group laughs, and Jason’s arm finds my waist like it’s its natural resting place, which I like more than I will ever admit. His figure protects me, and suddenly I feel more confident: turns out the Windsor’s and the Trovey’s are rivals, which thankfully I can exploit into giving it all out.

—(Y/N), please tell Red Hood to turn on its comm. It’s important—. I hear it suddenly, but expected It, when the group left and Jason went to grab up some more drinks. Very necessary, he argued, and I didn’t mind. It was for the best, probably.

—He doesn’t have it? I thought you were orienting him. He isn’t normally that charming with others.

—Oh, and I am?—. Finally I hear his smirk through the comm, and it makes me smile back; it somehow gives me hope that things will work out and that we will go back to joking around, throwing jabs at each other.

—You know you could charm a rock and make it confirm that the world is white with glitter specks on it when it rains, idiot—. He laughs, and I smile fondly. Yeah, maybe we can go back to those days—. It’s not something everyone can do, specially Jason.

—Wow, thank you dear—. I turn around and I hate it: his eyes, the way he looks at me, and his bitter smile. He’s aiming to hurt now—; am I now interrupting your third hookup, maybe? What this time, you are going to come cry again in my shoulder while I tell you what a stupid decision that was? Save it and fuck him already, (Y/N). Save us the drama and this type of occasions so I can go to being dull like Connor and you can go back to your usual partner.

—Jay-

—Save it, truly.

Well, everything is kinda fucked, which I expected. I begin to hear Dick’s voice, but I turn it off: Jason was maybe right at some points, because I really did expect for a second that we would get back together. But that thought now is empty to me, and it was just the wondering that truly lost me, rather than the possibility of us being together as a couple. We wouldn’t work, Jason was right: it would be a stupid decision.

With his communicator off, I can only search Jason by the cut of this tuxedo and his figure. He’s outside, in the terrace, when Lex Luthor comes out in the stage. I really doubt for a second, before going after him.

—Hey, Jaybird. Come on, it’s cold outside. Let’s maybe grab some coffee or hot chocolate after?

—Pass.

I sigh. I really have the instinct to rub off the makeup, getting close and real with him, but still resist: my heels resonate on stone, making my presence more than obvious towards him. He doesn’t move, nor flinch once I’m close enough and put my hand on his arm. He’s looking at the gardens: they are truly beautiful.

—You know I didn’t mean it in a bad way, right? It’s just that-man, you know you are not good at socializing. Neither am I, even if I give off that vibe. But Dick was not wrong about us; we are very charming and have that special thing that make us irresistible. You are dull as a rock, but you are too a very charming and hot one, I promise. Best looking rock ever.

That makes him smirk and pass his hand over my shoulder. He mumbles an “idiot” and even with the shawl on, I feel truly hugged, even with Dick’s touch still quite recent. Acting on instinct, I snuggle up to him, the coldness of the night acting on my freezing shoulders.

—Let’s get you in, hm?

—Yeah, just let me turn on the comm and tell Dick-

—Fuck, at least! Luthor’s coming outside, speaking with Target and entering the terrace where you are in less than ten seconds. You have to hear what he’s saying!

—Fuck!

Getting down quickly would be too obvious, getting out too; moving seems idiotic at this point, and time is just against us this time. So I act on pure instinct, following the example of a couple outside who similar to those in dark corners, seem to be just one step away from public indecency.

 —They are coming up! Just-just hurry up and kiss me!

He takes me by my arms awkwardly and closes the distance. We move to a corner of the terrace and feign giggles, being drunk enough; and at first its uncomfortable, having his cold lips pressed brutishly almost against mine, but-but we warm up. And fuck, I truly feel like melting when he starts to get into it.

It’s slow, a bit like a dance: something I do not expect and did not see coming from him. It’s sweet until he seems to remember some other thing which makes him change, instantly, and bite my lips. I moan into his mouth in the lowest voice possible, but it still gets him: and my arms slowly make their way to his neck, pressing us together. He is cold, but his hands are warm when they settle on my hips, one climbs up my back.

—Jay-

—Shut up and let me have this. Just this time.

I don’t know what he’s referring to, but I can make some idea. Right now, he is not Red Hood, and neither I am who I am. I don’t need to open my eyes to savor his pained expression as he deepens the kiss and his grip on my body: like he wants to smash it somehow, deform it. It’s violent, and it hurts a bit whenever he softens up, letting my skin “breathe”. I don’t complain.

—Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

—It’s alright. J-just continue doing that. With your hand in my back. And kiss me.

It’s a new feeling, comforting; maybe I missed the kisses more than I could ever admit, but I don’t miss Nightwing. Or Dick. I missed the contact, the passion with which he holds me: it makes me feel desired and proud: he’s not seeing the sensual and sexy figure I interpret. He’s just kissing… Me.

His nails dig into my skin like they want to break the dress, the sequins; I hold onto him like I want to break his neck, get it closer to me. It’s not sweet for a second kiss, and it’s definitively not ending anytime soon. It only increases. I bite his lips and he starts attacking: it leaves me breathless. His teeth mark my lips, my chin, my neck – when he bites near to my ear, my knees buckle, touching themselves.

—What, you’re already wet and prepared?

—Shut it, shut it and-

He shuts me. Kisses me until I forget to breath, exist; it’s terrifying how good it is, how natural it seems to be. My nails dig into his neck, slowly making its way down his clothed back: and still he shivers under my touch, trembles like someone was touching him for the very first time. Might have been long for him.

His knee gets close to my legs, asking for permission and I grant it to him: I gasp in surprise even when I have done so, because he’s an expert on that. My nails this time have to grab his tuxedo, hold him near and close to me. I gasp, and I’m sure Luthor and his friend turn around: and fuck, we were supposed to listen them up, but I can’t really think of anything with his nose buried in my neck and his knee attacking the inside of my thighs, going up until I am almost seated on it.

I want it. I don’t need it, but I want it. Is it worthy? Can I risk it?

Not having to rely on another person and not having to think about another's mood before enlightening yours was so freeing. All your life you've waited on the whims of others.

Finally being on your own in the world was unexpectedly freeing. All your life, you've waited on the whims of others–and finally not having to rely on someone else and not having to consider their opinion whenever you even had a single thought was liberating.

Now, you were holding a double shot shaken espresso latte stirred with the cafe's signature coffee milk and topped with sweet caramel cold foam, on your way to your first course at Gotham University. You adjusted in your leather jacket that uncomfortably shifted your white Nightwing graphic tee to the left, the key-chains attached to your backpack noisily cluttering together at your movement.

Your trusty sneakers crumbling the fallen leaves of nearby trees. Sighing out cold air, you adjust the left side of your headphones to more comfortably accommodate your hoop earring under the padded donuts. You fumble slightly on the cobblestone before a skater zooms past you, bumping your shoulder, leaving you staggering and your white t-shirt stained brown. "What the fuck dude!"

The black haired skater donning a red and black bomber jacket only looks back at you with a slight apologetic smile. Groaning, you look around for the closest bathroom.

Dabbing your shirt, silently seething, but audibly cursing the inconsiderate skater you just crossed paths with. Sighing as the stain does not seem to come out you run a hand through your hair. "Gosh I wish I'd gotten my tide pen back."

You hear a toilet flush and your face reddens, realizing you in fact weren't the only one in the bathroom. A blond girl comes out with a slight smile, "I have a tide pen on me, I just need to wash my hands real quick."

You lean against the sink and look down at the many fallen paper towels that failed to get your stain out. Throwing away your trash, you thank the girl in the purple top, "Thank you so much, you are a lifesaver."

"No worries," she dries off her hands and hands you the tide pen, "How'd you manage to get a gnarly stain like that anyways?"

You groan, uncapping the tide pen, "Some asshole pushed past me on a skateboard."

Scoffing saltily, you add, "Now I have a stained shirt and no means of caffeine."

While you press down on your coffee stain with the tide pen, the blonde adds, "I'm Stephanie, but you can just call me Steph."

You state your name back with a smile. Having lightened your stain, you hand her pen back. "Thanks for letting me hit your pen," you joke.

"What else would we be in the bathroom for," she jests back. You look up, reading the red numbers off the hanging digital clock. 10:15. "Shit."

You flash a final smile at the blonde, "It was so nice meeting you Steph, I'm like 15 minutes late to my class."

"Catch you around!"

Breathless and panting, you slam the classroom door open. "Sorry," you wince as the teacher glares at the noisy intrusion. You scan the desks for a seat, the only open spot next to a black-haired boy–clad in the same bomber jacket as that skater! You wrinkle your eyes as you make your way to the third row.

You plop down and adjust your chair, pushing off his skateboard that was leaning off your chair in the process. The boy only glares up at you and snatches his skateboard. The teacher calls out your name for attendence, making you look up. "Yes, that's me."

She grunts looking down at you through her glasses, "Don't let it happen again." She splits her attention to the boy beside you, "You either, Mr. Jackson Drake."

"I prefer Tim..."

She looks down at her clipboard, "Ah yes, Timothy."

That name sounds familiar, where did you know it from? Tim winces, "That works too."

"Public Speaking 101," Mrs. Diaz announces, "Your first assignment for this course will be to comprise a well seated argument against your seat mate. You will both take opposing sides on a legitimate issue. Your grade will depend on the strength of your talking points, rebuttals, and confidence."

That's right, Tim Drake–associated with billionaire Bruce Wayne, owner of the distinguished Wayne Enterprises–actually wasn't he his adoptive son? He must have been rumored to take over the company.

Everyone looks around to find their partner, including yourself…only to be met with Mr. 'Hit and Run'. You take a deep breath in, out. Strong heart. With a faltering smile and a deep breath, you turn to your… partner.

Glancing around awkwardly, Tim clears his throat. "So… what do you want our topic to be about?"

Gosh was he not even going to apologize for ruining your morning? Growing agitated by the second, you snap back, "How about your little skateboard?"

You glance at his battered board, covered in stickers of coffee orders… and logos of a deformed wave? "What's up with your janky yellow waves?"

You watch as he subsequently furrows his eyebrows, following your gaze. "Wh–that's the Red Robin insignia."

You purse your lips, confused, "The burger joint? Pretty sure that's not their logo."

Tim looks down at your shirt now, "How are you in Gotham, wearing a Nightwing shirt–that you might need to get washed–and don't know who Red Robin is???"

Oh so now he finally acknowledges your coffee stained shirt–of his own doing. "So you finally confess to your crime, huh."

Puzzled, his face seemingly backpedals. "What do you–what are you on about?"

You scoff in disbelief, how entitled and out of touch is this man to believe he did nothing wrong? "First of all–I just moved here. From Blüdhaven. The city Nightwing protects. How would I know about some vigilante–who so creatively named themself after a burger chain.

"Secondly, you're the one who stained my shirt, so maybe you should get it cleaned."

He goes to open your mouth but you only huff and continue on, "You zoom past me, spill my own coffee on my brand new white t-shirt, make me late to class, act all high and mighty pretending you did not just ruin my entire morning."

He receded into his chair and you register how you had leaned towards him in your heated rant. You clear your throat and pull yourself back into your seat, picking it back up from when you discarded it in your daze.

You watch him scratch his head from the corner of your eye, mouth agape and eyes wide open. Sighing, he attempts getting a word out before you promptly shoot down his endeavor.

"I'm sor-"

"Save it, Timothy," you interjected, mocking Mrs. Diaz' whiny tone.

He rolls his eyes, you pull out your laptop when your brightest idea to date comes to fruition.

"I think our topic should be on the ethics of nepotism."

taglist- @athenxt @hitashi-san @technicallylegendarypost @jamespotteraliveversion @fangirlgene @anniesreading

So, you take the train departing from the Crime-Alley adjacent neighborhood you reside in heading toward the nicer north-west side of Gotham.

Stepping out of the train station, the area seemed to be the complete opposite of where you were just at eighteen minutes ago.

The streets weren't all that filled with overflowing trashcans and freshly spit gum. In fact, the trashcans looked recently emptied and when you walked, you weren't stumbling over yourself by the overgrown weeds and uneven concrete.

You walked a few blocks until you encounter a block-filled with uniquely decorated buildings that basically called to you. They each looked nice and well-kept. Glued to the window, a red "Michelin Star" sticker. What could be the harm in asking?

The wide-set doors swing right open as you let yourself in. A lady who looked only a few years older than you, hair slicked back in a nastily tight bun greets you alongside the crystal chandeliers staring at you. You don't feel too out of place as your compare your pinstriped set to her sharp uniform.

She gives you a bright smile, "Hi, how can we help you. We aren't open now, but we will be in a few hours."

"I was actually wondering if you had any positions open?"

Your luck seemed on the up lately, as they conveniently had their assistant manager poached from some other restaurant. You had walked up just in time, they put you to work right then, paid a whopping twenty-five dollars per hour–that was just the starting pay.

Obviously you couldn't work long hours because of school, so you negotiated your hours to be during open and not prep hours.

All those hours you worked at the diner back in Smallville seemed to pay off. The tasks weren't too difficult with your prior experience and you got along good with the other employees.

When the night seemed young and when you thought there was nothing that could go wrong, the universe had to prove you wrong. The world seemed to be toying with your feelings, providing you with abundant opportunities–then throwing Timothy Jackson Drake in your face.

Struggling to keep your smile on you face, "Hi, table for two?"

Clad in a sharp black suit, hair styled to perfection, and endless beauty marks staring at you–"I didn't know you worked here."

"This is actually my first day, I hope my service is up to par…Mr. Drake."

You have a tight-lipped smile to his date. Blonde. Green eyes. "I'd like to apologize for your shirt–you know I could um," he clears his throat, "get you a new one? or perhaps I could run it to the drycleaners."

He offers you his business card and a smile. Glancing down at his card, you provide the menu to him and his date instead. "Please do not patronize me on the clock, Tim. I'd rather not associate myself with those who only are sorry when they're held accountable."

You look away, huffing as he raised his eyebrows. "You called me Tim…"

"Okay well, Denise will be your waitress for the night–" "Well, why can't you wait us?"

You inhale sharply, eye twitching. "I am not a waiter, but if Denise does give satisfying service tonight for you and your date, I can absolutely get another server for you!"

After an excruciating two and a half hours of watching Tim Drake on his date, alongside him pestering you every 15 minutes to refill his drink or ask you for a recommendation on the menu. Asking specifically you where the bathroom was or to give his compliments to the chef.

It wouldn't be a surprise if he didn't get a second date with how much he was trying to talk to you rather than get to know his actual date.

Flopping down on your bare, small twin bed, you feel your phone rapidly buzzing. Swiping up on your older sister's call, you are met with a graphic of her and your precious cat.

Your beautiful American Shorthaired orange tabby, Royal Chili Lisa Gilroy Jennie Thermopolis. She was your 15th birthday present, so naturally, you and each of your siblings all chipped in when naming her… you all mostly call her Thermos.

Cooing at the screen, you adjusted yourself, "Hello my precious little baby."

"Hi Ate, what's up," you finally addressed your sister, "Where are you two?"

It looked like she was walking the streets of who-knows-where. Struggling to hold your little cat in her hands as well as her phone, she strains out, "Open your door."

You sit up. "Are you here right now?"

Rushing to the door you look through the peephole to be met with a fish-eye view of your sister and a ball of orange hair. Squealing, you open the door wide. "You shouldn't have."

You giggle, ushering them into your very blank apartment. Grabbing your cat and smothering her with kisses, you looked around. "Sorry, I haven't had time to furnish or… I mean the floor is clean."

She shrugs and sits down with you on the floor. Thermos in your lap, your sister in your new apartment–you feel a swell in your chest.

"Did you seriously come halfway across the country just for me?"

You grinned widely as her face fell flat with sarcasm. "No."

Humming at that, you mindlessly pet Thermos as she purrs into your hand. "I didn't know they let animals on the train." "I kept her on leash."

"Sooo, how's Nanay and Tatay?"

She sighs, "You know the parents. Right now they're trying to convince Bubs to stay home for college… even though she's been looking at Central City College."

You purse your lips, nodding. That checks out, after you didn't stay home… they didn't take it well. Not to mention how they never seemed to acknowledge your relationship with Erin. Bubs was the next child down the line, so they'd want to keep a semblance of control to keep her in Smallville.

After spending the next day with your sister, you walked her to her 9PM train, but not without reminding her there was always a room for her if she ever needed an escape from the parents. She took on a heavy burden–staying home to protect the kids but sacrificing a chance for her to truly explore who she was without the restraints our parents held.

That whole day with your sister made you remember the reason to keep going. After a week of classes, a piece from home was exactly what you needed… even though not all reminders from home were so pleasant as your orange ball of fur was.

The street lights were now shining bright on top of you as you walked back to your apartment. It wasn't worth it to use your subway card for only a measly 15 blocks… although, your feet were killing you.

As the cold air blows past, you shiver, regretting this morning outfit decisions. Probably also your choice in shoes. Maybe you shouldn't have chosen to wear Mary Janes to walk around the city with your sister.

It felt as if your feet were on fire. Thankfully, you spotted a bench by a building. The cold air bites your ears as you make your way over until the gusts of wind are not the only sounds you hear.

Sounds of muffled distress come out of a nearby alley, grabbing your attention. Rushing over, you encounter a woman–uncomfortably accompanied. One very pierced man, a hand groping her from behind–the other latched onto her mouth. The second tattooed and stroking her hair from the front.

The tattooed one whips his head around and makes eye contact with you. This month has officially broken your record of the most crimes encountered in all your years in living in a city. After the last time, you came prepared. Grabbing your keys slyly, you grab onto your red taser.

"Hey there pretty lady." The pierced one raises an eyebrow at you.

"Let her go," you call out, standing your ground as the tattooed one makes his way towards you. "It'll be okay," you tell the girl. He snickers, now only three feet away from you. "There's always room for one more."

In an instant, you slide forward, tasing him straight to the neck. At the same time, a blur of red and black followed with a cape falls down from a rooftop, knocking the pierced aggressor with a bow right to the ground.

The girl sprints straight to you, shaken, tears falling. You embrace her, smoothing down her hair in a comforting manner. You whisper calming words to her and watch as the red vigilante makes his way over to the two of you. "Are you ladies alright?"

You nod, "I'm okay, I don't know about her though."

Pulling back and pushing away her tears, you rub her arms. "What's your name sweetie?"

She seemed younger, smaller. Way too young to experience any of this. Your internal training kicks in–you need to protect this girl and soothe her. She sniffles slightly, "Cindy."

Offering a smile, you ask where she lives. You can feel the intense gaze of the masked vigilante. As if he's carefully analyzing you.

You've already decided you were gonna walk her home, but that damn vigilante is staring at you like a strange weirdo. "Which vigilante are you?"

He looks left and right before pointing to himself, confused. "Uh–Red Robin?"

The one Tim was glazing the other day? "Why do you say it like a question?"

"Sorry–I. Yes. Red Robin reporting for duty."

He offers you a goofy salute. "Are you gonna ensure we get home safely Burger Boy?"

He nods intently, "Ye–Burger Boy?"

You purse your lips. "We gotta get this young lady home, correct?"

"If you ever need anything, call this number." You hand Cindy your business card. She grabs you into an embrace quickly, thanking you profusely while Red Robin just stands to the side.

Watching Cindy disappear into her building, you turn homewards and–"Is it because of the other Red Robin?"

You turn slowly, staring blankly at the vigilante on your tail. "Can I help you?"

He purses his lips into a line, falling into step with you, "It's just that–you called me 'Burger Boy.'"

You stride faster, but that only spurs him on. "Are you seriously following me?" "You wanted to get home safely, correct?"

This caused you to scratch the back of your head, "I guess."

He hums softly at your response. "How come you named yourself after a Burger Joint…?"

You watch smugly, seemingly hitting a sore spot as he furrows his eyebrows. "I don't–it just stuck I guess."

Hmm. "Well, anyways thank you for saving Cindy. You can leave me now."

You glance down as his feet keep up to your very insistent pace. He looks down at you, "I think i'm gonna bring your home safely."

Sighing, you slow. The weight of the day is felt on your feet once again when you wince. The masked man glances back at you, concerned, "Are you injured?"

You blink, "Uhh, no. My feet just hurt." He nods. "Hold on."

Inching back, confused, he clarifies. "Like onto me. Wait where do you live?"

Telling him your address, he takes in the information and wraps his hand modestly around your waist. In a flash, you are airborne fast as the grappling hook takes you from one block to another in 5 seconds flat. You giggle to yourself, the forces making your tummy tumble up and down. The wind in your hair and feet relieved.

In a couple of minutes you're set in front of your apartment complex. Dazed, you grab onto the vigilante to stabilize yourself. "Wow, that was fun."

He chuckles at you, grabbing your arms to ensure you don't fall. "Phew, that was something."

Pursuing his lips and restraining from laughing too hard, he replies, " You've mentioned."

"Okay–well, thank you for all your help tonight Burger Boy."

Rolling his eyes in resignation, he releases your arms as you back up till you reach your doorstep. "Have a good night," he calls out your name.

"I'll try, Burger Boy."

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