Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jay thinks he’s crazy. She isn’t cut out for this. Tim—the freaking prince!—found her pickpocketing tourists stupid enough to enter Gotham’s Red Light District. 

The last six months had been a rollercoaster for her. It had taken Tim nearly two months to convince Jay that he actually wanted her and not for her less than legal services—not to mention the near-hour to calm her down after the Crown Prince, Richard Grayson, had accidentally outed Tim as royalty—and another five or so weeks to convince her to come to Wayne manor instead or her hole-in-the-wall apartment. The rest of the time had been varyingly tense introductions to the rest of the Waynes, and acclimating to three meals a day and snacks. Her and Prince Dick—who would actually wanted to be called a dick—get along surprisingly well, when he isn’t trying to touch her. But Damian is a monster. They very rarely last more than ten minutes in any room without Damian making snide comments that never cease to rile her.  

Now, though-now Tim wants to show her off to the public! To actually tell people they are dating. To introduce his street-rat girlfriend to High Society—though she’s sure to have met several from her days on the streets.  

The dress. That monstrosity made of chiffon and sequins, she was afraid to touch. Alfred had to send the maid—Stephanie, Tim’s unofficial bestie (her words)—in to help her through it. Once it was on, Jay was amazed: the fabric clung perfectly to all her curves; the little triangle on her chest showed just enough cleavage to get attention, but not enough to be improper; and the huge slit up the left side showed off her killer thigh when Jay moved just right. Overall, she thinks Tim will be pleased.  

After she’s done with the dress, Steph hands her some red pumps—Louie batons, or something like that—and ties her long raven curls with a sparkling red ribbon that, apparently, accents the smokey eyeshadow,  and bright red blush and lipstick they had covered Jay in earlier. Steph helps her down the stairs, careful of the plush carpet trying to catch on the thin heels, and to the front door  Tim is waiting on the other side, with his brothers and father, and she’s more nervous than she has ever been before.  

Hiding on the streets and a life of subtle crime were nothing compared to the backhanded compliments and gazes of the wealthy, if Tim is to be believed.  

Jay takes a deep breath, feel her ribs expand within the confines of the expensive fabric of her dress. She fights down the panic bubbling in her chest through sheer willpower and nods to Alfred. 

As the thick wooden doors swing open, Jay finds herself biting her lips and looking for Tim among the suits outside. Staring back at her are four stunned faces: Bruce with a barely there smile, one she had believe the King incapable of ever forming; Damian full of faux disgust in an attempt to cover his obvious wonder; Dick with a blinding smile that held familial affection that Jay had never experienced before.  

And Tim. Tim looked at her with an expression made of love and affection, or wonder and possession. He looked at her like he wanted nothing more than to hide her away for only he to see, to admire. She would never admit to him just how that expression made her feel—the power she felt in turning the reserved young prince into a man who would she his feelings so clearly to all those who looked his way.  

Bruce was the first to speak, breaking the silence that had descended. “Jasmine, you look lovely this evening.” He offered with a slightly larger smile and a small nod before ushering his eldest and youngest through the car door Alfred held open for them.  

Next to her, Tim cleared his throat. “You’re amazing Jay. You look amazing. Everyone is going to love you.” He faced twisted oddly, “everyone will—“ 

“Stare. But I won’t care. You know I only have eyes for you.” She smiled, giggling slight at the fond smile he sent her. Tim lead her to the waiting car and helped her in.  

Jay laughed again, as he heel hit the door frame—due to Tim’s haste—and fell the floor of the limo. Tim slid in after her, kneeling on the carpeted floorboard.  Mimicking the cheesy fairytale Dick had told her about, Tim picked up the shoe and shift her dress enough to slide the shoe back on her foot.   

She smiled down at him, fond and embarrassed and took his hand to pull him onto the seat next to her. Tim grinned back, lifting his hand—loving they way the golden metal wrapped around his finger shimmered in the dimmed lights—and rubbing his thumb over the lingering red in her cheeks.  

“I love you, Princess.” He whispered against her lips, before pressing the final centimeters forward and pressing his own softly against hers.