Beauty and the Beetle
(Jaime Reyes x Batsis!Reader)
💙Beauty & The Beetle: Masterlist💙
Word Count: 4,230
Debrief: Jaime comes out to the manor to work with Tim, and meets you instead.
Case Notes: Is this the thing I should have been working on? No. But it gobble my brain up and now here we are. 😌 and yes, there will be a part two eventually.
The knock at the door wasn’t anything unusual. The manor always had someone stopping by: a Wayne charity contact, a delivery, or one of Tim’s friends from school. You happened to be walking past the grand entryway anyway, fixing one of your earrings before heading out, so you figured you’d grab it.
When you opened the heavy double doors, sunlight poured through, catching on the sequins of your casual-but-somehow-still-glamorous top. You looked effortlessly polished, all soft, glossy lips, and summer perfume.
And there he was.
A boy standing on the stoop, backpack slung over one shoulder, looking like he’d just stepped out of a college catalog shoot. All easy charm and nervous hands. Until he saw you.
Because Jaime Reyes had never been hit so hard by beauty in his entire life.
His brain flatlined. Completely.
He blinked once. Twice, “Uh— hi— um— hi.”
You tilted your head, smiling, polite but curious, “Hello there. Can I help you?”
“I— uh, yeah! I mean, maybe? I’m here for— uh—. Tim. Tim Drake?”
“Oh!” you brightened, resting a manicured hand against the doorframe, “You must be Jaime. He’s in the study, I think. Come in, I’ll show you.”
You turned, walking gracefully down the hall, giving a casual introduction of your name, “I’m Timmy’s older sister.”and Jaime followed, dazed. His eyes darted around the cavernous space, trying not to stare too openly at you, but God help him, your perfume lingered like honey in the air as he followed behind you.
When you glanced over your shoulder to make sure he was keeping up, his brain short-circuited all over again.
“I didn’t know Tim had such a lovely sister,” he said before he could stop himself, voice cracking right at the word lovely.
You laughed; a warm, effortless sound that nearly killed him on the spot. you smile, teasingly, glancing at him again, “You’re a smooth one, aren’t you?”
“I swear I’m not usually this— uh— awkward,” he managed, scratching the back of his neck, cheeks warm.
“Sure you’re not.”
You led him into the study where Tim was sprawled over blueprints, half a dozen monitors flickering.
“Hey, Tim,” you said, gesturing toward Jaime. “Your friend’s here. Try not to scare him off with your caffeine levels.”
Tim glanced up, oblivious to the sparks still practically crackling in the air, “Thanks, (Y/N).”
As you left the room, Jaime’s eyes followed until the door clicked shut.
Tim raised a brow, unimpressed, “You good, Reyes? You look like you saw a ghost.”
Jaime blinked, “Nah, hermano. That was an angel.”
💙🪲🖤🪲💙
Jaime still hadn’t moved. He was sitting at Tim’s desk, gaze fixed on the door like maybe you’d walk back through it, hair haloed by sunlight again, laughing that pretty laugh.
Tim sighed, watching him, all too familiar with what has happened, “you’re not gonna hear a word I say for the next fifteen minutes, are you?”
“What?” Jaime blinked, finally dragging his eyes away, “No, yeah, totally, uh— something about, uh… the microdrone frequency.”
“Jaime,” Tim deadpanned. “We’re working on encryption software, not microdrones.”
Jaime’s smile faltered, “Right. Right, yeah. Totally.”
Another sigh, “God, I’ve seen that face before. I know that face.”
“What face?”
“The one that says you’re already planning your wedding after two seconds of eye contact with her.”
Jaime gave an incredulous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, “C’mon, man, I’m just sayin’—. she’s… wow. Like, wow. You didn’t tell me your sister looks like she stepped out of a perfume commercial.”
“I didn’t tell you because I was trying to spare you the embarrassment,” Tim muttered, typing something halfheartedly.
Jaime leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “She’s got this whole— like— grace thing going on. Like she knows exactly how to walk into a room and own it. And her smile? Bro, her smile could fix climate change.”
Tim dropped his head into his hands., You’re hopeless.”
“I’m enchanted,” Jaime corrected dreamily.
“Same thing in this house.” Tim pointed his stylus at him like a miniature sword, “Listen to me carefully: my sister dates older guys. Like, serious, tax-paying, Armani-suit-wearing, drive-an-Aston-Martin older guys. You don’t stand a chance.”
Jaime blinked, undeterred, “Yeah, but maybe she’s ready to try something new. Someone young, fresh, bilingual—”
“— and delusional.”
Jaime laughed, unabashed, “You never know, man. Maybe she’s into guys who can turn into human bug armor. That’s a niche look.”
Tim swiveled in his chair to stare him down, deadpan. “Jaime. She’s a beauty queen of New Jersey. You’re literally a bug.”
“Cold, bro. You’re ice cold.”Jaime put a hand over his heart, mock-wounded, “wait… beauty queen? Like a real one?”
“Yes, Miss. New Jersey, held the title a couple of years ago.” Tim states, looking over the bookshelves in Bruce’s study, before pointing at a frame on one across from Bruce’s desk.
You were standing on the stage, stupid huge grin on your face, with a huge smile, tear brimmed eyes, a large crown on your pretty head, and an even larger bouquet in your arms. “Quit while you’re ahead Jaime, before you embarrass yourself.”
But Tim’s warning only seemed to fuel him more. Because Jaime just sat there, grin spreading, eyes distant again like he could still see the outline of your smile that was pointed in his direction earlier.
“Yeah,” he said under his breath, hopelessly smitten, “I Definitely think she’s worth the embarrassment.”
💙🪲🖤🪲💙
It started innocently enough— or at least, that’s what Jaime kept telling himself.
He and Tim had a good rhythm. They worked well together, talked shop, traded ideas about tech and hero work, and shared the occasional joke at Bruce’s expense. But lately, those visits to the manor had gotten… more frequent. Too frequent.
“Wow, Reyes,” Tim muttered one afternoon, eyeing him over his coffee mug, “That’s the third time this week you’ve ‘just happened to be in the neighborhood.’ You live in El Paso.”
Jaime tried for nonchalance, leaning on the back of Tim’s chair, “What? Can’t a guy come hang out with his favorite vigilante-slash-billionaire? We’re friends, bro.”
Tim didn’t even look up from his laptop, “We were friends before you learned my sister’s name, and you never visited this much.”
“Okay, that’s— low blow.” Jaime grinned, but there was a faint pink in his ears.
Because, well… yeah. He’d looked her up. Once. Maybe twice. Or… enough times that his browser now auto-filled your name if he so much as typed “M.” Miss New Jersey, 20-whatever. The photos of you in the pageant— the way you carried yourself like royalty, like the crown wasn’t something given but owed to you— yeah, that image had been living rent-free in his brain ever since.
And the interviews? The tabloids? The charity photos, the red carpet moments, the quote you gave once about how beauty was “just confidence and kindness dressed up for the night”? Yeah, he’d memorized that. Could recite it word for word.
Every time he knocked on the door now, he hoped you’d answer again. Sometimes you did. Sometimes it was Alfred. Once it was Damian, who had eyed him with such pure suspicion that Jaime had nearly turned around and left.
But when it was you? When you’d smile that soft, practiced smile and ask, “Here for Timmy again?”and he’d melt on the spot.
He’d try to play it cool. He really would. But somehow his words always came out half a beat too fast, voice half an octave too high.
And Tim noticed. Oh, Tim noticed.
One afternoon, Jaime was sprawled on the couch in the study, pretending to help debug code, but really scrolling through your old pageant footage on mute. You’d just been crowned, tears glittering on your cheeks, the crowd cheering as you waved that perfect, delicate hand.
Tim didn’t even bother to hide his sigh, “Reyes, you realize she’s three years older than you, right?”
“Three’s not that much,” Jaime muttered, not looking up.
“She dates men with mortgages.”
Jaime looked up then, as if he hadn’t heard, “Yeah, but maybe she wants something different, you know? I keep telling you, Maybe she’s tired of the fancy guys with yachts and wants someone who can, like, take her to a taco truck for the first time or something.”
Tim rubbed his temples, “You’re delusional.”
“Hopeful,” Jaime corrected with a smirk.
“Reyes, she’s literally in Vogue this month. You think she’s gonna look at you; a college sophomore who keeps forgetting to charge his phone and has $4 to his name— and think, ‘Yeah, that’s the one.’”
Jaime sat up, dramatically clutching his heart, “Ouch, bro. You’re supposed to be my friend, not my dream killer.”
“I am your friend. That’s why I’m trying to save you from public humiliation.”
Jaime leaned back, arms behind his head, grin widening like he didn’t hear a word, “She smiled at me the other day. Like a real smile. You can’t fake that. She’s into me.”
“She smiles at everyone. She was trained for it. That’s literally part of her pageant skill set.”
Jaime’s grin softened a little, eyes drifting toward the door, “Still,” he murmured, quieter now. “She’s… different, hermano. You can just tell. She’s got that kind of energy that makes everything around her look a little brighter.”
Tim groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my god. You’re five seconds from writing poetry about her, aren’t you?”
“En dios, amigo. I already did.” Jaime said, only half-joking.
Tim stared at him for a long moment, “You’re impossible.”
“Persistent,” Jaime corrected again, that same hopeful glint in his eyes.
“Fine. Persistent.” Tim leaned back in his chair, utterly exhausted. “But if she catches on and crushes your heart in Louboutins, don’t come crying to me.”
Jaime just grinned, thumb tapping idly against his phone as he refreshed the search results for your name again— like maybe the internet would update with something new, something that meant he was getting closer to you somehow.
“She’s Worth it,” he said under his breath.
Tim sighed so deeply it could’ve been a prayer, “I need a new friend.”
💙🪲🖤🪲💙
The manor kitchen was quiet that afternoon a couple weeks later, sunlight spilling through the high windows in soft gold sheets. The smell of coffee and fresh bread lingered from Alfred’s morning rounds, and Jaime was leaning against the counter with his laptop open, trying to act like he was doing anything other than re-reading the same line of code for the tenth time.
Tim had just ducked out— something about grabbing a drive from the Batcave, muttering under his breath about “stupid encryption keys” and “stupider crushes.” Jaime hadn’t even noticed him leave. He was too busy thinking about how the Wayne kitchen looked like something out of a home magazine.
Then he heard the click of heels on tile.
He looked up— and nearly dropped his coffee.
You glided in like a scene change, sundress flowing, pearls shining against your collarbone, hair perfectly styled as if the universe itself conspired to make him weak. You weren’t supposed to look that good in the middle of a weekday. It wasn’t fair.
“Oh,” you said with that soft, melodic lilt, spotting him by the counter, “Jaime. How are you?”
He blinked rapidly, standing so fast his knee hit the stool. “Uh— yeah! Yeah, that’s me. I’m good!”
You smiled, the corner of your mouth curling in polite amusement, “Did Tim step out?”
“Yeah, just for a sec. Said he had to grab something from… somewhere important.” His voice cracked halfway through, and he winced, “He’ll be back soon.”
“Good, it would be rude for him to leave his company waiting long.” you say, crossing the kitchen to grab a glass from the cabinet, “I was just going to make a drink before I head out. Gala meeting. You know how it is.”
He didn’t, but he nodded like he did, “Right, yeah. The, uh— glamorous life. Totally get it.”
You laughed softly, and the sound hit him like sunlight through stained glass, “You’re sweet.”
He tried to play it cool, leaning on the counter, “I try. Mamí raised me right, I guess.”
That earned him another smile, which felt like winning the lottery, “So, you and Tim are working on something top secret again?”
“Something like that,” Jaime said, trying to find his charm and not combust in the process. “Mostly I just pretend to understand half of what he says and nod a lot. But you know, it works. Gets me more time in this beautiful house.”
You raised an eyebrow, stirring something in your glass, “Oh? The manor’s the draw?”
He grinned, shameless, “Well… the company doesn’t hurt either.”
You looked up at him over your shoulder, pearls glinting under the light, eyes warm but knowing, and smiled that kind of smile that made him forget his own name, “You’re quite the charmer, huh?”
“Only when the company’s this good.”
You laughed again, light and teasing, shaking your head, “You must say that to all the girls.”
“No, ma’am. Just the pretty ones who open the door looking like they stepped out of a dream.”
That made you pause for a heartbeat— not because you were flustered, but because you weren’t used to someone so earnest. You turned, glass in hand, and leaned against the island, giving him a soft, indulgent look.
“You’re adorable,” you said finally, tone sweet but distant, like a pat on the head, “How old are you again, sweetheart?”
Jaime blinked, suddenly nervous, “Uh, twenty-one. Why?”
You hummed, taking a sip from your glass, eyes dancing, “Mhm. You’ve got that look. All bright-eyed and confident. Dangerous combo.”
“I mean, I can be dangerous,” he said quickly, grinning again, trying to salvage the moment. “In a, like, respectful, mature kind of way.”
That earned a full laugh this time, rich and genuine. You set your drink down and stepped closer, close enough that your perfume wrapped around him in soft waves of jasmine and warm vanilla.
“You’re a sweetheart,” you said softly, reaching up to straighten his collar; a simple gesture that short-circuited his entire nervous system, “But you should be careful with that charm of yours. Someone might believe you.”
“I’d prefer it if you did,” he blurted before he could stop himself.
You froze for half a second, surprised, then that same teasing smile returned. You brushed your fingers over his the buttons on his shirt, gentle, almost fond. “Oh, honey,” you said, voice laced with affectionate amusement, “That’s cute.”
And just like that, the moment was over.
You stepped back, grabbing your purse off the counter, “Tell Timmy I’ll see him tonight, okay?”
“Uh— yeah,” Jaime managed, watching helplessly as you disappeared through the doorway, the faint click of your heels fading down the hall.
He let out a long breath, leaning back against the counter, heart pounding so hard his scarab thought he was in cardiac destress.
When Tim finally returned, holding a flash drive and looking annoyed, he found Jaime still standing there, dazed.
“You said something stupid, didn’t you?” Tim asked immediately.
Jaime didn’t even look at him. Just sighed dreamily, “Bro… I think I saw God.”
Tim groaned, “Unbelievable.”
“She fixed my collar, man,” Jaime whispered like it was sacred. “That means something, it’s gotta.”
Tim pinched the bridge of his nose, “It means she thinks you’re a lost puppy. Reyes, please, for the love of all things holy, stop coming over.”
Jaime grinned, still staring at the empty doorway, “Can’t. I’m in too deep now.”
💙🪲🖤🪲💙
By midweek, Tim Drake was officially out of patience.
Every morning, every text, every call, every random visit— Jaime Reyes had one topic, one goal, and one singular obsession since you had mentioned it: the Wayne Foundation Gala.
“Tim, bro, listen—”
“No.”
“C’mon, hermano, I’ll behave!”
“No.”
“I’ll wear a suit, tie, the whole thing—”
“Still no.”
“I’ll even bring a donation for the charity fund!”
Tim actually looked up from his keyboard at that one, narrowing his eyes, “You don’t have money like that.”
“I’ll sell something!”
“Reyes.” Tim’s voice was tired, bordering on pleading, “You cannot come to the gala.”
“Why not? You’re invited! I’m could already be your plus-one at this point.”
Tim sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Because you’re not there to network. You’re not there to support the foundation. You’re there to drool over my sister.”
“‘Drool’ is a strong word—”
“You stared at her for four solid minutes the last time she walked into a room. I counted, Jaime.”
Jaime smiled sheepishly, “To be fair, it was a good dress.”
Tim groaned, “You’re hopeless.”
“I’m persistent!”
“Persistent gets you restraining orders in this family.”
For a long moment, the only sound was the clicking of Tim’s keyboard. Jaime waited, eyes wide and pleading, leaning across the desk like a kid trying to convince his dad to buy candy.
Finally, Tim exhaled, shoulders slumping in defeat, “Fine.”
Jaime’s eyes widened, “Fine?”
“Fine. You can come. But I’m warning you, Reyes — she has a date.”
The joy on Jaime’s face faltered. “…A date?”
“Yeah. Roy Harper.”
“Red Arrow Roy?”
“Arsenal,” Tim corrected automatically, “But yeah. Him.”
Jaime blinked, running a hand through his hair, “Roy Harper? The guy with the arm tattoo and the attitude problem? That’s who she’s dating?”
“On and off again,” Tim muttered, “Mostly off, if we’re lucky.”
For a long moment, Jaime just sat there, blinking, gears clearly turning. Then—
“Oh, I got this,” he said confidently, grinning.
Tim froze mid-keystroke, “…What.”
“Bro, come on. Have you seen Roy Harper? Dude’s a mess. I mean, yeah, he’s got that rugged bad-boy thing going on, but that’s temporary charm at best. Meanwhile, me? I’m fresh-faced. Respectful. Mom-approved. The kind of guy you bring home to meet Bruce freakin’ Wayne.”
Tim blinked slowly, “…You actually think you’re gonna out-charm Roy Harper.”
“Absolutely.” Jaime sat back with all the confidence in the world, grinning ear to ear, “I’ve got charisma. I’ve got manners. I’ve got rhythm. Roy’s probably gonna show up late in a leather jacket. Me? I’m showing up in a suit, on time, smelling like success.”
Tim stared at him for a long, painful moment, “You are delusional.”
“Delusional,” Jaime repeated, grinning wider, “is just the first step toward legendary.”
“Legendary is what we call the disaster that’s about to happen when she sees you across the room and pretends not to know you.”
“She won’t do that.”
“She definitely will.”
“Bro.” Jaime leaned forward, hands clasped like he was praying. “You gotta believe in love.”
“I believe in security escorts,” Tim muttered.
“C’mon, man, you said it yourself— they’re on and off again. She’s probably sick of him. I show up, I’m polite, I compliment her dress, I laugh at her jokes— boom!” He snapped his fingers. “Instant connection. It’s fate.”
“It’s more like a train wreck waiting to happen.”
But Jaime was already in his own little world, muttering to himself about cologne choices and tie colors, grinning like he’d already won.
Tim leaned back in his chair, utterly defeated, and muttered, “I’m gonna need more coffee.”
Jaime just flashed him a thumbs up, eyes sparkling with confidence that absolutely had no basis in reality, “You’ll see, bro. I’m telling you. Roy Harper’s gonna fumble, and I’m gonna be there to pick up the queens crown.”
Tim didn’t even look up, “You’re not ready for my sister, Reyes. She’ll eat you alive.”
Jaime grinned, “Maybe. Maybe not. But I am ready for my shot.”
💙🪲🖤🪲💙
The Wayne Foundation Gala sparkled the way Gotham never quite did. Crystal chandeliers, champagne fountains, a live quartet tucked beneath an archway of white roses. It was the kind of event that smelled like money and ambition, and Jaime Reyes had no business looking as confident as he did while walking into it.
He tugged at his borrowed tie, the Scarab muttering somewhere in the back of his head about proximity sensors and mission protocols. Jaime ignored it— because the mission tonight was you.
And there you were.
Standing beneath the flash of cameras at the grand staircase, pearls glinting against your throat, your gown flowing like poured light against your skin— a pale champagne color that made your skin glow. One hand rested on Bruce’s arm for the family photo; the other held a clutch that probably cost more than Jaime’s car.
You looked untouchable. And utterly, completely breathtaking.
Tim was off to the side, watching Jaime from the refreshment table, sipping his drink muttering to himself about wishful thinking and delusion.
Jaime couldn’t hear him. He was too busy trying to remember how to breathe.
You smiled for the cameras— that signature, graceful smile that made the press collectively swoon— and then, after Bruce and Dick were pulled aside by some board member, you stepped away from the lights. You looked utterly at ease, completely unsurprised that your date hadn’t shown yet.
You’d been here before. You knew Roy would arrive late, half-charming, chaotic, and you didn’t mind. You always looked like a woman who didn’t need anyone to arrive with her to own a room.
And that was exactly when Jaime decided to shoot his shot.
He smoothed his jacket, squared his shoulders, and walked over like he belonged. His heart pounding, smile bright, the definition of reckless optimism.
“Evening, Miss Wayne,” he said, trying to sound suave but coming off a touch breathless, “You clean up pretty good.”
You turned, already smiling politely before your gaze focused on him. Recognition sparked. “Jaime, I’m surprised. Tim usually doesn’t bring friends to these.”
He grinned, “That’s me. The friend who wormed an invite out of his friend, to come to a fancy party.”
That earned him a soft laugh, the kind that made his heart skip. “I see you survived another of his projects.”
“Barely. I think I earned a medal just for keeping up.” He leaned in slightly, voice lowering conspiratorially. “But, hey; totally worth it if it means getting to see this.”
You arched an eyebrow, amusement dancing across your face, “This?”
“You,” he said, without hesitation. “The dress. The whole thing. I mean— wow. If they were handing out awards for most stunning person in the room, the rest of us should just go home.”
You tilted your head, lips curving in that amused, practiced smile that said you’ve heard it all before, “Careful, Reyes. You’ll make a girl blush.”
“I can only try,” he shot back, grin widening. “So, uh, your date’s running late?”
You looked toward the doors like you already knew the answer, “He has a habit of it.”
“Roy Harper, right?” Jaime said it casually, like he wasn’t internally screaming that he’d remembered.
“Mhm. You know him?”
“By reputation,” Jaime said lightly, “Guy’s got style. Not as much as me, obviously, but…” He gestured vaguely to his suit. “I’m trying to represent El Paso, you know?”
That made you laugh— a real laugh this time, head tipping back just slightly. And Jaime? He would’ve died happy right there.
“You’re incorrigible,” you said, shaking your head.
He put a hand over his heart, feigning offense, “Hey, I’m just saying— if Harper’s gonna keep you waiting, I could fill in. Keep you company. Get you a drink. Dance a little. All in the name of charity, of course.”
“Of course,” you echoed, smiling like you were indulging a child.
Before you could answer, another round of flashes went off nearby— the press catching sight of you again. You turned instinctively toward the light, hand brushing your hair into place, the picture of poise.
Jaime just stood there, struck stupid by how effortlessly you commanded a room.
When the lights dimmed and the photographers moved on, you caught him staring.
He didn’t even try to hide it, “… Sorry,” he said softly, sincerity cutting through the charm, “You’re just… kinda hard to look away from.”
That made something flicker in your eyes— surprise, maybe, or the faintest warmth. You were used to being complimented, worshipped even, but this felt different. Less rehearsed. More… honest and sincere.
You smiled again, softer this time, “You really are something, Jaime.”
“I’ll take that as a good thing,” he said, smiling back.
“You should,” you teased, turning slightly as the orchestra began to play, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to greet a few people before Roy finally decides to make his grand entrance.”
“Right,” he said, stepping back, but still grinning, “Hey, if he stands you up completely… save me a dance, yeah?”
You paused mid-step, glancing back over your shoulder, that same teasing glimmer in your eyes.
“We’ll see.”
And then you were gone again, swallowed up by the glittering crowd, pearls catching the light.
Jaime stood there for a long moment, heart thudding, smile stupid and unstoppable.
Across the room, Tim watched him and groaned, “He’s in deeper than I thought.”
Dick raised his champagne flute beside him in solidarity, how many of his own friends had fallen into the trap that was their sister? “Poor kid never stood a chance.”
Tim nodded grimly, “Neither does she if he keeps looking at her like that.”
Next Chapter>>>
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