ʚɞ| You're an amazon (and currently beating his ass)

(req)

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

wasn’t a cocky person, at least, not in the loud, chest-thumping way people expected. Confidence, sure, but it lived quietly in the back of his mind. He’d never say it out loud, but he knew he was good in a fight. He’d trained under Batman, survived bruising lessons in discipline and precision. He’d gone toe-to-toe with metas and walked away standing more times than he could count. So when he stepped into the ring, he honestly thought this would be a piece of cake.

You were the newest addition to the Titans, sort of. was still in the process of figuring you out. An Amazon, and not just any Amazon either. You were friends with Donna, which immediately earned you a certain level of trust, but you hadn’t originally come looking to join the team. You’d sought Donna’s help with a task of your own, and somewhere between shared training sessions and an unexpected mission gone sideways, you’d caught ’s attention.

He’d done what he always did, ran a background check, watched how you moved, how you reacted under pressure. When you’d jumped in during that mission without hesitation, covering their flank like you’d been doing it for years, that had sealed it for him. You were disciplined, capable, and you didn’t hesitate when things got ugly. In his mind, you were a good fit for the team.

What he hadn’t really seen yet was how you fought.

Sure, your style shared the foundation of Amazonian combat, strong, grounded, efficient, but there was something else threaded through it. Something sharper. Less ceremonial, more adaptive. He didn’t clock it at first. That’s why he suggested a spar, stepping into the ring under the guise of “just surveying,” telling himself it was routine, nothing serious.

That was his mistake.

Twenty seconds in, his world flipped, literally. Before he could properly adjust to your rhythm, he was driven face-first into the mat, your grip firm but controlled, like you were deliberately holding back. The floor was cool against his cheek, and the realization hit him all at once.

This was embarrassing.

He’d been taken down in seconds. Cleanly. Efficiently. His dignity was somewhere behind him, and, distressingly, his ass was very much in the air. He could’ve sworn he caught the faintest smirk tugging at your lips, and that somehow made it worse.

“Okay,” he muttered through a grimace, “I did not see that playing out like this.”

You released him and stepped back, giving him the space to stand. pushed himself up, brushed imaginary dust from his uniform, and straightened like his pride hadn’t just been slammed into the mat. It took a second, but his composure settled back into place.

Then he smiled, his signature Grayson smile, equal parts charm and genuine admiration.

“You’re good,” he said, eyes sharp now, curiosity fully awake. “Where’d you learn how to do that?”