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Warnings: mutual pining, fake dating, suggestive content, making out, grinding, brief mentions of alcohol, Tim Drake being completely normal about the person he’s in love with
Summary:
Pretending to be Tim’s girlfriend should’ve been easy, especially when he already knew everything about you.
The problem was realizing how little of his boyfriend behavior was actually part of the act.
Author’s Note:
written for this anon's request for my 1k celebration
love me a dorky and obsessed tim. enjoy!
Tim asked you to be his girlfriend at 11:43 pm on a Tuesday night.
More specifically, he asked you to pretend to be his girlfriend for approximately four hours on Saturday while attending a private charity gala with him, because apparently that was the cleanest solution to an ongoing Red Robin investigation involving a Gotham investment executive, three shell corporations, and enough money disappearing into offshore accounts to keep even Tim awake longer than usual.
You were sitting sideways on his couch when he asked, one leg tucked beneath you and a mug of your favorite tea cooling between your hands. He’d been talking through the case for nearly twenty minutes before reaching the part where Graham Bellamy would be attending the gala alongside half the people Tim was expected to know as Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne.
“Red Robin can’t exactly walk up and ask what he’s doing with twelve million dollars,” Tim explained. “Tim Drake can get close enough to his phone to find out.”
You took another sip. “And having a girlfriend helps with that?”
“It gives me a reason to actually stay. I usually make an appearance at these things, donate whatever Bruce expects me to donate, and leave within half an hour. Showing up alone and suddenly spending the whole night around Bellamy would stand out.” Tim leaned back against the couch. “His wife is on the gala committee. She notices everyone.”
Unfortunately, your brain had gotten stuck on the part where you were supposed to be his girlfriend, even temporarily, and was now busy imagining what it would be like if Tim were asking you to be his girlfriend for real.
You’d had a crush on him for long enough that you’d stopped being able to identify when it had crossed from inconvenient into embarrassing. Somewhere between the nights spent helping him organize case notes at two in the morning and the afternoon he’d appeared at your apartment with your favorite takeout because you’d mentioned having a bad week, friendship had become something significantly less manageable.
You’d dealt with it by never saying anything. Tim, presumably, had dealt with it by either not noticing or being remarkably good at pretending he hadn’t.
“Sure,” you said.
His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Sure?”
“You need a fake girlfriend. I can fake being your girlfriend.”
The words came out with far more confidence than you felt, particularly when Tim’s attention settled fully on you. He stared for a second as though recalculating something, then nodded once.
“Okay.”
That should’ve been the end of it.
At 8:17 the next morning, Tim sent you a document titled Relationship Continuity Notes.
It was eleven pages long.
You opened it while standing in your kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil and initially assumed he’d accidentally attached something else. Then you reached the section labeled Public Timeline and understood that Tim Drake had apparently approached fake dating with the same degree of preparation he used for covert surveillance.
According to the document, you and Tim had been dating for four months. Since you’d actually been friends for years, there was no need to invent how you’d met or explain why you already knew so much about each other. The fabricated part began with your supposed first date at a small Italian restaurant outside Gotham, where the likelihood of running into photographers was lower, followed by becoming exclusive three weeks later. Two Wayne Foundation events you’d actually attended together as friends had been folded into the cover as discreet couple appearances, giving the relationship a public history without requiring either of you to invent one from scratch. The lack of public confirmation was intentional rather than suspicious.
There were sections covering likely questions, acceptable public displays of affection, subjects to redirect away from, and several possible explanations for why neither of you had posted about the relationship.
Tim had also included your preferred tea order.
You stared at that line for a while before continuing.
He’d noted that you didn’t drink coffee because it upset your stomach, that you didn’t drink alcohol, and that if someone ordered something for you, a sweet-tart mocktail would be the safest choice. He’d specified that strawberries were your favorite fruit, that you enjoyed raspberries and blackberries but disliked getting seeds stuck in your teeth, and that you liked kiwi despite being allergic to it.
There was even a note about oranges: likes flavor. Dislikes pith and sticky hands.
You called him.
Tim answered on the second ring. “Morning.”
“Why did you include the orange thing?”
A pause followed, short enough that anyone else might not have noticed it. “You hate pith.”
“I’m aware.”
“There’s fruit on the menu.”
You lowered the phone and looked at the ceiling before bringing it back to your ear. “You included fruit contingency planning.”
“It’s not contingency planning.”
“Then what is it?”
“Relevant information.”
You closed the document before discovering what else Tim considered relevant information before nine in the morning. “Eleven pages, Tim.”
“The last two are mostly reference material.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
He seemed genuinely puzzled by that assessment.
You should’ve known then that Saturday was going to be a problem.
The garment bag arrived at your apartment shortly after noon on Saturday.
You knew it was from Tim before checking the note because nobody else in your life would’ve sent something in packaging expensive enough to make you afraid of touching it with unwashed hands. Inside was a dress, carefully wrapped and unmistakably chosen for a Wayne-level event rather than anything already hanging in your closet.
It was also beautiful, which irritated you more than it should’ve.
You’d expected something generic, the sort of dress an assistant could order after being given your approximate size and the gala’s dress code. Instead, it looked like something you would’ve chosen for yourself if the price tag hadn’t made you immediately put it back. The fabric fell elegantly without feeling restrictive, formal enough for the ballroom Tim had described but comfortable enough that you wouldn’t spend the night worrying about moving incorrectly.
Then you tried it on.
You stood in front of the mirror for a very long time because it didn’t merely fit well enough to make do. The waist sat exactly where it should, the length worked with the shoes you’d planned to wear, and there wasn’t a single place where the fabric pinched or hung incorrectly.
You had never told Tim your measurements.
By Saturday evening, you’d developed approximately twelve explanations for how he’d gotten them, ranging from reasonable to criminal.
You were still debating which category was most likely when your phone buzzed.
I’m outside.
You glanced at the time.
Exactly seven.
Of course.
You told him to come up while you dug through your jewelry box for the earrings that matched the dress. He already knew how to get into the building; Tim had been to your apartment often enough that there was no reason to send him the code again.
The knock came two minutes later.
You grabbed your bag, crossed the apartment, and opened the door.
Tim forgot whatever he’d been about to say.
His mouth opened, but nothing came out. One hand remained slightly raised as though he’d been about to adjust his cuff, while his gaze moved over you before returning abruptly to your face.
You waited, but Tim Drake, who could fill silence during interrogations, board meetings, and conversations with Batman when Bruce had decided monosyllables constituted communication, continued saying absolutely nothing. The pause lasted long enough for nerves to creep in.
“Is something wrong?”
“No.” The answer came quickly enough to nearly overlap your question, and Tim blinked as though realizing that saying nothing else might actually be worse. “You look…”
His gaze dipped again despite himself.
“You look beautiful.”
Something warm and dangerous unfurled beneath your ribs. Tim complimented you sometimes, usually with the same straightforward sincerity he applied to everything else, but this wasn’t like that. He looked genuinely startled by you.
“Thanks,” you managed.
His hand finally completed its journey to his cuff. “The dress fits?”
The warmth inside you faltered.
Slowly, you looked down at yourself before lifting your eyes back to him. “Tim.”
His expression changed immediately.
“How did you know this would fit?”
“I estimated.”
“My measurements?”
His attention flicked toward the elevator as though briefly considering whether the mission gave him grounds to retreat. When you crossed your arms, he sighed.
“I know what sizes you usually wear.”
“How?”
“You leave clothes at my apartment.”
“One sweatshirt.”
“Two.”
“That still doesn’t explain this.”
“You’ve complained about sizing before. I know which brands run small on you, and you mentioned having to size up in one of them because the cut was wrong through the—”
He stopped, and when you stared at him, Tim had the decency to look faintly uncomfortable.
“You were going to say bust.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You absolutely were.”
“It was relevant to the estimate.”
“You reverse-engineered my measurements.”
“I estimated them.”
“The dress fits like it was tailored.”
“I allowed for some—”
You pointed at him. “Do not say margin of error right now.”
His mouth closed.
For perhaps the first time since you’d met him, you won an argument because Tim had apparently determined that continuing it posed an unacceptable operational risk. Instead, he held out his hand.
“Ready?”
You looked down at it.
You’d held Tim’s hand before. He’d pulled you through crowds, steadied you on icy sidewalks, and once kept your fingers trapped loosely in his while falling asleep on your couch after thirty-six hours awake.
This was different because both of you knew what it was supposed to mean.
You slipped your hand into his, and Tim’s fingers closed around yours. His thumb brushed once over your knuckles before he seemed to notice himself doing it.
Tim’s car was waiting downstairs. It wasn’t a limousine, which you appreciated, although it was still polished enough that the doorman watched the two of you with obvious interest when Tim opened the passenger door for you.
You settled into the seat and immediately noticed a pair of flats on the floor.
Your size.
You turned toward Tim, but he was already walking around the front of the car, leaving you several seconds to contemplate the implications before he climbed behind the wheel.
“You brought backup shoes.”
“You hate wearing heels for more than a few hours.”
“I don’t remember telling you my shoe size.”
“You ordered sneakers from my laptop once.”
Of course you had.
You decided not to ask whether Tim remembered the credit card number too.
The first twenty minutes of the drive passed easily enough. Tim reviewed the broad points of the investigation without drowning you in details, which suggested he’d actually listened the previous three times you told him that you didn’t need to understand the corporate structure of every criminal organization he investigated.
Bellamy was moving money for someone, and the encrypted work phone tied to the transfers would be locked in the private hospitality suite he was using as an office for the evening. Tim needed several uninterrupted minutes with it to clone the contents and confirm who was on the other end of the transactions.
Your role, operationally speaking, was mostly decorative.
“Comforting,” you said.
“I mean for the investigation.”
“Much better.”
Tim’s mouth twitched.
You were searching the center console for a charging cable when your hand closed around a familiar foil packet.
You pulled it out.
Lactaid.
There were several more underneath it.
You turned slowly toward Tim, who kept his eyes on the road.
“Why do you have this much Lactaid in your car?”
“You’re lactose intolerant.”
“I know why I have Lactaid. Why do you have enough to supply a small restaurant?”
“There’s more at my apartment.”
You stared at him.
“That was not the reassuring answer you thought it was.”
“You keep forgetting to buy it.”
“So you stock it?”
“You keep eating dairy.”
“Because cheese is worth suffering for.”
“Which is why I keep Lactaid.”
The logic was maddeningly circular.
You dropped the packets back into the console and tried very hard not to think about the fact that Tim apparently planned for your potential consumption of pizza even when you weren’t around.
The gala occupied three floors of one of Gotham’s older hotels, all restored marble and enormous windows overlooking the river. Tim’s hand settled against the small of your back when you entered, warm through the fabric of your dress, and remained there as you moved through the crowd.
You reminded yourself that it was part of the cover.
That reminder became less useful when his thumb shifted gently whenever someone passed too close behind you.
Mrs. Bellamy found you within ten minutes.
She was charming, curious, and devastatingly pleased by the discovery that Tim Drake had apparently been hiding a relationship from Gotham society for four months. It made immediate sense why Tim had described her as someone who noticed everyone. She remembered you from previous Wayne events and apparently kept track of how rarely Tim brought a date with him.
“How did you finally convince him to stay at one of these things for longer than half an hour?” she asked.
You smiled. “I threatened to start telling people he made me up.”
Tim looked down at you. “You said you wouldn’t use that.”
“It was in one of the appendices.”
Mrs. Bellamy laughed, and Tim’s expression softened enough to sell the joke.
You wished your heart would stop interpreting every useful piece of undercover behavior as evidence.
A server approached with champagne. You’d barely opened your mouth before Tim shook his head politely and took a glass of sparkling water for himself.
“She doesn’t drink.”
The server nodded and moved on.
Mrs. Bellamy looked between you. “Nothing at all?”
“Not really,” you said.
“There’s a bar in the east room,” Tim added, his hand still resting at your back. “They’re doing mocktails.”
You glanced at him. “You checked?”
“The menu was included with the invitation.”
Of course it was.
Twenty minutes later, while you spoke with a Wayne Foundation donor you vaguely remembered meeting once before, Tim excused himself to speak with Bellamy. Their conversation lasted several minutes before Tim broke away and headed back toward you, stopping at the bar along the way. By the time he reached your side, he was carrying a glass that he placed into your hand without interrupting your conversation.
The drink was citrus and berry, sweet enough to be enjoyable but tart enough to keep it from becoming syrupy. You waited until the donor moved away before looking at Tim.
“You ordered for me.”
“You were busy.”
“You remembered.”
He glanced at the glass. “Of course I remembered.”
You took another sip, trying not to read too much into how easily he said it.
His attention lingered on your mouth for a moment too long.
The next hour passed in a collection of increasingly dangerous little moments. Tim guided you around a photographer without breaking conversation, noticed when you started shifting your weight because of your shoes and steered you toward a chair before you said anything, and moved a small dish containing kiwi garnish away from your place setting before you’d fully registered it was there.
When dessert arrived, Tim traded two of his strawberries for the raspberries on your plate without asking. You liked raspberries, but you hated spending the rest of the evening wondering whether there were seeds caught in your teeth, and apparently Tim had filed that away alongside everything else.
You looked at him.
He was already eating one of the raspberries as though the exchange required no explanation.
There was something deeply unfair about loving someone who could make quiet care look so automatic. You’d spent years telling yourself that Tim was simply observant. He remembered things because remembering was what his brain did. He tracked information other people let slip away, stored details, and built patterns from scraps.
Maybe none of this meant anything.
Then Mrs. Bellamy returned.
She glanced at your plate before looking toward Tim with an amused expression. “You know, I was wondering when this would happen.”
Tim paused. “What?”
“You two.”
You nearly choked on your drink.
Mrs. Bellamy seemed not to notice. “I met her at the museum benefit last year, remember? You spent half the evening making sure she wasn’t getting trapped by that dreadful man from the zoning board.”
Tim went very still beside you.
You remembered that benefit.
You hadn’t known he was watching.
Mrs. Bellamy smiled at you. “He looked ready to climb over the table every time the poor man tried to talk to you.”
“He was annoying,” Tim said.
“He was seventy.”
“That didn’t make him less annoying.”
Her laughter drew the attention of someone nearby, but you barely heard it. Mrs. Bellamy tilted her head, looking between the two of you with far too much interest.
“So what finally did it?”
Tim’s fingers tightened fractionally around his glass. “What finally did what?”
“Made you realize.”
The easy answer was sitting right there.
He could’ve referred to the fake timeline. Four months ago, dinner outside Gotham, friendship becoming something else. You’d rehearsed all of it.
Instead, Tim looked at you.
For a second, the room seemed to thin around the edges.
“There wasn’t really a moment,” he said quietly. “I think I was already there before I knew what to call it.”
Your breath caught.
Tim seemed to realize what he’d admitted at the same moment you did.
Mrs. Bellamy’s expression softened into something almost unbearably knowing, but someone called her name from the other side of the table before she could say anything else. She excused herself, leaving you and Tim sitting in a silence neither of you seemed prepared to touch.
He looked away first.
You didn’t mention it.
Neither did he.
Near the end of dinner, Tim excused himself to take what everyone else believed was a phone call. He was gone for seven minutes, long enough to clone Bellamy’s phone and just long enough for Bellamy’s security chief to start wondering where Timothy Drake had disappeared to.
You noticed the man watching shortly after Tim returned.
Tim noticed you noticing.
His posture didn’t change as he touched lightly at your elbow and guided you out of the dining room toward the quieter gallery overlooking the ballroom. You kept smiling as though this was nothing more than a boyfriend deciding he’d had enough of crowded tables.
“Problem?” you murmured.
“Maybe.”
Tim’s hand slid into yours.
Several couples stood along the gallery railing, far enough apart to provide the illusion of privacy. Bellamy’s security chief followed at enough of a distance to pretend he hadn’t.
“He doesn’t know where I went,” Tim said, leaning close enough that anyone watching would assume the conversation was private for entirely different reasons. “He saw me coming back from this wing. I need him to think I was checking whether the gallery was private enough before I brought you up here, not coming from Bellamy’s suite.”
You glanced toward the security chief without turning your head. “And how are we convincing him of that?”
Tim’s gaze dropped toward your mouth.
Understanding arrived in a rush.
“Oh.”
His expression changed immediately. “We don’t have to.”
You loved him a little more for that, which felt deeply inconvenient under the circumstances.
“You’re asking permission to kiss your fake girlfriend.”
“I’m asking permission to kiss you.”
The distinction landed somewhere beneath your ribs.
You nodded.
Tim gave you enough time to change your mind anyway before releasing your hand, cupping your jaw, and kissing you.
Everything about the first second was careful: the gentle pressure of his mouth, the way his fingers rested against your cheek without pulling you closer, the controlled angle that would look convincing from across the gallery without turning into something neither of you could take back. He clearly meant it to be brief.
Then you kissed him back.
Tim forgot the plan.
His hand shifted into your hair while the other moved around your waist, drawing you closer until your hand caught against the front of his jacket. His mouth parted against yours, and suddenly there was very little controlled about the way he kissed you except the obvious effort he was making not to lose control completely.
You’d imagined kissing Tim before.
Your imagination had been embarrassingly inadequate.
The kiss deepened for one dangerous moment before Tim seemed to remember where you were. He pulled back slowly, his forehead nearly touching yours, and neither of you was breathing quite steadily.
Footsteps moved away behind you.
Tim stared at you.
“Did it work?” you whispered.
His eyes remained fixed on your mouth. “What?”
You almost laughed. “The cover.”
“Right.”
He blinked and looked toward the entrance.
The security chief was gone.
“Yeah.”
Neither of you moved apart. Tim’s hand was still at your waist, and you were still holding his jacket when his thumb moved once against your side.
“We should go downstairs.”
“Probably.”
You stayed there another several seconds.
The rest of the mission went smoothly, which felt offensive considering the state of your nervous system.
Barbara confirmed that Tim had gotten what he needed from Bellamy’s phone, and he spent the final forty minutes of the gala behaving as though he hadn’t just kissed you hard enough to make you forget the name of the person you were supposedly helping him investigate.
Except he kept touching you.
His hand found yours more often than the cover required. When he leaned close to speak, his breath warmed your ear and sent heat down your spine. At one point, while Bellamy spoke to someone across the table, Tim rested his hand on your knee beneath the linen.
Nobody could see it.
That was the problem.
His palm was warm through your dress, fingers spread just above your knee. When your leg shifted instinctively toward him, Tim’s attention snapped to your face.
Neither of you said anything.
His hand remained there.
By the time you left, you were fairly certain pretending to date Tim Drake was actively shortening your lifespan.
When he asked if you wanted to come back to his apartment while Barbara finished processing the copied data, you agreed before good judgment could intervene. Your heels had already been abandoned for the flats waiting in his car, and by the time you followed Tim inside and dropped your shoes beside the door, the gala already felt much farther away than it actually was.
Tim loosened his tie as he followed you toward the kitchen. “Want something to eat?”
“Eventually.”
“I have pasta.”
“With cheese?”
“Obviously.”
“Do you have—”
“Second drawer.”
You opened it.
There was an unopened box of Lactaid.
Underneath it sat another.
You stared into the drawer before slowly looking back at him. “Why do you have two boxes?”
“You go through it faster than I expected.”
“So you bought more?”
“The next shipment isn’t until the end of the month.”
You stopped.
“The next what?”
Tim went suspiciously quiet.
“You have a Lactaid subscription.”
“It’s cheaper that way.”
You put the box down very carefully.
Something about tonight had finally pushed you beyond your ability to accept Tim’s explanations at face value.
There were oranges in the fruit bowl on his counter. You reached for one, and Tim held out his hand before you’d even started peeling it.
“Give it to me.”
You looked at his hand, then at him.
Slowly, you passed him the orange.
Tim started peeling it with the practiced ease of someone who’d done this for you too many times to consider it remarkable. Once the skin was gone, he began methodically stripping away the white pith.
You watched him until he finally looked up.
“What?”
“You peel oranges for me.”
“You hate doing it.”
“That isn’t an explanation.”
“It’s literally the explanation.”
“You remove all the pith.”
“You think it’s bitter.”
“You have a Lactaid subscription.”
“That’s unrelated.”
“You sent me a dress in the right size without asking for my measurements. You bought emergency flats in my size, know my tea order, moved kiwi away from me before I saw it, brought me exactly the kind of mocktail I like, and traded me your strawberries because you knew I’d want them more.”
Tim stopped peeling.
You took a breath.
“You wrote eleven pages about how to pretend to be my boyfriend, and most of your preparation was just knowing me.”
Silence settled over the kitchen.
Tim looked down at the orange in his hands, and for once, he didn’t have an immediate rebuttal.
Your heartbeat had climbed high enough that you could feel it in your throat, but you’d already started and couldn’t imagine surviving another year of pretending you didn’t see what was happening between you.
“You said you always notice me.”
His fingers tightened slightly around the peel.
“At the gala.”
“I know.”
“Was that part of the cover?”
Tim looked at you. “No.”
The answer was quiet.
You swallowed. “Was the kiss?”
His expression tightened. “It started that way.”
Something inside you tipped.
Tim set the orange down.
“I knew I liked you,” he said before you could ask another question. “That isn’t something I figured out tonight.”
You hadn’t expected honesty to knock the air out of you quite so efficiently.
“How long?”
He exhaled through his nose. “Does it matter?”
“Considering you have Lactaid delivered to your apartment because I refuse to stop eating pizza, I think I’m allowed to ask.”
A faint flush reached his face. “That started eight months ago.”
“The subscription or the feelings?”
“The subscription.”
Despite everything, you laughed.
Tim’s mouth curved briefly before the expression faded. “The feelings were before that.”
“How far before?”
He leaned back against the counter, looking suddenly more uncertain than he had while sneaking into Bellamy’s suite earlier.
“I don’t know exactly.”
That might’ve been the most convincing proof he could’ve offered. Tim knew dates and timelines; if he couldn’t identify when friendship had become love, it was because there hadn’t been a clean boundary to mark.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
His eyes dropped. “Because you were already there.”
You frowned.
“In my life,” he clarified. “I already had you. Telling you meant I could lose that.”
The softness of it hurt more than anything dramatic could have.
You stepped closer, and Tim watched you carefully.
“I said yes to tonight too fast.”
“I noticed.”
“Of course you did.”
His mouth twitched.
You stopped in front of him, close enough to catch the faint trace of his cologne. “I said yes because I wanted to know what it would feel like.”
His gaze sharpened. “To what?”
“Date you.”
Tim went very still.
This time, you enjoyed being the reason.
“You could’ve told me,” he said eventually.
You stared at him. “You made an eleven-page document instead of telling me.”
“Technically, nine pages.”
“Tim.”
“The appendices were supporting material.”
You caught his loosened tie and pulled him toward you.
Tim stopped talking.
His eyes dropped to your mouth. “Can I kiss you?”
The question warmed you all over despite the fact that you were already holding him by his tie.
“There’s nobody watching.”
“I know.”
“So you don’t need to.”
“I know.”
You smiled.
Tim’s hand settled carefully at your waist.
“Then yes.”
The second kiss was nothing like the first because there was no audience to convince and no security chief to fool. Tim kissed you slowly at first, as though allowing both of you time to understand that this was real, before your fingers tightened around his tie and patience became significantly less important.
His mouth moved against yours with enough hunger to make your knees feel unreliable. You caught yourself against his shoulders, and Tim’s hands slid around your waist, drawing you against him until there wasn’t room left for the careful distance you’d maintained for years.
When you kissed him harder, a quiet sound escaped him.
That seemed to ruin what remained of his restraint.
Tim turned you until your back met the counter, one hand braced beside you while the other slipped beneath the loose fall of your hair to cup the back of your neck. His mouth moved from yours to your jaw, then lower, pressing warm kisses along your throat while you tried to remember why you’d ever thought pretending to date him for four hours was survivable.
Your fingers slid into his hair, and Tim’s breath caught against your skin.
“You’re wearing the dress I picked,” he murmured.
“You just noticed?”
“I definitely noticed.”
You laughed softly, but his mouth returned to yours before you could say anything else.
The edge of the counter pressed against your hips. When you shifted onto it, Tim stepped naturally between your knees, his hands settling at your waist as the fabric of the dress gathered slightly beneath his fingers.
The kiss became messier.
Your hands moved beneath his jacket, feeling the heat of him through his shirt, and Tim’s thigh pressed between yours when you pulled him closer. The friction sent a sharp rush through you that made your breath catch against his mouth.
Tim stilled.
You knew immediately it wasn’t because he wanted to stop; the way his forehead dropped against yours made that painfully obvious.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
His eyes closed for a moment. “You’re making it really difficult to remember I wanted to take you on an actual date before we got this far.”
A smile tugged at your mouth. “You were doing a pretty convincing impression for four months.”
“I know. I’d like one that isn’t in an eleven-page document.”
You kissed him again, softer this time. Tim followed when you drew back, stealing another brief kiss before resting his forehead against yours.
There was something unexpectedly tender about the quiet that followed. His tie hung loose between you, your lipstick was definitely ruined, and his hair had stopped resembling anything appropriate for a gala several kisses ago. The skin along your throat still tingled from his mouth.
Still, Tim looked happier than you’d seen him all night.
His phone buzzed on the counter.
Neither of you moved.
It buzzed again.
“Barbara?” you asked.
“Probably.”
“You should check.”
“I’m considering becoming irresponsible.”
You smiled. “Dangerous.”
“Very.”
Eventually, Tim reached for his phone without moving away from you.
Barbara had finished processing the data. Bellamy’s connection was confirmed, everything necessary had been forwarded to the appropriate people, and Tim was officially done working for the night.
He put the phone facedown.
You glanced toward the forgotten orange. “Are you going to finish peeling that?”
Tim looked at it, then at you. “Yes.”
He stepped back just far enough to retrieve it, finished peeling the orange, and separated it into segments before handing you one.
You took it. “You know this is boyfriend behavior.”
“I’m starting to understand that.”
“You have a subscription.”
“I’ll give you that one.”
“And the dress?”
His gaze traveled over you again.
This time, he didn’t pretend otherwise.
“I’m keeping my defense on the dress.”
“Which is?”
“I picked it because I knew you’d look beautiful in it.”
Heat crept into your face.
Tim looked pleased with himself for approximately three seconds before reaching for his phone again.
You narrowed your eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s your lying voice.”
“I don’t have a lying voice.”
“You absolutely have a lying voice.”
You leaned closer.
An Italian restaurant was open on his screen.
Of course it was.
“Tim.”
“What?”
“We’ve been dating for real for less than an hour.”
He glanced at the clock. “Forty-three minutes.”
You laughed hard enough that you nearly dropped your orange.
Tim smiled and reached for another segment, peeling away a final stubborn thread of pith before holding it out to you.
“So,” he said, “Tuesday?”
You ate the orange from his fingers. “Only if there’s pizza.”
“There can be pizza.”
“You’re supplying the Lactaid.”
“I think we’ve established that.”
You looked at the man who had spent years memorizing your preferences, stocking his apartment for you, peeling your oranges, keeping your favorite tea in his kitchen, and somehow convincing himself all of it belonged safely beneath the heading of friendship.
Then you caught his tie again.
“Fine.”
Tim leaned into you before you’d even finished pulling him closer.
Summary: Waking up in an empty bed again results with you taking a trip to the rooftop of your building, searching for your boyfriend in order to pull him out of his grief.
Pairing: Dick Grayson x gn!Reader
Word Count: 1.3k
Content Warning: Angst, grief, hallucijason, cursing, dick blaming himself, no use of y/n, second person, not beta read, no pronouns used but written with fem!reader in mind
A/N: someone take mitski away from me because this was the result of me listening to her new album on repeat... but as always, I hope you enjoy <3
"I'm sorry," a sob cracks through the air. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you."
Sitting on the edge of the rooftop barely holding himself together, was your boyfriend- Richard Grayson. One of his legs is dangling over the edge, while the other is pulled against his chest. He's staring at the spot next to him in horror, apologizing to the air.
You found him like this more times than you cared to admit. It'd often be closer to midnight, but not quite the early mornings he found comfort in. When the episodes started, they began with him getting out of bed and splashing his face with cold water. Then if it didn't work, he spent twenty minutes in the kitchen attempting -and failing- to drink a glass of milk. Once he had enough of the grounding techniques all the resources he'd looked for had given him, he'd drown in his guilt while walking out the front door.
Usually, you gave him half an hour, sometimes he just needed the fresh air to calm down. There were a few times he'd walk back in after fifteen minutes with tear-stained cheeks. You'd lift the blanket without question, and he curled into your for the rest of the night. He never admitted it, but you knew he got claustrophobic in his own body when the grief hit him. He was never skilled at crying in front of anyone, even you, so you gave him some privacy. A chance to self-regulate.
Some nights however, you joined him if you were too worried to give him space. You genuinely tried to let him have the moments he needed alone. Yet, when your boyfriend of three years spends every nights thrashing in bed and screaming apologies in his sleep, it's difficult to let him wander to the roof by himself. He may have spent his life trying to catch everyone, but who would catch him?
After thirty minutes passed without him returning to the apartment, you had to go get him; because it only meant one thing.
He was hallucinating.
The guilt of being off world mixed in the bowl of not being able to save his little brother, created a recipe that almost killed him. You'd watched the love of your life collapse in on himself with grief, and not be able to do a thing about it.
Every day was a battle to keep him from losing himself and to cope, his body started creating hallucinations of the poor boy.
Dick told you about it sometimes. He'd sit on the rooftop and see the smile of his little brother, always with wings and a halo, because Jason Todd was an angel from the heavens. The hallucinations would start like the normal Jason; a regular conversation about school or books or complaining about Bruce, and then it would shift into something darker.
The ghost of Jason Todd would ask why Dick didn't save him? Why was his duty to the Titans more important? Why did he let him die? Why did he leave him alone in Gotham? Why didn't he avenge him?
They were the questions that Dick racked in his head over and over again. You recognized them as the reasons he used to blame himself.
Carefully, the stars watch you close the door that leads to the stairs behind you. With a soft click, you turn around to see his whole body being to convulse with sobs. You didn't think it was possible, but your heart hurt in the cage of your ribs while watching him. It throbbed with a pain that had no antidote.
One of the worst parts about losing Jason, was learning to live after. While his life may have met an untimely end, none of yours did. You all had to get up, and continue going about your days; carrying on at work, making lists for the grocery store, getting stuck in rush hour traffic, calling your friends, paying bills.
Because unfortunately, the Earth still spun and the Sun still burned, even as the brightest star made his abrupt return to the sky.
It was sick and twisted. One final "fuck you" the universe sent your way, as if you hadn't gone through enough.
Dick doesn't hear you as your steps grow closer to him. The soft slap of your shoes on the roof don't reach him, while his mind works against him in the form of the late boy wonder. At one point in the few steps it took to reach him, he must've felt your presence over the storm of his emotions. Because when you settle next to him on the ledge, he's not surprised.
You take a careful seat, the cement was as rough as it was three nights ago when you were last here. Your hands grip the edge as you tune your body to him. He's hunched over, shielding his face from the world, almost in the innocent way a child does when they play hide-and-seek for the first time. If he doesn't see the world, then it won't perceive him.
A few minutes pass in that state. You allow him to get all the tears out, emptying his system before you make a move. The moment his sobs turned dry, you move a hand to his back, rubbing feather light circles through the cotton t-shirt.
"Dick, honey," your words are quiet in the break of a new day.
He doesn't say anything back, but when his body leans in to you, it's the only response you need.
Your arms find a way around his shoulders, caging him in the safety of your embrace. His face remains buried in the palm of his hands, attempting to preserve the river of memories in them. He hasn't glanced back at the spot on the ledge that's haunting him yet, and you take it as a small win. Your half tempted to keep his head in his hands just so that he won't.
Trying to find another way to ground him, you bury your face in his hair as a distraction. Pressing small kisses to the side of his head, to give him something else to focus his thoughts on .
He keeps repeating variations of broken "I'm sorry's" into his fingers. Your eyes squeeze shut with his. These nights were never easy to watch. His irises went from the bubbly blue you fell in love with, to a hurricane gray with no eye in sight. Witnessing him break was a curse in of itself. It wasn't controlled, it wasn't healthy, and it wasn't pretty.
Because when Dick Grayson broke, it was into a million pieces.
The first time he did, he was convinced you were going to leave him. That you wouldn't stay for a side that wasn't charismatic, that the idea of him being a complex person was too much for you. So when you made him a glass of strawberry milk and sat with him in his nightmare, he broke down even harder.
"It's not your fault." you whisper into his ink-colored curls.
You're not sure whether or not he heard you over the hell he's experiencing behind his eyes, but you don't stop.
"It's not your fault." you try again to no avail.
You learned early on that the nights were always the hardest for him.
"It's not your fault." one of your hands travels up to his hair, brushing through it.
His better memories with Jason were in the wake of patrol, with a burger on a rooftop or a giggle fit in the cave.
"It's not your fault." he sobs harder.
Jason Peter Todd was the first brother Dick ever had, and he let him down.
"It's not your fault." his hands leave his face to wrap around you like a lifeline.
The life and death of Jason Todd was something that he would never forgive himself for, even if he only ever tried to make it better.
"It's not your fault." he buries his face in the crook of your neck and clings to you like you'll blame him too.
If his grief meant you had to spend every night helping him find a light in the darkness, than so be it.
"It's not your fault."
Because it was finally time for someone to catch Dick Grayson.
tim drake x fem!reader, fluff, smut-ish, MDNI PLEASE, he’s kinda mean but cute
“Ugh!” You groaned loudly and pushed your books away in complete exhaustion and annoyance, which made your boyfriend to look away from his own work and towards you instead.
“What’s wrong?” He frowned as he turned around on his desk chair to see you covering your face in frustration.
“I’m gonna fail,” you replied.
“You won’t fail,” Tim replied with a small chuckle.
“Yes I will,” you uncovered your face and saw his pale blue eyes fixated on your scattered form. “I can’t even memorise the bones Tim! How am I supposed to become a doctor?”
“Do you want me to hack into the system and get you the exam?” He offered. And meant it too.
“Tim,” you groaned and fell back against his plush and expensive pillows that felt more like clouds.
“Sweetheart,” he took a deep breath. You heard the soft click of his computer being shut down before the bed dipped next to you. “I’ll help. Come on,” he coaxed.
“No. Leave me here to die,” you whined and grabbed a pillow to push your face in.
“Sit up,” Tim chuckled and pulled you up in a seated position. “I’ll offer you a deal.”
“What deal?” You narrowed your eyes at him in suspicion.
“One kiss for each correct answer,” Tim replied with a smug smile. “Except I take it up a notch each time until you get them all right and then you let me eat you out.”
“You’re bribing me with oral sex so I can study?” You scoffed. “You drive a hard bargain Mister Drake.”
“My girlfriend’s just a little obsessed with my mouth, no big deal. Of course I’ll start from the beginning if you get one wrong,” he shrugged like he was just listing his favourite study methods. “Let’s start!”
“Okay…” you replied, still a bit apprehensive but he didn’t even give you enough time to even think about it.
“Mandible?” He asked, flipping through the flash cards.
“On the chin,” you replied and pointed towards your own.
“Good job,” Tim smiled and gave you a quick peck on the cheek.
“That wasn’t very rewarding,” you rolled your eyes.
“Hush,” he chided. “Humerus?”
“Um,” you said. “Above the elbow?”
“Correct, see you’re so smart,” Tim smiled again and this time he gave you a kiss on the forehead. “Ulna?”
“Below the elbow,” you replied confidently.
“Correct again,” he nodded his head and pressed his lips against yours for a fleeting kiss that you tried to deepen by looping your hands around his neck but he pulled away just as you were about to bite his lower lip. “Back to work ma’am.”
“You’re annoying,” you scoffed again.
“Tibia?”
“Below the knee?” You asked, not entirely sure.
“Yep,” he replied and reached forward to pull your shirt down to expose your collarbones before sucking a hickey right there.
“Tim,” you whimpered suddenly, “give me a warning.”
He trailed his kiss up to the right before murmuring against your skin, “What’s this one called?”
“Huh?” You breathed out shakily.
“This bone, right here,” he repeated and slowly brushed his fingers over your bare skin, causing you to shudder. “Come on baby, clock’s ticking.”
“Um,” you swallowed thickly as his hot lips kept pressing wet kisses all over your collarbones, leaving your mind hazy and void of any thought but his mouth on you. “Clavicle?”
“You’re so smart,” he breathed out and reached upwards, his nose tickling the side of your ear. “And this one right here?” He asked, trailing his fingers under your shirt until his hand was splaying flat on your ribs.
“Tim,” you murmured his name again and fell back on the bed, Tim easily falling over you.
“Hmm?” He hummed in your ear. “You want to stop studying?”
“No!” You almost yelled. “Erm they’re my ribs.”
“And this?” He added, trailing his warm hand even closer to your breasts.
“Fuck,” you cursed under your breath and squirmed under him.
“Mhm,” he chuckled in your ear before raising his face to look down at you. “I don’t think that’s right sweetheart.”
“Fuck you,” you spat when his fingers came dangerously close to your left nipple.
“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. “You’ll get to. Once you tell me what this bone is called,” he gave you a cold smile and trailed his knuckles up and down your chest.
“God,” you took a shaky breath and raised your hips.
“Five seconds or we start over,” he whispered in your ear. “One, two…”
“Sternum,” you whimpered.
“Good girl,” he kissed the tip of your ear.
“I hate you,” you managed to speak.
“Uh huh,” he drawled lazily and gazed into your eyes for a few seconds without moving.
“Timmy?” You raised an eyebrow.
Within the second, your body was being flipped over like a pancake. You were now on your stomach with Tim right behind you on his knees –a position you’ve been in many many times with a lot less clothes.
“Tim!” You gasped.
“Focus,” he leaned down to speak directly in your ear. He gathered your hair and pushed it aside on your shoulder so he could plant a languid kiss to the back of your neck, causing your whole body to shut down. Jackass. “What’s this one?”
“Spinal cord,” you said in a muffled voice.
“Gonna have to be a bit more specific angel,” He added, fingers now brushing the hem of your tank top like he wanted to take it off already but was holding himself still.
“C-Cervical vertebrae?” You moaned out when he ground his hips against your ass.
“Perfect,” he whispered and pushed your top upwards to expose your lower back and hips.
“Tim you’re being mean,” you almost whined when he put his weight down on your lower body to keep you from grounding your ass against him.
“Am I?” He rasped, reaching forward so that his cheek was now pressed against yours. “I just want you to pass angel, you’ve been working so hard.”
“You’re bribing me with sex,” you scoffed.
“No, I’m helping you study and you’re giving me attitude instead of being thankful,” he murmured in a deep voice laced with desire. “Now, lay there and answer when I ask you a question or you’ll have to stay here like this while I get myself off and you won’t get to touch.”
You nodded your head, which was apparently the wrong move.
“Words,” he gritted and ground his erection against you.
“I understand,” you nodded quickly.
“Good girl,” Tim pressed a slow kiss to your cheek before he pressed his thumb to the middle part of your lower back. “What’s this called?”
“Vertebral column?” You squeaked.
“No, I’ll give you another chance.”
“Give me a hint,” you said but when he didn’t reply, you craned your head to the side to look at him with pleading eyes. “Please?”
“Starts with an I,” he relented. He was still half an inch away from your face and you could see his blue eyes turned black with desire laced with something else you couldn’t tell.
Control had always been his main focus in everything. And it didn’t stop in the bedroom either, you were used to him taking control and setting things at his pace. But right now he looked intoxicated with it like he had nothing but desire for you on his mind.
“Ilium?” You whispered.
“Hmm,” he hummed and flipped you over again just as swiftly as he had done mere minutes ago. He was on top of you, balancing his weight with just one hand while the other roamed around your body, waiting to choose which bone to pick.
It had you drenched within a second. And he knew it too.
You raised your hips to grind against his ever growing erection in his pants but he shut you down again by pressing your hips down with his.
“Behave,” he warned.
“Let’s take a break,” you offered with a teasing smile and trailed your index finger down his chest.
“You have an exam tomorrow,” he swallowed like even his restraint was wearing thin. “We are not doing anything until you answer all your questions.”
“Tim,” you whined and reached your hands forward to grab his shirt in utter impatience. “At least take this off. I need motivation,” you demanded much like a child.
He stared at you for a beat like he was considering your offer. “Fine,” he said at last and pulled his shirt over his head, exposing all his hard muscles and those gorgeously sculpted abs.
Honestly who needed anatomy diagrams when your boyfriend was built like that?
“Now take off my pants and fuck me,” you said, knowing full well he had no plans of doing any of that but trying your luck anyway.
“Nice try,” he chuckled at your pathetic attempt. “Back to work,” he announced and reached lower to your bare knee before raising his eyebrow at you.
“Patella, everyone knows that,” you rolled your eyes and replied with a slight scoff.
“Once again, without the attitude,” he warned and pinched the side of your hip.
“Patella,” you repeated.
“As promised,” he muttered to himself and leaned down to press a kiss to each of your nipples through your shirt.
“God you’re killing me,” you moaned, feeling yourself getting even wetter.
He ignored your attempts at practically humping him and went back to casually quizzing you like he wasn’t shirtless on top of you, pinning your body down.
You wanted to kill him.
“What do we call this one?” He asked and brushed his fingers slowly up your knee along your thigh.
Asshole knew how sensitive the skin of your thighs was, how you always either giggled or moaned –depending on the context– each time he touched you there.
Rights now the context in your head was flooded with images of him fucking you on his expensive bed until your voice gave away.
“Tim,” you whimpered in a shaky voice as his fingers moved up and down with the softest touch on your inner thigh. “God please, I want you.”
“You’ll have me baby,” he flashed his teeth in a sweet grin like his eyes weren’t darker than the night sky filled with lewd thoughts about you. “Answer me first, what do we call this bone?”
“F-femur…”
“See how amazing you are?” Tim asked and slowly took your top off, leaving you in a bra and shorts. “You’re so close lovely,” he murmured and pressed a kiss right between your breasts.
Your whole body lit up with fire. He could probably even feel how hot you were right now but he didn’t do a damn thing about it.
His free hand that wasn’t holding his weight up on top of you, came to your lips. He brushed your bottom lip for a second with gentle fingers, coaxing you to open your mouth.
He parted your lips wider with his index finger and before you could even think, his index and middle finger were inserting themselves in your mouth.
Every time he swiped his fingers forward, your lips touched the cold metal of his ring he wore on his middle finger, making the whole thing even more lewd.
You were sure you were a waterfall by now.
“What are these called?” He asked with a swallow as his pupils dilated even further at the sight of you in your bra, sucking on his fingers.
You struggled to speak through his fingers in your mouth and he had the audacity to laugh at you.
“Oops,” he clicked his tongue and pulled his fingers out.
“Phalanges,” you whispered, too dazed with need to form a coherent thought.
“My perfect girl,” he said and leaned down again, right above your chest and sucked a hickey on the exposed part of your left breast. “Think you deserve a break now.”
“Fuck thank you,” you sighed in relief.
“One last question though,” Tim hummed and lowered his fingers again and this time his hand went past the waistband of your shorts, down and down to where you needed him the most.
He lingered there for a beat and you almost jumped with joy with the prospect of him touching you finally but he moved past it to the side.
“What do we call this one?” He asked and brushed his nose against your cheek like it was beginning to torture him too.
“Tim come on,” your chest heaved with need.
“So close, just answer this one,” he coaxed.
“Pubic bone?” You replied.
“One more chance.”
“Ilium?” You swallowed.
You heard Tim sigh loudly in response. He retracted his hand and sat up straight, causing your eyes to flow open and watch as he grabbed his shirt from the side and began turning it inside out.
“What?” You asked in complete disbelief.
“It was the wrong answer,” he replied with remorse evident in his voice. “Get back to studying.”
“Tim I swear to god I actually will kill you,” you said in a menacing tone.
Tim in response, chuckled. He chuckled.
“Sorry babe,” he shrugged and pulled his shirt over his head. “I told you the rules.”
“You’re serious?” You almost yelled. “Tim come on! It was one question!”
“I’ll be back in ten minutes to quiz you again,” he kissed you on the forehead and walked over to his desk.
You grabbed a pillow from the bed and chucked it at him.
“What?” He gaped at you.
“What?!” You echoed and sat up on your knees on the bed. “What do you mean what?! Come back here and fuck me.”
“That wasn’t the deal sweetheart,” he sighed again, too loudly –too dramatically.
“Tim I’m seconds away from calling Bruce to let him know how big of an asshole he raised.”
“That was all Dick actually,” Tim laughed again with a shake of his head. “He’s the one who gave me the sex talk.”
“He’s gonna be the one to die with you if you don’t come here right now.”
“Ten minutes,” he said and tapped a finger on his wrist.
“Fine,” you huffed and pulled your top back on your body. You collected all your things in your little sling bag and breezed towards the bedroom door to leave without so much as a glance in his direction.
“Where are you going?” Tim asked with an amused chuckle.
“Home. Since I have an exam tomorrow and have to study,” you eyed him now, sitting on his desk chair which was now turned towards you. His legs were spread wide and you could clearly see he was still half hard under those stupid gray sweatpants.
“You’re not serious.”
“I am in fact, and have fun with your fist. I’m not touching you for a month,” you seethed.
“Uh huh,” Tim drawled and beckoned for you to come closer with his fingers. When you shook your head he rolled his eyes in that tired way that he always did like he knew he would always get what he wanted. “Come on babe,” he coaxed and patted his thigh.
You relented and put your bag down before making your way towards your annoyingly gorgeous boyfriend and sat down on his thigh.
“You’re so easy,” he chuckled in your ear.
“Oh I’m easy now?” You made to stand but he grabbed you by the waist and whirled his chair around to cage you between the desk and himself.
“Sorry,” he said next and planted a kiss below your ear. “Now, focus,” he continued and turned his computer on with three different screens on human anatomy. “I have something to take care of.”
“You are relentless!” You groaned. “I was going home to study you know.”
“I’m aware,” came his reply but you could tell he had tuned you out minutes ago.
Instead of saying anything else, he pushed a hand under your top until his thumb could reach your clothed nipple. You let out a whimper at the touch –your whole body was a little too sensitive right now.
“Focus,” he murmured in your ear again as his other hand went down to your shorts and pushed them off your legs.
“I can’t focus when you’re–”
“Ten minutes. You’ll learn this whole thing before I fuck you and if you can’t, well you know how annoying I can be.”
You laughed a little at that because he really wasn’t lying.
“I’ll try,” you whispered.
“Good enough,” Tim replied and pushed his hand past the waistband of your panties.
i don’t know what this is and i don’t know medical stuff so please bear with me lol
sorry if it’s not edited enough i’ve only had the time to proofread it just once oops
likes comments and reblogs appreciated, hope you enjoy <3
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Hii! I hope you’re doing well! I LOVE your Tim’s writing and I had an idea of an academic rival, where reader and Tim’s been at it since like high school for top of the class and on their last college semester, reader asks for a truce and gets friendly with him to the point of them starting a relationship. But PLOTWIST reader actually just wants to distract him enough so they can best him academically, but DOUBLE PLOTWIST of course Tim knew it and decided to play the game to try and distract THEM to get on top, but everything backfires because they actually start liking each other after spending so much time together and it’s overall very messy and stupid for two geniuses
No problem if this doesn’t inspire you, I’m fan of whatever you writes anyway!
Have a nice day!!
Omg waiit I was already working on a request for an academic rivals fic for Tim and was stuck on how to go on about it this just inspired me hehe thank youuu for this
HIII! I LOVE your tim drake x kent!reader and i was wondering if u would accept a tim drake x spidey!reader. Wherein tim and reader are best friends (bffs to lovers) and they don't know about each other's double life, but eventually gets revealed by one of them getting injured, maybe?
i don’t really read or watch marvel stuff so idk if i can write that sorry😓
tim drake x kent!reader part of this series (could be read as a standalone too!) based on this request
“Okay so Dick likes rock music, Jason likes reading, Cass likes art, Damian likes animals and Alfred?” You rambled on for the umpteenth time.
“You never know with him but he’s cool with everyone,” Tim shrugged and gave you a side glance from where he was sat in the driver’s seat.
“Okay and Bruce? What does he like? Bats?”
Tim chuckled and quickly reached over to give you a kiss.
“Focus! You’re driving!” You chided but your cheeks heated up regardless.
“Sorry you’re just adorable,” he chuckled and rubbed his thumb over your thigh.
“I’m literally an alien.”
“Half alien,” he corrected with a teasing smile.
“Okay but tell me about Bruce,” you repeated in an anxious tone, voice bordering on whiny.
“He likes… dinosaurs?” Tim said and raised an uncertain eyebrow. “Also chess, he enjoys chess. And uhhh yeah I think that’s all.”
“That’s not a lot to go on,” you sighed. “What if he hates me Tim!”
“He won’t I promise.”
“You can’t promise.”
“Fine but I do know he won’t hate you,” he said and brought your laced fingers to his mouth to press a soft kiss. “Because I love you, it’s all that matters.”
“You’re sooooo cheesy,” you dragged out the word but smiled at him nonetheless, a lovesick smile which he mirrored.
“You love me anyway,” he shrugged.
“I guess I do,” you sighed dramatically and peered out the window to see Tim pulling into the driveway of the Wayne Manor.
You had known it was a mansion –it was literally called Wayne Manor but to actually see it was a different sight. It probably covered a large area of the city but then again the other was covered by the Wayne Enterprises buildings. Wow Bruce Wayne really owned Gotham.
Tim helped you out of the car and pulled his sunglasses down his face from where they were perched on his forehead. He gave you a quick peck like not being able to kiss you even for five minutes could cause him heart failure.
You two made your way to the front door while Tim kept a firm hand over your waist, guiding you inside. He didn’t even bother ringing the doorbell.
“Hey,” he greeted Alfred with a little side hug. “This is my girlfriend,” he smiled at you.
“Hi nice to meet you,” you introduced yourself and shook Alfred’s hand.
“Pleased to meet you as well Miss. Master Drake hasn’t shut up about you,” Alfred said plainly without a single expression on his face.
“That would be an understatement,” a bored voice said from behind Alfred.
You peered over Alfred’s shoulder and saw Damian leaning back on the grand staircase giving you a scrutinising look.
“Hi Damian,” you waved at him. “I believe we’ve met?”
Damian gave you a scoff in return. “You’re Superboy’s sister.”
“Yeah,” you replied shyly. “I’m also dating your brother.”
“He’s a coworker at best,” Damian scoffed again.
“Okay!” Someone else suddenly announced and within a blink of an eye, Dick jumped off the landing and landed next to Damian on the staircase. “Ignore him. We are a family. Legally and in all the ways it matters,” he smiled. “I’m Dick,” he said and extended his hand.
“I know we have also met before. On that mission with the rest of the Justice Gang?” You laughed but shook his hand anyway.
“Yeah but I’m officially meeting you as my brother’s girlfriend. Pleased to meet you, please come on in,” he flashed you a grin and gestured for you to follow him to the living room.
“See?” Tim murmured in your ear. “You’re doing great,” he said and gave you another kiss on the cheek.
“Duckie! Don’t kiss me around your family,” you hushed.
“Duckie?” A deep voice scoffed from behind you.
You jumped and turned around while Tim just sighed and shook his head.
A tall boy with a white streak in his hair was standing behind you, Jason, you had realised. His eyes trailed up and down your frame without even being subtle like he was measuring you.
“It’s a joke!” You explained, way too quickly. “You know, because his last name is Drake. Which is a male duck… So… Duckie!” You nervously giggled but he still didn’t change his expression. He just stared at you like you were mental.
“Right,” he drawled eventually and walked past you to plop down on the couch.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered to Tim. “Is he going to give you shit about it?”
“He can if he wants to, I don’t really care,” Tim shrugged and led you towards the pristine leather couch.
Tim took a seat at the edge of the couch near the armrest and tugged you down next to him. You sat down and crossed your legs, your hands coming down to rest on your knees out of nervousness. Tim on the other hand sat with his legs spread wide, his arm resting on the backrest behind you and if you hadn’t been so stiff you would let yourself fall into his open arm.
“Hi,” you jumped at the sudden voice and whipped your head around to see Cass leaning down to whisper in your ear. You didn’t even hear her come in.
“Hey!” You said, a bit too loudly.
“Cass don’t scare the poor girl,” someone else said from next to her. “I’m Stephanie hi,” she smiled at you.
Stephanie. Oh. That Stephanie.
“Hi,” you swallowed nervously and shook her outstretched hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Tim.”
“Oh?” Stephanie laughed and quirked an eyebrow at him. “Really boy wonder?”
She still calls him boy wonder. The name you call him affectionately but you tried not to let it get to you since the name stood for Robin. Not Tim specifically.
“Yeah,” Tim shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. Like they were friends and maybe they were but you couldn’t help the insecurity rising in your throat.
She was soo beautiful. And funny. Why on earth did he break up with her?
“You’re wearing Drake’s scarf?” Damian said to you in a tone you couldn’t decipher.
You looked down at yourself and realised you had in fact been wearing Tim’s red and yellow striped scarf.
“I guess I am,” you chuckled nervously. “It’s hard to keep track of your clothes when you’re in a relationship.”
“Steph got it for him,” Damian said next with a small frown you would almost miss if you weren’t a kryptonian.
“Oh,” you let out and felt your body drain of life. Why hadn’t he told you? “Sorry,” you murmured and began to unwrap the scarf but Tim stopped you by pulling you closer to his chest.
“Stop it Damian,” he chided.
“No it’s fine I shouldn’t have,” you shook your head.
“It’s fine really it’s his,” Stephanie said next to you with an earnest expression and a warm smile.
“Where’s Babs and Duke?” Tim coughed as if to change the subject. He was not at all subtle.
“With his family today, he couldn’t make it,” Dick replied from where he was sitting on the armchair sideways. “Babs is in the Batcave with Bruce. I haven’t seen her all day,” he added with a roll of his blue eyes.
“I’ll get him,” Stephanie said and got up to what you had guessed go to the Batcave.
Somewhere in the background someone turned on the TV and drowned out everyone’s voices. Damian’s eyes still stayed on you like he was trying to read your every move.
Fifteen minutes later, Stephanie was returning in the living room with Bruce and Barbara on her heels.
“He was very reluctant and broody in the cave but thanks to me and my magical personality, I pulled him out,” Stephanie bowed dramatically and plopped down on her seat next to you.
“Hey,” Tim waved at the redhead who was taking a seat next to Dick on the armchair. “Bruce,” he nodded and introduced you.
“Hi, lovely to meet you. You have a nice home,” you shook Bruce’s hand and cringed to yourself.
You just told Batman he had a nice home.
“Thank you,” Bruce said in a straightforward manner and sat down on the loveseat, already looking away from you like he was done with the conversation.
“Bruce,” Stephanie began in a chiding tone. “You missed our match today. I was winning.”
“I let you think that,” Bruce scoffed playfully and it was strange to see him joking.
Bruce Wayne, your boyfriend’s adoptive father who you had never even seen smiling, was joking around with said boyfriend’s ex girlfriend while he hadn’t even spared you a glance.
“You play?” Jason asked you as he pulled out a chess set from under the coffee table.
“Sometimes,” you nodded. “I’m not very good, I can only beat Tim.”
“You beat Tim?” Cass raised an eyebrow at you.
“Cass,” Tim sighed.
Everyone in the room erupted in laughter except for you.
“What’s wrong?” You frowned and looked between your boyfriend and Cass.
“The only person who’s been able to beat Bruce at chess is Tim,” Dick let you know mid laughter. “So if you can beat him at chess you should be renowned as a world champion.”
You swallowed and looked at Tim who looked at you with an apologetic look on his face.
Great, now his family thought you were stupid.
You didn’t say anything else next. Just leaned back on the couch and watched as Bruce and Stephanie played a match of chess while the others watched a movie on the TV while also simultaneously discussing a new case.
“Hey I need to use the restroom, I’ll be quick,” you whispered to Tim suddenly after a good thirty minutes of feeling like an outsider in not only this family but with your own boyfriend.
“Okay,” Tim replied with a small frown but quickly recovered. “Do you need me to come with you?”
“No I’ll find my way,” you smiled but he could tell it didn’t reach your eyes.
“Okay,” he repeated and gave you a quick peck on the forehead before you were scampering out of the family room.
You walked down the hallway and somehow ended up in the kitchen instead of the bathroom where Alfred was. He was leaning over the oven wearing a small apron over his suit and you were wondering how he wasn’t burning with how hot it must be.
“Oh sorry, I was looking for the bathroom,” you said when he looked at you confused.
He stared at you for a moment like he could tell you were lying because there was no way you would confuse rooms with your vision and all.
“Why don’t I lead you to the bathroom in Master Tim’s old bedroom?” Alfred offered.
You let out a relieved breath and gave him a genuine smile before following him up the stairs to Tim’s old bedroom.
You shut the giant oak door behind you and flipped the light switch on to see where Tim grew up. There was a king sized bed in the corner of the room instead of the middle. There was a window on the wall next to it and some random band posters over the wall behind the headboard.
It looked like the perfect teenage dirtbag’s bedroom.
You walked over to his closet and saw three skateboards stacked in the corner. One of them looked old and chipped while the other two looked barely used. His desk of course like the one at his penthouse, was cluttered with old textbooks and files.
You walked over to his bed and sat down on the edge. You opened the side table to snoop around and the first thing you saw was enough to make you nauseated. It was a polaroid of Tim and Steph on a rooftop kissing with a little scribble on it saying “Timbers and Princess Steph.”
A sigh left your mouth as you quickly put it back but it wasn’t jealousy on your part. It was mostly insecurity. The questions of why why why.
Why in the world would he choose you? He and Steph had so much history, they’d known each other since they were kids. She fit in with his family. Everyone loved her. They lived together for several years for heaven’s sake.
He had been in love with her for years.
You opened another drawer and saw a letter addressed to Tim and the name on the sender’s title read “Janet Drake.” It was from his mom so you didn’t bother opening it. You wouldn’t snoop that much.
A sudden ping of your phone broke out your trance as you looked down on the screen and saw a message from Tim.
hey whered you disappear to?
in your room. needed some air.
okay I’m coming
okay.
With a sigh you fell back on the plush mattress with a light bounce and stared up at the ceiling, beating yourself up for overthinking yet again.
Tim has been the perfect boyfriend to you. He has never missed a date despite being a vigilante. He’s always present even if he has to work, he usually sits next you in bed with his laptop so he can have one arm around you while working. And when he’s at Wayne Ent, he makes sure to get lunch with you as often as he can.
So why does it bother you so much that he’s friendly with his ex. Who is a big part of his life and his family’s life.
Maybe it’s the fact that she fits here with them. That she’s human and probably has never accidentally flung Tim across the room. Maybe because all his siblings and father like her.
The door clicked open softly and Tim soon padded in. You could hear his breathing getting shorter like he was nervous too but you didn’t point it out. Normal Human girlfriends don’t do that.
“Hey,” he cooed and laid down next to you. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you turned your head to the side and smiled at him.
“I may not be superhuman but I know when you’re lying to me sweetheart,” he said next.
“It’s just…” You sighed. “Why are you with me?”
“What?” He let out a humourless laugh. “Where’s that coming from?”
“Nowhere. Just wondering,” you deflected and looked away from him.
“No come on look at me,” he said and pulled you up in a sitting position so you both could look into each other’s eyes. His perfect blue eyes.
“Answer me first.”
“I’m with you because I love you,” he replied without hesitation.
When you didn’t reply in return, he went on. “I knew they would be a lot for you. I should’ve started with Dick and Babs. I’m sorry.”
“No it’s not that, I like your family. They’re all lovely.”
He assessed you for a second with his detective instincts kicking in before he spoke. “Is this about Steph?”
“She’s perfect, Tim,” you looked away and said just above a whisper.
“She is. I won’t lie and say she’s the worst person alive just because she’s my ex. I loved her a lot and I still do, just not in the same way. She’s still my best friend just the way Kon is, like Cassie is.”
“Yeah but…” You trailed off and decided to gnaw on your bottom lip instead of talking.
“Baby,” he said with a soft smile and shifted until he was sitting with his back against the wall with you sitting sideways on his lap. “Talk to me.”
“Your family likes her. She lives here with them. Damian likes her,” you let out, suddenly feeling two feet tall. “Bruce likes her. She fits in your world.”
“Believe me it has taken years for both Bruce and Damian to warm up to her. Bruce was a jerk when she was starting out as Robin.”
“So you’re saying I should sign up to be the next Robin and train with him for years for him to like me?”
“Fuck no,” Tim scoffed. “I would never ever put you through that.”
“He was that bad?” You asked, eyes gazing into Tim’s blue ones.
He shrugged in response. “I mean it worked.”
You stared at him for a minute, trying to read everything he wasn’t saying. Trying to find meaning beneath every scar he had gotten since he became Robin as a mere child.
“You let me win at chess?” You asked instead and that finally made him scrunch his nose in embarrassment.
He flushed all over and looked away from you. “That first time in the Titans Tower when you were playing with Kon and he asked me to take over for him because he had to leave. He set the game so bad,” Tim laughed.
“He somehow manages to lose at Connect 4. How do you lose at that?” You chimed in.
“I know! He’s the worst at board games. Anyway, I had a win in mind. I knew my move but you were so excited after that second check, I couldn’t let you lose even if I wanted to.”
“Tim that was years ago, we weren’t even together then,” you frowned.
“Yeah but that’s when I knew I loved you. You gave me this sickeningly beautiful smile after you won it was the best thing I’d ever seen. So it became a thing. I don’t let you win because when you give me that smile, I end up winning anyway.”
“Tim,” you whispered and brought your hand up to touch his face.
“Yeah I know I’m a dork,” he scrunched his nose again and this time you couldn’t help but lean forward to press a kiss on the tip of his nose.
“My dork,” you smile and touched your forehead to his temple.
“There’s no one else but you, I have zero feelings for Steph. She’s my best friend and has been for the longest time. And besides I’m almost certain she’s hooking up with Cass.”
“No way,” you gasped. “Cass is pretty hot,” you hummed.
“Babe,” Tim groaned.
“Unfortunately I’m only interested in her brother,” you reiterated and pressed a kiss to Tim’s cheek.
“Unfortunately?”
“You don’t exactly make it easy. I told you to throw away your monster cans but they’re still lingering on the kitchen counter,” you complained.
“Hmm,” he hummed and brushed your cheek with his nose. “Do you want me to make it up to you?”
“We are in your childhood bedroom. There are skateboards two feet away from us,” you giggled but didn’t protest when he laid you down on the bed and hovered over you.
“Exactly I owe it to this bed,” he murmured and pressed a kiss to your neck. “Teenage Tim was a loser, the only action this bed has gotten is when I fell off it and Bruce had to push it against the wall.”
“Oh my God,” you cackled loudly and raked your fingers through his hair.
“I was a loser I know,” he sighed and pressed an open mouth kiss to your collarbone.
“Was?” You raised an eyebrow.
“Oh really now?” He snapped his head up and looked at you rolling your lips over your teeth to hold back your smile.
His fingers came up to your hips and began tickling your sides, causing you to yelp and flail your legs.
“Stop!” You gasped between fits of laughter.
“Take it back!” Tim threatened playfully.
“Never!” You laughed again but he didn’t relent.
Instead of trying to make him stop with words, you used your super strength and flipped your position so he was now beneath you while you straddled his hips.
“I’m a kryptonian,” you smirked and pinned his hands over his head.
“Unfair,” he pouted playfully and you had the sudden urge to kiss it off his face so you did just that.
You leaned forward and took his bottom lip between your teeth before letting him take the lead and give you a long and searing kiss.
“I love you,” he murmured between kisses.
“I love you too,” you replied with a small smile and rested your forehead against his.
Just as he was about to kiss you again, a loud knock came on the door.
“Dinner’s ready!” Dick yelled and you waited for a few seconds to hear his footsteps go away but he lingered. “Enough making out Duckie!” Jason snickered behind him.
Tim in response grabbed a pillow off the bed and threw it at the door.
Another set of snickers came, this time Dick joining Jason before they both retreated.
“Let’s go Duckie,” you giggled and pressed one last kiss to his pouty lips before pulling him off the bed.
hope it was what you wanted anon🥰 sorry i’m still in a slump :/
likes, comments and reblogs appreciated! hope you enjoy <3
Some of you are sooo mean😭 I always put the keep reading tag when I remember. If I forget, please be a bit normal. I have adhd I forget things sometimes you don’t have to yell in my comments about a post being long when you can change your own settings 😭
This is the second time someone’s said that to me and I’m again confused because its such a non issue. Why are we policing writers about something you can change yourself, again I’m sorry if it’s annoying and I always remember to add it in my posts but my adhd brain can only remember so much. We should all be a little nicer to each other especially to writers who literally owe you nothing.
Summary:
When Tim realizes you have been ignoring him in favor of something on your screen that has you unusually flustered, he becomes determined to find out what it is.
Author’s Note:
for this anon request
very meta fic but i thought it would be fun
this is the fic i recorded myself writing for the non-AI proof video
Tim had been home for twenty-three minutes before he accepted that you were ignoring him.
At first, he had assumed you were finishing a chapter. You often became absorbed in whatever you were reading, retreating so thoroughly into another world that you barely noticed him entering the apartment. Tim usually enjoyed watching you emerge gradually, your eyes taking a moment to focus before your expression softened with recognition.
Tonight, however, you had looked directly at him when he walked through the door.
You had also immediately tilted your phone screen away.
Tim had noticed, because Tim noticed everything, but he had decided to let you preserve the illusion of secrecy. He had crossed the living room, bent over the back of the couch, and kissed your temple while you locked the screen with suspicious speed.
“Hi,” you said.
“Hi.”
“How was work?”
“Fine.”
“That’s good.”
You had stared at the blank phone in your hand until Tim straightened. The moment he turned toward the kitchen, the screen illuminated again behind him.
He had heard the faint click of your phone unlocking.
Tim made coffee, changed out of the clothes he had worn to Wayne Enterprises, and answered three messages from Barbara while waiting for you to acknowledge his existence again. You remained curled into the corner of the couch beneath a blanket, one hand holding your phone several inches from your face while your thumb moved steadily across the screen.
Whenever he glanced in your direction, you lowered the device.
That was how the game began.
Tim sat beside you, leaving enough space that his presence could be considered innocent. You responded by drawing the blanket higher and angling your body away.
He rested one arm along the back of the couch. “What are you reading?”
“Nothing.”
“‘Nothing’ has you captivated, baby.”
“It’s an article.”
“What about?”
You held the phone closer to your chest. “Current events.”
Tim studied the portion of your face he could still see. You were pressing your lips together in the way you did when trying not to smile. Whatever current event you were reading appeared to be affecting you deeply on a personal level.
“Which event?”
“A current one.”
“That narrows it down.”
“I’m glad I could help.”
Tim shifted closer until his thigh pressed against yours. You immediately locked your phone and placed it facedown against your sternum.
He looked at the device, then at you. “You know that makes it more suspicious.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’ve hidden your screen from me seven times.”
“You counted?”
“I stopped counting.”
“That’s the opposite of not counting.”
“I stopped at seven.”
You tried to stare him down, but embarrassment had already softened your expression. Tim leaned closer, brushing his nose against your cheek before placing a slow kiss beneath your ear. Your breath caught, and he felt a flicker of satisfaction when your head tipped instinctively to grant him better access.
He kissed the same spot again. “Pay attention to me.”
“I am paying attention to you.”
“You’re holding your phone like it contains nuclear launch codes.”
“You shouldn’t be looking at nuclear launch codes anyway.”
“I’ve seen nuclear launch codes.”
You turned your head. “What? Why? How?”
“That isn’t important.”
“That sounds extremely important.”
“What are you reading?”
You narrowed your eyes at him and lifted the phone farther out of reach. “I’m not telling you.”
Tim could have taken it from you immediately. He was faster, stronger, and considerably more determined as someone who had been deprived of his preferred amount of affection after a twelve-hour workday. He was also aware that forcibly stealing your phone would be an unnecessary escalation when he had several subtler options available.
He settled against your side and tucked his face into the curve of your neck.
You remained rigid for several seconds. Tim waited patiently, breathing against your skin while one arm circled your waist. You eventually relaxed and lifted your free hand to run your fingers through his hair.
“There,” you murmured. “Attention.”
“This is acceptable.”
“You’re so needy.”
“I haven’t seen you since breakfast.”
“You called me twice.”
“Those were logistical conversations.”
“You asked what I wanted for dinner.”
“That was one of the logistical conversations.”
“The other call lasted forty minutes.”
“I was gathering additional data.”
“You complained about a board meeting.”
“Relevant data.”
Your fingers moved slowly over his scalp. Tim closed his eyes, content to remain there until your attention drifted back toward the phone. He knew the precise moment it happened because your hand stopped moving through his hair.
The screen unlocked near his shoulder.
Tim opened his eyes.
You had apparently forgotten how reflected the darkened TV screen was. He couldn’t read every word from the reversed image across the room, but the website’s red header was unmistakable. So was the title positioned at the top of the page.
He lifted his head.
You locked the phone again.
“Current events?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“On Archive of Our Own?”
You went completely still.
Tim watched several emotions cross your face in rapid succession. Surprise came first, followed by horror, calculation, and finally the stubborn resolve of someone considering whether they could successfully lie to a detective.
“It could be an article posted there,” you said.
“It could.”
“People post essays.”
“They do.”
“About current events.”
“Sometimes.”
You nodded as though the matter had been settled. “There you go.”
Tim held out his hand.
“No.”
“I haven’t asked for anything.”
“You’re holding your hand out.”
“I want to see the article about the current event.”
You clutched the phone against your chest. “I don’t like this interrogation.”
“This isn’t an interrogation. I haven’t even changed my posture.”
“You have an interrogation posture?”
“Yes.”
“That is deeply unsettling.”
Tim shifted, planting one hand on the cushion beside your hip while leaning over you. You sank farther into the couch, although the smile pulling at your mouth ruined any attempt to appear intimidated.
“Show me,” he said.
“No.”
“I’ll find it.”
“You don’t know what I’m reading.”
“You were on a work tagged with Red Robin.”
The smile vanished.
Tim paused.
You stared at him.
He had only caught the words in the TV’s reflection for an instant, but your reaction confirmed that his reconstruction had been correct. Tim’s interest sharpened from playful curiosity to something considerably more dangerous.
“Were you reading about me?” he asked.
“No.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“I was reading about Red Robin.”
“That is me.”
“It’s a fictionalized version of Red Robin.”
“Based on me.”
“Loosely.”
Tim’s eyebrows lifted. “Loosely?”
“The author took creative liberties.”
“With what?”
You pulled the blanket over your face.
Tim laughed, the sound escaping before he could stop it. You made an offended noise beneath the fabric, and he tugged gently at the edge until your eyes appeared.
“What kind of creative liberties?” he asked.
“I’m not discussing this with you.”
“You were reading Red Robin fanfiction while ignoring the actual Red Robin.”
“I wasn’t ignoring you.”
“I asked you three questions while you were reading, and you answered ‘that’s crazy’ every time.”
Your eyes widened. “What did you ask?”
“The first time, I asked whether you wanted Thai food.”
“Oh.”
“The second time, I told you Dick fell off a roof.”
“Is he okay?”
“He didn’t actually fall off a roof.”
“You lied to me?”
“I was testing a theory. The third time, I asked whether you had committed tax fraud.”
You lowered the blanket. “That’s crazy.”
Tim’s mouth twitched.
You stared at each other in silence for a moment before you attempted to scramble away, but he caught your ankle beneath the blanket and dragged you back across the couch. Your laughter turned breathless when he followed, fitting himself between your legs while you held the phone above your head.
“Give it to me.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I already know it’s about me.”
“You don’t need details.”
“I need every detail.”
“You really don’t.”
Tim pressed his weight over you, not enough to trap you completely, but enough to remind you that he could. Your breathing changed as his body settled against yours. He felt your thighs part more readily around his hips, and the realization sent a slow pulse of heat through him.
He lowered his voice. “What was Red Robin doing?”
“Stopping crime.”
“You don’t look this embarrassed when I stop crime.”
“Maybe he was stopping it sexily.”
“I always stop it sexily.”
Despite yourself, you laughed. Tim took advantage of your distraction and caught your wrist. He guided your arm down until the phone appeared beside your head, then plucked it from your fingers before you could recover.
“Tim.”
He rolled away quickly, unlocking the screen with the passcode you had willingly given him years ago. You climbed over him, but Tim extended one arm and held you away by the waist while scanning the page.
The first sentence he read made him stop.
“Oh,” he said.
“Give it back.”
“This isn’t an article.”
“I never said it was a good article.”
“This is pornography.”
“It’s literature, actually. Erotica, if you want to be specific.”
“It says Red Robin cut the reader’s underwear off with a birdarang.”
“Symbolism.”
“That is not how symbolism works.”
“You wouldn’t know. You dropped out of college.”
Tim looked at you over the phone. “I know how underwear works.”
Your entire face burned.
He returned his attention to the screen and scrolled upward, searching for the beginning of the scene while you made increasingly desperate attempts to retrieve the device. Tim rolled you beneath him again, pinning both your wrists above your head with one hand while holding the phone beyond your reach with the other.
“This is an abuse of your training,” you said.
“This is the most practical application of my training all week.”
“You fought eight armed men on Tuesday.”
“They weren’t hiding their phone from me.”
“Timothy.”
His name became a warning whenever you used the full version, but the effect was undermined by the way your hips shifted beneath him.
Tim noticed that too.
He read the screen silently for several seconds, becoming increasingly aware of the heat spreading through his body.
The version of him in the story was less interested in Gotham’s crime rate than in pinning the reader against various available surfaces. He appeared to possess an endless supply of restraints, an anatomically questionable recovery time, and a habit of delivering threats that Tim would never use during patrol.
Some of the dialogue, however, was uncomfortably effective.
His gaze moved toward you.
You had stopped struggling. Your wrists remained compliant beneath his hand, and your attention had dropped to his mouth.
Tim looked at the screen again. “‘You spend all night waiting for Red Robin to come through your window, but now that I’m here, you can’t even look at me.’”
“Please stop.”
He read the next sentence to himself and felt his pulse jump.
You tugged against his hold. “Tim.”
“Is this what you wanted him to say?”
“He isn’t real.”
“I’m fairly certain that I’m real.”
“You’re Tim right now.”
His expression changed.
You recognized the shift immediately. Your lips parted, but no words emerged as he placed the phone carefully on the cushion beside your head.
“What’s that mean?” he asked.
“It means you’re home.”
“You were reading about Red Robin because Tim isn’t interesting enough?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You said I’m Tim right now.”
“You are Tim.”
“I’m also Red Robin.”
“You aren’t wearing the suit.”
“You like the suit?”
Your silence answered him.
Tim loosened his grip on your wrists, allowing his fingers to slide between yours. He lowered his body until his mouth hovered inches above yours.
“You could have told me,” he murmured.
“I thought you knew I liked it.”
“I knew you liked me in it. I didn’t know you were hiding beneath a blanket to read three thousand words about Red Robin fucking you against a wall.”
“It isn’t three thousand words.”
“How long is it?”
“Eight thousand.”
Tim stared at you.
“It has a plot,” you said defensively.
“I’m sure the plot is excellent.”
“It’s surprisingly compelling.”
“Did you reach the part where he removes the utility belt?”
You squeezed your eyes shut.
Tim smiled slowly. “You did.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
He kissed your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. When you turned toward him, seeking a proper kiss, Tim drew back just far enough to deny you.
Your eyes opened. “Really?”
“You ignored me for fictional Red Robin.”
“You were busy.”
“I had been lying next to you for several minutes.”
“I’m not ignoring you anymore.”
“No, you aren’t.”
Tim released your hands and sat back on his heels. Your disappointment showed immediately, even as you tried to disguise it by reaching for the phone.
He picked it up first and placed it on the coffee table. “Stay here.”
“Where are you going?”
“To give you some privacy so you can finish your story.”
You sat upright. “Tim.”
He made it three steps before your hand closed around his wrist.
Tim looked down at your fingers, then back at you.
“Don’t,” you said.
“Don’t what?”
“You know what.”
“I need you to be specific.”
You glared at him, but desire had already overtaken most of your embarrassment. Tim could see it in the way your gaze moved over him and in the restless pressure of your thighs beneath the blanket.
“Don’t leave,” you said.
“Why?”
“Because I want you.”
“Tim or Red Robin?”
Your grip tightened.
Tim expected you to refuse the question. Instead, you rose onto your knees on the cough and pulled him closer until he stood between them.
“Both.”
The answer struck something possessive and deeply satisfied inside him.
Tim threaded his fingers into your hair and kissed you. The first contact was firm enough to force your head back, opening your mouth beneath his. You clutched the front of his shirt while he kissed you until the tension left your body, replaced by pliant heat.
He had wanted your attention. Now he had all of it.
When Tim pulled away, your lips were swollen, and your breathing had become uneven. He brushed his thumb over your lower lip.
“You like reading about him touching you?”
You swallowed. “Sometimes.”
“Sometimes?”
“Often.”
“And you never thought to mention it?”
“You already know I think the suit is hot.”
“I thought you liked the armor.”
“I like who’s inside the armor.”
Tim kissed you again, slower this time. His hand moved beneath the hem of your shirt, gliding along your bare waist before curving over your breast.
“Good answer.”
Your fingers caught in his hair while his mouth traveled down your throat. Tim knew every place that made you soften, every patch of skin that made your back arch when his teeth grazed it.
The anonymous writer might have imagined Red Robin as an irresistible stranger, but Tim knew you. He knew exactly how much pressure to use when his hand closed around your hip and how your breath would catch when he pressed his thigh between yours.
He also knew when you were trying not to move against him.
“Are you embarrassed?” he asked against your neck.
“You’re never going to let this go.”
“Probably not.”
“You’re awful.”
“You were reading explicit stories about my alter ego in our shared home.”
“It’s also my home.”
“You were doing it on the couch where we eat.”
“We don’t eat on the couch.”
“I ate cereal on it this morning.”
“You’re disgusting.”
Tim pulled your shirt over your head before you could continue arguing, tossing it somewhere behind him as he cupped your breasts and lowered his mouth to one nipple.
Your response dissolved into a gasp.
He sucked slowly, watching your body react while his thumb teased the other peak. You pushed your hips against his thigh, seeking pressure through your clothes.
Tim drew back. “What happened to being embarrassed?”
“I’m still embarrassed.”
“You don’t look embarrassed.”
“You took my shirt off.”
“I noticed.”
“You’re insufferable.”
He lifted you from the couch before you could protest. You wrapped your legs around his waist, laughing against his mouth as he carried you toward the bedroom.
“What happened to the wall?” you asked.
“The wall?”
“The fictional Red Robin used one.”
“The fictional Red Robin also used a birdarang to remove underwear. His judgment is compromised.”
“You’re jealous of yourself.”
“I’m jealous of an inaccurate interpretation of myself.”
“That sounds worse.”
Tim set you down on the bed and pulled your remaining clothes down your legs. Your teasing faded when he stood above you fully dressed, his attention moving over your naked body with deliberate patience.
You drew your knees together.
Tim placed a hand between them. “Don’t hide now.”
Your breath caught as he guided your legs apart.
He lowered himself between your thighs, kissing the inside of one knee before moving gradually upward. He could already see how wet you were. The sight made his cock press painfully against his pants, but Tim ignored it, wrapping his hands around your hips instead.
“How far did you get?” he asked.
“In the story?”
“Yes.”
You covered your face with both hands. “I’m not answering that.”
“Had he gone down on you yet?”
“Tim.”
“That’s a yes.”
His mouth touched your inner thigh. Your muscles tensed beneath his lips.
“Was he good at it?”
“He’s fictional.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“You’re really going to compete with a fictional version of yourself?”
“I’m competing with eight thousand words of misinformation.”
You lowered your hands enough to look at him. “He was very good.”
Tim’s eyes narrowed. You grinned at him.
He dragged you to the edge of the bed and put his mouth on you.
Your grin disappeared quickly.
Tim licked through your folds slowly, gathering your wetness on his tongue before circling your clit. Your hips lifted, but his hands held you firmly against the mattress.
He knew how to make you come quickly, and he knew how to keep you balanced on the edge until you forgot every clever thing you intended to say.
Tonight, he chose the latter.
He alternated between broad strokes and delicate pressure, never giving you the consistent rhythm you needed. Each time your thighs began to shake and close around him, he shifted lower, pushing his tongue inside you until your fingers twisted desperately into the sheets.
“Tim,” you gasped.
He lifted his head. “Is that who you’re thinking about?”
You stared down at him, dazed and furious. “You stopped for that?”
“It’s an important distinction.”
“You’re the same person.”
“Say it.”
“You’re Tim.”
His thumb brushed your clit. “And?”
“Red Robin.”
The pressure increased.
You arched, reaching for him as pleasure tightened low in your stomach. “Both. You’re both.”
“That wasn’t so difficult.”
“You’re so fucking annoying.”
Tim lowered his mouth again and sucked your clit between his lips. Your orgasm struck hard enough to pull a broken cry from you. Tim held your hips down while your body trembled, continuing with gentler strokes until your fingers pushed weakly against his head.
He kissed the inside of your thigh before rising.
You lay across the bed with your chest heaving, watching through half-lidded eyes while he removed his clothes. Tim felt your attention follow every movement. By the time he pushed his pants and underwear down, your gaze had fixed openly on his cock.
He wrapped his hand around himself. “Does the story get this right?”
“Tim.”
“What?”
“You know you’re big.”
“I know what you think.”
“You’ve seen, and felt, me struggle to take you.”
His hand tightened. “I have.”
Heat rushed across your face again, but you didn’t look away.
Tim climbed over you, bracing himself on one arm while guiding the head of his cock through your wetness. Your legs opened wider, and he watched your expression change as he pressed against your entrance.
“Tell me you want me,” he said.
“I want you.”
“Not the version on your phone.”
You reached up and hooked your hand behind his neck. “I want you, Tim. Every version of you.”
He kissed you as he pushed inside.
Your body yielded slowly, stretching around him until his hips met yours. Tim remained still, breathing against your mouth while you adjusted. Your thighs tightened around his waist, holding him close.
“This is better,” you whispered.
His mouth curved. “Better than what?”
“The story.”
“You haven’t finished it.”
“I don’t need to.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear.”
Tim drew back and thrust into you again. Your head tipped into the pillows as he settled into a deep, measured rhythm, giving you every inch before pulling almost completely out. He watched pleasure move across your face and felt your attention narrow until nothing existed beyond the weight of his body and the fullness of his cock.
He caught your wrists and pressed them into the mattress above your head.
Your eyes opened.
“There,” he murmured. “Now it’s accurate.”
You clenched around him.
Tim groaned and drove deeper, the careful rhythm beginning to fracture. Your legs climbed higher around his hips while he fucked you into the mattress, each thrust forcing a breathless sound from your mouth.
“Did you imagine this?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“While I was sitting beside you?”
“Yes.”
“You could have put the phone down.”
“I was getting there.”
“You made me wait twenty-three minutes.”
“You counted?”
“I always count.”
His hand slipped between your bodies, rubbing tight circles against your clit. You cried out and tightened around him, your heels pressing into his back as he drove into you harder.
Tim lowered his forehead to yours. “Come for me.”
Your body obeyed before your embarrassment could return. You came around him with a broken moan, your wrists straining uselessly beneath his hand while your cunt pulsed around his cock.
Tim only lasted a few more thrusts. He buried himself inside you and came with your name against your mouth, his hips pressed firmly to yours while heat filled you.
You held him through it, one hand moving into his hair when he finally released your wrists.
For several moments, neither of you spoke.
Tim remained above you, supporting most of his weight on his arms while your breathing steadied. You traced the curve of his shoulder, your expression softening into something dangerously fond.
“So,” you said eventually.
Tim looked at you.
“Do you still want attention?”
He laughed and lowered himself carefully on top of you. You wrapped your arms around him, smoothing your hand over his back while he rested his face against your neck.
“I wanted affection,” he said.
“You stole my phone and conducted an investigation.”
“You lied about current events.”
“I panicked.”
“You told me the story was compelling.”
“It might be.”
Tim lifted his head. “I’m going to read the rest.”
“No.”
“I need to know what else he does incorrectly.”
“You are never going to see my bookmarks.”
“You have bookmarks?”
Your eyes widened.
Tim reached for the nightstand, which was empty of your phone.
He looked toward the bedroom door.
You shoved him off of you and scrambled from beneath him, laughing as you raced naked toward the living room.
Tim gave you a three-second lead before following.
It was considerably more generous than Red Robin would have been.
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HI GORGEOUS i hope you're doing well and feeling better
ive been reading your tim fics and theyre so yummy 😋 love love love them
i just wanted to ask you if youre continuing your youre so vain series bc its my favvv
take your time kissesss
Hi anon! thank you so much this made my day🥹
and yes i am planning on continuing you’re so vain i just got hit with the writing slump virus so its been slow I can only come up with drabbles for some reason😭 but rest assured i am working on it!!
hi hi i hope you’re having a lovely day! i wanted to thank you for writing tim x kent reader it’s literally the best fic i have read here in a while🥰 was wondering if you could write him taking kent reader to the manor to meet the bats and maybe reader sees him so easy going with stephs and gets a bit jealous sorrryyy i love angst! only if you want to tho! no pressure! love your work dx
hi anon! I really like the idea I’ll try to cook up something but Idk about the steph part, I’ll ofc try to add some angst but she’s my princess I can never write her in a negative light if thats what you meant☹️
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since you’re in a slump and doing small drabbles… might i suggest some sleepy bat boys headcanons divalicious😝 your tim drake is like my FAVOURITE its fresh to see someone writing close to his canon personality ugh you need your pussy ATE
omg this is such a cute idea i’ll definitely try to cook up something and thank you for the tim thing🥹 i try to keep him and dick especially to what they were like in the early runs, most of my tim inspo is from red robin and dick from nightwing 96🥰
tim drake x kent!reader, crack fic, fluff, suggestive, language, OOC lois and clark :)
fanart by @/pinghyu
“I could absolutely lift you,” your boyfriend argued for the twentieth from where he was sprawled on the living room carpet.
His shirtless body, was only clad in a pair of loose black sweatpants. The remnants of sleep still clinging onto his blue eyes and messy hair made him look all the bit more attractive to you and if it wasn’t for the kitchen counter and the couch separating you both, you would have jumped his bones. Again.
“Tim, sweetheart,” you started, trying to tell him that he was wrong as nicely as you could.
He had come over for the weekend over to your place and was doing crunches when he had the sudden great idea and asked you if he could bench press you. You –a half kryptonian who has on multiple occasions flown over buildings with him in your arms.
“No I know you’re freakishly strong and all but I’m a vigilante too. I train,” he frowned and got up from the carpet.
“I believe you! You know how much I love when you work out,” you smirked, watching his abs shining with a sheen layer of sweat that had covered his sculpted torso due to the million crunches he just did.
He took languid steps and walked over to where you were leaning forward on the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee in your hands. The drawstrings of his sweatpants were undone, causing them to fall dangerously low on his beautiful narrow hips and the way he let out chuckle was enough to let you know that he was aware of your eyes being glued to his body.
“Come here,” he murmured in his sleepy lazy voice and grabbed the coffee mug out of your hands.
“Tim,” you dramatically groaned when he came up behind you and snaked his hands under his shirt that you wore to bed last night. “You’re strong and muscular and have biceps I believe you.”
“I don’t think you do sweetheart,” he murmured lazily against your ear. “Just let me try,” he said in between soft and gentle kisses to your neck.
“I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” you accidentally said –way too gone by the feeling of his lips on your skin. “You’re strong I know but I have super strength. You’re a cutie, you’re tech strong. And maybe Gotham strong,” you tried to reinstate which apparently only made it worse.
He halted his movements. Your heart almost dropped but you were already scrambling for things to say to make it better but he didn’t give you the chance as he whirled you around to face him.
“Really?” He cocked an eyebrow, pale blue eyes turning navy.
“I meant–” You began to speak but got cut off with how quickly he bent down and threw you over his shoulder. “Tim!” You screamed, flailing your arms to grip his bare torso in fear.
“Tech strong huh?” He goaded you on and landed a smack on your bare ass.
“Okay I get it!” You managed to speak. “Put me down now.”
“No, I need to work out some more,” he said and sat back down cross legged on the floor and manoeuvred you into his arms until he was holding you up like weights.
“You can’t just flail me around,” you complained but instead of replying he gave you a quick kiss and laid back on the carpeted floor.
“Hmm, perfect,” he said without even letting out a grunt and began moving you up and down in the air.
“I’m not a rag doll,” you huffed.
“You’re my doll,” he cheekily replied and you narrowed your eyes at him.
“You’re a competitive freak,” you chided.
“Maybe but I won didn’t I?” he smiled and craned his neck forward to press a kiss to your lips. “Okay weighted push ups,” he said next and pulled you down next to him.
“You won’t die if you miss one day Duckie,” you giggled.
“Yeah but my girlfriend thinks I’m ‘tech smart’ it’s about my dignity,” he said and moved into a plank before gesturing for you to sit on his back.
“You’re ridiculous,” you chuckled before latching yourself onto his back with your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. “Go nuts boy wonder,” you whispered and pressed a kiss to his bare shoulder.
“Count for me sweetheart,” he smugly said and began moving up and down.
“Okay you’ve made your point,” you said once he was done with at least twenty five pushups.
“Never underestimate me again,” he quipped and flipped you two in the blink of an eye so that you were now the one being pinned under him.
“You can’t blame me okay, you don’t look like a body builder,” you replied and pushed his hair off his forehead.
“It’s called a sleeper build. Look it up,” he narrowed his eyes at your teasing expression. “Now if you’ll be so kind as to lay there for me looking pretty, because I still have to do about fifty more.”
“What do you want me to do?” You asked but Tim soon responded by pecking you on the lips when he leaned down to do a push up. “Oh I see, you’re a full cheesy man today.”
“Call it what you want,” he shrugged and continued doing pushups with you pinned below him, giving you small pecks each time he came down.
“Okay enough,” you groaned after the twentieth and pulled him on top of you with your arms around his neck to give him a full kiss.
Tim chuckled into the kiss as he let himself fall limp on top of you. It was honestly a miracle how long he had been in that position but then again he’d been in that position in a lot different ways for a lot longer.
“Time for some cardio don’t you think?” He murmured against your lips as his fingers trailed up your bare thighs until he reached the waistband of your panties.
“Finally,” you huffed out dramatically and gave him a wet kiss on his collarbone.
He pressed hot kisses to your jaw, neck and collarbones –wherever he could reach before burying his face in the crook of your neck. “One of these days I’m gonna fuck you in my arms just so-”
“Hey honey!” A deep voice boomed in your apartment, coming from your front door. You didn’t need to look to know it was your father who you’d made the mistake of giving your keys to.
You pushed Tim off your body with a bit too much of your super strength that he landed against the couch. Ouch.
“Dad! Mom! Hey,” you scrambled to your feet and pulled Tim’s shirt down your thighs until it reached your knees.
“Is he one of Bruce’s?” Your mom asked your dad.
“Yeah the third one,” Clark replied with a sigh and eyed Tim with such a harsh look it almost scared you.
“Um hi,” Tim said sheepishly and gave your parents a little wave.
“Hey,” Lois chuckled and watched as Clark kept his gaze on Tim without saying a word like he was trying one of his intimidating tactics. She shut the apartment door behind them and grabbed the bag of pastries from Clark’s hands.
“Hi mom,” you said in a small voice.
“Get dressed both of you, we brought breakfast,” she smiled and pulled Clark into the kitchen with her. He was still watching Tim with his angry gaze which was anything but angry and made him look like an angry kitten. You knew your dad. You knew he hadn’t really been angry.
“Thanks,” you muttered and pushed Tim into your bedroom.
“Okay okay,” he began pacing the second you closed the door behind you. “I can leap out the window and–”
“Tim,” you laughed softly and laced his hands through yours so he could stop pacing. “It’s okay. We had to tell them someday.”
“Oh my god Kon!” Tim shuddered. “He will kill me. I was going to tell him. I just didn’t want–”
“Baby breathe,” you cupped his cheeks and made him look at you. “We just have to talk to my parents first and then we can tell Kon together. Before he finds us in a compromising position and I’ll be there too, if he tries to kill you I’ll punch him first. I’m also a Kent.”
“Right okay,” he let out a long breath and rested his forehead against yours. “I don’t usually wish I never knew superman but I’m wishing it right now.”
“He’s just acting you know he doesn’t actually hate you,” you chuckled and gave him a small kiss.
“Give me a real kiss,” he huffed and pulled you back into his chest to give you a long and slow kiss.
His lips moulded perfectly with yours while his tongue teased the seam of your lips. You could taste the coffee and apple he has for breakfast on his mouth but it was the most distinctive Tim Drake taste ever.
“I have laser vision!” Clark yelled from outside the door.
“Fuck dad!” You yelled back and pushed Tim off you.
“Be out here in thirty seconds or I’m calling Bruce.”
“Bruce would probably congratulate me for scoring to be honest,” Tim murmured and walked over to his bag pack to pull a hoodie out.
“I wouldn’t mind him tagging along for brunch to be honest,” you mindlessly said and pulled out a pair of shorts from your closet. “He’s kind of hot.”
Tim choked on his breath and let out a string of coughs. You looked at him, frowning but he just gave you a nauseated look in response.
“I put up so much with you,” he grumbled. “But don’t ever call Bruce hot again.”
“But he is!” You protested as you two walked out of your bedroom and into the kitchen. “Mom help me out here. Bruce is hot right?”
“I mean objectively speaking…” Lois started.
“Kill me now,” Tim said and turned towards Clark.
“That’s it!” Clark announced. “You stay away from the Waynes. No more Gotham for you.”
“Sit down Clark,” Lois said and patted the dining chair next to her. “Tim, take a seat. It’s good to officially meet you. I’m Lois Lane-Kent,” your mom smiled at your boyfriend who finally looked a bit less green.
“Nice to meet you too. I’ve heard a lot about you from Kon,” Tim said politely, all his upper Gotham society manners spilling out as he sat down next to you on the dining table.
“Dad stop glaring at him. You literally know him,” you sighed after ten minutes when Clark still didn’t stop glaring at Tim.
“I know him as Bruce’s son. I don’t know him as a shirtless boy who was making out with my daughter on the floor like a heathen. Who knows what could have happened if we hadn’t come?” Clark rambled.
“Okay I was not making out with your daughter on the floor. I was working out and…” Tim trailed off, realising he actually didn’t know how to explain what was happening.
“But would you rather I be with some random guy who you don’t even know?” You said and lazily took a sip of your orange juice.
“I would rather he ask me for permission before courting my daughter,” Clark demanded.
“Right,” Lois snorted. “Like you asked my parents?”
“That’s different. I never defiled you on the floor.”
“Dad!” You gasped. “He was not defiling me what the heck!”
“He was on top of you! Naked!” Clark hissed.
It was safe to say the rest of the brunch went by excruciatingly slow and painful.
random blurb bc im in a writing slump!!!! sorry if its shite guys i literally cannot write for some reason
likes, comments and reblogs appreciated! hope you guys enjoy <3
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