BeewithBee

“You mean the group project you’ve redone five times because you don’t trust anyone else to breathe near it?” You raised a brow slowly.

Tim finally glances at you, flat and unimpressed in the way only he can manage. “Be a good husband and appreciate my dedication.”

That makes you snort. “Yes, dear.”

It isn’t even consistent at first. Just the little things.

You steal his pencil, he calls you “ungrateful spouse.” You sit next to him in the library, he mutters “oh, hey, my beloved showed up.” You bring him snacks, he smiles like you’ve fulfilled a lifelong vow.

“Fix your posture,” you tell him one afternoon, leaning over the table in the library.

Tim doesn’t even look offended. “Is that how you speak to your husband?”

“Yes,” you say immediately. “Be good and sit up before you turn into a cashew.”

“You’re impossible.” He obeys, but only to prove a point. No other reason.

“And yet you married me.”

Tim mutters, “Regrettably.”

…

Later, he starts doing it without prompting.

You’re half asleep when he taps your forehead lightly. “Wake up… your spouse requires urgent support.”

You blink at him. “That’s.. not how marriage works.”

“Well, too late for that, we already signed the paperwork in my head.” He smirked.

“You forged legal documents?”

“I’m a Drake. We’re efficient.”

You laugh and he looks satisfied, like that was the goal more than the joke itself. And it keeps going like that. Small and stupid like:

“You’re failing your husband duties by laughing at me.”

“Ughh.. my spouse is neglecting me again.”

It’s late evening in the kitchen when Tim walks in, still half in suit from patrol, grabbing a glass of water. Dick is already there, perched on the counter.

“So,” Dick says casually, swinging his legs, “how’s married life?”

“…What are you talking about?”

Dick’s grin widens. “Oh, you know. The whole ‘be a good husband’ situation you’ve got going on.”

“It’s a joke,” Tim says immediately, too fast.

“Sureeee,” Dick replies, dragging it out. “A very committed joke. Real lifetime partnership energy.”

“We’re just messing around.” Tim murmurs into his cup of water as he takes a sip.

“Uh-huh.” Dick hops down from the counter. “You mess around like you’re filing, I don’t know, joint taxes.”

Tim doesn’t respond to that, asides from a sigh. Which, unfortunately, is also an answer.

…

Jason hears about it later, and of course he hears it wrong first. He’s in the training room when Tim passes through, and he doesn’t even look away from the punching bag.

“So you finally got hitched, huh?”

Tim stops walking. “No.”

Jason smirks. “That’s not what Dick said.”

“I’m going to assume Dick said something stupid.”

Jason finally looks over, amused. “He said you’ve got a husband now.”

Tim pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s a joke.”

“Yeah? You call him that in the field too?”

“That was once.”

“That’s once more than zero.”

Tim walks away before it can become a full interrogation.

Jason watches him go and calls after him, “Tell your spouse I said hi!”

“He’s not my—”

But Jason was already laughing.

…

Tim finds Damian in the library later, sitting straight in a chair that looks too big for him, sharpening a pencil like it’s a blade.

Damian looks up. “Grayson says you have entered into a matrimonial arrangement.”

“No.”

“A mock marriage?” Damian tilts his head slightly.

“Yes.”

“A foolish one?”

Tim exhales. “It’s a joke, Damian.”

Damian goes back to sharpening. “You are unusually tolerant of this individual.”

“I tolerate all of you.”

“That is false.” Damian continues, unbothered. “You respond faster to him. You allow physical proximity without irritation. You have never corrected his usage of marital terminology in a meaningful way.”

“It’s not meaningful,” Tim says.

Damian finally looks up again. “Then why do you hesitate before denying it?”

Tim adjusts his sleeve. “It’s just funny.”

“Denial is inefficient.”

…

Stephanie is also worse.

She sprinted towards Tim in the hallway with both hands full of equipment bags. “Ooooh,” she cooes instantly. “How’s married life treating you?”

Tim groans. “Not you too.”

“Yeah! I heard you’re domestic now.” She leans in like it’s classified intel and whispers, “Do you cook? Do you fight over chores? Do you say ‘yes dear’ yet?”

“It’s not real.”

“Sounds real,” she practically sings.

“It’s seriously just a joke!” Tim said indignantly.

“Sure,” she says, stretching the word. “A joke where you’ve basically adopted a boyfriend.”

“I’m leaving.”

“Tell your husband I said hi!”

He doesn’t respond but his ears are turning red.

…

Barbara doesn’t ease into it either, which of course, sucks for Tim. It’s another late call and the screen glows faintly in the background, green code reflecting off her glasses. Tim is mid-report, standing in the cave with his tablet, trying very hard to sound normal.

“You’ve been syncing patrol routes around his schedule,” Barbara says.

“That’s not—”

“It is,” she cuts in, calm but certain. “And you don’t do ‘not deliberate’ things, Tim.”

Silence.

Barbara leans back slightly in her chair. “Also,” she adds, like she’s switching topics but absolutely isn’t, “I know teen love when I see it.”

She continues, tone far too casual for what she’s saying. “And you? Totally soft for that guy.”

“I’m not—” he starts.

Barbara lifts a hand. “Don’t.”

That single word shuts it down more effectively than a screaming argument ever could.

Tim exhales. “It’s not like that.”

Barbara watches him through the screen, expression gentler now, but still knowing. “Then what is it?” she asks.

He hesitates for too long, and that’s the problem because whatever answer he was going to give… doesn’t come out to be believable anymore.

“It’s a joke,” he says finally, quieter this time.

She just nods. “Sure. A joke.”

And through all of it, Tim keeps insisting the same thing.

It’s a joke.

A simple running bit.

Something stupid between two people.

But jokes don’t usually make him look up when someone walks into a room. They don’t usually stick around this long. And they definitely don’t make everyone else start noticing before he does.

Tim stares at the screen a little longer than he means to.

The message is simple—just four words that feel heavier than they should.

“I want to talk to you.”

Before he can overthink it further, the phone buzzes again.

“Yes, my darling husband?”

Of course.

Tim exhales through his nose, something between a laugh and resignation. His thumb hovers for a second, then starts typing.

“Stop calling me that.”

He deletes it and tries again.

“Are you busy?”

Too casual, so he deleted it too.

He locks the screen for half a second, then unlocks it again like that would reset his brain.

This is ridiculous. He’s faced down armed criminals and dismantled hacking networks—and somehow texting is what’s breaking him.

He finally types:

“Can you meet me? Tonight.”

Almost immediately, the reply from you comes through.

“Yeah. Where, honey?”

Tim shuts his eyes for a second. Stop calling me that, he almost types. Instead:

“Roof. The usual one.”

No reply after that. He just hopes you listen.

…

He gets there first.

Gotham air is cold enough to bite through fabric but Tim barely notices. He’s already running through every possible version of this conversation in his head, none of them good enough.

Footsteps approach behind him a few minutes later.

You step up beside him. “So,” you say. “This is serious business or just emotional support husband duties?”

Tim lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Serious,” he finally says.

“Okay,” you say, quieter. “Talk to me.”

Tim looks out over Gotham for a second longer, like he needs something steady to focus on before he says anything.

“I think… I think I might actually like you.” He looks at you softly. “I don’t know when it stopped being a joke, but it did.”

A pause as the wind moves between you both, sharp and cold.

Tim continues anyway, “And I don’t expect anything from you. I just needed to admit it.”

“…You feel it too?”

He just blinks. “What?”

You look just as surprised as he feels.

Your brows lift, your expression caught somewhere between disbelief and relief, as though you’d expected almost any response except the one he’d given.

“Do you feel it too?” you repeated.

“…Too?”

You scratch the back of your neck, suddenly looking a lot less confident than the boy who’d spent months calling him husband and all those pet names without a second thought.

“I mean…” You let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah. Um, I kind of thought I was the one who accidentally ruined the joke.”

Tim just stares. “You like me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’ve been calling me ‘husband’ and ‘honey’ this entire time while actually—”

“Yep..”

Another pause.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen. It was funny at first. Then I started looking forward to hearing you say it back.”

Tim’s heart does something deeply inconvenient.

“I’d catch myself wondering if you’d text me that day.” You smile to yourself, small and sheepish. “Or I’d hear something dumb and think, ‘Tim’s going to roll his eyes so hard at this.’”

Tim can only gape at you.

For someone who always has a response, always has another angle or argument ready, his mind is completely blank.

“You seriously…” he mumbles at last.

“I seriously like you.”

Tim lets out a slow breath. “I spent four days trying to convince myself Dick was imagining things.”

“He wasn’t?”

“No.”

“Jason?”

“…Unfortunately not.”

“The rest of your family?”

“They’re going to be unbearable.”

“So… they figured it out before we did?”

“…Yeah,” he admits.

“Huh.”

“Hm.”

“Sooo…” You nudge his shoulder with yours, almost experimentally.

“So.”

“Does this mean I was being a good spouse this whole time?”

Tim groans, dropping his face into one hand. “You had one chance to be serious.”

“I was serious for, like, two full minutes!”

“You lasted eighty seconds at most.”

“I think that’s a personal record.”

Against his better judgment, Tim laughs.

You brighten immediately at the sound. “There he is.”

“Oh, don’t start.”

“I can’t help it.” You bump him again. “It’s nice hearing my husband laugh.”

Tim shakes his head, already smiling.

“…You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” you say, reaching over to lace your fingers through his with effortless certainty, “you still like me.”

Tim looks down at your joined hands.

Then back at you.

“…Yeah,” he says, giving your hand the slightest squeeze. “I really do.”

END OF CASE FILE.

He’s just been floating a few feet above the roof of your apartment building, stock still ever since he zoomed over five minutes ago.  

He didn’t mean to, he really didn’t mean to, but when he first heard your groan he thought you were hurt. Then he picked up the quiet sucking and even the faint sound of your slick.  

You let out a sound that was far more lewd than the first and Jon’s hand shot up to cover his mouth, as if there was anyone around to hear the man’s sharp intake of breath.  

Sheets rustle and Jon imagines you clutching the fabric between your fingers. He hears a lewd slurp and imagines Damian right between your thighs, lapping and sucking at just the right places.  

Jon’s fists clench at his sides when he hears your moans grow louder and a little higher. Sheets shuffle and he pictures your back arching off the bed, grinding up into his best friend’s face. 

You groan his name so unabashedly, in a way Jon never dared to consider you could. You sound like you’ve been waiting for this all day and your boyfriend’s finally giving it to you and giving it well.  

Jon can almost see it, your fingers in his friend’s dark hair, your thighs squeezing around his head as you cum around his apparently deft fingers and skilled mouth.  

He’d be lying if he said he’d never thought of you two like this before. You were a hot couple and you were both such good friends to him.

You’d always ask him to tag along on what could’ve been dates between just the two of you; you invited him to sleep overs where you’d both squish him between you on the couch and you’d cook dinners with him at your apartment. You'd bring him along on vacations, to the park, the beach, the movies.

You've done an array of things with him that you could’ve just done as a couple but instead chose to invite him along because you’re both such good friends to him-- even if Damian can’t admit it outright most of the time.  

It’s only natural then, that he’d think about what other couple things you’d want him to participate in...right? 

How was he supposed to constantly see the way you look at Damian and not imagine you looking at him the same way? How was he not supposed to imagine Damian giving him gentle little touches like he did with you. Honestly, his restraint so far has been admirable.  

Now all that’s out the window. He just heard Damian make you cum on his tongue and as red as his face probably is, he’s not flying an inch further away from your apartment like he should.  

All he can hear are soft kissing sounds and you trying to even out your breathing, and suddenly, a new wave of guilt hits him.  

He doesn’t even want to think about what he’ll do with his hard-on but he has to leave. He runs his hands through his already wild hair, trying to will himself to move. The moment is so tender and quiet, he wants nothing more than to be in that room.  

Then he hears fabric shuffling and a belt buckle hit the floor.   

 “Look at me, Hayati.“ 

It’s such a simple, gentle command yet it has both you and Jon at attention. He hears the bed creak, a short silence. 

“Just keep your eyes on me.”  

You reply with a breathy, “'kay.“ 

There’s a pause before you let out a choked groan, and then a wet squelch. Jon has to squeeze his thighs together when he imagines his friend bottoming out in his other friend’s soaked heat, their eyes never straying from the other's.  

“So good to me, Beloved.”  

And now that his lips are free, Jon makes a new world-shattering discovery: Damian’s a talker.  

“Ya Rouhi, I’d be a happy man if all I ever lived for was to pleasure you.”  

His voice is thick, accompanied by your soft sounds of pleasure and the slow, slick plaps that make it to Jon’s red ears.  

“I’ll always give you everything, Hayati. You deserve more than I can give.“  

You both let out deep grunts in time with his steadily increasing pace. The sheets shuffle and Damian must have switched the position up because you curse and cry out. 

“I’m yours in every way and I know you’re mine.” 

It must be beautiful, Jon thinks, Damian’s lidded eyes matching yours, your hips matching his thrusts, bodies sticking together, shared breaths. Jon ignores the worsening wet spot in his underwear, his suit feeling tight on his growing hardness.  

He holds his breath so he can better hear the exact moment you and Damian cum together. Maybe you’re still locking eyes, maybe your foreheads are pressed together, but all he can hear is your mixed moans and the stalling of your hips as Damian fills you up.  

Once more, the only thing left to hear after the high is soft kissing and harsh breaths. Nothing but Damian’s husky,   

“I love you, Hayati.”  

Between kisses and your croaked hum in return, “Love you too, babe. S'good to me.” 

You mumble the sweetest praises in-between kisses and Jon can hear Damian’s heart beat a bit faster, can hear the sheets shuffle as he imagines the man shoving his face into his girlfriend’s neck at such sweet words being uttered to him. You always did say he was a secret sap, not that it was much of a secret between you three, but Jon only realises now just how true that really is.

As the moment grows quieter, Jon’s guilt only grows again. The sound of the city comes rushing back and his head spins around the various apartment buildings around him as if someone could’ve possibly known what he was doing.

Regardless, he can’t stay here, listening to your extremely private moment. There's no pretense of shock keeping him here anymore, he's just being a creep! No better than a criminal!

Unbeknownst to Jon, both you and Damian heard his distinct sonic boom when he flew off and you’re now staring at each other with matching wide eyes.  

You’re the first to break the silence with a laugh, shoving your face in your hands. “You don’t think he...?”   

Damian runs a hand through his hair with a groan that doesn't hide his embarrassment.

“I told him he should come over today.”  

“And you forgot?!” 

“I was distracted.”  

---Then poor Jon jerks off to his bffs and then cries because he feels bad about it. 😭💔