I saw your post about all your writing prompts being about Jason, which fair love him, but how about something for Tim? something something Tim saves reader mayhaps? little bit of angst, little bit of fluff, whatever you're feeling. I love your writing, and I've been following since probably chapter 25ish of diky and I love when you post new things 💛
Thank you for sending something! I, for some reason, decided on this little backstory the second I got this request. Here are the tidbits: Reader and Tim met in California while he was working with the Titans. She is a civilian; she does know he's Red Robin. I don't know if any of that matters, but please enjoy!!
--------------
You hated every part of this. You thought people were being dramatic about Gotham and all the robberies and bombings and what have you. It was a city, like New York, like LA. It couldn't truly be that bad.
You had tagged along with Tim to the bank, something to do with Wayne Enterprise business. You weren’t going to argue; you were happy to follow him, considering you’d come all the way across the country to spend time with him.
But now, you were regretting it. You should’ve never left California, should’ve never come to Gotham, because now you were sitting on the floor as an armed masked man yelled for the money. Everyone seemed annoyingly unbothered by it, looking more bored than scared as they all sat on the floor. You were pretty sure the couple on the other side of the bank was playing Go Fish.
You slump against the wall where you and Tim had sat before he promptly vanished. You were going to kick him for it. You understand why. It's just annoying.
“What did I say?” you jolt back as a gun is pointed in your direction, “Where’s your little friend? I know there was someone with you.”
You point a finger at your chest, and the masked man steps towards you, hand grabbing your arm and dragging you, “Where is he? No one was supposed to move.”
“I don't know!” You trip over your own feet as the man drags you to the center of the bank lobby. Tim! You were so going to kill him. Your knees hurt the second you're shoved back to the floor. But you don't dare complain as the barrel of a gun is pressed to your head, “Oh, come on, man.”
“Don’t move,” the man orders before he addresses the rest of the hostages, “Let this be a lesson for the next time you're in the middle of a robbery. Sit your asses down and stay-”
The glass ceiling of the bank shatters above you. You duck and cover your head as the glass rains down. A gunshot goes off, and you drop to the floor on your side into a fetal position. Glass digs into the side of your arm, but you don’t move at the sound of fighting and more gunshots. Soon the fighting settles.
“Everyone alright?” a voice asks. You know that voice. You were going to kick that voice. You finally lift your head as some of the hostages give a meager applause. Your eyes find your boyfriend, all geared up in his Red Robin uniform. It's unfair how good he looks in it because you really were upset with him. He walks towards you and crouches, offering you a hand in a show, “You alright, missy?”
You stare at him, stare at his hand before you sit up and wrap your arms around his neck in what you hope looks like a grateful civilian hugging the man who just saved her. You whisper in his ear, “I’m so upset with you right now, it's not even funny.”
When you part, his hands are hovering in a way that would be instinct that he managed to mostly tamp down. His lips press grimly before he looks at your arm, “shit, you're bleeding.”
He helps you up without thought, leading you towards the entrance where most of the hostages had already filtered out. The paramedics are already there, but you’re their only patient, pulling bits of glass before wrapping up your arm. Tim disappears again. Ten minutes later, he’s back by your side as a loyal, worried boyfriend. You only click your tongue at him with an eye roll. You're excused from the paramedics soon after. You don't even wait for Tim, walking around the block where he’d parked his car. He trails after you like a recently punished puppy.
You two sit in the car in silence for five minutes, you glaring out the passenger window. Tim finally speaks up, “Baby, I’m sorry.”
“For?” you ask, turning to look at him, already unimpressed.
“Uhhh.”
You scoff, “Tim, you left me.”
“That's not fair,” he retorts, “I saved you.”
You shake your head, “The only reason I was in any real danger was because you disappeared. They notice, and they were going to use me as an example to not move, and it's your fault, and I don’t like Gotham at all.”
Tim stares at you for a moment. “Are you done?”
“Timothy Drake, I swear to god,” you point a finger at him, and he holds his hands up in defense.
“Take it easy, okay? I’m sorry left you alone in the middle of a robbery,” he reaches for your hand in your lap, “And I’m sorry you got hurt, and I’m sorry you got threatened with a gun. I never wanted anything like that to happen to you. Baby, please forgive me.”
You take a moment to stare at him. Tim had warned you before you even came to Gotham that it was an entirely different world, especially compared to California. You knew that if something came up, if he needed to be a hero, that he would ditch you. You were mostly used to it because he had done it a few times before when the Titans needed something. None of this was Tim's or your fault, and you need to let go, or the rest of your trip would suck.
You press your lips together and finally nod, “Okay, fine.”
Tim relaxes in the driver's seat beside you, “Thank you, babe, really it's-”
“I’m still not happy,” you interrupt, “Not with you but the situation. We are not going to any more banks while I’m here.”
Tim nods in concession as he starts the car, “How's your arm?”
You shrug, hand ghosting over the bandaging, “Okay, I guess.”
“We’ll have Alfred take a closer look at it, he murmurs.
“Tim.”
He glances at you, “Yeah?”
You tip over the console and press a kiss to his cheek, “Thank you for saving me.”
He flushes softly, “You're welcome. I always come to save you. You know that, right?”
“I know,” you nod, hand curling in his after he puts the car in drive. You let out a yawn, suddenly exhausted.
“Good,” he squeezes your finger, “let’s go relax, yeah?”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Girlfrienddddddd! Ugh, just feeding us with this drabble challenge. The one with Dami is my favorite, he's such a little nugget. He makes me feel so maternal, I want to give him the world 🥺
@herodedicatedblog
Thank you!!
And honestly, yes! That's my son! He's a baby! We gotta take care of him!
Hi! I saw you are doing a challenge and wanted to ask for Tim Drake because he’s my favorite Robin.
Tim, who once admitted to being touch starved and quietly wished for affection. His wish was granted when he started dating his current girlfriend, who loves giving him affection.
🥰 and 🥵 please?
This did come to me after the challenge ended, but thank you for sending something in! I hope it is enjoyed!
---------------
“You're kidding,” you scoff, head hanging over the edge of Tim's bed in Titans Tower. He types quietly for a second at his desk before he responds, “I grew up an only child and trust me when I say that physical touch isn't exactly Batman's love language.”
Your purse your lips at the thought. Poor little robin. Someday you'll have so much love you won't know what to do with it.
You didn't think a year later, you'd be a major part of insuring just that.
“How is this wrestling?” Tim laughs as he tries to shake you off his back.
You stay put where you're wrapped around him like a koala, piggyback style. Your face presses to his neck in terribly aimed kisses as you laugh with him, “It's like, taekondow.”
“Like?” He gives up a moment, hands curling around your knees at his hips, “Are you a super-trained fighting machine?”
You squeeze him tighter. He makes an overdramatic choked noise against the arm you have around his neck as you tease, “Aren't you a super-trained fighting machine? These attempts are pathetic.”
He takes a step backwards, and you cling more knowing what's about to happen, “pathetic? Is that how it's gonna be?”
“Timothy don't-” you screech as he falls backwards on his bed. You groan as he momentarily crushes you. Your arms loosen. He takes the opening, turning around to pin your hands back on the bed. Your head presses back against the bed as you grin at him, “You think you're so smooth.”
“I am very smooth,” he nods, squeezing your wrists.
You jut your chin and pucker your lips softly, “Come here.”
“You're gonna cheat.”
“Says you,” you stick your tongue out, then repucker your lips. He folds easily, happily, lips pressing to yours. You kiss him back, humming softly. One of his hands leaves your wrist to cradle your jaw, tipping your head so he can deepen it. Your now freed arm hooks behind his neck and gives you wiggle room. Your thigh presses to his hip, gently pressing him until he rolls onto his back. Your lips never part in the movement as you straddle him. Your hand leaves his neck to slide down his chest and up under his shirt.
He pulls back with a laugh and a murmured, “What’re you doing?”
“I’m touching you,” you smile as your lips press to his cheek and down his jaw. His head tips back without argument.
“Why?” he asks as his hands settle on your thighs, squeezing.
You shift atop him as you suck on his pulse. He lets out a suppressed groan that makes your smile widen. Your hand presses to his chest, feeling his heartbeat as your other hand moves up to stroke his hair, “because I can. I’m your girlfriend; it's like my right.”
“You're right?” he hums, pleased and melting under your touch.
“Yeah,” you kiss his cheek again, “like voting.”
He snorts against you, hands leaving your thighs to move over your back. You settle atop him in a hug. He strokes your back as you both settle, “Interesting to know that I sit up there by voting on your list.”
“Trust me, Timmy. You sit much higher,” you murmur. He lets out another hum, the same pleased tone, filled with wonderful contentment.
So I thought that the writing challenge would kick me into writing gear but it didnt. I think im getting fried on my poor baby Jason. He's the only one really have any requests for. Not a bad thing! I just need something else.
Pretty please send in requests for any one else in my request page! I'll repost it too so its easier to find.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
hey so this is a request (love your fics btw 🙂↔️): jason todd finding out that readee was pregnant before he died and now they have a whole child together, agnst with happy ending (maybe?).
So I'm not totally sure this was requested as part of the writing challenge, but it was sent in very close to when I was posting about it, so it is now a part of the writing challenge. Either way, thank you for sending it. Hope you enjoy it!!
Kandy's Writing Challenge
--------------
Jason didn't know what to do with himself. He'd spent a year in a rampage and a year trying to chill out and accept that his family actually likes him despite everything. It had been five years since he'd seen you.
It was a choice, mostly. He didn't want you to see him the way he was, hellbent in anger. Sure, the family talked about you. Dick spoke about you like you were a little sister. You'd spent time at the manor after his death, in his room, clinging to what was left. It hurt to know that, to learn that you held on long enough that Jason's old room was practically yours.
He'd noticed it in little things the first night he'd stayed at the manor. A soft blanket. Clothes in the dresser he couldn't bring himself to dig through. A nightlight in the corner that made it hard to sleep, but he didn’t unplug it. You had been there; however recent, he wasn't sure.
Then he asked the family about you. They hadn't told you he was alive. You had responsibilities, whatever that meant, and unless Jason was absolutely positive about being in your life permanently, they weren't going to tell you. Then he asked for more. They started to get standoffish about the whole thing. It was annoying and upsetting because it was you.
It didn't matter how long it had been; Jason still loved you. And he was going to find you and tell you the truth.
So there he was following you down the street like some freak stalker. He couldn't get an apartment number out of anybody, but finding where you work isn't so hard. He planned to follow you home, and then you could talk things out. He could apologize with every fiber in his being, and maybe, just maybe, you'd still want him, you'd still love him.
“Mama!”
Jason freezes at the sight of the brand new, very unexpected kink in his plan. He slips into an alley to watch around the corner as you drop to one knee as a little boy comes hurtling at you. You take the impact with grace, arms wrapping around the boy, squeezing until he squeals with laughter. He watches you let up only to kiss the boy across his cheek as he giggles.
You stand up, hand curling tight in the boy's hand as you talk to the woman at the door to what Jason supposes is a daycare. Jason stops staring at you to stare at the child. The boy bounces around you, tugging and pulling at your hand. Jason is alarmed to say the least. It’s like looking in a mirror, or one when he was four or five years old, frizzed-up curly black hair.
Four or five years old.
Shit. Jason does some terrible math while you say your last goodbyes to the daycare worker. You and Jason were young before he died. Dick had been way too invested when he came to visit, and Bruce was Bruce. Any sort of conversation in the vicinity of sex education was avoided for obvious reasons. You and Jason were the epitome of young, dumb, and in love, and it seems the product is a jumping baby boy.
Jason’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t realise you're walking back the way you came, towards him.
******
“And then mama walked all the way across the city just to pick you up. My feet hurt, baby. You gotta carry me,” you tease. You let go of Jace’s hand to lean your elbow on his head, making him wobble.
Your sweet boy giggles before pushing at your hip and pulling your hand from his head, “but you strong, mama. Carry me home!”
“Carry you home?” you laugh, “Jace, baby, you're getting too big for that, you know that.”
“Daddy?”
Your feet stop at the words that leave your son's mouth. Your head drops to look at him, only to follow his gaze to a bulky man standing in the alley beside you. It’s the dark hair. It happens every time, but it always throws you for a loop. It was your grief you knew that. Hoping that maybe this time Jace would be right. Five years of showing your son photos of you and Jason together, and he only really remembers one feature, the one he shared with him. Black curly hair.
“Jace, I’ve told you not to do that. Come on. Let’s get home,” you glance at the man, pausing at the way he stares at you. You shake your head, “Mama wasn’t being silly when I said I was tired.”
You really do pick him up despite your complaints. You’d carry him for a block, only because of the way that man stared at you. Like he knew you. You glance over your shoulder to look at him again. Brow pinched because he looked like Jason far more than any other man had, but he looked far stronger than Jason ever was. It simply couldn’t be.
*****
This was stupid. Jason knew that. Beyond stupid really, but you looked right at him and for a second he thought you knew, but then you went on. The kid, Jace, you called him, was unplanned, but Jason was planning on following through in talking to you for better or worse. Worse, it seemed considering he was currently trying to jimmy the lock to your bedroom window. You were in the bathroom, if he tracked you right through the windows, possibly bathing your son before bed.
You’d put him down, and then you and Jason could talk. He nods to himself as he climbs in, slowly closing the window. Except when he turns around your there with a bat in your hand glaring him down. Yeah, that seemed right.
“What do you want?” You ask tightly, adjusting your grip on the bat.
Jason holds his hands up, trying to appear docile, “Just want to talk.”
“So you broke into my apartment? There’s a baby here; don’t be an idiot,” You warn, feet moving to ensure that the door is blocked by your body and the bat. Jason frowns. You were still holding it wrong. He’d shown you over and over when he’d first gotten it for you years ago.
“Sweetheart,” he says slowly. He watches you tense up at the word, but he continues, “Fix your hands, or you're gonna hurt yourself more than me.”
Jason watches you stop breathing altogether as you stare at him. After a moment, you finally speak up again, “Who are you? What do you want?”
“Jason, “He says slowly, “It's just me, sweetheart, and I just want to talk.”
Your eyes water and your hands wring around the bat, still held up, “Who are you?”
“Sweetheart, I know. Okay, I know. I died. I did, but then I came back. And I came back wrong, and I had to stay away,” he tries to explain in the gap you barely give him, “but I’m getting better, and I missed you, and I wanted to see you. I didn’t know-”
He cuts himself off. Both because he doesn’t know how to say it and because the end of the sentence is standing in the bedroom doorway wrapped up in a towel, curly black hair flat and wet against his head.
“Mama?” He mumbles curiously, shuffling with careful steps as he holds on to his towel to press his face to the back of your thigh like he’s hiding. He peeks around your leg and grins, “Daddy?”
“Jace,” your voice cracks, “I told you to stay in the bathroom until I came to get you.”
Jace shivers dramatically against your leg, “‘s cold, mama”
Your hand squeezes the bat tighter before you ease. The bat comes to the ground, and you drop it. You slip down, picking up Jace, eyes unmoved from Jason. You walk backwards towards the door, and you grab the door handle.
“Stay here,” you tell him, “I’m going to make some phone calls.”
Then you shut the door, and Jason is left alone in panic. He hopes you're not calling 911. That would be extremely unfortunate. He takes the time to look around your room. Different than when you were a teenager, but still somehow you. It makes him ache.
Ten minutes later, you're pulling the door open with re rimmed eyes. You whisper softly, “Jason?”
“Hi,” he murmurs, “I’m sorry for scaring you, sweetheart. I really did just want to-”
He quiets the second your arms are around him, squeezing him like he might disappear. It takes him a moment to wake up, to realise this moment was real, that you weren't kicking him out. His arms curl around you tight as you let out a sob into his shoulder. It easily draws tears from his own eyes as he buries his face in your hair.
“I’m so sorry,” He murmurs. It carries as much weight as possible and doesn’t feel like enough. He left you, not on purpose, of course, but he still left you alone. Alone with a baby on the way. You pull back to hold his face, to really look at him. Your high school sweetheart, your Jason.
“You got taller,” you say wetly with a devastated smile as you look over his face.
“You didn’t,” He murmurs, just as choked up.
You laugh at the comment, “I had to grow a baby instead.”
His forehead presses to yours, “You did. Sweetheart, is-”
“He’s yours, Jay,” You answer before he can even ask, “You’re the only person he could belong to.”
He swallows a pitiful sound at hearing you call him Jay again. He hadn’t realised how big the ache in his chest was until you were fixing it. Your gaze settles on his eyes, ceasing the roam across his face you used to be so familiar with, now riddled with scars.
“You want to meet him?” you ask softly. There were a million and one things you both should talk about, but one thing your little boy has asked time and time again was when he could meet his dad. You’d explained death to him, taken him to Jason’s headstone, but he never accepted it. You couldn't believe he was right.
Jason nods before he drags you into another hug. “Where is he?”
“Talking to Uncle Dick,” you answer, muffled against his shirt.
“Really?” Jason questions, a little peeved with his brother as he pulls away only enough so you can walk, hand curling around your elbow just to be touching as you lead him into your home. Jace was sitting on the floor, your phone in his hand as he rattled off some unknown words.
Jason listens as the boy pauses and Dick’s voice comes across the phone, Really buddy? That sounds crazy!
Jace falls back on the floor with an outcry of laughter like Dick had told the most hilarious joke in the world. Jason suddenly feels sick to his stomach watching him. You slip from his grasp as you continue on to pick your phone and son up.
“I think that’s enough crazy stories for the night,” you say, voice a little sniffly from crying. You pull Jace into your lap as you kneel on the ground, holding the phone up so Dick could finally see through the video call, “Tell Uncle Dick goodnight.”
“Nigh’ nigh’ uncle dih,” Jace waves in curled fingers at the camera as he slumps against your chest.
You pull the phone up to your face. “I’m upset with you, Richard Grayson.”
“Yeah, I know,” he grumbles across the line.
“Your brother’s upset with you too,” you add. And Jason doesn't correct, still hovering at the edge of the space observing something he doesn’t know how to be a part of.
“Is he still there?” Dick asks clearly, trying to look past you on the screen.
You nod, then shake your head, “I’m not your brother’s keeper. Find him tomorrow.”
“But-” you hang up the call and toss the phone aside, only to bend, pressing kisses to your son's cheek as you gently pull his thumb from his mouth with murmured instructions to not do that. He squirms in your lap more before he settles, suddenly focusing on the man standing in the room.
You catch the look and beckon Jason to come sit down. You readjust Jace in your lap, tugging his pajama shirt back over his belly as you speak, “Jace, I want you to meet Jason. Mama and he go way back.”
Jace’s head tips against your chest to look at you before his gaze settles on Jason’s bulking mass as he sits beside you both, “Daddy?”
You glance at Jason. A conversation for another day. You don't give him a straight answer: “You’re named after him, sweet pea.”
He giggles, “Silly mommy, my name’s Jace.”
“Your name is Jason Jr, babe. Everyone just calls you Jace because a Jason already exists in the family,” you explain gently, except Jason chokes on spit. Logistically, it's one of those things he should’ve figured out. Jace was a bit of a specific name. You raise an unimpressed brow at Jason, and he almost chokes again when he finds the same look on Jace’s face. Like mother, like son.
Jason settles down and offers a hand to Jace, “It's nice to meet you, bud.”
“Nice to meet ya, man.” Jace slaps Jason’s in a mock high five. An adoring, annoyed smile graces your lips, and Jason can only sit there stunned.
“Just nice to meet you, babe,” you correct fruitlessly.
“Nice to meet you, babe.”
You shake your head with a smile, “Okay, its bed time.”
Jason helps you up as Jace admently curls his arms around your neck to be carried. The boy grows limp easily. He looks at Jason as you walk towards his room.
“Dad, be here tomorrow?” he questions. You still, meeting Jason’s gaze, eyes asking the same question.
He rubs Jace’s back. “Yeah, I’ll be here tomorrow.”
You smile brighter, matching the one on Jace’s lips before you slip off down the hall. You had responsibilities, like the family said, and Jason needs to be in your life permanently. That he could do. You had always been the easy choice for him.
The day after tomorrow would involve hurting various members of the family. Not only for not telling you about him, but for not once telling him that he was a father.
I'm finding these challenges help keep me focused on writing for a couple of weeks, so I am going to try and do one once a month.
Starting the evening of July 3 and ending the evening of July 5 (may extend it, but we'll see), you, yes you! 🫵 can send in a request.
The rules are as follows for sending in an ask:
1. Make it short and sweet!
The more information you send, the easier it s for me to get lost in the sauce of it which kind of defeats the purpose. Keep it simple, something that could easily be one scene and done.
2. You can request any mood!
Angst! Fluff! Smut! A mix! You're welcome to your choosing! Just to be fun, send in an associated emoji to request your mood.
Angst: 💔 Fluff: 🥰 Smut: 🥵
3. Character options!
I know I've written for only a few characters (and not even all the ones I have listed) but I'll keep this challenge open to all the ones that I have on my request guide! I will leave it open for more characters too. If there's someone you think I would write well for, send it in! No promises that I'll know who they are though.
Also, it doesn't have to be romantic! If you would prefer more platonic scenarios, you can do that to! Remember this is for me to practice and be better!
Also, I love Jason with all my heart, but he's all I got last challenge. Please try to request some different character!
4. An additional note!
Requests can be a whole new version of characters, or you can request a series/AU-specific one.
-> DIKY(Do I Know You?) Jason Todd
-> Western Outlaw!Jason Todd
-> Regency Era!Jason Todd
-> Dad!Jason Todd and Mom/Pregnant!Reader
-> Boxer!Jason Todd
->Witch!Reader W/Jason Todd
-> VSM(Video Store Meetings) Steve Harrington
-> Brother's Best Friend!Eddie Munson
If there is a one shot that you may want a wee bit more of, you could also request for those. I'm sucker for continuing things I've already written (its a problem), so it doesn't bother me much!
Also, please take it easy on me if I don't get your request done. This is a challenge for me. I am struggling to stay in the writing groove. If you do send in a request, thank you for helping me and trusting me to make your idea come alive! 😘😘
I will repost this a few times over the next few days as a reminder of the rules.
I did mention this the last time I did my writing challenge in May, but I want to try and do it more often because it really gets the juices flowing and makes me motivated to write more. I have a long weekend this weekend, July 4-6, and I want to do it again.
Last time, I just reworked the request post from the one that I did in December. Is that bad? Because it's an older post that's been edited, does that make it disappear in the ether? I only ask because the last time I did the challenge, I didn't get as many requests, so I'm just curious.
Anyway, I'll get the post set up and will open requests for it on Friday night. So if you have something in mind for it, hold on til then!
Thank you always to every reader who sticks around 😘
