🎧 so american - olivia rodrigo
@supersonic for divider
pairings: tim drake x male!reader, british!reader, batfam x platonic!reader, batfam x male!reader
content: light swearing, makeout session, brief suggestive language (in a joking matter)
summary: tim drake's long-distance boyfriend comes along for a beach trip with his family!
note: please ignore the fact that bruce isn't present. that was an accident, i swear. he's there in spirit, okay?
word count: 3k
Being in a long distance relationship was never on Timothy Drake's to-do list, but in the long run, it seemed to work out just fine. From all of the late nights on patrol, to all of the long days studying case files and filling out reports, Tim found that it was better talking over the phone with his lover than having them close where his presence was needed constantly.
Now, this didn't mean that Tim didn't struggle with the distance. He called his lover every day–sometimes multiple times a day, not that he'd say that out loud. So when he and his boyfriend did meet up in person on special occasions, he was the happiest person alive–and his schedule would be completely cleared.
Bruce had informed all of his children--the non-adopted ones being included, too, that is--that he'd planned a boating trip for all of them at Pearl Beach. Tim knew that your classes wouldn't start until August, so his first question for Bruce was if he could bring you, and his second question was to Alfred–can you book his flights?
Now, as Tim waited for you at the airport, he was giddy as can be. He had picked up a stuffed animal and your favorite coffee order and waited by your gate. He was relieved that none of his siblings had accompanied him, positive that they'd tease him about it relentlessly.
And there you were, walking through the crowd of people with your eyes darting around almost frantically. Then they landed on him. Your Tim. You all but sprinted in his direction, throwing your arms around him despite the fact that he was holding a drink and a gift bag.
You buried your face in his neck on instinct, and he squeezed you tightly around the waist. How long had it been? Four months? Five? Too long, you thought to yourself.
Tim pulled away, but not before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. Too brief for your liking, but it was better than what you had received lately.
“Come on,” he said. “They're waiting at the dock.”
The boat waiting at the dock was nice and very clearly expensive. Why wouldn't it be? This was Bruce Wayne, after all. Everything he did was expensive.
This was the first time you had been in one space with this much of Tim's family at once. You had met some of them while hanging out at the manor, or Tim had introduced you to them through the phone while you were on one end of the face time call and he was on the other. But now you were here with them and it made everything feel so real. Like that you belonged there with them.
Tim climbed onto the boat first. He took your hand and let you walk in after him. He squeezed your hand tightly–an anchor. He wouldn't let you fall.
Okay, so maybe it's a bit embarrassing that you're nineteen and can't swim. Your excuse was something along the lines of, “We don't swim in the UK!” Tim had laughed hysterically.
You took a seat next to Tim on one of the benches on the boat, leaning into him as he wrapped his arm around you and let it rest behind you. The wind felt nice, blowing through your hair while the salty water sent a gentle mist over your skin. Oh, you could get used to this.
You could also get used to the way that Tim looked in the summer. Tan. Wearing less clothes than usual. When was the last time you had seen his knees? You weren't sure, but you knew that you wanted to see more of them. More of him.
Your head tipped back on Tim's shoulder, looking up at him as he spoke with his siblings. You tuned in just enough to hear that he was actually arguing. With Damian. No surprises there, but you thought that they might tone it down a bit while on vacation. Guess not.
“You can't possibly claim to be even slightly skilled in Mortal Kombat. I've beaten you four out of five times on average–”
“That's because I know how to spend my time, Drake. Maybe that pile of files on your desk would shrink if you quit playing video games,” the youngest Wayne quipped, and you could hear the smugness in his voice. “Besides, who cares about who wins in a video game? I win in real combat, something you would know nothing of.”
And Tim was quiet for a moment. You could feel him laugh more than hear it–the small puff of his chest. These were the “vigilantes” that were so feared in Gotham. They didn't seem very scary to you.
“You know, Damian, I could kick your ass right here, right now, but I'm a little occupied at the moment.” He gestured lightly to you. “Just wait until we pull up to the beach. Be ready.”
“You should be ready, Drake,” Damian said, crossing his arms. “I brought my sword in case something like this happened.”
“Can we not?” Someone asked, and you realized it was Dick. He was sitting on the edge of the boat, facing the water, but he turned back just enough to give both Damian and Tim a look. They both went silent.
You silenced your laugh, but your smile couldn't be contained.
“What're you smiling for?” Tim asked, and he was smiling, too. He hadn't stopped since you'd arrived. You weren't sure if he knew that he was, but you didn't want it to stop. “Is something funny?” He pinched your side and you twisted away out of instinct. He locked his arm around your waist and pinched your side again, harder this time. You squirmed and tried to break free, but this was a vigilante you were going against. You didn't stand a chance.
Stephanie gagged theatrically as she walked by, and Jason–you knew from the scars and white bangs–huffed dramatically.
“Oh, quit pouting,” Tim said, and he pinched your side again, digging his fingers in harder. You laughed uncontrollably and Tim just kept talking as if he wasn't torturing you. “You're just mad because Roy is busy and couldn't come.”
“No, I'm not,” Jason countered, leaning over the edge of the boat and looking at the water poetically. Tim had always said he was a drama queen. He was right.
“Sure,” Tim muttered with an eye roll. Then he looked at Dick. “What about Kori? She didn't want to come?”
“She had plans with Donna,” the acrobat explained while he opened a cooler, taking out a Sprite and taking a big swig. “Give him a break, Tim. I don't think he can breathe.”
“He's fine,” Tim said, but he finally pulled his hand away, chuckling to himself as you slumped against him, elbowing your mischievous boyfriend in the side as payback.
Dick shook his head, muttering something before sitting next to Damian and speaking with him.
Everyone seemed to be doing their own thing–either lounging on the boat, speaking quietly with one another, or eating some of the snacks Alfred had packed. It was all so peaceful. You couldn't help but wonder how often this peace lasted, them being vigilantes and all. You figured that once this trip was over, they'd go right back to risking their lives for the greater good without another thought. These moments probably mean a lot, you thought to yourself. How could they not? A minute of silence feels like an eternity in a day full of noise.
The beach came into view. Everyone seemed to wake up a bit, either talking louder, or… jumping into the water before the boat was even parked? You could hear Bruce from the front, already scolding them. They'd probably been told to wait until the boat was still. Tim patted your shoulder twice and took his shirt off before diving off the side of the boat. You immediately turned and looked over the edge, waiting for his head to bob up from the water. Once it did, you glared at him.
“Don't do that!” You were somewhat joking, but your voice was obviously filled with a little bit of panic. Knowing Tim, he was probably going to do it twenty more times. For good measure, he'd say.
“Come on!” he shouted, running a hand through his wet hair and–Oh, you were already ruined. He looked like a god. All tanned muscles, water dripping down soft skin. He looked good enough to eat--just a small bite. You were starving. “The water feels great!”
You opened your mouth, closed it, opened it again, closed it again, swallowed, and then said a silent prayer. For restraint. “I'll wait till we get closer to the beach!” you managed to say, but your mouth felt as dry as the Sahara.
The boat came to a full stop, and you climbed down the ladder and planted your sandal-clad feet into the sand. It was warm, soft, welcoming. Nothing back home could compare to this. It was all cold, sharp edges, and rainy, dim shadows. Nothing was ever gentle. Nothing was ever kind. This was both and everything else good.
Yeah, you could definitely get used to this.
Tim suddenly appeared in your vision, walking up towards the beach from the water. He shook his hair, stretching his arms up and putting those pretty abs on full display. Your stomach flipped without permission.
And then he was in front of you. One hand landed on your waist and the other ran through his hair again. It was like he knew what he was doing, getting you all riled up. But dammit, you loved it.
Tim brought his hand to your face and ran his hand through your hair, letting his finger run behind your ear and down your neck. You were so screwed.
“You're blushing,” he whispered. Too close. Too hot. Too fucking hot.
You threw all of your instincts as far away as possible. Who cares if you can't swim? You needed to get away before you exploded.
“I'm gonna swim,” you said quietly. Too fast. Too frantic. And you stepped out of your sandals and walked straight into the water, shirt still on. The water hit your waist. A comfortable depth. But you kept going. You needed to cool down. You needed to get away from your outrageously attractive boyfriend.
The water hit your chest and you panicked, arms flailing desperately. In hindsight, it was embarrassing. Even Damian was out further than you. Everyone was. You didn't care at the moment. Tim watched from the shore, laughing shamelessly.
You were drowning and he was laughing.
“Tim,” you choked out, splashing harder. “Help–”
He sighed, shook his head, and started walking into the water. He stopped in front of you while you jerked like a fish out of water. You immediately wrapped your arms around his frame–solid and warm and hard and smooth and touchable and kissable...
“You okay there?” he asked in that smug voice that he uses when he's about to be condescending. Is it bad to think it's hot? You don't care. Not when he's tilting his head and narrowing his eyes at you. Not when his hands are sliding up and down your sides beneath your shirt. Not when he's making your throat close up just by being him.
“Mhm,” you forced out, but you still clung to him like a lifeline. And you were so close to him. And he was touching you and holding you and even the water seemed to get warmer when he was in it.
Tim gripped your sides and forced you to stand up right, maintaining that patronizing eye contact–as if he was saying, “See? It's not that hard.” And screw every part of you that thought that it was hot.
But then you realized that the water was barely to your ribs. You had almost drowned… in water that was barely to your ribs. Your face grew hotter.
“You're so cute when you're embarrassed,” he said, and when you averted his gaze, he pressed his thumb under your jaw, forcing your attention on him. Oh, it was on him alright.
“Come on. I wanna show you something.”
Your back hit the hard wood of the tree as Tim shoved you against it, but his hand cradled the back of your head so that it didn't take any of the force. His lips were on yours in a millisecond, hands slipping under your shirt to knead at whatever skin he could find.
You were a dizzy, breathless mess within a minute, but Tim had no intentions of stopping yet. He gave your lips a break so that you could get some air while his mouth moved to your jaw, kissing and nipping his way down your neck. You fisted your hands in his shirt, trying to ground yourself as he assaulted your senses.
Tim pulled away for a second, still holding your waist and looking down at your neck. You dropped your head to his shoulder, panting and trembling from his onslaught.
“A little privacy would be nice, Cass,” he said, not even bothering to look behind him. You couldn't see her, and you knew better than to try. Tim had told you that she tended to lurk in the shadows, never fully making her presence known.
Once Tim was sure that you were alone again, his lips were back on your skin, this time kissing that place behind your ear that he knew ruined you.
“Tim–” you choked out, squeezing your eyes shut and gripping his shirt tighter. Your body was hot all over, and he was crowding you from all sides. It was overwhelming in the best way possible.
“Yeah, babe?” he asked, but he didn't stop. He let his hand glide over your stomach, fingernails raking over your skin. He chuckled against your neck when you tensed up.
A small hum was all you could get out, and you could feel him smirking against your skin. He was always so smug with it. He knew how to abuse your weak spots, and then he'd laugh at you for reacting. It was a cruel, cruel game, one that you had no intention of stopping.
“I know,” he whispered, and it made your stomach twist. He pressed a long kiss to your throat before pulling away. “Come on. They're gonna start wondering where we went.”
He grabbed your hand and started walking away, but your wobbly legs had other plans. You stumbled through the grass and sand, still breathing hard.
Tim turned back to you and laughed. “Really? Just from a few kisses?” he teased, wrapping an arm around your waist to steady you.
“Shut up,” you retorted, giving him a glare that held no malice.
You could hear laughter and yelling as you reached the shore, and Tim immediately jumped in excitement when he saw what was happening.
“Have you ever played chicken fight?”
You shook your head. Americans, you thought to yourself.
“Come on. You can be on top.”
Now that's something you don't hear often.
Tim crouched in the water and helped you climb onto his shoulders, and you gripped his hair for dear life, not wanting to fall backwards. Little did you know…
Stephanie was on Duke's shoulders across from you, an evil expression on your face.
“Okay,” Tim began explaining, “the point of the game is to not fall off of your partner's shoulders. You and Steph have to try to shove each other into the water. Duke and I can't help with that–we just hold you up. So you just try to push her off, okay?”
What the hell is this game?
Before you could answer, Stephanie was in front of you, arms outstretched as Duke came closer. Tim moved forwards at full force, and you were far from ready. Your balance was terrible, but you were determined not to give up.
Steph pushed you once and you were in the water.
Tim was laughing when he pulled you out of the water, looking at you with endearment. His eyes raked you up and down, and his eyebrows furrowed. The thinking face.
That can't be good.
“Dick! Jay!” Tim called. “Wanna play chicken fight?”
They started swimming over, and Tim's expression turned evil. You knew that look. It was the one that he wore when he was up to no good–which was pretty often, actually.
“You can be on Dick's shoulders. I'll get Jason.”
Now you had to go against Tim. Great. You figured you should practice holding your breath instead of worrying about the shoving part.
Dick helped you onto his shoulders, and you watched as Tim climbed onto Jason's. You felt slightly more prepared this time. Not that you were, but you knew what you were up against.
At least you thought you did.
Jason and Dick both charged at full force, and Tim immediately began pushing you. But you pushed back, trying your hardest to get Tim to fall.
In the end, Tim pushed you off of Dick's shoulders with ease. But hey, this time you got a few good shoves in. Better to try, right?
“Dinner's ready!” Alfred called from the boat, and you and Tim both made your way to the bench you had used this morning.
Tim grabbed food for both of you, placing your plate in your lap. This was also something you appreciated. Alfred's cooking was much better than the food you ate at home. Everything was always so bland and boring. It seemed like everything was more bright and warm and colorful here. Or maybe that was just because of Tim.
You took three bites before a yawn fell from your lips, and Tim raised an eyebrow at you. “Tired already?”
You suppressed another yawn and shook your head. You were exhausted, though. You had an early flight, no rest afterwards, and then spent an entire day at the beach. You were bound to be a bit tired.
You let your head fall onto Tim's shoulder, and then you were out like a light. He shifted you to lay your head in his lap, and he draped a towel over your frame as you slept.
“Aww,” Dick said softly. “The big bad Tim Drake is whipped.”
Tim didn't even try to deny it. He knew that he was so insanely down bad for you, and he didn't care if the whole world knew it. Because you were his, and that was all that mattered.
