#tim drakexreader

[thepuckishrogue]

The Batboys in: “I’m late.” Take one.

A/n: Y’all ready for some cliches? No? Well too fucking bad because that’s what you’re getting lmao. This time around I’ve only got fills for Jaybird and Timmy-boy, but fear not--Dick and Older!Dami’s will be up sometime this week. For right now except these humble offerings, crafted in the thick of my sleep derivation... [This has since edited to match the AO3 version--my apologies to all who read that first, hella rough draft. Also! Part 2 is done now!]

Taglist [if you want in on some of this sweet, sweet tagging action just hit me up in an ask]: @aspiratinganxiety

Prompt: “I’m late.”

Presented For your consideration/entertainment:

Say the Word (Practice Makes Perfect) [Jason Todd x Reader]

Just because you weren’t ready didn’t mean that you didn’t want it...

You and Me Both, Babe [Tim Drake x Reader]

When you see an opportunity you take it. That’s one of the things he loves about you the most.

Say the Word (Practice Makes Perfect) [Jason Todd x Reader]

As you stare down at the single pink line on the tiny display your feelings are mixed.

On the one hand you’re hardly ready to raise a child, not when you still feel like a kid yourself most days, and that’s saying nothing of Jay’s chosen profession. Vigilantism is hardly conducive to home and hearth, after all. But despite knowing all of this you still feel… oddly crushed?

In the hours since your shaky murmur of “I’m late” was breathed into the crook of his neck, visions of little girls with inky ringlets and toddling boys with irises the color of a Caribbean tide had embedded themselves in your mind’s eye. With each minute that passed you allowed yourself to dream up a whole new life with Jason, one full of tiny giggles and toothless smiles and scabby knees. You saw your son seated aloft his broad shoulders, content and happy; your daughter on his knee as he read her his favorite Doctor Seuss book; you saw a future filled to bursting with things you’d never knew you wanted, knew you needed until that moment.

Hours to build up that new life in your head, and only two minutes to see it collapse around you.

“Is it weird that I’m a little disappointed?”

You finally tear your eyes away from the line, but you still can’t bring yourself to face the man that hovers behind you. “No,” you start after a few long seconds. “But it’s for the best… Right?”

You don’t know what Jay sees in your eyes when you finally meet his in the bathroom’s mirror, but you do know what you see in his—that same future that had shone so brief, but brilliant.

There’s a gentleness in his gaze, a fragility that leaves you choking on a sob. Before the first tears even fully form you’re being spun around and gathered up into his arms. Jason’s hands trail the length of your spine in long, lulling strokes even as you dig your nails into the muscles of his back and pull yourself flush against him. Your grip is firm bordering on bruising, but if it hurts him he doesn’t show it. He whispers words of comfort that echo in his chest, and reverberate through you. The feeling registers more than his voice, and while it’s calming in a way it still not enough.

“This is so stupid. Why am I crying? I’m not pregnant so I can’t even blame my hormones!” The sentences come between heaving breaths and gasping sobs.

“It’s not stupid,” he assures you, hands still working at soothing your quaking frame. “If you want a family with me honey, you say the word and I’ll give you one. But it’ll be on our terms, and not the result of a bad batch of birth control or a faulty Trojan.”

You laugh a bit at that, sniff loudly, then look up at him. You know you must be a sight—eyes and nose red and wet, face splotchy and puffy—but he still looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world. Your answering smile is a small thing that trembles a bit with the last dregs of your breakdown, but it’s there and it’s real and it’s hopeful. You don’t know when the pair of you will be ready for a family, if ever, but just knowing that the option is there enough for now.

Jay returns your smile as he wipes away the wetness on you cheeks with soft motions and gentle hands. In the face of such tenderness and care there’s only one thing to be said—“I love you.”

“I know,” he says, and there’s no cockiness behind the words, only confidence in what the two of you share. “And I love you too.”

“That’s good to hear, especially after what I just did to your shirt.”

“What? You mean the scratching? Don’t get me wrong, you’ve got a hell of a grip babe, but it’s not nearly enough to do any real damage.”

“No, not that—but also sorry for that.”

“No harm, no foul, doll. Hey, that rhymed! Aww, come on now! Don’t roll your eyes baby—respect my flow.”

“Whatever,” you say around a laugh as you push away from him. “Go get some real bars and change your shirt.”

“Pssh. Please woman, my bars and my shirt are both tight as hell.” He pulls at the compression material then and releases it; how he manages to avoid pinching himself in the process is a mystery, but the audible pop of it snapping back in place leaves you with the impression that the action has the potential to be just as painful.

“Tight or not, I’m pretty sure that the Absorbent Tip TM was pressing into your back for a while there sooo... yeah. You might want to take care of that.”

It takes a second for him to realize what that means, but once he does…The look of mild disgust that flashes across his face leaves you snickering even as you apologize.

“You could at least pretend to feel bad about this, you know,” he says with a shake of his head. “But hell babe, if you wanted me to lose the shirt all you had to do was ask.”

The laughter dies on your lips as he reaches behind himself to grab a handful of the black tee; a tug and what has to be an unnecessary amount of flexing sees the clingy scrap of material removed and tossed away. Your eyes narrow as you take in your stupid, sexy, smirking, cocky cock of a boyfriend, but there’s no denying the wicked gleam in his gaze or the way it affects you.

You might not be ready to make a baby right at this very moment, but there’s nothing wrong with a little practice…

You and Me Both, Babe [Tim Drake x Reader]

Your home smells amazing right now.

The warm, hardy scent of fresh baked bread is cut through by the tang of herbs simmering in a tomato-based sauce. The meatballs—recipe compliments of Alfred—adds a richness to it all, while the lemon rinds that’re left over from the vinaigrette you’d whipped up earlier adds a nice, citrus-y note that, while not readily identifiable, does help to lighten the dense canopy of the more cloying aromas.

Though it smells divine, the spread is far from elaborate. Spaghetti and meatballs, breadsticks, and salad—hardly the meal one would expect the wife of the heir to the Wayne Enterprises throne to prepare for dinner, but then again one would hardly expect you to cook for yourself at all.

Driven by paranoia and practicality in mostly equal measure, both you and Tim decided against hiring someone to help around the house. Paranoia because, even if the dangers of his night job could be ignored, there's still a certain amount of caution to be exercised just from bearing the family name; practicality because, despite the square footage, your high rise apartment's easily maintained by the two of you. Keeping yourselves fed is a bit trickier given your schedules, but between Alfred occasionally dropping off pre-made meals (with heating instructions simple enough that even your husband in his base, half-sleep state can follow) and honing the magical skill that is meal prepping (this too is a gift imparted by the aging man, bless him) you have a solid, home-cooked meal at least four days out of the week.

Your phone chirps an alarm that tells you it’s time to pull the pasta from the heat; after a quick drain it’s tossed with the red sauce and meatballs before being transferred to a serving dish. The whole of the meal is then moved to the dining table and then you’re hurrying off to the other end of the flat to change (because while eau de marinara might work for spaghetti it does very little for you).

As with the meal, there’s nothing fancy to be found in your chosen attire. The sweater you slip on was actually Tim’s once upon a time—though after finding you puttering around his kitchen in nothing but the over-sized garment he had decided that it looked much better on you…

  “Keep it.”

You’d grown used to his ability to move about in virtual silence, but knowing what Tim was capable of didn’t leave you any better equipped to deal with it. Breathing in sharply, you whipped your head towards the man hard and fast enough that whiplash was a legitimate concern. You had fully intended to threaten him with a bell collar yet again, but the smile he gave you was so dopey, so damn lovesick that all the fight bled right out of you. Suddenly shy in the face his unabashed adoration, you quickly turned your attention back to the omelet you’d been assembling. A few seconds passed before you remembered the words that had startled you in the first place.

“Keep what?”

“The sweater,” he said, voice sounding from far nearer as he made his way towards you. A few long strides saw strong arms wrapping around your middle and lips at your ear. “Looks good on you.” The sentence was little more than a whisper, a breath of a thing that would’ve went unheard had he not been so close. His nose followed the curve of your ear upwards until he was able to press a lingering kiss to your temple.

Your breath caught and the rose dust that stained you cheeks deepened. The sweater. You’d honestly forgotten that you were wearing it.

You hadn’t felt like wresting yourself back into the restricting clothing you’d worn the night before, but walking around completely naked wasn’t an option you were willing to entertain either. Silly, given that he’d already seen you in naught but your skin, but still—‘leave something to the imagination’ and all that jazz. The thing was big and warm, almost too warm in the heated apartment, and still smelled like him. The V of the neckline and the sleeves both hung down far lower than what was necessary for your purposes; there was nothing to be done about the former, but the latter was quickly remedied with several cuffing rolls. Over the course of you washing, chopping, and whisking the various ingredients those cuffs had slowly loosened—more so on your dominate arm; annoying but expected—and the collar had drifted off to the left leaving the shoulder there on display. Having to constantly shrug the thing back into some semblance of order was annoying, but when a pair of warm lips pressed against the once again exposed skin.

Well.

Tim might’ve thought the sweater looked better on you, but you both agreed that it was at its best left in a careless heap on the floor.

  The memory is an old one, but it’s just as warm and vivid now as it was when you made it. It was the first time you had spent the night at his place, and though neither of you actively acknowledged it then, that was the day that you both knew you’d found the ever elusive one. Moments like that could never fall prey to the dulling touch of time.

The sleeves, so used to being cuffed after years of the action, roll into place effortlessly. Joggers are exchanged for a pair of jeans and then you’re swapping out your fuzzy socks for ones not covered in rogue marinara drips. You don’t bother with makeup though you do spare a few minutes to sort out your hair from the messy style you’d thrown it into before cooking. Satisfied with your appearance, you go to your purse and pull out the paper that confirmed what you already knew.

An absentee period combined with the three EPTs you’d taken yesterday was enough to convince you that your body did indeed have a new tenant, but much like your husband you liked redundancy so off to the clinic you went. Two samples later and Doctor Thomas was sending you on your way with a promise to put a rush on the blood analysis, and she’d kept her word. An hour after Tim had left this morning you were getting a fax full of medical jargon about hormone levels and percentages.

You still can’t make heads or tails of most of it, but the gist is clear—you’re going to be a mother. And Tim—your sweet, precious, adoring husband—is going to be a father.

Any trepidation you may have felt over the matter is instantly quelled by just the thought of him alone. Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne is the most loving, caring, reliable man you’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, and cliché though it might be, you know that there’s nothing that you can’t face so long as you’re together.

You fold the paper over and tuck it into your back pocket, all the while smiling so hard that your cheeks actually begin to ache. A mom. I’m going to be a mom. The thought leaves you full of a joy that can’t be contained. It manifests itself in the bounce of your walk and the childlike swing of your arms as you head back to the dining room to ready the plates.

You want Tim as relaxed as possible when you give him the big news, not out of fear, but rather so he’ll have the mental clarity to properly process it. Though he does his best to shake it off during his commute, work has a tendency to follow him home; sometimes in the form of actual tasks that still need to be seen to, while others its complaints about the Board and their “–total lack of insight as to how the world actually works.” You have no problem with letting him blow off some steam, welcome it even, as it’s better than him falling back on his old habit of bottling everything up. You’re his sounding board, his anchor, a tether that will always pull him back to calmer waters. To this end you have many methods at your disposal, and at least several of them involve food.

Feeling kind of fancy, you decide to try to plate the pasta using that neat little trick that Alfred had showed you with the tongs and the spoon; it takes a few tries, but eventually you end up with two perfect mounds of spaghetti. Unfortunately this leaves no place for the meatballs except for around said mounds. You place them as artistically as you can, but it still ends up looking like something that could potentially summon the Flying Spaghetti Monster.

Eh well, I married a nerd; if anyone can appreciate it, it’d be him. The musing pulls a giggle from already smiling lips. 

The salad takes a lot less effort, though you do make a mental note to thank Jay again for linking you to those vinaigrette recipes. Habit has you reaching for wine glasses and a nice vintage, but then you remember the little bean growing inside of you and stop. You’ve heard it said that one glass of wine a day is actually acceptable, but you’re not so sure. 

Better safe than sorry, you reason as you fill them with water instead. Though it is something to look up. A fair bit of research is definitely in your future—well, Tim’s more so than yours. The man never braves any new territory without first arming himself to the teeth with every scrap of intel available to him, and you know that your pregnancy will be no different. 

With the table now fully set there’s nothing left to do but wait, and so you grab your phone and slump down in your seat. A quick time check tells you that Tim should be home any minute, but you’re too restless to sit idle. Needing something, anything, to save you from yourself you pull up a game on your phone and start swiping. The first few levels you tackle are defeated easily enough thanks to the power-ups you’ve been hording like some techno-centric millennial dragon, but once you run out you essentially hit a wall. A courtesy hour of unlimited lives means you get lost to the menial task, so much so that you don’t even realize Tim’s home until he shuffles into the room. 

“Hey sweets,” he says as he leans down to press a kiss against your forehead. “I’m late, I know, I’m sorry.” 

“Ten minutes is hardly ‘late’, love.” 

“Yeah, but still…” 

The exchange is as familiar as anything else in your relationship. Early on in your platonic days you had learned that Tim offering up his time to you was among the most significant displays of affection in his arsenal. Hardly surprising given that between the day job that is his necessity and the night gig that is his passion, there’s not much of it to be had that isn’t already accounted for. Free time was more often than not a concept for the man, not a reality, but he had made it more than clear that what little he had was yours if you’d have it. 

The moment his forehead leans heavy against yours you know you’re going to have to abandon your initial plan; he’s clearly world-weary and in need of some good news ASAP. Besides, you’ll never be able to forgive yourself if you allow a setup as prime as the one he just handed you to pass by. When you retell this story to your future child years from now—hell when you tell it to your family and friends over the next few days—this one-liner will be a distinct a point of quipping pride.

Really, you owe it to you all. 

Your lips curl upwards in anticipation of the sentence that will leave people both within and without the Wayne clan face-palming for years to come— 

“It’s okay, babe—I’m late too.” 

For his part Tim just blinks a few times in confusion, clearly ignorant of the excellence he’d just bore witness to. With his brows draw inwards and a slight pout on his lips he’s pretty much the human equivalent of a puppy; the curiosity that tints the sapphires that search your face for clarity does nothing to dissuade the image. The wide smile you give him is returned in kind, though the arching of a brow is a silent call for an explanation; when all the reply he gets is the folded sheet the second rises to join the first. He gives you an expectant look then, but you just grin and a nod towards the paper in his hand. His gaze is probing as he pulls the thing back to size without breaking eye contact, but there’s nothing of substance to be found in the mirth that dances in your eyes.

“Okay then,” he says on a laughter laced sigh. “I guess I’ll actually have to read this—wait. What is all this? Lab workups… Results…” His mumbles become near silent as he works his way down the page. “Human chorionic gonadotropin levels—hCG, hCG… That’s the pregnancy hormone. And at 7,480 units per milliliter…” 

He looks up at you, eyes suddenly glassy as he breathes out your name. “Baby, sweetheart—are you– I mean you have to be… Right?” 

You nod hard, not trusting your voice not to crack under the weight of your emotions. Faster than you can process the motion you’re being gathered up and squeezed tight. A flurry of Oh my god’s and declarations of love pour out of him as readily as his tears and your replies ring out in kind. You stay wrapped around each other for several long minutes before Tim finally pulls away enough to look at you. That same dopey, lovesick smile that had brought you to this place in your lives is back as he leans his forehead against yours again.

“We’re going to be parents.” His voice is awestruck in that way that says he can’t believe he’s managed to land on the right side of luck yet again.

“Correction: we’re going awesome parents. Way better than all those scrubs that let their kids run around terrorizing the general populace.” 

He laughs even as he shudders. “That’s for damn sure. God, there’s so much to do. How many weeks along are you? For that matter how long have you known? Are you feeling okay? I’m pretty sure you haven’t been experiencing morning sickness, unless you’ve been hiding it from me—you haven’t right? We’re in this together, sweetheart, so–”

You pull him in for a proper kiss then, knowing it’s the only way to stop the deluge of worries and words. He’s resistant at first, still trying to speak even with your lips smushed together, but kneading fingers at his nape sees that nonsense meeting a quick end. It takes a few long moments, but under your expert touch the tension has no choice but to drain away. 

“We got this babe. Yeah?” It comes out as a question, but your expression says that you won’t accept any answer other than a solid yes. 

“Yeah. We do,” he agrees, nod resolute and voice steady. “So Missus Wayne, what now?” 

“Now, we eat, Mister Wayne. Spaghetti Monster summoning charms wait for no man, or expecting mother for that matter.”

[aspiratinganxiety]

Can I request the sleepover head canon ?💕

Of course you can, baby doll! I am sorry it took me so long to get to it… 

Anyway, I am writing these headcanons as though the reader and the character are already in an established relationship. Rather than offer a play by play of what sharing a night with this character looks like, I’m instead breaking down how the topic of overnight stays developed or effects the relationship between the reader and their partner.

If you were wanting platonic interactions or some first time sleeping over imagines, please let me know! Also, I tend to write female insert characters unless otherwise directed or inclined. 

If you’d like this same prompt with a male s/o, please tell me.  

Also, I ran out of steam before getting to Damian. I may very well come back to add him to this post. For now though, it is 3:17 am, and your girl is tired. 

Now, this prompt is the letter S from @imagine-mcu​‘s alphabet of headcanon prompts. Thank you, imagine-mcu. I am grateful for the access to this resource, and I hope you don’t mind that I am using it for DC materials 😂   

Dick: 

-Listen, you are positive that you’re not the first girlfriend whose home Richard Grayson has quietly annexed. There’s a method, okay? A foolproof strategy designed to optimize the amount of time he has with you at every opportunity. 

-As far as he’s concerned, it is the only logical way to progress in a relationship that he deems serious. His line of work is perilous, dammit. He’s a patient man, but he’s not a friggin’ saint. Tiptoeing through the awkward do-si-do of “should I stay or should I go?” every single time the two of you wind up fooling around in one or the other’s apartment is a waste of effort that could be geared toward activities that are much, much more fun.

-Even before you outright know that he’s Nightwing (you heavily suspect), Dick’s begun the invasion. First, he always wants to stay at your place. Works for you. Sleeping in your own bed is a gift, and he has a lot less to worry about in terms of hygiene maintenance.

-Why fight an agreeable tide? 

-And that’s just what he counts on for Phase 2. He wants to keep a change of clothes and some extra toiletries around your place now that it’s the go-to. 

-Some pajamas. 

-Maybe a jacket and a pair or three of socks. 

-Oh, yeah! He forgot to mention that Bruce sometimes calls him into the WE office on short notice to contract with the sub-company under his name. Could he have a sliver of your closet for a suit? He does’t want it to get wrinkled in the drawer you cleared out for his things.  

-Sure, normal enough… except that you’ve only been dating for a month n’ a half. Exclusively for a scant three weeks (Your last boyfriend lived out of a duffel bag that you kept by the shoe rack in your front room for 9 months before you even let him have the drawer).  

-Whatever. You and Dick both keep tight schedules, and it’s not as though anything is feeling rushed or overwhelming. Just the opposite: you feel like you can’t spend enough time with him! 

-You quickly make a habit of using his man-smell soap for a change of pace on occasion. Or a spritz of his cologne here and there when it’s been a busy week and you miss him, even though it’s only been 4 days since he was last there. 2 days since your lunch date. 

-Shut up.

-You haven’t quite mapped out the rest of the moves that he put into play, but before you know what’s happening, nearly all of the space in your weensy, Tupperware container of an apartment is divided equally between you and your boyfriend of less than three months. 

-All of this to say that Dick’s sleepovers don’t feel like sleepovers, they’re just Tuesdays. Or Saturdays. Or Wednesdays. Whatever the hell day he shows up, lets himself in with the spare key that you didn’t so much as hesitate to have made for him, and goes about eating all of your Frosted Flakes.

Jason:

-Sleepovers are rare for Jason toward the beginning of your relationship. Not just because he accidentally punched you in his sleep once, though that did put the kibosh on overnight visits for a while. The predominant reasoning that he cited when apologetically declining one of your invitations involved his hours being flipped completely around. Most nights, when sleepovers are meant to be happening, Jason is hard at work sussing out the details of a case or running a patrol. 

-Simply put, he felt like there was no reason for him to be skulking in and out of your place in the dead of night, disrupting your rest, just because he’s chosen to live one doozy of an unorthodox life. 

-However, this noble resolve deteriorates quickly.   

-Jason’s dedication and the singular advantage of being the only full-time vigilante in the whole batfamily also means that he’s out of the country on lengthy, long distance assignments more often than any of the others. 

-The nights Jason gets home from these missions had proven to be the best time for you to arrange overnight stays. Days, sometime weeks of being completely out of contact with one another has a way of asserting all of the comforts and satisfactions that you find in your partner’s company, both physically and emotionally. 

-He’s real weak to the line, “But baby, I’ve missed you so much!” too…

-10/10.

-It’s super effective!

-Look, it’s not like you pressed when you got the impression that he didn’t want to have you over or be at your place because he needed space to work through something risky or complicated. 

-You’re not stupid or some spoiled, manipulative brat. 

-Jason’s life is hard, painful, and incomprehensibly dangerous. He’s not looking to change one damn thing about that either. His lives exactly as he wants, minus some small tweaking here and there where old ghosts are concerned. 

-You understood this from day one.

-Unfortunately, it took a much longer time for him to figure out that you didn’t give a single fuck about missed sleep or nosy neighbors assuming he was a drug-dealer and filing complaints because he buzzed in at 4 o’clock in the morning. With the way that he lived…

-No, because of the way that he lived, you wanted to capitalize on every single moment that he could bear to spend with you. 

-Some people went lifetimes never knowing a love like the one you had for Jason. Hell would be seeing a snowstorm if you were gonna’ let the idiot continue to rob you of his presence because he was afraid of inconveniencing you. 

-Once that was through his thick, self-depreciating skull, the need to orchestrate sleepovers was no longer necessary. 

-You moved in together, renovating the loft he owned in the Cauldron district to be a bit more Welcome Home! and a lot less Marks with Bodyguards Cost Extra.

Tim:

-Oh, Tim. 

-Sweet, wonderful, awkward, angel-baby Tim. 

-The first time he slept over at your house, it was January. He passed clean out on your living room floor during a power-binge of Stranger Things that he had been apologetically procrastinating since the season release in October. 

-You didn’t have the heart to wake him, not even when he started to drool, snore, and suddenly sit bolt upright, shouting?

-His proclamations made zero sense: something abstract about Scarecrow robbing some guy named Oswald of his prized Wyandotte laying hens.

-A cursory attempt to talk to him indicated that he was still, to your horror, fast asleep in spite of sitting perfectly straight on his own and lecturing you about the dangers of yellow scented candles. 

-You settled him back down on your nest of blankets and flipped the TV off, loosely praying that this was some kind of fluke and you wouldn’t have to worry about your boyfriend accidentally leaping off of your balcony in a state of gibbering semi-consciousness. 

-You messaged him in a panic when you woke the next morning to find him missing, terrified that he slept-walked into traffic while you caught some rest on the floor beside him. You detailed the entire scenario for him, omitting nothing to spare his pride. (The man had scared you nearly to death. His ego wasn’t exactly your top priority when he said he’d snuck out because he liked sleeping in his bed better than he liked your floor.) 

- “Sexy, right?” he replied with a winky face.

-It wasn’t, he hadn’t, and he hasn’t ever since. The explanation: ”It only happens sometimes when I’m way too tired and I’ve had way too many energy shots.” 

-Even so, that first experience proved to be surprisingly indicative of the bizarre occurrences that would befall you when Tim ended up sharing a night with you.

-First the sleep talking, then staying up all night crouched over his laptop like some kind of gremlin while you slept not three feet away, arguing about the benefits of avoiding blue light in order to actually let your brain power down, and, finally, physically wrestling you to keep you from putting his phone in your nightstand drawer so that he would just lay the F down and go to bed.

-Tim does his best to gracefully make it seem as though your bickering is all in good fun despite your very real frustration with his lack of ability to focus on spending time with you and disengaging from his crippling responsibilities to both Wayne Enterprises and the endeavors of the Batman himself.

-You’re honestly still working on it, but he does forfeit all internet capable devices after 9 pm while in your home. 

-At first, it was out of obligation and only at your explicit request. Now though, having garnered some of the soundest, most rejuvenating sleep of his life every other week or so at your place, he tosses the phone in the drawer himself as you get ready to tuck in.

-Tim doesn’t know if it’s the regular sex or the down pillow-top on your mattress, but he can fall into blissful, dreamless unconsciousness in under half an hour by your side. 

-Perhaps it’s the near ritualistic way that you insist on sharing a cup of chamomile tea before heading toward your room? Maybe the laundry detergent or the weight of your too fluffy comforter?

-Regardless, shortly after he’s eagerly relinquishing his tech in favor of a solid night’s sleep and some quality time with you, an uptick in his demeanor and proficiency appears.

-You find it endlessly endearing that he needs a measurable statistic in order to justify asking you if he can stay over every week, rather than biweekly. As though you need data to be convinced to spend more time with him. 

The lovable idiot...  

[batfamoneshots]

May i know your name? Tim DrakexReader

Alright it was meant to be light and fun but turned angsty and deep oops.

Plot: Tim caught a girl stealing and there was something special about her and so he doesn't want to give up on the girl, although she did it again.

Also Tim is like 20

Warning: some cursing, angst, tim is adorable

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The full moon was all the light Tim needed to scout the city. Gotham always had some sort of darkness to her, but in the moon's light. He never understood his fondness of the night's sky when there's a full moon, after all, you can barely see the stars. Maybe he knew, after all, it was exacly a month ago that he met you.

It was nothing more than a petty thievery but even that is illigal, and as he was already in the area, he had to stop it.

He swoon down before the thief, and his eyes fell on yours. He saw something in the the deep blue. He told you to put it all back, and he won't report it and you complied, not before making a smart remark. Clearly you recognized the wrong in your doings. But before he had the chance to ask for her name, or even say a word, she was gone.

Something about you felt different than the other criminals he stops. Or maybe he's just getting confused over your beauty. 'God Tim, get a grip', he thought to himself, and yet, he was still thinking about you, hoping you would show up in one of those nights.

To his surprise, he did not have to wonder any longer for your fate. There you were, near a jewlary show, stealing. Your (y/h/c) hair sync with the wind. He sighed to himself.

"'Fancy' meeting you here" he dropped behind the girl, with a proud smirk.

When your eyes fell on his you quickly came to your senses with a witty tone "what? Was that a pun? I thought that was more of nightwing's thing."

"It's a robin's thing realy" red robin stood proud behind his pun, his red suit showing his biceps and fit built, while the black mask added to the mystery.

You were visibly hiding the jewlary you were stealing behind your back, hoping the prespective man wouldn't notice.

It made him chuckle, that you thought the world's best detective would miss it.

"Back to our old ways, i see?" Tim called and you looked away.

"I gave you a chance last time, why do this again?" Tim couldn't help but wonder to himself, 'She is young, probably 19 give or take, and very pretty, she probably could find something more respectful than a life of a criminal in Gotham'.

"And you know what? I thank you for it, but that was worth shit" a clearly cinical ton in her voice that made him wonder what was going through your mind.

You looked at him as he tried to put his thoughts into words. "And here i thought i did something nice" was the only sentence he could make out while looking into your eyes. He took few steps toward you as you took one back.

"Oh? And what, you want a prize for that?" You replied, half cinical, half flirting. 'Was she flirting?' His cheeks turned slightly red.

"I just don't understand. Youre young, you can get a respectful job. Why steal?" He finaly organized his thoughts into words.

A soft chuckle left your mouth as a broken smile formed on your lips. You looked down on the ground, clearly deep in thoughts as he felt compaled to close the gap between you.

Then you looked up, and your smile changed into a sly smirk.

"Well, that's peachy. But i have stuff planed for the rest of the night" the called as you passed him, brushing on his side while doing so.

A second of confusion as he turned around, quickly catching your hand, so you could not leave.

He pulled softly to stop you as you turned back to him.

His eyes yet again connected with yours and he got lost for a moment longer. He was so close he could feel your breath on his neck, and he had to admit he liked it.

"What do you want from me?" You could barely breath out. This closeness had you out of breath.

He was holding your hand still, while trying to ignore his heart rate, that was way faster than it should. "To show you there's another way." He whispered to you as he reached to your chin, holding it softly.

Another cinical giggle left her mouth as she slowly pulled away from his grip. "Yeah that's cute. But ugh... no thank you."

He was trying to read your face expressions as you continued "i appreciate what youre trying to do, but i think you don't get it"

"Make me get it" he replied with a low grin.

You shook her head and said quietly "i'm a lost cause". You said with a hint of a smile.

This only made him chuckle."noone is beyond hope" he took a step closer, again trying to close the distance between you.

"Well, i'm noone so..." you stated and he could feel an ache in his chest.

If he had to be honest, he wasn't sure either why he cared so much. There was something in your eyes. Something that seemed sincere. Almost... out of place, here in gotham. Something that was not fitting with being a criminal.

"Youre wrong." He called after a small pause he needed to collect his thoughts. It was such a sad thing to say on yourself, that you are noone. Being noone means being invisible, like a stray dog. "Some people just need someone to believe in them, that doesn't make them noone".

You looked at the young man, he looked like he himself believes in what he says, like it's not just something he denture and preach each time he meets a crook. "Is that what you believe in? People?" You asked.

He took your intrest as a sign to take another step forward. Now he was facing you toe to toe again. All along keeping eye contact with the lost girl he saw before him.

"Yes. And humanity." He stated proud of his remarks. Bruce had thought him that, 'noone is beyond hope, noone beyond saving'. And so he always kept that in mind.

Your eyes changed. Like something inside of you snapped as you forrowed your eyebrows. Your eyes slowly getting wetter. Which you clearly tried to hide as you backed away, looking to the side, and slipping away from him again.

"Well fuck humanity, and fuck people, and fuck you too." You looked at him. His words made you remember the time you used to believe the same things. How time and time again reality hit her. And in that moment, he was everything wrong with the world. He became all the people who broke yoy, and your spirit. "I don't know who you think you are, but i know what you aren't. You're not a god. Just a pretty strong human with hell lotta time on his hands." A quiet sob you tried to mute left your mouth.

Tim looked at you. He finaly realised what he saw in your eyes. He saw a broken believer. He saw someone who wanted to believe in the good of man, but just can't. It was a sad realization. He couldn't help but wonder how long have you been like this. How many people out there are feeling this. Wanting to believe in the good of mankind, but were stolen of this privilage. He wondered what happened to you to make her this have this sarcastic take on the world.

"I'm so sorry." Was the few words he could get out of his mouth. He realized that he might have pushed you too much too quickly.

"I don't know what happened before, but i can help you-" he was cut before he finushed as you objected "i don't need your help"

He wiped a tear from your cheek "i know you don't need it. But i want to, if you'll let me"

Tim slowly cupper your face as his thumb traced up and down your cheek. "May i know your name?" He softly asked as his other hand found yours.

His eyes looked deep into yours, and for the first time in a long time, you felt safe.

"It's (y/n)"

[writerbyaccident]

Strategy (Yandere Tim DrakexReader)

Request: Hide and seek game with Tim Drake, where the s/o escaped from him after gaining his trust

Shorter one tonight, hope that’s okay!

           Hiding under the bed was too cliché for you. Even as a child, when you would play hide-and-seek, you would never go for the obvious places. Sure, it took substantially more effort and time to find a hiding spot that was good enough for you, but if you could find one, you usually ended up winning. And now, now more than ever before, you needed to win.

           So rather than run to the GCPD, or even over to Metropolis, you burrowed into the city. No, Tim would expect you to run to the police, to the members of the Justice League, meaning those were the last places you could turn to. If you wanted any chance of making it out of this, you would need to be clever. Not just clever actually, you would need to outsmart one of Gotham’s greatest detectives. And that, in short, was why you were currently trudging through the city sewers. You figured that Tim, once he confirmed that you hadn’t run to the Gotham City police, would assume that you were trying to get as far away from him as possible. Hopefully he would leave the city himself to chase after you, giving you the time and space to make a proper escape.

           And while the Gotham sewers were hardly pleasant, you far preferred it to the alternative. The sewers were cold and damp, and they smelled like hell, but you still liked them better than the prison Tim had kept you in. It may have had warm blankets and good food, but it was a prison still. Tim had taken you there months ago, claiming he did it out of the love he held for you, but you knew better. You had tried to get through to him at first, begging him to realize that kidnapping was not something heroes did. And then you had resisted: fought and screamed and defied him at every turn. But with that strategy came punishments, punishments that had you screaming not in hate or anger but in pain. Feeling yourself about to break and give in, you had come up with one last strategy. You grew docile, listening to Tim and even returning some of his affection. Sculpting an image of being gently broken, you waited for his guard to drop.

           Each day that you waited felt like broken glass scraping over your skin, but your patience eventually paid off. So now, here you were, crouched in the darkness while you waited again. Your muscles were stiff and you had developed something of a cough in the damp sewer air, but as you rested against the tunnel wall, you felt better than you had in ages.

           “There you are,” a voice suddenly said from behind you. As soon as the first syllable was spoken, you tried to run, but Tim was far too quick for you. Throwing one of his bolas at you, he kept you from getting away. You started to lose your balance when the rope wrapped around you, but before you could fall into the water, Tim had you not-so-safely in his arms.

           “Let me go,” you growled at him, knowing that there was no longer any point in keeping up your façade. As expected though, Tim responded by simply tightening his grip around you.

           “You know,” he began, his voice tight, “I really can’t believe I fell for it. I’m supposed to be this incredible detective, this genius, and still I let you make a fool out of me. I really thought you had realized just how much we need each other, but you were just lying to me. I guess that’s what love does to you though.”

           “This isn’t love,” you spat back.

           “It is. Maybe you don’t realize it now, but you will. I’ll make sure of it this time.”

[writerbyaccident]

Deduction (Yandere Tim DrakexReader)

Request: What would Tim Drake, the third Robin, do if the object of his affection(fem reader preferably. Maybe who doesn't know he's Red/Robin. Or doesn't even know Tim that well personally. ) wanted to leave Gotham? Let's say circumstances forced her there and now she is trying desperately to get away from the city with all its super hero/villain chaos, how would he react to her trying to escape the city and all the vigilante nonsense it entailed?

           Walking through Gotham at night was never a good idea. Gotham wasn’t safe at the best of times, not even on the once in a million year occasion that the sun was able to peer through the choking smog, but it was even worse at night. No matter how many caped crusaders called the darkness their home, the villains would continue to claim it as well.  You knew all of this, of course you did, but right now you didn’t exactly have a choice. It wasn’t as if you had wanted to be scheduled for so late a shift, but you couldn’t exactly say no either. Trying to save up your money, you were forced to accept every shift your boss offered. A part of you cursed yourself for it, wished you were the kind of person who didn’t feel the need to worry about money so much, but you were. After all, having some savings was a necessity if you were to leave Gotham behind for good.

           You had never even wanted to come to Gotham in the first place, but it hadn’t exactly been your choice. When your family had decided to move here, you could hardly believe it. Yeah, the city had a very low cost of living, something your family could really use, but that was only because some villain tried to gas or blow up the place every other damn day! Still, you all had moved to Gotham, and you had spent the next part of your life just desperately trying to dodge the chaos built into the city’s streets. But you were an adult now, and that meant you could leave this godforsaken place behind, provided that you had somewhere else to go. And after so long of clawing at every dollar you could find, you were almost there. Just a couple more weeks of saving, and you would finally be free. Though, of course, you would have to survive tonight first.

           Glancing periodically over your shoulder, you checked to make sure that no mugger had decided to make you his target for the night. Or any other creeps, for that matter. A young woman walking alone at night was especially vulnerable on the seedy streets of Gotham, so you clutched your keys tightly between your fingers, just in case. A nauseating paranoia began to slink around your stomach, but you did your best to ignore it. The feeling was a common occurrence on the nights you had found yourself walking home, and nothing had ever happened to you before. Besides, if something was wrong, panic would do you no good. As a Gothamite, even as an unwilling one, you had heard plenty of stories of scared civilians ducking into alleyways to avoid whoever their gut said was following them, only to walk right into a literal den of thieves. But still, your resolution not to give into your growing fear didn’t make said fear go away, and you almost wished that something would happened, so that at least your terror would have a proper target, one that you could fight against.

           As a sudden thud sounded behind you though, you immediately regretted your wish. Praying that it was just a cat, you spun around with your fist now out of your pocket, the keys clutched between your knuckles the only means of protection you had. Before you stood the silhouette of a tall young man, one that fear and darkness kept you from identifying right away. But when he took a step towards you, you saw the familiar costume and sighed in relief. It was Red Robin, one of Gotham’s premier vigilantes. Thanking anyone and everyone who might be listening, you offered the hero a small smile.

           “Uh, hi,” he said, sounding surprisingly sheepish. “I’m sorry if I startled you, but it really isn’t safe to be walking alone at night. Would you like me to walk you home?”

           “Yeah, that’d be great actually, thank you so much,” you answered gratefully. Feeling safer now that you were under the protection of such a capable hero, you allowed yourself to relax a bit. So when Red Robin struck up a conversation, you felt free to join in as the two of you walked down the empty street.

           “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you out here so late at night? You’re not in any trouble, are you?”

           “No,” you said with an exasperated chuckle. “Not unless you count a crappy job as trouble.”

           “Oh, I definitely do,” he grinned back.

           “Managers are the worst supervillains, mine especially. He was giving me a hard time tonight, complaining that I got to work late more often. The whole time I was just thinking, okay, whatever you say Calendar Man.” Your escort grinned again, but you couldn’t help but notice that his smile seemed strained.

           “If you want, I could totally beat him up for you.” You gave an awkward laugh, confused by the underlying seriousness in his tone.

           “Maybe some other time.”

           “Why do you work at a job you don’t like though?”

           “Necessity,” you shrugged. “Need money to eat and all that.”

           “I can’t believe you don’t have someone to take care of you though.” You weren’t sure what to say to that, nor were you sure how the conversation had gotten to such a serious point. Fiddling with your hands a bit, you decided to try to brush it off.

           “Oh, well, if you can hook me up with Bruce Wayne, I wouldn’t say no.” It seemed that your comment had the opposite of your desired effect though, as Red Robin halted beside you. Paranoia once again seeping into your stomach, you stopped walking. “Are—are you okay?”

           “That’s not funny,” he said stiffly, turning to face you. Even in the darkness you could see the upset gleam in his eyes, causing your anxiety to surge through you. “That’s not funny at all.

“I’m sorry?”

“I mean, it’s bad enough that you’re trying to leave Gotham, but joking about being with another guy?”

“How—how did you know I’m leaving Gotham?” But the vigilante paid no attention to your question, instead continuing on his rent.

“After everything I’ve done for you, guarding you while you sleep, making sure you get home at night, getting rid of your shitty neighbors? Is that really not enough?” he asked distraughtly, grasping your hands tightly in his. “Cause whatever you need, I’ll do it!”

“What are you talking about?” you cried, body beginning to tremble. “How’d you know I was going to leave Gotham?”

“I’m a detective, remember?” he said with an annoyed laugh. “It’s my job to know everything about the people I care about, and I care about you more than anything. That’s why I can’t let you leave.” Slipping his hand to your wrist and crushing it in his grip, he pulled you closer towards him, ignoring your shaking.

“Please, don’t do this,” you whispered desperately. But he just shook his head and chuckled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a syringe, the needle shining in the moonlight.

“It’s alright,” he replied softly, calmer now that he knew he had you. “I’m going to take care of you now.”

[batfamoneshots]

"Glad to help" - Tim Drake x Reader

Oh god it was supposed to end nsfw but tumblr just told me the post is too long

This was asked by a friend of mine and i realy liked how it turned out. If you liked it tell me and i'll post a part 2.

Plot: the batboys host a gala and Tim sees you and get adorably confused by your beauty. It's told from his point of view.

Warnings: none for now, maybe in the next part ;)

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Tim was never fond of the gallas, but they hosted them anyways. It was part of the "act" they had to put on so no one would be suspicious of their real "job".

It was nothig out of the ordinary. As always, rich people were talking to other rich people, it bored him. Between politics and weather he couldn't find a subject to discuss with the others to make this night any more bearable. He scouted the room to find his brothers to relieve himself from this pretend for at least some time. The room was full of tuxedos and dresses, waiters scouted around the room with big plates full of drinks and sweets.

He sighed when he couldn't find his brothers.

Tim made his way toward the exit with one thought in mind "i need to get away from here".

To his demise, he was stopped just when he was about to exit by two familiar faces.

"Are you enjoing yourself, Tim darling?" The woman spoke with a grating Voice. She and her husband were older people, and have worked for WE for the last 15 years, he had no way to leave now.

He fought his eyes to keep them open as he suddenly felt the lack of sleep from the past 3 days. Smilling toward the woman he replied politely "oh yes mrs. Addams, are you?"

As the conversation lasted he marked the waiter for a drink.

He couldn't help but let his mind wonder, he looked at her husband, his shoes were muddy, and his sleeves were uneven, on the other side stood his wife, perfectly done her hair up and her dress had not a bit of dust on, it was clear that the husband loved his wife, and wanted all attention on her. So much that he didn't care about his looks.

The thought took him back to a case he was working on. Two criminals he was trying to find, male a female, a couple no doubt. The female was the master mind, he already searched the male and after awhile of study concluded he was not the type to get into such a business as the woman, but love do make people blind. And stupid.

Blind. His mind wondered from subject to subject.

"Tim? What do you think boy?" He snapped out of his thoughts to a man's voice calling him. Confused he tried to form a sentence but before he could embarrass himself any more a hand clanged on to his shoulder.

"I'm dearly sorry to interrupt, but i need to have a word with my brother, if that is not too much of a bother to you, of course"

The couple was quick to response "of course Damian, have a lovely evening you two"

Tim responded with a fainted "you too" and with that looked at Damian who was smirking at the confused man.

"You can thank me later" he mocked and Tim could only smile on that.

His red eyes followed Dami toward a large table full of dumplings and such.

"Thanks" he chuckled as he took a dumpling from the table and bit it heartly.

"Don't thank me, thank (y/n), she said you looked like you needed saving.

"She's here?" He said surprised. (Y/n) was Dami's friend from school, only god knows how she could stand him all those years but she did. Tim often wondered how Dami managed to keep his identity a secret from her for so long, but it was not his business to mingle in.

"Oh yeah, she's coming right now" he gestured toward the girl. Tim's eyes opened wide. (Y/n) wore a beautiful dress, hugging the right parts of her body and a nice v neckline showing her nice shape. Her hair was done up in a messy way and two strands of hair hanged from the sides of her face. She looked beautiful.

Tim forgot of the triedness that he felt a minute ago. How could he not notice how beautiful she is before.

"Lookes like he needed saving after all" her soft voice called toward the two boys and Damian chuckled.

Tim let out a gasp of air he didn't know he was holding as he spoke "yeah, thanks for that, i needed that" he spoke with short pauses after every word, as if he was out of breath.

"Glad to be of help" (y/n) responded with a smile that made his heart beat faster. He wanted to get those thought out of his head, she was Damian's friend after all.

"Seems i have to go" Damian stated as he took his leave and walked toward Dick and another group of people, leaving the two of them alone.

Tim took a large sip of his drink in another try to calm himself.

(Y/n) giggled toward him in a lovely tone "you should chill with that, you might end up the evening in a way you'd regret".

Tim laughed at that notion as thoughts started to fill his mind about how he wanted to end the night. When he realised he scolded himself for the embarrassing dirty things going in his mind.

"Yeah, i wouldn't want that" he mumbled and she giggled some more.

"Seems your break is over" she stated as she waved toward his brothers, who were waving for him to join them.

" i guess i'll see you around Tim" she smirked at him and turned around to mingle with other people. As Tim was about to turn to his brother he catched a glimpse of the back of her dress, which was mostly open, with some fabric hanging down her shape. He swallowed hard and took another sip from his drink, then, smiled toward his brothers and continued his night.

-------------------------------------------------------

Finaly the night was over. He found his way back to his room, tired. He wanted to catch some sleep, he haven't had a good rest for a week, and haven't shut an eye in 3 days. He climbed into his bed and covered up in a warm blanket.

He tossed, and turned, changed positions and tried so hard to fall asleep. But he couldn't. He kept on picturing her, the way she looked tonight, the way she'd look under him. Another turn, then another, getting one leg out, then two, but nothing. He couldn't sleep. All he could think of was her, the way she looked. He tossed the blanket to the cold floor and got up. Rubbing his left eye, he found the closet and dressed quickly.

------------------------------------

He remmembered where she lives. Or where she used to live, she might have moved away since the time Damian didn't have a driving license and he drove him there.

It's not like he's visiting her. He just went on a stroll. Around the farthest part of Gothem. In the middle of the night.

This is stupid. He realised. But he was already there.

He looked around toward the windows, the light in most of them was already off. Slowly he got closer and closer to his goal. 51...52...53. This is the place. He stood infront of the entrance, paced back and forth. Why did he think this was a smart idea, she might not even live here anymore. What would he even tell her?

The decision was made for him as the door slowly opened.

"Tim? What are you doing here?"the soft voice called toward him. At the entrance stood (y/n), she wore a t-shirt that was barely covering her bottoms, and was incredibly fitting on her body. Her hair was aleady down after the galla and a confused look on her face apeared.

"Oh i... uh.. was around..." he started to statter, then swallowed big and found the words. "I thought i might ask how was the galla if i'm already in the neighborhood"

She smiled to him "it was fun, the company was nice, did you enjoy it?"

Every now and then his eyes wondered down her body, althought he tried not to.

"Wh... yeah... yes, it was good" silence fell between them as he tried to manage his thoughts of what to say and do, all he managed was "good, well, you doing ok?" He looked down.

She looked at him as she took few steps toward him, closing the distance, the cold breeze in her hair "are you?" She asked as she looked up at him, a serious tone took over her usual soft tone.

"I... uh..." he felt the air leave his lungs as she put a hand on his cheek.

"No." He stated as he looked up into her (y/e/c) eyes, tention visible.

A sudden shyness in her voice as her cheeks turned red.

"And is there... uh... something i can do to uh... help with that?" His heart stopped beating and his answer came quick.

"Yes."

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Again, really enjoyed this one.

I hope you liked it, let me know if you want part 2

[batfamoneshots]

Part 2 is coming!

First off i just wanna say how overwhelemed and thankful i am after seeing how many people like and wanted a "glad to help - tim drake x reader" part 2!

I'm gonna work on that and upload it in the days to come so make sure to follow.

Warning, it will contain sins ;)