#Tim Drake imagine

[gay-dorito-dust]

can I request batboys with an s/o who shows affection with biting?

it’s kinda stupid, but it could be cute, or they’re weirded out.

I don’t know, whatever you think ❤️

Idk why but I like the idea of Tim absolutely reading people to filth, this might just be me but I like it.

Dick would yelp when you first bit him on the neck, instinctively pressing a hand there and look at you with a pout.

‘I know I’m an absolute snack but I didn’t think I’d see the day where you’d try and take a bite out of me.’ He whined as he rubbed his neck, feeling exactly where you bit him from the teeth marks and wetness you left behind.

He loves it when you bite him but he can’t help in being dramatic when your bite marks are left in the most visible places where anybody could see them and speculate.

‘What if people ask if I like being bit?’ Dick would gasp, looking at the marks through the mirror, whimpering slightly when lightly grazing them. ‘What if they think I like being marked?’

‘Well you obviously do because not once had you stopped me once from biting you. Not once.’ You replied from your place on the bed, looking up from your phone to stare at him through the reflective surface. ‘If anything I think I heard you whimper a few times whenever I bite your neck.’ You add, smirking upon seeing Dick’s face grow flustered.

Dick wouldn’t admit it but he did like it when you bit him, probably more then he should, but he loved the fact that whenever you bit him you were only reassuring him that he was yours and you were his, albeit in your own unique way of affection.

Jason would bite you back purely out of retaliation but it’s mainly on your cheek or shoulders that he bites.

He lives for the little yelps you give when he does bite down on your shoulder lightly, smirking like the cheeky shit he could be at times.

He’ll proudly display the bite marks to anyone who was getting too comfortable with him for his own liking, by pulling down the collar of his shirt and showing off your bite marks across his collar bone and says with his whole chest ‘I’m taken.’

Once you both were lying on bed and were just about ready to fall asleep, but your eyes honed in on his bare upper body, more specifically his big tiddies. Jason -who had just put down his book after finishing a chapter- gave you a look and said ‘don’t you fucking dare-‘ but it was already too late as you opened your mouth and bite down on his left tiddy, staying there for a good deal of time.

Jason only sighs and pets your head, pressing a kiss there and whispers. ‘What am I going to do with you?’ To which you respond cheekily with. ‘Love me?’

Jason couldn’t help but chuckle. ‘I can think of a few ways to do that.’ But before you could ask what he meant with that, he then proceeded to bite down your neck, causing you to squeak.

However when Jason bites you, it looks at though you’ve been bites by a fucking vampire, mainly because he’s got four distinctly sharp dentures and you had developed somewhat a love/hate relationship with it, much to Jason’s amusement.

‘Hey! You do it to me so why shouldn’t I do it to you?’ He’d say with his hands raised but a smile on his face and mischievous glint in his eyes. He loves it more than he lets on, he just likes to meet you on equal footing.

He calls you his little piranha.

Tim would look at you as if to say ‘are you done?’

He’s perpetually tired from everything, so you biting him to show affection doesn’t phase him in the slightest.

You could bite his bicep and he’d be like ‘love you too you menace.’ Before taking a sip from his mug as he went about the rest of his day, uncaring of the bite mark already forming on his bicep.

However whenever Tim feels as though he’s missing you, he’d just brush his fingers over the bite mark and remind himself that you were waiting for him to come back…and probably bite him as a way to show him that you missed him also, but he really didn’t mind.

If anything his only request is that you don’t bite him anywhere his brothers could see them, they’ve already teased him enough about being with you that seeing a single bite mark would send them into utter insanity. They’d would never him live it down and would forever tease him into hell and back for it, especially Damian and Jason.

Even if you did accidentally leave a bite mark on a viable part of him and someone teases him for it, all he has for do is look them in the eye and say ‘at least I got someone who makes me really happy, and who isn’t afraid of showing me that they love me just as equally without feeling ashamed.’ He stops and looks them over with a look. ‘Which is more than I can say for you, the only real relationship you have is with a box of tissues, lube and a shitty computer system that’s on the verge of collapse.’ He adds before stalking off, leaving the person to wonder how Tim knew about the shitty computer, a shitty computer that was currently being held together by duck tape of all things.

All in all, Tim doesn’t mind you biting him in a display of affection, just don’t do so in areas where his family will take notice of and start asking really uncomfortable questions…

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

I've let this wolf into my home (I feed it even when it bites)

Blood nose and a crooked tongue (I always wanted to be someone) - series masterlist here

pairing: tim drake x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.5k

genre: fluff ??

warnings: you don't know red robin and timmy are the same person but he sure knows you, he's also so so awkward but he can't help it

a/n: alright alright alright here we go <3

The jingle of the coffee shop door opening startles you, your head snapping up from where you're sitting, slouched over in the corner. It's a 24-hour shop, yes, but who else would really be here at 3am? The barista behind the counter looks just as surprised, blinking rapidly and looking at the person who came in.

You, on the other hand, opt not to, sighing and looking back down at your table, instead. The coffee in your to-go cup is still hot, burning your fingers as you shift them over the label. It's bright, a cartoonish sort of thing that grins up at you like an old friend you should be happier to see. You've been getting this coffee for years. You're never quite as happy as you should be.

The chair opposite you makes a horrible sort of sound as it's pulled out and you look up to see who's sitting across from you. You purse your lips in annoyance while he just looks at you.

"All the other tables have just been cleaned. They're wet," he points out. You let your eyes flit around the cafe, the tabletops shining wetly in the dull glow of the lights, the disinfectant bottle still sitting abandoned on one of them.

"Lucky me," you bite back, taking a sip of your coffee. It's sweet - too sweet, but not enough to cover the bitterness of the burnt grounds. You always think that if you pile enough sugar into it, it'll mask what's wrong. You're never right.

The man sitting opposite you takes a sip of his own - he left it black, you notice. He grimaces slightly at the taste, but keeps drinking anyway. There's no effort there to pretend it's anything other than what it is - burnt, cheap coffee sold to him in a cafe full of ghosts, in a city that should be sleeping but never really does. It's interesting, you think, as you look out the window and into the dark street. You'd almost managed to convince yourself that you were really alone - that there was no one else in this world except you, until he walked in and broke the reverie of your 3am silence.

For what it's worth, Tim regretted it as soon as he'd walked in. He hadn't meant to stay, really - ending up in a part of Gotham he didn't often find himself in, in his civvies and in desperate need of a hot cup of coffee and a long sleep, he'd stumbled across the flickering, neon sign of a 24-hour coffee shop.

What good luck, he'd thought. Now, sitting across from you, there's a desperate little part of him that thinks maybe it wasn't just that - maybe it was intuition that drew him here. You don't know who he is, of course, all your previous meetings happening in the shadows of your home with his face hidden from you. Tim shifts in his seat, suddenly aware of how naked he feels, exposed to your wandering eyes. 

And you do let your eyes wander, narrowing them suspiciously as you take him in. Tim feels a pang of guilt that surprises him when he thinks that this is probably how you've always felt with him - like a lamb with a wolf at your door. As you lean back in your chair, swirling your coffee and letting your gaze trail away from him and towards the window, he feels his shoulders drop in relief. He's not the only wolf in your living room late at night, he realizes. You've got teeth of your own that he'd just never noticed.

You're good at this, Tim thinks with a start - you've got a foot propped up on the window sill next to you, your head resting in your hand as you watch the street outside idly. Or, at least, it's supposed to look like that. He thinks that if he were anyone normal, he would believe it. But Tim has spent enough time as prey to know when someone's pretending to let their guard down.

He looks away from you almost forcefully, staring down at his cup and running his tongue over his teeth as he thinks of the burnt taste of it. He wonders if you were smart enough to put sugar in yours - wise enough to bury the bitterness with something nicer. It's something he always thinks he should do. He can never quite make himself. 

"I'm sure those other tables are dry now." Your voice makes him flinch, a hard, forceful thing that cuts through the silence of the night that's blanketed the two of you. Tim looks around at the dull, streaky tabletops and shrugs. 

"I'm already comfortable here," he offers. You cock your head to the side and look at him, but make no move to fight him on it. He thinks it's probably stupid of him, inviting a lion into his home like this. He wonders if you feel the same way every time he slides in through your balcony door.

There's a silence that, once more, overtakes the two of you as he shifts in his seat. Tim wonders if he should drink faster, if he should pretend to be finished so that he can leave. It's funny, he thinks, how he finally felt like he'd stopped running away when he started running into you. It's funny that, now, he's itching for it, his hands gripping his cup in an attempt to still his heart - his need to escape.

You look back at him just in time to see him squeeze a little too hard, the cheap plastic lid popping off and hot coffee sloshing a bit over his hands. A mild, bemused sort of look crosses your face as you watch him curse and splutter as the coffee burns his hands and spills onto the table. Then, without a word, you stand up and begin to walk away.

Tim, in the meantime, is rubbing his hands against his jeans, his eyes squeezed shut in mortification as he wonders how he ruined it all so quickly. Not for the first time, he wishes he was in the mask - thinks maybe the only way to hold onto you is to make sure that's all you ever see. But then your cup scrapes across the table and he opens his eyes to see you sitting opposite him again, sipping idly and watching. There's a stack of napkins that he swore wasn't there before and - oh.

"Thanks," is all he can make himself say as he grabs them, cleaning up the mess he's made. As he goes to pop the lid back onto his cup, he looks at the dark liquid inside and grimaces, deciding that maybe it's not worth it.

"It's shit coffee," you say, and he slams his hand against the table, crushing the plastic lid in the process. Truly, he's not sure if he's ever acted this nervous before. You pay it no mind. He thinks maybe he could take off his mask, just this once, and reaches up to his face in time to remember that he's already exposed to you. "You're better off finding something else… or just going somewhere else." Tim smiles, then, a charming sort of thing that has you narrowing your eyes.

"I dunno,' he says. "There's something I like about right here." You glance down at your own cup, at the label that you've picked and peeled off until it's unrecognizable, the colours torn and cracked.

"There's nothing good about right here. And things like that don't change." Tim looks at you for a long moment after you speak, letting the words tumble around his head before he stands, taking his cup and squished lid and pile of wet napkins with him. 

"Well, I've never been big on change, anyway," is all he says as he walks away, dumping everything in the bin and letting the bell on the door jingle as he walks out. Looking back down to the table, you notice the card he's left behind - the Wayne Ent. logo flashing behind his name. Flipping it over, his number's been written in a hasty scrawl.

As you thumb a corner of the card, you wonder when he'd slipped it onto the table - when he'd written on it. Mostly, you wonder what kind of person he'd have to be to do it without you noticing. You trace the numbers with your finger and think that something, far in the back of your mind, is telling you that there's a familiarity about it all. 

But what's familiar about seeing someone in a place where you never should? What's normal about that man, appearing like a ghost in the night and disappearing just as fast? As you pull out your phone to add his number to your contacts, there's a part of you that thinks maybe you should run away - that maybe you're not the only thing stalking the streets of Gotham this late.

[strange-birb]

Had to when I saw the quote lol

I love Jason sm 😂

Og post @batfam-imagines

[yourmomxx]

Tim, waking up from (yet another) coma: Oh hey, guys. What time is it?

Damian: It’s about 2am. Are you hungry?

Tim: Oh, cool. I’m up for some toast.

Dick (sobbing uncontrollably): Can you guys please stop acting like nothing happened?!

[lightwing-s]

May I request hcs for batboys when their mute!fem!reader traced the words "i love u" on their backs before trying to spell the words to them?

the batboys when mute!reader writes 'i love you' on their backs

a/n: it's been a while since i last wrote one of those. thanks for the request! i had a lot of fun writing it ♡

Before you even finished writing, Dick would’ve already turned around and faced you, a beaming smile gracing his lips. He’d look at you, eyes probably watery, and wait for you to smile back at him to start plastering your face with kisses. In between each one of them a new ‘I love you’ sang aloud, ready to let the world know he reciprocated your feelings and that you too loved him, because if you couldn’t voice your love to the world, he’d do so for the two of you. Proudly!

Jason, however, would be more chill about it, but not less enthusiastic. When he realizes what you’ve done, he’d stop for a while, letting it all sink in. He’d smile to himself, the realization slowly warming your heart, before turning around to look at you. His eyes were warm, giving you a sense of comfort and certainty after you’d worried about what would be his response. Moving closer, closing the gap between you two, he’d softly whisper against your lips ‘I love you too’ before taking your breath away with a kiss.

In similar fashion, when it comes to Tim, he’d take just as long as his brother to let your words click into place. But differently, he'd ponder for a while if it was true or not. Eye to eye with you, he’d be serious while mouthing and gesturing to question ‘For real?’, something you’d reply with a simple nod of your head. Worry would flood your heart after his initial reaction, but it would all be washed out when the corners of his lips started spreading out in his face, reaching from ear to ear, in the most beautiful smile you’d ever seen. A gimmer in his eyes sparkled brighter as he’d ask ‘Can I kiss you?’ before you gladly allowed him to join your lips together, the butterflies awakened in both your bodies.

When he figured out the words you’d drawn on his back, our little Dami wouldn’t know how to react. He wouldn’t know if you meant it, if it was real or just you playing around. Was it a writing of truth or just for fun? What if he’d guess it wrong? Was it really “I love you”? Was he imagining things? Out of doubt, he would opt for not saying anything, keeping quiet until he got clarification, until he was sure what he thought was indeed true. He didn’t want to assume something and ruin your relationship. He also didn’t want to raise any expectations, afraid he’d end up getting hurt in the end. So he’d wait, he would wait until you did it again, or until you told him in any other way. Seeing your confirmation would leave him in a frenzy, blushing redder than Jason’s helmet, getting as crazy as Dick when he can’t find his cereal in the pantry. Honestly? Damian would run away, hide himself from the shame of not knowing what to do and the shyness of a love confession. And you’d laugh, because you truly loved that little dwarf and his apparent inability to comprehend your affection was just one of the reasons why.  

[gatorbites-imagines]

Hiya I saw your requests were open so I was wondering if we can get a Tim Drake x male reader

The reader is a bigger older guy, like not too older than Tim but reader does have a streak of gray hair due to the stress of taking care of Bruce's dumbass.

Reader is kinda sly and fox like.

Idk why but I can see Tim liking someone older than him

Tim Drake x older male reader

Headcanons

I feel like tumblr has been deleting requests from my inbox, I swear some go missing. This one didn’t though, so here you go.

It’s been a while huh? Who’d have thought getting ready to graduate would be so stressful.

Reader is about Dicks age, so around 26.

You didn’t meet through hero work or anything like that. You were actually the CEO of a larger company called Aces co. It had been in your family for many years, and your father and grandfather had worked with the Waynes.

So, when you took over at 18, you started working with Bruce Wayne, even though you thought him nothing much more than a himbo at the time. Later, when Tim took over, you’d work side by side with the younger man.

One way or another, you learn Bruces secret identity, and soon you end up mixed up in the vibrant and extremely stressful world that is heroes and vigilantes, you’ve lost count how many times you have had to cover for any of the batclan.

You almost burst into tears when you see the first grey hairs appear at your temples. Your father had gone grey much later in life, and here you were, 24 and greying, all because of the bats. Of course, it wasn’t all the bats, running a billion-dollar company was stressful too, but they sure didn’t help.

The media called you the fox prince, because of the sharp look in your eyes and how sly and underhanded you could be, insulting someone straight to their face and they would first realize days later. Or somehow tricking someone into revealing all their secrets to you.

None of the bats can ever seem to reach your level of mingling and information gathering, even Bruce who has been doing it longer than you’ve been alive.

You never become a hero, or a vigilante for that matter, but you do get involved every now and then if needed. You didn’t take over Aces co. for no reason at 18, you have always been a genius, but a sly and cruel one in the eyes of many.

Unlike Bruce, you don’t feel a soul deep duty to save the world and save as many people as possible. You simply do what you can, without putting yourself in too much danger. Which mainly resolves to you gathering too much information, and enough blackmail to have the entire congress of America and the EU buckling under for your whims.

You are an extremely cold and calculated businessman as well, to the point where underhanded companies like Lexcorps won’t work with you because they know you’ll rip them apart and leave them with nothing.

It was your cruel but very effective business methods that drew Tim to you, especially when it turned out you were a lot more friendly behind closed doors. He did get to hear you complain about him and his family a lot, and it gave him a good laugh to see Bruce open a bill for your hair treatments to get rid of your greys.

The alliance between Wayne enterprises and Aces Co. only grows stronger between you two, and you end up closer to Tim than you’ve been any other bat, even Dick, despite the fact that you two are the same age and have been around each other the longest.

It ends with you going out of your way to score the best deals for (Tim) Wayne Enterprises, and Tim finds ways to benefit (you) Aces Co. Its like flirting and foreplay at the same time between very powerful rich businessmen.

For some reason I can imagine most of the batfam is shocked when Tim and you started dating, whilst some of them aren’t surprised at all. Bruce is uncomfortable in the beginning that one of his former business partners is dating his son, until someone (most likely Jason) points out that you aren’t even 30 yet and took over your company the moment you turned 18.

Your relationship is kept a secret for the media, mainly to keep the drama and paparazzi away. You aren’t a very publicly affectionate person, and Tim doesn’t really like mingling with the media if he doesn’t have too, so it’s a win-win.

The two of you don’t go out of your way to be super secretive though, you just aren’t all lovey dovey all over each other. Some people may notice you getting a lot crueler and colder to those trying to cross Wayne Enterprises, and Tim striking down hard on anyone who tries Aces Co.

It’s assumed it’s just cuz you two are both young CEOs who are trying to strengthen the relationship between your companies. All your mutual friends and families knows its cuz you are both protective and a little possessive.

You are most likely the one in the relationship with the most experience since Tim has spent most of his time being a vigilante, so you’ll have to guide him in the beginning. He’s a great and enthusiastic learner though, so Tim probably ends up doing all kinds of research.

He lovingly calls you his old man, or jokingly calls you a cradle-snatcher, since you look older than you actually are cuz of your greys. It probably causes some drama online when your relationship finally gets out, until people are like “He’s literally only 26, he’s just greying early”.

Tim will comfort you when you end up with your face in your hands because of those comments, weeping for your once beautiful and not grey streaked hair. He loves it though, and always tells you.

You tell Tim he likes it cuz of his daddy issues, and he ends up being all “maybe so”. Doesn’t stop him from loving it though, or loving to see that foxlike glint appear in your eyes when you are about to strike on a deal.

[prismuffin]

how would batboys react if their sweet prankster boyfriend just slapped them on the ass and ran off

LMFAOO this put a funny thought in my head, anyways I think that-

Jason would just sigh. He'd stretch, watching you from where he stood as you ran away from him. With little to no effort he caught up to you, grabbing you and hoisting you over his shoulder. It doesn't matter how much you shriek he's not putting you down until you apologize.

Dick would jump slightly, a smirk growing on his face as he runs directly after you. He's going to get you back. It's inevitable. You can't stop him. You unknowingly started a war between you both cause neither of you want to be the last person with their ass slapped. Jokingly gets more flirty and suggestive with you after that, unless you don't want it to be a joke, he's down for that too.

Tim would jump with a gasp, his face going completely red as what you did just clicked for him. He'd groan out your name in embarrassing frustration as he rubs his now slightly stinging ass. Doesn't stop thinking about it all day. When he sees you later he tries to act mad at you but he can't keep up the façade for long after seeing you giggling at him.

———

Directory

[batfam-imagines]

Damian: Kings have honor,

Tim: Soldiers have bravery,

Dick: And Poets have heart,

Jason: But, all I have is RAGE

[ravenna-reid]

Admirer from the past...

TW: blood, mention of dead bodies and stalking/obsessive behaviour

An expert crime fighter. One of the youngest CEOs. A skilled detective. As good as the Bat. Maybe even better than him.

Tim often found himself conversing with police officers and other detectives that were actually qualified unlike him. Discussing the crime scene, the criminal, the victim, and the next course of action. They all respected Tim and were willing to work together.

One night Tim found himself standing amongst the chaos of the press, the solemn faces of detectives and officers and a name written in blood covering the footpath along with other gory things... The crimson letters painting the cement were a confronting display.

It was the works of a new villain, one that had only just started doing such things two weeks ago. He was one of the most psychotic men Tim had ever dealt with. And it seemed he had a nasty obsession with some poor girl, given he was constantly leaving dead bodies and flowers strewn across Gotham City dedicated to her.

Honestly, the situation twisted Tim's stomach, making him all the more adamant on finding this fucked up guy in hopes of sparing his target the fear and trauma.

Tim kept to himself as he tried to analyse the scene, picking up clues and taking his own samples. That was until the screech of tires on the road caught his attention. Turning to look over his shoulder, he saw another well known detective pull up beside the crime scene and hastily get out of his car. And with him a woman. Tim quickly let his eyes glance over you. You wore a fitted suit, golden hoops and your hair thrown up into a french twist. Throwing your trench coat over your shoulders, you hurriedly followed the detective with an unimpressed look on your face.

"If you haven't even caught the assailant yet, why am I here Harry?" You asked before you fell into step with your co-worker and friend. He was almost like an older brother to you.

"Because, I need your input. Your analysis. This guy is a fucking nut and we have no idea how to predict what he's gonna do next."

Intelligence and class seemed to drip off of you, and Tim was immediately smitten interested in you. He even found himself wondering if you were seeing the man you had arrived with.

Surely not, he was old enough to be your father.

You and Harry ducked under the police tape, your hands in your pockets and eyes trained on the gruesome scene. Black roses coated in thick blood decorated the ground around your boots. You instantly grimaced.

Harry made his way over to the group and greeted Tim first.

"Red Robin." He said with a nod.

"Detective." Tim said back, eyes still trained on you.

You turned in a circle to take it all in before nearing the group. "So, do we have anything on this guy?"

"Red Robin managed to hack into one of the shops security systems. The one across the street. With the footage he retrieved, we can see this sick bastard commit the crime, but his face is obscured."

You were watching Red Robin as the officer spoke, a little taken aback to see a vigilante standing in front of you. Let alone one of the bats.

"Can I see the footage?" You asked, eyes gazing back at his.

Tim swallowed hard. Your eye contact was unwavering, and he could feel a blush begin to creep onto his face.

"Miss, are you even a detective or-"

"Of course." Tim cut the officer off, handing you the tablet that sat atop a police car.

"It's fine," Harry said with the wave of his hand, "She's with me. She knows what she's doing."

Tim watched you analyse the footage. The man was wearing a cap, and some sort of odd make-up was smeared across his face. It might have even be blood you thought. You attentively watched the criminals behaviour. His mannerisms. The odd tick in his left shoulder. The limp in his right leg.

"Anything?" Tim asked.

His voice was like wine and you couldn't help but breathe in his cologne. You might come along to see these crime scenes more often.

"There's something." You admit with the furrow of your brows. "The way he moves. I can't put my finger on it though..."

Tim observed the badge clipped to the collar of your shirt. Although he could read what your occupation was, your coat was covering your name.

"Forensic psychologist?"

What a stupid moment to be making small talk. He began to chastise himself and his lack of charisma, but you didn't seem to mind, much to his relief.

"Mhm. Know what that is?" You teased, anticipating the Red Robin's response.

Tim smirked. "No actually, never heard of it."

You gave a light laugh and Tim felt he had to keep the conversation going.

"Are you new at this?" He asked. "I haven't seen you before."

"Not really," you replied with a soft smile. "It's my second year."

"Yeah, and she beats everyone in the game." Harry called out with a chuckle. You tried to hide your blush, but your humility mixed with your attempt to hide your reaction made Tim like you even more.

But the longer you watched the footage it suddenly dawned on you. The puzzles snapped together in your head and left you a little shocked. Tim immediately took note of the change in your demeanour.

"What is it?"

You held onto the tablet tightly. "I think I know who this is. The twitch. The limp. The hunched form and what he's doing..."

"Holy shit..." Harry said as the others all gawked at the writing on the ground.

Tim ignored them, focusing his full attention onto you.

"Back when I was just a psychologist. This guy came to me, I'm sure of it." You looked back up at Tim now, but before either of you could say anything, Harry called your name.

"You better get over here."

You and Red Robin joined the group, and as you looked down at the name on the footpath, your soul immediately dropped down to your feet.

"What's wrong?" Tim asked, looking up at Harry then at you. But now that you had moved, the name on your badge was revealed to Tim.

Everyone suddenly turned to look at you. And all you could do was stare down at the red letters before you.

"That's my name."

[gay-dorito-dust]

You may request A batboys reacting to the death of the reader

First time writing for Tim, so he’s probs ooc in this one.

Dick feels as though he’s failed you.

He tries to act like he was fine but he was far from it and everyone knew it as they stepped on eggshells with him during this time.

Dick would often find himself sat on the very rooftops where he’d take you on countless dates or just to star gaze and talk as though you were still with him.

It was his own way of comforting himself with your loss but that was never enough to stop the tears that fell from his eyes when he spotted a bright star he’s never seen before until now, and laughs humourlessly.

‘I see you’ve finally made your way amongst the stars huh sweetheart?’ He’d say as your star would twinkle in response, making him chuckle. ‘You’re so beautiful, the brightest of your kind.’ He adds sombrely as he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand as he felt his heart sing out for you, only to receive nothing in return.

Reality was often disappointing but with you it was a fairy tale.

Waking up to you was a dream within itself and getting to do mundane things with you before heading off to work was something that could only exist in a daydream.

He knew Hayley misses you as badly as he does with how he’d hear the poor dog whine and whimper at the door, as if waiting for you to walk through it and tackle her with kisses and love like you always did, only to get nothing for hours.

‘I know, I miss them too.’ He says against Hayley’s fur as she whimpers and whines at the door. ‘I miss them so fucking much it hurts.’ He adds as he allows himself to mourn for you alongside his dog long into the night.

Jason blames himself for not being fast enough or strong enough to keep you protected and safe.

The apartment you once shared with him that only recently had started to feel like home to him now felt cold and haunted with the ghost of you, so much so to the point he avoids it at all cost.

Nothing felt right without you, everything felt wrong and unjustified that he became more ruthless then before on patrols just to let off some steam and would come back from them more beaten and bruised then normal.

He didn’t care, he couldn’t feel anything anymore with how numb he became after loosing you.

Dick and Roy would stop by to see how he was doing but each visit was the same with Jason refusing his older brother and best friend entry as he held one of your plushies tightly against his chest. He knows they mean well but he just couldn’t find it within himself to hear the same thing he’s heard from everyone else; It just felt disingenuous after a while and didn’t feel as though people truly understood the impact that you had on him throughout your time together.

Jason would become more destructive with himself and going headfirst into danger without a second thought and damns his teammates for dragging him out by the scruff of his neck as he fights and kicks out of their hold. He doesn’t want to be saved! He just wanted to be with you again, why couldn’t they see that?!

After loosing you Jason becomes more prone to angry outbursts and often lets them out on the wrong person but he couldn’t care less at this point, his favourite person was gone and he was left back where he was before you.

Lost and deeply afraid.

Tim would retreat from everyone and everything by cooping himself into his room, rarely to come out.

He’d rather rot in his bed and on his phone, looking through all the photos you’ve taken together and seeing just how happy you both were, all the while a pit in his stomach grew at the thought of all the plans you’ve made but would never get to do.

He hated how easily he gave you his heart and hated it even more at just how easy it was to loose you that he wishes that he could stop himself from meeting you for the first time, just so he could selfishly save himself from the best moments of his life and the inevitable heartbreak he’d soon suffer.

Tim would do anything in his power to get you back but knew that it just wasn’t possible.

He knew Jason was given life by the Lazarus pit but he wasn’t willing to subject you to that even if he was held at gunpoint. He’d rather you rest in peace than force you to live with the knowledge that you should technically be dead.

Tim would remain in his room, wondering about the what ifs and the what could’ve beens if you hadn’t died. Would someone have taken your place? Was your death an unchangeable fixed point in time that was meant to happen?

He would only be reunited with you in his dreams where he has saved you and you had gotten to live out the rest of your life happily, rather then left for dead in an alleyway not too far from the place where you were originally going to meet up for date night.

Damian dedicated his life to getting revenge.

He had lost the light in his life, so why should he think his adversaries should live when you weren’t even given the option?

There will be more bodies pilling up on the streets of Gotham at a faster rate than normal whenever Damian is on patrol, much to Bruce’s dismay.

His anger and grief was all consuming and that left little to no room for logic to make him stop and see what he was doing was no better than the thing that took you away.

Life was black and white for a long time for Damian and you were the colour.

You were the air he breathed and without you he was gasping.

He knew about the Lazarus pit in his grandfather’s possession and its mythical properties and how it gave Jason a second chance at life. However he was at a cross roads on using it for his own selfish gain, on one hand he could have you back and everything would be fine again, but on the other hand you wouldn’t be the version of you he fell in love with…

Damian didn’t know what to do. The grief, the anger, the sadness…it was all too much for him. He felt as though he apart of him was missing and he would never get it back, it just wasn’t possible.

Bruce feels as though nothing has changed since his parents death.

He may be older, faster, stronger and wiser but that didn’t mean nothing in the face of death, and your death only proved that to be true as he held you in his arms, holding you close to his chest as he quietly sobs into your cold neck.

Much like Tim, Bruce doesn’t take care of himself anymore and it was up to Alfred to make sure that he doesn’t keep over and die unexpectedly.

‘They wouldn’t want this for you sir.’ Alfred would say as Bruce slams his hands down on the surface of his desk. ‘And what would you know that they want for me Alfred, y/n’s dead and it’s my fault.’ He would bark and bare his teeth at the only father figure he had in his life, a father figure whom has seen this expression bore on the young master’s face more times then he could count, but it still hurt him to see Bruce in pain and heartbreak.

‘They would want you to take care of yourself, sleep proper hours, eat full meals, shower, reach out to anyone,’ Alfred began to walk towards Bruce and place a hand on his shoulder, where he could practically feel the unbridled anger and pain radiation through him that he kept under control. ‘They wouldn’t want you to wallow in pain alone, Gotham needs you.’

‘And I needed them.’ Bruce replied sharply, aggressively wiping his eyes with his hand as he looks over at a framed picture of you that he always kept nearby. ‘All I wanted was them.’ He adds softly this time as he looks at Alfred, lost and confused at what to do now that his anchor was gone. ‘I miss them so much Alfred.’

Alfred brings Bruce into his arms, much like he did when he lost his parents, when he lost Jason and now you, allowing him to burrow his face into the Butler’s shoulder and softly sob into the fabric. Alfred felt his heart break even more as he rubbed Bruce’s back in an attempt of bringing him comfort. ‘I know master Bruce, I know, but you’d be doing their memory a great disservice by destroying yourself.’ The older man started as he looked over at the framed picture of you and smiled soberly, you were a beacon to Bruce and Alfred wasn’t afraid to say that he viewed you as his in law with how happy you made Bruce and that was all Alfred could ever want for him.

Now that you were gone, Alfred couldn’t help but feel that the manor got just that little bit lonelier without you.

[mangoisms]

circle k (back to you)

summary: in which you're just the graveyard shift employee at circle k bombarded by vigilantes.

━ chapter one: on my way to circle k

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 4.3k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

The Slurpee machine is broken again. 

It isn’t that big of an issue, not particularly world-ending, no, especially since you get regularly held at gunpoint (or knifepoint) and occasionally used as a hostage. 

But for you, working the night shift from eleven PM to seven AM, you kind of need the sugar boost. The Slurpees are easier on your stomach than the coffee is. Even if they do stain your mouth. 

You sigh, continuing to stare at the machine; it whirs and sputters strangely and you set aside the cup to shut it off. You’ll also need to file the paperwork for it to be fixed. That seriously blows. 

You get it unplugged just as the gust of wind hits. 

You stumble. Shelves groan in protest. Several rows of granola bars and trail mix are sent flying. 

Oh, great, who is it now—

You hear your name in a question, from a very familiar voice. 

You spit out a mouthful of your hair. “Flash?”

Sure enough, in the flesh, the Flash grins at you, blue lightning fading from his body. He spreads his arms as he exclaims your name again.

In a blink, he is there, arms wrapping around you, lifting you off the ground as he squeezes the life out of you. Another blink and you’re on the ground, looking at him, his hand on your shoulder. 

“Look at you, kid. It’s good to see you. I can’t believe you’re still working here.”

A stupid grin forms on your lips. “It’s not the same here without you eating up our inventory.”

He laughs. “I bet!”

You shake your head, fixing your hair and your shirt. Flash notices the state of the granola bars and trail mix, sends you an apologetic smile, and in the next blink, they are back on the shelves, neatly arranged. 

“So, what brings you here? If you can answer that.”

He waves a hand, flitting around, emptying the sausage grill and making himself several hot dogs. 

“One of the rogues got a little, shall we say, ambitious and wanted to try his luck here. Just trying to snatch him up before Batman finds out.”

“Let me guess—Trickster?”

He points a hot dog loaded with mustard and ketchup at you. “Bingo.”

“It’s dripping.”

“Aw, shit.” He shoves the rest of the hot dog in his mouth, grabs a napkin, and starts dabbing at the spot of mustard on his suit. 

You watch him, amused, but also morbidly fascinated as usual at seeing him eat so much. When he finishes the hot dogs, he goes for the pizza. It makes sense when you think about it, that a guy who can run faster than the speed of light should need to eat so much, but it’s been a while since you’ve had the pleasure of watching him refuel. Six months, actually, since you returned from Keystone City. 

You scratch your head. “I’m not sure why Trickster would want to come here. Batman, I think, is a worse punishment than you—”

“Agree, even if that’s also a little insulting to me.”

“Oh, you know what I mean. You’re avoiding him, aren’t you?”

Flash nods. “This is true. Carry on.”

“Well… Gotham already has a joke-themed guy. I don’t think Joker is going to take too kindly to someone encroaching on that. Unless he’s back in Arkham. Though he might’ve escaped again…”

“Y’see, that’s what I thought. It’s gonna sound bad, too, but I’m kinda hoping those two take care of each other, then I can get Trickster back to Iron Heights without any issues. But—”

You crack a smile, guessing his next words immediately. “When is it ever that easy?”

You had once believed the Flash to be just about infallible. After all, he is the Flash. This is the guy who, like you said, can run faster than the speed of light. He can canvas a city in under a minute. That’s how he takes care of Central City and Keystone City. (Well, the addition of the other Flash and Kid Flash probably help, too, but you know.)

But it’s not that easy. It’s why, you think, Metropolis has issues, even when they have Superman. 

No rest for the wicked and all. 

“Well, it’s still good to see you,” you say, a tad more hesitantly this time. Unsure if you can say that. 

Flash looks back at you, sending you a warm smile. “It’s good to see you, too. How’s school?”

“No classes now. Financial aid doesn’t cover the summer, so.”

He frowns. “You’re still on track to graduate next year, though, right?”

You pause, surprised he remembered you saying that. “Yeah, yeah, I am.” 

Flash nods, worries assuaged, then his gaze strays to the Slurpee machine, its lights turned off. “Aw, it’s not working?”

“Not today, sorry.”

He purses his lips, head tilting as he looks at the counter where the machine and your abandoned cup are. 

“Wait a second,” he says, then the food that was in his hands is on the counter and he’s gone with arcs of blue lightning following him, a tingly feeling spreading through your fingertips and toes, like when you used to be a kid and dragged your hands across those old TV screens, feeling the static. 

True to his word, in the next second, he is in front of you, two Slurpees in hand. One blue raspberry and another cherry. 

You grin as he proudly presents the blue raspberry Slurpee to you. 

“Thanks.”

He winks. “My pleasure.”

He collects his food again then gestures to the front with his head. Sipping at the ice-cold Slurpee, you follow him, sliding behind the counter.

“Time to head off?” you guess, ringing up the food he already ate, then the rest of the stuff. 

He slips out a few bills from a hidden pocket at his hip. “Yeah, I need to go before—”

“Flash!” The door opens roughly. You balk as you see who it is. “Seriously? You can’t just run off. You’re just as bad as Impulse sometimes, I swear.”

Red Robin stands there, hands on his hips, scowling, doing a good impression of a teacher scolding a student, which is really weird for you, since you’ve always held a good dose of fear and respect for the Bats and this doesn’t really… go on par with that. And also, you’re pretty sure Flash is older than him. 

Flash frowns. “Now that’s seriously uncalled for. I’m much better than he is. We were done talking, weren’t we? You’d call me if you found anything and it’s not like it would take me time to get there, would it?”

Red Robin doesn’t respond to that, mostly because he’s looking at you now. You’ve never seen him up close — any of them up close. Black fair falls sharply over his forehead, a black domino mask hiding his eyes. Not like a normal one; this one allows for more coverage under his eyes, going down to his nose, the end of which curves in a way reminiscent of a bird. But under the bright fluorescents of Circle K, everything else is easy to make out. Pale skin, a sharp jaw, a soft-looking mouth. 

Great. He’s hot. And something else… something that niggles at you. Familiar in a way that bothers you because you’ve never seen him in person. Not like this. 

You swallow nervously, giving him a half-hearted wave. The action jars him and he looks away from you quickly. 

“Hey, don’t be mean to her,” Flash chides. “Seriously. Look at her. You’ve made her nervous.”

“Flash.”

He shoots you a troublesome grin. “Nah, don’t worry about him, kid. He’s harmless.”

“Flash,” Red Robin hisses out, his voice sounding stranger than before, modulated, in a way. 

You compose yourself, giving Flash a look. “You know better than that. Perception means everything.”

“That is true,” he says. “But believe me. If fear worked as well as they’d like it to, Gotham would be the safest city in the country.”

A long-suffering sigh. Red Robin is turned away now and by the movement of his arm, pinching the bridge of his nose, exasperated. 

“Hey, I’m not wrong,” he says to him, even despite you silently waving for him to drop it. “Look, fear is fine and all. But I don’t think there’s anything wrong with nurturing relationships with the people you protect. That’s what I did with you, isn’t it, kid?”

“Yeah, but I’m also not, you know, from there…”

He collects his change. “Which is why it’s even more embarrassing that these guys make you nervous and I don’t.”

Red Robin huffs. 

Flash shrugs, smirking. “Just food for thought. I’ll see you around, yeah, kiddo? Gotta get going before this guy gets annoyed enough to just tell Batman about me and then I’ll really have problems.”

Then he’s gone, blue lightning arcing in his wake. Red Robin sighs again and leaves without a word or backward glance. 

You stand there for a minute, unsure if that really happened. But the signature Slurpee cup of blue raspberry, already sweating because the June heat in Gotham is unbearable and the AC is not up to task, assures you very much that that did just happen.

A little unsteady, you take a seat on the stool, shaking your head and dragging the cup to you. 

At least you got to see Flash again.

You don’t see him again, which is what you expected. 

What you don’t expect is the appearance of Red Robin the next night. 

You’ve grown up in Gotham City. Like anyone else, you have a healthy dose of fear and respect for the vigilantes that prowl the shadows. You also, unlike Vicki Vale or any journalist or obsessive conspiracy theorist, have absolutely zero interest in interacting with them. 

Usually, interacting with them means you are in grave danger. 

(You had to unlearn some of that during your brief tenure in Keystone City; the Flash was a little bit different from them. Maybe more than a little bit…)

So, when Red Robin shows up at Circle K at half past one in the morning, you are… a tad wary. 

It doesn’t help that he seems awkwardly frozen, too, as your voice catches in the middle of your perfunctory Hi, welcome in as you realize who it is. 

For a minute, it is painfully, painfully quiet. 

“Is there something—”

“Do you have any—”

You both stop. You purse your lips. Red Robin is… blushing a little bit? Holy shit.

“Go ahead,” he says, clearing his throat after. His voice still sounds off like yesterday—modulated.

You grimace. “Sorry, I was just asking if there was something going on? Should I lock down the shop or hide or something?”

He looks briefly confused. “No? I mean, no… Everything is fine. I was just wondering if you guys had any, uh—” he seems to falter, scrambling a little bit “—hot… chocolate?”

Hot chocolate in June? What a weirdo.

You keep your face straight, though. 

Flash might’ve let you off the hook when it came to formalities but you’d be an idiot to think you could get away with that with these guys. 

He exhales the briefest laugh at something, then—you, you realize, your expression, which should be perfectly polite, what the hell. He turns his head away as a smile curls his lips. That niggling feeling—which began as soon as you realized he was here—strengthens. You push it away for a second.

“I know. Late night. Don’t like coffee, so it’s a good alternative.”

How did he—? 

Must be the detective thing.

You apologize anyway. 

“Sorry. My, uh, friend’s like that, in a way,” you say, your tongue again moving faster than your brain can grapple with. He won’t care about the fact that your friend, Tim, is like that, too. Well, Tim likes the occasional energy drink if he’s staying up late because he doesn’t like coffee. Not this hot chocolate business. But maybe? Doesn’t sound like a bad idea, actually. Probably better than Red Bull, even if he doesn’t drink it often, maybe once or twice a month. And, anyway, it’s not the point. This guy doesn’t care. He probably couldn’t care less. You’re just trying to show him—oh, it doesn’t matter. This entire thing has gone straight to shit. All because he managed to read your judgment.

“Oh?” It’s a question but it’s a bit strangled. See? He doesn’t care. Poor guy. Probably trying to think of a way to get out of this. Well, you’ll do him one better. 

“Uh, yeah… he’s—well. Doesn’t matter. Yeah, the machine is working. It’s over there.” 

“Thanks.”

You nod and glance away, leaving him to cross to the other side of the store. You can’t help but watch him go, watching the way the heavy black cape swishes with his movements, boots soundless on the shitty tiled floors. He disappears behind the shelf, but his head is visible. A head of dark, dark hair that seems… familiar to you.

Ugh. What is with you?

It’s Red freakin’ Robin. You’ve glimpsed him and the others briefly. Shadows in the night, swinging from buildings, jumping from rooftops. Anybody who lives in Gotham long enough has seen the same. Doesn’t mean you know him enough to be this way, to be so bothered by something that won’t even come to mind.

You shake your head briefly. 

You should think more on why he’s even here.

Though, it seems obvious, given what happened yesterday night.

Flash has a way of getting beneath your skin and inciting the most childish tendencies. You imagine his little comment about trust between vigilante and citizen bothered Red Robin.

Well, rest assured, you understand the position they are in. You enjoyed the way Flash visited you but they can’t afford that. Perception is gold. It is true, in some ways, that if it were as effective as they wanted it to be, Gotham would be less crime-ridden than it currently is. 

(But that was also a conundrum with the corrupt government. So long as the systems were in place, crime would always happen, and it would take more than the Bats to fix that.)

Either way, they cannot afford for that mask to slip—metaphorically and literally.

There is a level of trust, you think, between the Bats and the people but… it’s not the same kind Flash fosters with his own. 

You feel obligated to let Red Robin know that, with that, he has no obligation to do anything out of the ordinary. 

So, that’s what you do when he comes back over to the counter, two small cups of hot chocolate in hand.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

He turns forward with a five dollar bill in hand. “I can’t just not pay—”

“I’m not talking about that.” 

He is paying. You are moderately appreciative of what they do but not that appreciative. 

“So, what else is it that I don’t have to do?”

You gesture between you two. “This. Come here to try and prove the Flash wrong.”

“I’m not—”

You try to level with him. 

“It’s cool, man. He can be annoying. Annoying enough that he could make anyone want to prove him wrong. I get it. But he’s also a little bit of a doof when it comes to matters of the public. Though I’m betting he was trying to aggravate you more than anything. Either way, I get it. You have an image to keep up. Do what you have to do.”

“So, you don’t want me to come back?” Not an accusation. A genuine question.

You blink. “That’s not what I said. I don’t mind. I’m just… letting you know.”

“What do you know about it, anyway? Upholding an image? You seem very confident on the do’s and don’ts, despite being a civilian.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You guys actually refer to us non-vigilantes as civilians? Like, unironically?”

He doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you with the emotionless white lids of the domino mask, lips pressed in a line.

You smile and roll your eyes, finally taking his five and opening the register. “I’m majoring in communication with a concentration in PR. Did an internship at Quickstart Enterprises last semester working with their PR department. You can say I know a thing or two about it.”

“What year?”

“Just finished my third. Starting my final in the fall. Look, I’m not saying you have to take my advice, I just wanted you to know. That’s all. I’m not holding it against you.”

“I’ll take it under advisement.”

You slide his change to him. “That’s all I ask.”

He picks up the cups, says, “Keep the change,” and then, he’s gone, dark cape fluttering, his figure swallowed up by the darkness of the night. 

The only traces of his presence is the door slowly closing and the change still sitting on the counter.

These hero-types and their dramatic exits. Honestly. 

You meet the Flash in your second week of work at Circle K.

The stipend from QE covered your housing and groceries but didn’t allow for much options regarding the latter. At least not the fresh produce kind. 

So, you picked up a job at Circle K. Part-time only, which worked well with the schedule you had at QE. You typically worked evenings—not the graveyard shift you do now, which you took only because it paid better during the night—so from seven to eleven. 

The Flash was different from the Bats in that regard. While Signal worked during the day, the rest of them worked during the night. 

Flash told you he liked sleep, so he would take care of things during a reasonable hour in the evening to accommodate that, which meant you were beheld to his presence. 

Frequently.

And the first time…

You have no idea what to make of the superhero currently raiding the sausage grill.

A larger part of you is suspicious, hoping that the Flash isn’t about to come up to you and say something arrogant about not being required to pay. A lot of the cops you get say something to that effect. It takes so much willpower in you to not roll your eyes. 

But another part of you right now, the Tim part of your brain, is fascinated. Wants to ask some geeky questions about his power. Presumably, the fact that he is the fastest man alive means he has to eat a lot to sustain it, right?

Well. That one is a bit self-explanatory. At least if the way he’s stuffing his face tells you anything.

Suspicion wins out, though.

Keystone City is a nice enough city. Central City, across the river, is the same. They aren’t Gotham, that’s for sure, and sometimes you don’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse. 

It’s mostly that Keystone City is situated in Kansas and across the Mississippi, in Mississippi, is Central City. These regions of the country, historically conservative, make you a bit tetchy. Not at all helped by the fact that for a very long time, Keystone City was suspended in the fifties. Or rather, what they thought were the fifties. Time passed normally outside of it until the Flash fixed everything.

It gives Keystone an aesthetic old-timey vibe to it but with all the modern luxuries of the late 2010s, like phones and, you know, civil rights. 

But things have been okay, for the most part. The people you encounter here at Circle K are amiable enough. (Well, except for the cops you get. You could go without dealing with those idiots.)

Though, admittedly, between work for QE and here and trying to keep yourself fed and (mostly) rested, you haven’t gotten out much.

The Flash, though… you haven’t directly encountered him. Not in your few weeks here. Sometimes when walking to the subway, you feel the sharp gust of wind, commonly associated with him as he makes his way through the city faster than a speeding bullet, glass windows and cars rattling dangerously in the aftermath of his path. On the news, when he takes down whichever rogue woke up on the wrong side of the bed, and in the newspaper. But nothing beyond that.

People speak fondly of him, for the most part. Rumors are solid sources of information but you just can’t help but be a little bit suspicious. There is such a thing as too good to be true, after all…

You reach for your half-empty cup of blue raspberry Slurpee. Though it’s the beginning of September, summer takes longer to leave the midwest, you’ve learned, and the summers here are loads worse than ones you’ve experienced in Gotham. 

Before you can even get your mouth around the red straw, a breeze hits and you blink, finding the Flash in front of you, depositing mostly empty cartons of hot dogs onto the counter, with a few of them still full. On their way to being empty, though, as he crams more into his mouth. A cup of cherry Slurpee finishes it off.

The Flash points a half-eaten hot dog at you. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”

You narrow your eyes. “I’m sorry?”

“No, no, not like that. You’ve just got this suspicion to you. This… paranoia. A paranoia that can only belong to someone from Gotham,” he says, nodding to himself. 

Well, that’s—

Hm.

A bit embarrassed to be caught out like that—because it isn’t the first time—you attempt to make up for it.

“I’m from Metropolis, actually.” 

Best to stay on the east coast. Even you couldn’t pass as someone from the west coast, like Star City or Coast City or something. 

Flash grins at you. “Liar.”

You aren’t used to this kind of playful banter. Certainly not from a literal superhero, from someone who regularly saves the world with the likes of Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman and more. You don’t think you expected the cold brutality the city gets from the Bats back home but… you didn’t expect this, either.

To get a much-needed sense of normalcy, you scan one of the hot dog cartons, adding them up on the screen.

“Was it that obvious? I wasn’t trying to be… I mean, I was, but, you know, I didn’t, um…”

You stop, cringing. Very eloquent and more than a little annoying, given your career choice. Can’t be like that when you get put on the spot. Even if it’s by a superhero. Especially if it’s by a superhero. Journalists are even worse, anyway…

“Relax, kid,” he laughs. “To tell you the truth, it was hard to miss but I’m sort of geared for that kind of thing, what with my choice in career.”

“Right.” You scan the Slurpee and take a drink of yours while he fiddles with some zipper in his suit. A deep red, with a purple tinge, a silver Flash symbol on his chest, and a cowl, but with the top free, showing off a shock of red hair, and his eyes still exposed. Pretty green.  

“But I do have an unfair advantage,” he goes on. “I see a similar look every time I have a League meeting.”

You blink. “The League…?”

“You should know. Your caped crusader, Batman. Of course, that’s also because he doesn’t like me—and the feeling is mutual, trust me—but, you know. Schematics. He sits right across from me and that’s all I get, this classic brand of Gothamite suspicion on top of the usual wordless Batman disapproval.”

“Should you be telling me that?”

He hands you a twenty. You pop open the register to break it. Another breeze hits and the empty cartons of hot dogs are shoved into the trash, with him eating the last one and on his way to finishing the large cup of cherry-flavored Slurpee. 

“I mean, what are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” you say lightly, calculating his change. “I could go to the press. Breaking News: Strife within the League. Tenuous relations between Batman and the Flash.”

“Oh, really?”

“That’s the press. A common dislike will absolutely turn into that in their headlines. They would take it and run.”

“That is true. You a journalist?” 

“Oh, no. Communications, with a concentration in public relations.”

Flash thinks on it for a second, finishing his hot dog, then the Slurpee. You partially expect him to get angry. It would be a justified reaction. He doesn’t know you and you don’t know him. You can admit that some of what you just said is a bit… imperious. Who are you to lecture him, right?

“You aren’t wrong,” he finally says, repeating his earlier words as the last hot dog carton and Slurpee cup disappear from the counter—thrown in the trash. 

“But,” he presses, accepting the change from you—a few dollars—then dropping it into your tip jar. “I know you aren’t going to take that to the press.”

“How’s that?” 

He points at you. “Because I don’t think you’re the kind of person to do that.”

“You’re appealing to my morals?”

“Yes. Is it working?”

“Not much work to be had,” you admit. “I was never going to. I was just…”

“Being nice and telling me I should watch what I say,” he finishes, grinning. “Which is true. All true. I just couldn’t help myself. What’s your name, kid?”

You tell him. He extends a hand.

“It’s nice to meet you. Welcome to Keystone City. Hope you enjoy your stay.”

A bit bemused, you nod politely and say, “Thanks.”

Before he can say anything else, he visibly tenses, lifting a hand to the Hermes-like wings at his ears, then, in the next blink, he is gone, off to stop someone or something, leaving you with a sharp gust of wind that rattles the windows and knocks the candy from the shelves under the counter onto the ground.

Well, then.

Talk about a first impression. 

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[strange-birb]

I had too… I just had too

[lilylovelyxo]

*Jason walks in the Batcave*

Jason sarcastically: “Morning. Sorry to interrupt.”

Tim: “Wow. You didn’t die yet?”

Jason pinches his fingers together: “A little every day.”

Y/N: “It’s good to see you, Jason.”

Jason: “Yeah, you too.”

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

This devotion of yours is misplaced (but this love, perhaps, is not)

Blood nose and a crooked tongue (I always wanted to be someone) - series masterlist here

pairing: tim drake x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.4k

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: reader is like vaguely injured, timmy is so in love and sooo crazy abt it, they sorta both are, idk this one's kinda intense guys there's a lot of love in it kinda felt like I was intruding when I wrote it

a/n: I'm so sorry but we're fast-forwarding to established relationship but I promise I'll get back to the pining of the past I just have the intense need to jump around timelines like a rabbit

There's a bulb in the light fixture above your bathroom sink that flickers, the yellow light hazing in and out while the others shine bright. You sit on the counter, leaning your back against your mirror as you cup a hand to your ribs protectively, watching Tim with hooded, lazy eyes. There's a set to his jaw, the muscles clenching as he moves around, pulling your first-aid kit out from under your sink.

You think back to the day he realized you didn't have one, his eyes wide as he spluttered out something about you needing one because what if you get hurt? You'd shot back that you'd always managed without one. He'd accused you of suffering for the sake of it - forsaking softness for the show of it. 

That had cut a bit too deep. He didn't apologize, but you didn't ask him to. The next morning, there was a first-aid kit sitting on your bathroom counter.

Tim's hands ghosting over your sides pulls you from the memory as you suck in a sharp breath. He winces apologetically and hooks a forefinger under your chin, tilting your head to wipe a disinfectant wipe over the cut on your cheek.

"You need to relax," you huff quietly. He shoots you a look.

"I don't like seeing you hurt."

"Then go somewhere else," you shoot back. You feel something that reminds you of a concussion you once had hazing through your mind - maybe if you hadn't, you'd have noticed the way he pulls back from you. You would've kept your mouth shut.

"You know that's not what I mean." There's a strain in Tim's voice that he only gets when he's trying to be good to you - when you're not letting him.

"I never know what you mean," you respond, and there's a tiredness in your voice that shouldn't be there. Tim's shoulders drop, his stance shifting as he looks at you. He's trying, you realize, to let himself be read. But acts of love like that are so often impossible for things like you and him.

"I would rather…" he begins slowly, eyes flitting around while he searches for the words. "I would rather, if you're hurting, that you do it right here where I can help you. I don't want you to do it alone."

"This is part of the job - and I did it alone for a long time," you point out. He fixes you with a frustrated stare.

"But you don't have to now. I'm here now," he insists.

"Are you?" Tim huffs through his nose, fixing a butterfly strip over the cut on your cheek.

"If you'll let me," he says. There's a gentleness there that you're not sure you deserve.

"I don't know if I can." A warble cuts through your voice in a way that makes you bite the inside of your cheek. Tim smoothes his hands up your thighs, parting your legs so that he can stand closer to you between them. His thumbs dig into your muscles gently, rubbing circles into your skin.

"Explain that to me," he prompts. You sigh and tilt your head back to lean it against the mirror, eyeing him through your lashes.

"I don't think I'm any good at being helped," you say simply before leaning forward enough to cup his cheek in your hand, smoothing the furrow between his brows out with your thumb. "And I'm not sure you're any good at helping. You're going to give yourself a headache."

"It's worth it," Tim says, but his response is too quick, a jumbled rush of breath leaving his lungs. You fix him with a knowing, warning sort of look as his devotion to you rings through you and thumps against your heart. 

"Careful," you warn, but the hand you use to grip the back of his neck and bring him closer to you betrays you. "You can't lose yourself in this, Red. You can't love me enough that it makes you whole." His fingers tense on your thighs, pressing in, but he lets you pull him closer.

"No calling me that when I'm not wearing the mask," he murmurs, a shoddy sort of diversion. A smile twitches on your lips.

"But you are red," you say, smoothing your thumbs over the blushing apples of his cheeks. "Right here. And there's no one here to hear me… no one but you." Tim gives you a pained sort of look, his shoulders bunching in embarrassment, but you throw him a lazy smile and lean forward to place a quick kiss to his lips. He doesn't miss your wince when you do.

"Let me see your side," he asks gently.

"Nothing's broken," you respond quickly. He shoots you a look and reaches anyway, pulling your shirt up to reveal mottled purple and blue bruising over your ribs. A gentle hand is placed over it as he murmurs for you to breathe deeply. You try to, but the softness of it all is making you dizzy, making your chest ache for an entirely different reason.

"I don't think anything's broken," Tim assures as he pulls your shirt back down, his hands then finding their home on your waist.

"I told you that," you remind him dryly. There's a stubborn set to his jaw.

"I wanted to check."

"You need to have faith in me."

"Do you have faith in me?" He doesn't say it like an accusation, but you pull back like it is. He looks at you hard, the light flickering over his face and the furrow of his brows. It's a determination that you should be used to by now - one that's born of a desperate devotion to you, a need to get on his knees and pray.

You think he might do it now, just for a second, as he tenses to pull away from you. But you make a panicked, needy sort of sound as you reach for him and it's enough to bring him back to you, some kind of innate pull he has that draws him to your aid. His hands cup your face delicately and he smoothes his thumbs over your cheeks as you close your eyes, willing yourself to breathe.

"I'm not a… I'm not a faithful kind of person, Red. There's a devotion in you that's misplaced." You try to say it gently, the words pulling at your vocal cords as you speak, everything coming out painfully. Tim leans forward to rest his forehead against yours.

"You don't get to choose who I worship," he offers. Your shoulders tense slightly.

"Do you worship me? Or do you love me?" You ask. He doesn't pull away, keeping his eyes closed as his forehead rests against yours.

"What's the difference?"

"There's a gap there, Tim. The difference between devotion and worship. It's - it's love that separates the two," you explain, squeezing your eyes shut.

"I love you." He says it like it's easy.

"Are you sure?" He pulls away at the question, thumbing over your cheeks until you open your eyes to look at him. He's still close enough that you can feel his breath on yours.

"There is a part of you that knows how to be loved," he says - like it's simple. "I'm going to stay here until you find it."

"And then?"

"And then I'll stay to love you." Your hands reach for him at his words, bunching the front of his shirt in your fingers.

"What if that never happens?" You ask, looking anywhere but him, anywhere but straight into the love shining in his eyes.

"Then I'll pray to you," a kiss is pressed to the corner of your mouth. "Like I always have."

"I'm not an idol to obsess over," you protest weakly. More kisses are pressed up your cheek, over your eyelids once they flutter closed, and down the bridge of your nose.

"No," Tim acknowledges easily. "You're someone to be loved. But you haven't figured out how to do that yet, and I… I haven't figured out how to do this yet, either." Your hands move from his shirt to tangle in his hair as you pull him impossibly closer.

"Maybe we'll never learn," your voice is hushed as his lips hover over yours. "Maybe we'll be these things forever."

"Then we'll be them together," is Tim's immediate answer, his lips brushing against your own. "And maybe that's all we need."

[sparkleofpizza]

I stood still. Hands gripping the umbrella to cover myself up from the rain. I couldn't really mind the harsh cold wind blowing on my face. It was drying the hot tears streaming down my face, they didn't seem to stop at any time soon.

My heart ached, everything ached. I didn't know I could actually feel physical pain upon being hurt emotionally.

His smile forever engraved in my mind. I go to sleep listening to the faint sound of his laughter and voice. I dream of his beautiful eyes, knowing I will never find anything quiete like this ever again.

I love you

I wish I had said it when I had the chance. Please come back to me. I miss you. I love you. You are my everything.

Please come back.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Hi! I'm resenting a request, but if you want to do it in an ask format I'm fine with that too.

Male Reader and Tim Drake have been doing a 3 day long "all nighter", to do research on a cold case. With Reader's brain cells basic dead at this point, lays on his stomach, resting his head on to Tim's stomach and wrapping his arms around Tim's waist. Ending up falling asleep, with Tim just trapped in his arms.

Tim walking up Reader later, and confessing he has feelings for Reader!

- OwO

Tim Drake x male reader

Headcanons

Been a while since i wrote something cute like this, so this was kinda refreshing.

Whether you were a fellow hero, a student, or just helping Tim with some kind of research, pulling all nighters was common. Pulling all nighters multiple days in a row was also common, you were very proud of how good you had gotten at staying awake for longer periods of time because of it.

But staying awake longer than 48 hours was hard, as that was the point where the body started performing at a lower level.

So, when you were hitting the 72-hour mark, you were seeing double, and could a barely feel your fingers, and you knew if you tried to stand up your legs would immediately give out under you and send you crashing to the floor.

Tim was more skilled than you at staying awake, so he at least was able to keep typing, even though you both knew it would be gibberish when you checked on it again later.

But even Tim seemed to be drooping, maybe that’s why he didn’t notice you placing your laptop down and shuffling towards him, until you flopped down against him.

Tim gave a small jump as your weight suddenly pressed down on him, making him lift his arm on instinct, giving you an in to crawl in closer to him, pushing him onto his back in the process.

Tim soon found himself laying down against the art rest of the couch, laptop in his hands as you laid your head on his stomach, your arms wound around his waist.

Your entire body felt like lead as you almost melted against Tim, head and limbs heavy as you sigh, letting yourself go limp and letting all your weight press down on Tims legs, trapping him there unless he used some of his hero training to kick you off, which he didn’t want to do.

You fall asleep almost immediately, not giving Tim a choice in being your pillow until you woke up. Not that Tim was complaining, since he had always kind of held a candle for you to some level.

But as you slept and Tim held the laptop above you, unable to place it down without bothering you, he realizes he can’t keep working either. So, with a sigh of defeat, he puts his laptop off to the side and wraps his arms loosely around you, rubbing your upper back.

The rubbing on your back only seems to make you melt even further against him, a soft content mumble leaving your lips as you snuggle deeper into the fabric of his shirt.

Having you sleep against him has Tim feeling giddy, but the 72 hours of no sleep is starting to catch up with him. And having you laying on top of him like some kind of sentient weighted blanket, sleep starts pulling at the edges of his consciousness, and Tim soon finds himself sinking into the comforting embrace of sleep.

The two of you sleep for a long time, as you are both so exhausted after going so long without sleep. The rest of the batfam knows not to bother someone when they are sleeping, as they sleep very little already, so they leave you two alone on the couch. Alfred does leave water bottles and snacks for when you wake up though.

Tims the first one to wake up, used to running on less sleep than you. In his groggy state, he cant help but run his fingers through your hair and caressing your face, just admiring you.

When you wake up, blinking up at him with sleepy groggy eyes, the confession of his feelings just seem to slip from him with no control, Tim barely conscious of his actions until after he’s already said it.

You chuckle a little as Tim blushes and sputters, trying to play it off as a joke. Its only when you scoot up to give him a soft kiss on his still rambling mouth that he seemed to quiet down, blue eyes wide as you lay down on top of him again, with your head on his chest this time.

“I like you too, now sleep, we both need it” you mumble, already out like a light again before Tim can fully comprehend what you had just said, his heart racing and a giddy smile on his face when it hits him.

Tim gives you a squeeze, but let you rest back against him when you mumble, displeased at being jostled like that as you try to sleep some more. A smile does twitch onto your lips when he kisses the top of your head and then your forehead, snuggling closer to you as he closes his eyes.

Maybe sleeping wasn’t so bad when you were with him, he could see himself enjoy it quite a lot actually. Those were the last thoughts he had before he drifted off again, still lacking a lot of sleep, and now feeling more at ease with you in his arms.