#tim drake imagine

[strange-birb]

I give you …..THEM ✨✨

I feel like I did Steph dirty…. Tbh I’ll try harder next time guys I swear 👀😅

[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.

[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

[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. 

reblogs are appreciated!

taglist: @peachesona @knoxx-seresinbradshaw @kikis-writing-service @sweetistic @soundsfunbutno @ginevraxrogers

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[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.”

[strange-birb]

Had to when I saw the quote lol

I love Jason sm 😂

Og post @batfam-imagines

[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.

[yourmomxx]

Tim: I've got a riddle for you. What's got four legs and isn't alive?

Damian: Nice try. It's a chair.

Jason, holding Damian’s dead dog: Not this time.

[idyllcy]

saying we're just friends, thinking you're my man

word count: 11.3k

warnings: non-explicit smut, heavy making out

summary: Distance gives the soul time to think, and Tim thinks he's in love with you.

It's a textbook relationship.

Tim can't count the number of times he's read a fic like this.

In fact, he can already imagine the tags on your love story. Strangers to lovers, Friends to Lovers, Fateful Encounter, Alternate Universe - College, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn... the list goes on. You'd probably have a field day trying to finish the story inspired by the one the two of you experienced. Though, as he brushes his fingers through your hair in the kisses of the morning sun, he wouldn't have it any other way — even if he couldn't form a coherent thought when you were awake and talking to him. God, you make him weak.

In the blaring heat of August at orientation, you landed right at his feet after getting shoved around in the crowd of students.

"You good?" He holds his hand for you, and you take it, pulling yourself up.

"Sorry! They're quite a crowd." You laugh awkwardly. "I'm, uh—" Your name tumbled past your lips, an apologetic smile on your face, explaining to him that you were trying to get to the English building through the crowd of students. Tim told you his name (only first in fear you'd recognize his last) and showed you a shortcut to the building. You had taken the messily scribbled image, airdropped it onto your phone, and you had rushed off with a thank you yelled into the air. Tim hadn't thought much about you. It wasn't as if you'd be in the same department as him. He also had minimal GE classes, so—

Two days later, you sit next to him in his only GE class. He was required to take English regardless of his previous experience with it. His AP classes hadn't been kind enough to remove the requirement. Not even the fives on both of his English APs could have helped him avoid the expository hell all freshmen were required to take. So, he meets eyes with you as you apologize for sitting next to him, confessing that he was the only face you knew.

"So? What's your major?" You blink at him curiously as the class waits for the professor.

"I'm in Cybersecurity."

"Woah." You mumble. "Stem..."

"You?"

"Creative Writing." You grin. "Well, build your own major. But Creative Writing nonetheless."

"A writer?"

"Yeah."

Tim had watched as you played Minecraft the entirety of class, only skimming through the syllabus for his late work, absence, and attendance policies. He's not sure if you even caught the way the professor mentioned there was a syllabus quiz next class. Though it wasn't his job to tell you, but he still felt kind of bad if you were to fail it. He passes you a note, and you pause your game, glancing at the note. You grin at him, opening your phone and showing him your reminder. You go back to your Minecraft world for the rest of class, information going in one ear and out the other. (Tim found out later that you actually listen, and gaming was only a focus tactic you used.)

At the end of class, you save your world, push your chair in, and sprint for the door.

Tim shared no other classes with you. In fact, the two of you only had one class together for all four years of your college lives. Yet, there was something about you that had stuck with him. He didn't know what it was, but he hadn't felt that giddy over someone since his last relationship, his heart racing in his chest, his head spinning. He pushed everything down in favor of being able to pay attention in class. Though his coding skills were spectacular, his writing skills were less than stellar. He didn't understand how writing just came to you.

Especially not when you fell asleep halfway through your first monthly timed essay and still scored a 97. He could learn a thing or two from you, maybe. Were you doing memory consolidation in the middle of the exam? He has no idea how you did it.

Your name slips past his lips as you pack up after one class.

"Yeah?" You tilt your head at him.

"Are you," he pauses, (a little embarrassed. Tim Drake, son of Bruce Wayne, CEO of WE, was in need of help. Of course he was a little embarrassed.) "down to tutor me? My grade in this class is less than... acceptable." He grimaces at how his voice goes quiet.

You smile. "Yeah. I'm down. I'll give you my number and schedule and we can arrange a time. Expository writing isn't that bad. It's just the same sentence structure with some BS and then you're done."

"Easy for you to say," He hands you his phone.

"No. It's just like how you have structure when you code." You click your number in, texting yourself and saving his contact before you forget. "There is structure in everything you do."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You beam at him.

Tim's next essay comes back with an 81. It's a big improvement from the 64 he scored the first time. You were right, the essays being the same thing over and over again. The structure is as easy as basic coding is to him. He understands you now.

He thanks you by taking you to the diner, paying for your meal.

You kick your legs at the booth, milkshake straw between your lips, lost in thought.

"Penny for your thoughts?" He raises a brow.

"Tim... what's your last name?" You frown. "It's fine if you don't tell me, but my friends have been asking who I've been tutoring and I realized I have no idea what your last name is."

"It's Drake." He scans your face for something when he tells you.

"Drake..." You pause, letting go of the milkshake straw. "huh. Like the CEO." You go back to your milkshake after the revelation.

"Not surprised?"

"I mean," You grimace at him. "You wear the down-low designer brands your adoptive father does, so not really. I had my suspicions, but I didn't want to pry in case you didn't want to tell."

"Down-low designer brands?"

"Bruce Wayne has a specific way of dressing casual." You bite on your straw. "I know this sounds creepy but I've done more research on brands billionaires wear than I'd like to admit."

"Does it have to do with your writing?" Tim thanks the waiter as his order is brought.

"Yeah." You smile sheepishly. "Is that creepy? Sorry."

"No. I've been expecting the unexpected from you for a while now."

You laugh. "Yeah?"

"I have an older brother who writes in his free time and the amount of things he's done for research is crazy."

"Right? Reddit and Quora are my saviors." You mumble. "I obviously can't kill for research, so the internet is my best friend."

"Do you search on incognito?"

"No. I prefer being able to dig up my weird research from my search history." You shrug. "I bet the FBI has me on a watchlist."

"I could check if you'd like."

You feign a look of shock. "Really?"

He smiles at you, and the two of you burst into laughter.

"You going to Connor's Halloween party next week?" You finish the last of your milkshake.

"Of course not." He deadpans. "Must I remind you I hate going out?"

"Awh," You pout. "I wanted someone to match maid dresses with."

"Excuse me?"

"For research."

The smile on your face suggests anything but.

"You can consider it as payment for all the times I'm going to tutor you."

"I've been paying you."

"No." You shake your head. "You pay me each time we have a session. I'm letting you pay me for the rest of the lessons by showing up to the Halloween party in a maid dress with me."

Tim looks at you incredulously.

"Actually, I'll even draft a contract if you don't believe me." You smile.

"And if I turn you down?"

"I'll find one of my friends to do it with."

"Then why ask me?"

"The thrill of the unknown? The endless answers you could have chosen? A grasp on your character better? It could be anything." You smile sweetly at him. "It's fine. You can continue paying me like you normally do."

"Who would you match with if not me?"

"Well, I was thinking Sam or someone else," You shrug. "but Sam doesn't celebrate Halloween. I'd match with the other guy friend, but one of my friends is into him so I don't want to make it seem like I'm making a move on someone I know she likes."

"So you asked me?"

"I don't know, Tim." You shrug. "You tell me. I thought you were a genius."

He leans in to read your face better. "I'd say you asked me because you're interested in me."

"Bingo." You grin wider this time.

"It's been less than two months."

"And? Hasn't stopped people from already hooking up." You shrug. "You can say no."

"See, I'd say yes, but Connor would take a photo and it would end up in our groupchat's blackmail folder." Tim slides his fries to the middle when he catches you staring. "You can have one."

"I thought you were a master hacker?" You pick a fry from the carton.

"Yeah, but friend code."

"Ah." You nod slowly. "It's okay to say no. I won't get offended."

"Maybe next year." Tim shakes his head.

"No worries!"

Tim stalks your Instagram on the day of Halloween, staring at the post where you're matching maid dresses with your entire friend group. In the back of his mind, he wonders, for a brief moment, if it would have just been you and him if he had agreed. The thought disappears just as fast, sighing as he puts his phone down and domino mask on. He had patrol. He could think about his mess of emotions later. Gotham needs him.

Your breath hitches from the spiked punch, your friends long lost in the crowd, your head spinning as you stumble onto the balcony of the apartment, resting your head on the cool of the metal railing, trying to calm the thumping of your head. You hear something rustle in front of you, the sound of someone swinging, and you open an eye to get a look. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of Red Robin.

"Hey—"

"Dude... your costume looks way too realistic." You press your fingers to his armor, pulling him onto the balcony with you, mumbling under your breath as you feel him up through his costume. The smell of alcohol is apparent on your lips, the smell of your perfume flooding his senses — your cheeks are flushed beyond repair, and Tim finds himself frozen in place as you practically straddle him, fingers running to his face. His eyes dart to your cleavage unconsciously, staring back up to meet your eyes when he sees too much. You look sinful like this. His breath catches in his throat as he tries to loosen your grip on him without accidentally throwing you off, and he finally presses a hand of his to your stomach, successfully getting you to stop.

"Sorry." You mumble.

"No worries." He rasps, pushing you back onto your seat gently — heart drumming in his head.

"Ey, Red Robin!" Connor calls from inside the house. "You made it!"

"I'm not here to party. I was checking in on you to see if you were being responsible." He sighs.

You blink at him, doe-eyed, fascinated, drunken stupor all over your face.

"You're real?"

"Yes." He mumbles.

"Sorry for touching you."

"You're forgiven."

You lean back into your seat with an exhale, pulling out your phone as Connor leads Tim further into the party. He speaks to Oracle to let her know where he was, and he exhales when she tells him B says it's fine. He nods at the people who compliment his costume as he passes them, and he grabs himself a cup of punch, pausing when the alcohol stings his tongue. He dumps it in Connor's sink, eyes trailing to where you were sitting, breath catching in his throat at the sight of some sleaze slinging his arm around you. He rushes over to you, fingers smoothing down your neck to your shoulders, warning smile on his face.

"She has company for the night."

The man scrambles as you look up at him, beaming. His breath catches in his throat.

"Careful. I might just take you home."

"Don't you dorm?" He raises a brow in amusement.

"No one said my home." You turn around to reach for his jaw, fingers trailing down, breath fanning his. Tim would let you do this. He really would. He'd kiss you senseless on the balcony at Connor's house, yet he knows better than to do so. You're drunk from the punch. He'd be taking advantage of you no matter how much you want this when sober. So, he runs his thumb over your bottom lip, forehead meeting yours, every ounce of his willpower pulled into not just kissing you senseless here. If only you were sober. The things he would do.

"Where is she — babes! Time to go!" Your friend breaks the tension for him, pulling you away from him with a nod, alcohol riding off of her as well. He wonders if your driver is tipsy.

"I wanna go home with Red Robin..." You mumble, and your friend smacks you playfully. He notices one of you is sober, and he supposes that's enough. He heads back inside to find Connor.

Tim notices you miss class the next day. You text him to ask him to record the lecture for you, telling him the Halloween party was lit and you remember almost making out with a guy but your friend cockblocked you. Tim holds back a laugh in class, letting you know he'd email you his notes with the lecture recording. You thank him with an image, going offline immediately after. He clicks on his laptop, noting down whatever you might need. The recording would cover the rest. He sends everything at the end of class, your response instant. It wouldn't matter if you were absent from class. Your grade could take a hit.

He answers his phone when you dial him.

"Hey?"

"Timmers, you got Tylenol?"

"I can buy you some?" He offers. "I don't have class after this."

"Please? Oh, and throw in that one specific brand of bottled tea. I'll send you a photo." You grumble.

"Are you feeling better?"

"Like a dead girl walking."

"Taking that as a no. Want anything else?"

"I'll Venmo you the money. Bring me the receipt."

"You're sick. You can pay me back by actually being in class next lecture."

"Not hard. My head just hurts from the hangover."

"I'm guessing you got home safe?" Tim steps into the convenience store.

"Yeah. Our driver was sober. Thankfully."

Tim grabs the Tylenol and pauses. "I need the tea."

"Which convenience store are you in?"

"Metro."

"Aisle three by the American soda. It's green with white writing. You can read Chinese, right? It's Japanese but it says tea in Chinese."

"How'd you know?" Tim pauses. "Unsweetened green tea? The Japanese one?"

"Yeah. It helps a lot." You sniff. "Found out on google because someone made a compilation of you speaking foreign languages."

"So you assumed?"

"The part where you speak Cantonese, you were reading from a menu."

"Are you stalking me?"

"I'd prefer doing research."

"Stalking."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Tim checks out, tapping his phone to pay. He takes the bag and pauses at the sight of the instant noodles. "You sure you don't want anything else?"

"Nothing. Feel free to get what you need too."

Tim hears you drink something.

"I'll text you my dorm building and number. There's no pin to get in just let them know you're here to see me. I'm pretty close with the RA."

"Networking already, huh?"

"Whatever you want to call it."

You text him your dorm building and number, and he knocks on your door.

You open it with a weak push of your arm.

"Are you actually sick?"

"No." You thank him as he hands you the plastic bag. You pop two pills out, swallowing them with the tea. "I'm extremely hungover. I drank too much punch."

"And you didn't realize?"

"No. I was trying to drink my thoughts away." You sniff. "So? How'd you spend yesterday?"

"Handing out candy at the manor with Bruce." Which was a lie. He spent Halloween using every last drop of self-control to not kiss your drunk self senseless at Connor's place. He can still smell your perfume.

"Sounds boring."

"I do it every year." He shrugs. Also a lie. He spends every Halloween patrolling Gotham because it's the one night of the year where every single criminal decides it's alright to go apeshit.

"mm," You yawn. "I matched maid dresses with my friend group. I posted about it. Do you have insta?"

"No. I keep a low profile."

"So you don't have a private account?" You raise a brow.

"I do, but what makes you think we're close enough for it?" Tim mirrors your raise of brow.

You hold your hand to your mouth, pretending to be offended. "We're not close enough for it?"

"I'm kidding." He mumbles. "What's your handle? I'll follow you."

"You better not turn down my request." You reach for the green tea again, drinking it as you show him your account. He already knows your account. He figured he'd have to ask or else he'd be a hypocrite for calling you his stalker. Well, he's already a hypocrite.

"Ough!" You sit up straighter, reaching for your laptop. "Connor sent me these photos that the photographer caught of me and Red Robin" You swoon.

"You're into him?"

You blink at him. "Did I not tell you I run his stan account?"

"You do wHAT." He freezes. "Are you the girl who gets caught up on the news every other week because you accidentally fall while taking photos of him?"

"Yep." You grin. "He's my favorite Robin."

Tim was extremely conflicted at the discovery. In retrospect, he should have known from the way you seemed to climb all over him and pull him onto the balcony without second thought, but he's still embarrassed at the idea that you had fawned all over him. Yet he shakes his thoughts away as he peers over your shoulder to stare at the photos caught of the two of you — well, of you. You didn't know he was Red Robin.

There's a photo of you straddling him, feeling him up, and Tim's neck snaps to the side.

"Tim? You good? You don't need to look if you're uncomfortable, you know?" You remind.

"No," He swallows. "I wasn't expecting photos like this."

"Isn't the photographer good? I'd pay this guy to take photos of me at parties any day."

"Yeah?" Tim raises a brow as you show him the other two. One of him with his fingers on your collar, the other of his forehead pressed to yours, thumb between the two of you's lips. You explain to him in excitement that you would have kissed him had your friend not pulled you away because you needed to leave. Tim rests his back on your closet, nodding along slowly. He had homework to do. Yet he spent the rest of the afternoon in your room listening to you ramble about Red Robin, conspiracies reminding him of someone.

"So let me get this straight." Tim interrupts. "I'm on a time crunch. I have something for one of my compsci classes due soon and wanted to get the big picture."

"Oh. I'm sorry for—"

"Don't." He holds his hand out. "I stayed. You run the biggest Red Robin stan account on Twitter and you're planning on posting those photos like he's some kpop idol?"

"Yeah?" You tilt your head.

"Are the fans not going to get mad that he's making out with someone at a party?"

"No." You laugh. "His fans are used to him being in relationships. The most they'd do is figure out who that is, which is me, but that's it."

"You won't get death threats?"

"His fans aren't crazy."

"Yeah? You seem pretty mental to me."

You gasp. "Rude." You look to the side, sucking your cheeks in. "But not wrong."

"Yeah. If you denied it, I'd just pull up every single time you'd fallen while trying to get good photos of Red Robin."

You pout. "Shoo. You said you had something due soon."

"Last question."

"Shoot."

"You don't mind that he's never going to date you?"

"Timmers." You laugh. "He's a hero and I'm a fan. It's like asking me if I'm ever going to date a billionaire. It's impossible. Not written in the stars. It's a groundless dream."

"Yeah?" His own heart cracks a little when you mention a billionaire.

"Yeah." You smile. "Now do your work. You have a GPA to take care of."

"Got it."

Tim finds that nearing the end of the semester, you meet with him less and less, tutoring him on Zoom instead, apologizing, explaining that you had a ton of creative work due for your other classes. You had been planning on graduating early, he finds out. It was your freshman year, and you were trying to get your sophomore classes out of the way. He was bothered. It was incredible — the sheer amount of classes you took. It was more impressive that you had time to write your own creative works.

"So?"

"How did you score last time? I'm starting to think you have me tutor you still because you're into me." You joke.

"Ninety. All we have left is the stupid final."

"You're set then." You yawn. "Why still have me tutor you?"

Your mind wanders as you click on one of your assignments. "Oh, how about this, then? I have an interview I need to conduct for my journalism class, and you'd be the perfect candidate. I'm expected to record it in the building and it's due in three days."

"Three days?"

"I bet you have everything out of the way, huh?" You smile at him, batting your lashes. "Hm?"

Tim, does, in fact, have everything out of the way.

"And if I don't?" He likes teasing you.

"Then I'll ask one of my friends. The topic is the discussion of a topic you aren't familiar with. You're good with coding, something I can't do past basic HTML to edit how text looks." You hum. "I'm grappling at every excuse I can to hang out with you, if you can't tell."

"Oh, I definitely can."

"Great." You smile. "How does tomorrow at 8 in the morning sound?"

"So early?" Tim raises a brow.

"I'll bring us coffee. Give me your order."

"Sold."

Tim realizes at 3am that you never gave him a dress code. Should he show up in casual? Business casual? Semi-formal? Formal — no, formal attire seemed like too much. He grimaces as he's in the Batcave, irritation all over his face.

"Something wrong, Timmers?" Dick raises a brow.

"Yeah. What do you wear to an interview?"

"Depends what kind." Bruce answers, pulling the cowl from his head. "Who's the interviewer? Is it official?"

"A friend is interviewing me for a project."

"Final project or just a project?"

"Forgot to ask."

"You can't go wrong with semi-formal. Dress like old money." Dick hums. "Polo shirt and khakis. Throw in a sweater tied around your neck and you should be good to go."

"I agree." Bruce hums.

"Do you need to impress said friend?" Jason raises a brow from behind the two.

"Wh-what does that have to do with the interview?"

Jason smirks at the stutter. "Get Steph to dress you. She'd make you look good and dress for the occasion."

"I think I'll go with Dick's—"

"Half-buttoned dress shirt and dress pants." Steph cuts in, pausing. "No, that'll make you look desperate. Grey sweats, blazer, and a white tee. Dark colored blazer but NOT black."

"Why can't I just wear a polo shirt and just—"

"You want to look good, right? Roll the sleeves up to right before your elbows. Mess up your hair a little too."

Tim sighs. "It's winter."

"Drake. Do you want to look good for your crush?" Damian cuts in.

"She's not a crush-"

"Last time you said that you were still pining after your ex." Steph laughs. "If you really want to look casual just wear what you normally wear but add some perfume."

"She's interviewing me for my major." Tim finally gets to speak.

"Then just dress like you normally do." Dick pats him on the back with a laugh. "Hoodie and sweats. Wear a tee underneath if in case you get hot so you can pull it over your head and she can watch."

"Hey-"

"I agree with that." Steph smiles. "If you're lucky, your shirt will ride up a little and she'll get to see—"

"Got it!" Tim yells, groaning. "My usual clothing it is. I'll bring a blazer in case she does want me to dress semi formal."

"Attaboy." Bruce ruffles his hair as he makes his way up.

Tim groans. He's not going to get enough sleep for this.

You call him in the morning when the coffee shop you frequent isn't open.

"Mm?" Tim furrows his brows, morning voice evident.

"Coffee shop closed. You mind if I just make one at the convenience store for you?"

"Knock yourself out. You're early."

"I need to set up the equipment." You hum.

"What color should I wear?"

"Something not green. I'm in red. See you in an hour."

"See you." Tim mumbles back, ending the call. He sits up, bed hair evident, staring at himself in the mirror. The exhausted part of himself wants to go back to sleep, but the better part of him — the giddy, excited, coming-of-age-has-a-crush-on-someone part of him — has him sit up from sheer willpower. (something he finds he has a lot of when it comes to you) He gets out of bed, pulling for the clothes he prepped the night before, combing his hair for once. He'd like to look nice for the camera, for you, he thinks. It would be a little frustrating to see the stand-in CEO of WE dress so casually. He has some sort of reputation to hold up when he isn't a student. Though he supposes he's being interviewed as a student, so there's not much of a need to dress so well.

But he supposes he wants to impress you.

He arrives five minutes before 8, locking his car and knocking on the door to the room.

"Hey," You smile at him.

"You didn't lock the door." He locks it behind him. "In Gotham during winter?"

"I knew you'd be here early." You adjust the cameras. "Your coffee's on the table."

"Thank you," He takes off his coat, hanging it on the rack. "Can I know what questions you'll be asking me?"

"Next to your coffee." You yawn. "You're dressed nice."

"Is it too little?" He smiles at you apologetically.

"No. Not at all." You smile. "Not when I'm dressed like," You motion at yourself. "This."

"You look like a friend." He points.

"Honored." You laugh. "The cameras are set up. I rented the room until 11. Take your time with the coffee."

"You're asking about me?"

"Yeah." You laugh. "The goal is to gradually have you talk about why you chose your major so we can have a relatively deep conversation. It's an intro to interviewing course, but the professor's ultimate goal was to make sure we make at least one friend."

"Yeah?" Tim puts his coffee down, smile on his lips. "Am I that friend?"

"Yeah," You smile back at him. "You can ask me questions too. It's supposed to be a casual interview. I'll only ask you a question when we run out of things to talk about."

Tim discovers a symphony of information from you. You open your heart to him the same way he can to some extent, smile on his lips when he tells you about his days during high school and his earlier relationships, forgetting that this was an interview for your class and that you would probably have to go through hours of footage in response to this. The plush of the seat is warm underneath him, your voice is a melody to his ears, Tim nodding along as you tell him about the one time you snuck out of the house as a teenager and got your ass beat because you got caught. The smile on your lips is contagious, he finds. He hadn't fallen for someone this hard since his ex.

Tim took you to lunch that day, desperate to get to know more about you, desperate to know you. He would have called it a date if you had let him.

You had your laptop pulled up, sorting through the footage (the three hour long footage) of the two of you's conversation, nodding along and rambling casually, clicking through to cut more personal matters from the interview, only required to give your teacher a clip and the raw file's total length to prove that you two hadn't just staged a conversation. You take a fry from his plate, your sandwich finished on your plate, humming when you finish editing.

"Are you always this fast?"

"Depends on what context." You wink.

"You were pretty fast to upload those new Red Robin photos too." If he noticed the sexual connotation of your words, he didn't mention anything.

"Well, other than lighting, I don't really need to edit anything."

"Speaking of which, do you even pay tuition?"

"Martha Wayne Scholarship." You yawn. "Your dad is looaaaded."

You submit your assignment to Canva, yawning. "That was my last one."

"You finished all those writing assignments?"

"Writing comes to me like hacking does to you." You close your laptop, tucking it into your bag. "Thanks for lunch, by the way."

"Mhm." He smiles. "Glad you liked your sandwich."

"My favorite." You hum. "So? Any updates? New girl? New boy? Relationship? Your dad adopted a new sibling? What's new?"

"Siblings keep teasing me."

"Oh? For what? For me?" You press a hand to your chest, wiggling your brows at him. You burst into laughter when he turns red. "Yeah? Because of me?"

"I asked them what I should wear to an interview, and suddenly they were asking me if I had a girlfriend."

"Yeah? So what did you tell them?"

"Interview from a friend." His eyes meet yours, eerily sincere. "Why?"

(the use of friend leaves a pang in your chest)

"Curious." You shrug. "So? Going anywhere for vacation?"

"Just Christmas at the Wayne Manor. You know, the rich people gala?"

You shudder, laughing. "Good luck."

"I'll need it. God knows who else I have to network with that night."

"Well, my dorm's open if you want it." You shrug. "But I doubt Bruce would let you leave since you are the CEO."

"Stand-in." He corrects.

"CEO nonetheless." You hum. "Should I send you a Christmas present?"

"What would you even send me?"

"It would be a surprise."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Tim finds a gift from you under the Christmas tree, presumably placed there by Alfred. He had missed when you dropped it off, knocked out in the warmth of his bed without the pressure of an exam for once, letting himself ignore the cases he promised himself he'd solve. He promised you he'd get one day of proper sleep. Your texts are the only ones that cause his phone to vibrate during break. (He's down horrendously bad for you, Jason had whispered to Dick while Tim had responded to your message, lovesick grin on his face.)

Distance gives the soul time to think, and Tim thinks he's in love with you.

It comes as a revelation on Christmas morning, coffee mug warm in his hand as he watches his siblings open their Christmas gifts, laughing at certain ones and holding back his face from a smile breaking past his lips at others. He's third on the list to open his gifts, third son and all, and Tim finishes the last of his coffee, fingers reaching for his presents, all wrapped in a shade of red different from Jason's blood red. He thanks everyone for their gifts, raising a brow in amusement when he pulls out Damian's, a genuine smile breaking on his smile at Bruce's. Finally, he finds himself reaching for the gift you had gotten him, his fingers shaking as he breaks open the wrapping paper, smile on his face at the camera you got him. There's even an SD card and a battery charger part of the box you had prepped him.

"Oooh, Timmers is that from your girlfriend?"

"She's not my—"

The family breaks into teasing remarks as Tim groans, blush fresh on his skin, heart racing in his ears — that's when he realizes, the painful realization, a realization that breaks him into silence — he's in love with you.

Bruce has everyone move on as Steph sits down to open her gifts, and Tim's throat dries at the epiphany. He's in love with you — and that same lovesick smile breaks on his face as he wonders if you got his Christmas present. It was as if the two of you synced with the gift. Maybe he'd catch you taking photos of him with your camera. This time, he should stare back at you, flash you a smile, strike a pose, something, anything to fluster you. He was already looking forward to patrol that night. He picks up his mug, excusing himself quietly to get another cup of coffee, pulling his blanket with him as he clicks on his phone, placing his cup under the machine as he thanks you for the gift.

You respond immediately, video-calling him on accident, flustered state caught on camera, hair still a mess from waking up.

"I'm so sorry—"

Tim laughs. "It's fine. Are you home?"

"No. I slept over at a friend's place since my mom and I don't celebrate Christmas." You smile at him fondly. "I brought the gift you mailed to me, though. I haven't opened it yet."

"Let's say it's for your bird watching."

"You did not." You gasp, looking over your phone. "I'll have my friend record a video when we rip open our presents. Have fun on Christmas, Tim. Love you lots—"

Tim's face turns utterly red at the words, blinking wide-eyed at the now-ended call. You just... wow. He takes his mug of coffee, sitting back at his old seat where his siblings were, in a half-blissed-out state at your words. (He's told later on by your friend that you had sobbed into her chest when you realized you told him you loved him on accident.)

You text him sometime during the afternoon with the video of you opening your present, thanking him for his generous gift. You let him know that you'd send him your new photos with his present first, letting him see how good the quality of his camera could be. He texts you to sit on your dorm roof instead, and you ask if he was planning on kidnapping you. Maybe you'd let him take you for a swing. Instead, he tells you it's a present for your fanpage. You ask him if he's going to call Red Robin himself. He leaves you on read.

Bruce notices the way Tim's eerily giddy for a Christmas patrol, but he doesn't comment on it.

You exhale into the winter air, the cold piercing your lungs as you hold the camera between your gloved fingers, kicking your legs as you sit on the edge of the building, strap hung around your neck. You hum quietly as you watch the snow start, and a shadow looms over your shoulder.

"Hey." Tim smiles at you, Red Robin outfit on.

"Woah. He wasn't lying." You gasp. Your name spills past your lips, rambling about how you were his biggest fan. He stares at you through the whites of his domino mask, smile breaking onto his face.

"I've seen your Twitter."

"Yeah?" You exhale, eyes sparkling. "Honored. I hope you aren't going out of your way to visit me or anything. Gotham needs their vigilantes."

"And if I am?"

"Then you should go." Your cheeks flush from the winter warmth, and he steps close to you, forehead pressed to yours.

"You remember me from Halloween?"

"We have a thing with meeting on holidays, hm?" You laugh gently, eyes crinkling, Tim's expression softening.

"Yeah, we do." He hums, leaning in further. "May I?"

"Yeah." You exhale, lips finally pressed to his under the winter snow, his hands warm on your face as you lean in closer to him, chest pressed to his, lips parted to give him access to your mouth. Your head spins deliciously from the taste of his lips, his perfume reminding you of someone you know all too well, your mind muddled with the fact that you're actually making out with Red Robin, your celebrity crush. You whimper against his lips when he nips at your bottom one, his breath catching in his throat.

"Fuck, pretty girl. You can't just do that." He heaves, resting his forehead on yours again.

"Wow." You breathe, starstruck, eyes staring up at his.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You laugh melodiously, and Tim feels his heart grow full. "Can I get a photo?"

"For you? Anything."

You make a Christmas post on your Twitter, photo of Red Robin with a Santa hat and white beard staying pinned for the Holiday season. (Tim wasn't allowed to live it down from his family, but he had gotten to kiss you stupid, so he was more than willing to take the jabs.)

He invites you to his place for New Year's Eve, invitation tumbling past his lips and nearly getting drowned out by his panicked rambling, cheeks red beyond repair and stutter catching in his throat, only for you to tell him that you'd "love to" and that you were "honored." You asked him if there was a dress code, and he told you it was fine. Even if the Wayne gala was that night, he would just sneak to his room when you arrived. He could finish socializing with the rich in a couple of minutes. Hell, he'd flirt his way out of it like Bruce did if it meant he could see you early. He tells you to arrive in a nice dress anyway, asking for your measurements so he could send you something. (You didn't want to give it to him, but he insisted.)

You pull up to the gala perfectly on time, ignoring the paparazzi asking you who invited you and making a beeline to who you assumed was Alfred and asking him if you could be taken to Tim's room. The gala wasn't somewhere you wanted to be, and Alfred had been more than welcoming, leading you and leaving you in Tim's room, telling you to make yourself comfortable since you were Tim's guest. You spent twenty minutes looking through his photobooks before he stumbled into his room, a little sweaty since he had been running.

"Hey." He smiles at you dorkily, smiling like a nerd in love.

"Wow. You're dressed nice." You mumble, staring him up and down.

"You don't look too bad yourself," He hums, locking his door behind himself. "Did you get to eat anything?"

"I ate before I came and made a beeline for Alfred when I came. Too many cameras."

"Sorry." He exhales. "Looking at my photos?"

"They're nice."

"They're from years ago." He hums. "Before my parents passed."

You mumble something under your breath, eyes meeting his in something akin to sadness.

"It's fine, now." Tim presses his thumb to the space between your brows, your expression relaxing immediately.

"Ah, right." You slip out the SD card from your purse, blinking at him. "You have a card reader?"

"Yeah." Tim sits in his chair, opening his laptop through some series of codes, holding his hand out for your SD card.

You drop it in his palm, his fingers drumming against the table as he opens the files.

"I got photos of Red Robin." You grin. "He was there on my dorm roof. Did you send him?"

"Yeah." He smiles. "Did you like the gift?"

"My Twitter loved it." You smile. You neglect to tell him that you had kissed Red Robin breathless. (Tim doesn't notice the way you get embarrassed, trying to fight off the red on his own cheeks when he remembers the way the two of you had made out on the roof.)

Tim pauses at the photo of him swinging away.

"Why didn't you post this one?"

"I was actually planning on posting it today." You hum. "The ones of him in action."

"You have multiple?"

You click into a folder, enter your password, showing him the photos.

"The camera's great, by the way. Red Robin may not have an ass as impressive as Nightwing, but he still has a nice ass." You laugh, clicking open the photos. Tim chokes on the air at the photos, and he laughs.

"Oh, yeah, Twitter would love this."

You shrug playfully. "What can I say? It pays."

Tim glances at the clock on the wall. Two minutes from midnight.

"How'd you spend the morning?"

"My friend came to pick me up so she could do my makeup." You laugh. "Then she brought me to the mall so we could get me some heels," You kick your legs to show him. "And then another friend, the one with a nice car, drove me here. My other friends insisted they watch me walk off to you. I forgot to tell them your last name after I asked for it, so they were quite surprised when they dropped me off her."

"Maybe I should thank your friends for helping you look so pretty."

"Yeah?" You smile, hopping to sit on his desk.

He stands up, pressing his forehead to yours, tucking your hair behind your ear, nose brushing yours.

"Yeah. What do they like?" Tim hums, your perfume flooding his senses again, his doing the same.

"Ever been told you share a perfume with Red Robin?" You whisper.

"No. You'd be the first."

"What's the brand?"

The brand falls onto silence as you press your lips to his, fireworks signaling the new year going off in the back. Tim's hands dig into your waist, eyes half-lidded, tongue pressing into yours with so much passion your knees might've gone weak had you not been already seated. Your hands find themselves tangled in his hair, pulling lightly when his hand finds itself on the zipper behind you. He pulls away for a moment, begging for your consent, asking if this was okay.

You had told him yes in a heartbeat.

Thus, Tim found himself enveloped with you, senses sent into overdrive, your skin pressed to his, sweat mixing with his, body tangled with his in his sheets — the same sheets he had thought about you so often in, the one where he had thought about you while he spilled into his hand, fingers pressed to your skin, mouth on your skin, sucking, biting, marking, doing whatever you would let him do to you. Your dress was long abandoned by his desk, his own suit leaving a trail toward the bed where he had you in his fingers.

He prayed this wouldn't be a foolish dream.

When he wakes in the morning, pulling you closer to his chest, your lashes fluttering against his skin, his heart warms. He should ask you to date him right now, he thinks. But his heart races in his chest, wondering if you would agree. Maybe the two of you had kissed in the heat of the moment, and you had let him have you because he had asked so nicely. He looks down at you as your eyes are completely open now, embarrassed smile on your face. He misses his chance.

"Good morning." He looks at you like you're his whole world.

"Good morning." You smile back at him like he's the universe.

The two of you fall back into the pace you had established the previous semester, this time without any classes together, only texting every now and then with updates. Tim hates this new life he lives. He misses seeing you during class and watching you play subway surfers on your phone or Bloons TD on your laptop. He opts for texting you during class instead, typing notes as he types responses to your messages. He wonders if you miss him the same way he misses you. He's too afraid to ask, still clinging onto the way your skin had felt on his during New Year's. It doesn't help that your department is halfway across the campus.

The next time he gets to see you, he's Red Robin, and he catches the familiar flash of your camera on the rooftop as he swerves into action. He finishes with the thugs easily, swinging back up to land next to you, your camera pressed to your chest, clicking capture as he raises a brow at you. You blink at him, smile on your lips. You don't look apologetic at all, almost cheekily. It was as if you knew he'd notice you.

"Hey."

"Hey." You beam at him. "Nice fight."

"Thank you. Care to tell me why you're out here during the February cold to get photos of me?"

"Because you're my favorite?" You blink at him, eyes wide.

"That's cute." He hums. "Shall I take you home?"

"Oh, if you could be so kind." You smile. "I had a friend drop me off nearby and I think he left already."

"Yeah?" Tim wraps an arm around your back, pressing you to him snugly, your arms wrapping around his neck. You close your eyes as the winter air hits your face, only for him to whisper into your ear. "Open your eyes."

Gotham looks breathless from wherever the hell Red Robin was in the air. Your breath catches in your throat, staring in awe as Tim swings from building to building, finally landing on the one where you dormed. You let go of him, cheeks warm from the air and the view, turning to look at him.

"Thank you. Thank you a lot." You smile at him, Tim mirroring your smile.

"Can I get a reward?" He had meant it as a joke, only for you to press your lips to his cheek, his eyes widening at the feeling.

"Is that good enough?"

"I was thinking something else, but that works too." He presses his lips to the corner of yours, smile on his face. "Stay safe."

"For you." You wave at him as he swings away from your building. You look through the photos you had gotten of him, going down the flight of stairs to the elevator. You had stuff to post for the rest of the month.

Tim finally bumps into you at the convenience store one fateful afternoon, reaching for your wrist before he could even register that he was scared you'd run off. He blinks at you as you blink back at him, tilting your head to offer him an awkward smile.

"Hey?"

"Hi. I'll pay, um, if you'll let me have a moment of your time."

"Yeah? Yeah." You nod dumbly. "That'd be fine. I don't have class right now."

"Yeah. I'll take your basket." He reaches for it naturally, swiping his card with ease. He hands you your stuff back, and you follow him, popping open your green tea.

"What'd you need me for?"

"Missed you."

"Yeah? I missed you too. It's weird not sharing a class anymore." You press the tea to your lips. "Missed me or the insanely good sex we had on New Year's—"

"You." Tim smiles. "Missed hearing your voice."

"Awh, what a cheeseball." You snicker, staring at the green start on the trees. "Cherry blossom season is approaching."

"Yeah. So are midterms." He shudders. "How's your classes?"

"You know, drowning in work in order to graduate early." You hum. "I'm writing something right now."

"For class?"

"Yeah. For fiction writing. The story has to be related to something you've experienced in college so far and I was wondering—" You inhale sharply through your teeth. "If I could write about us?"

"As your friend or as the guy you slept with on New Years?"

You open and close your mouth. "Both. Yeah. Both."

"May I read it after you finish?"

"I'll share the doc." You smile. "Thank you. I've been meaning to ask you."

"I'm honored that you'd write about me as a college experience."

"Yeah..." You trail off. "Oh, did you see my Twitter update? I got these super clear photos of Red Robin fighting thanks to the camera you gave me. Thank you, again."

"You're welcome." He hums. "Doing anything on Valentines?"

You puff out your cheeks. "Supposed to hang out with friends, but me and my other friend want to ditch so the two idiots would finally get to hang out without us third and fourth wheeling."

"So you're busy?"

"Not if you want to hang out." You tilt your head, capping your green tea.

"You'd do that for me?"

"Yeah." You hum. "But you'd have to make it worth ditching for."

"Oh, then leave everything to me." He hums, fingers brushing yours. "I'll pick you up around nine in the morning."

"And what time will you have me back?" You tease, pressing yourself closer to him.

"What time do you want to be back?"

"Whatever time you want." You hum. "Please pick me up in a nice car your dad owns. I want to see the interior of one of them."

"Sure." Tim hums. "Any other requests?"

"How should I dress?"

"Casual." He hums. "Do you want to match?"

"We can color coordinate." You gasp. "What color do you own the most of?"

"Red." He hums.

"Owh! We can match red." You grin.

Tim walks you back to your dorm, staring as you enter the elevator and disappear from view. He thinks a little about where he should bring you, lips pulling up lightly when he remembers something you had mentioned off-handedly in your interview with him. He knew now.

Tim shows up at your door with roses, your friends peering from behind the door as you take the flowers with him with a light flush on your cheek. You're dressed completely casual, red sweatpants matching his red hoodie, grey hoodie matching his sweats. You smile at him sweetly as you take the flowers from him, and your friends pull you aside, staring him down. One of your friends, bless her, tells him to treat you properly. She jabs a finger into his chest, going off about how she didn't care if he was some rich dude — the same rules applied, especially when it was your first relationship. Tim's eyes widen at the fact, your eyes darting to the side, a little embarrassed. Your other friends drag her off of him.

"Why didn't you tell me I'm your first?" He whispers.

You pout. "Didn't want to come off as inexperienced."

"That's not something to be embarrassed about." He hums.

"You would've treated me differently if you knew."

Tim sucks in a breath. "Yeah. I would've."

"Point proven." You hum. "Thank you for the flowers. They're very pretty."

He opens your door for you, waving bye to your friends. You sit there, staring at him as he stares at you.

"Where are we going?"

"Remembered how you joked about being taken on a first date to Costco?"

"No." Your jaw drops.

"I have a membership." He pulls the card from his wallet, and you gasp.

"You spoil me."

"Save that for when you're actually inside."

You fake a swoon, smiling at him sweetly, lips curled upward and brows relaxed. Tim hums, pulling on his own seatbelt, handing you the aux to the car, and you put the flowers onto the backseat. You plug your phone in as he starts driving, and you blink at all the buttons on the car.

"What are these for?"

"One of them's for missiles."

"What." Your jaw drops.

"I'm kidding." He laughs. "Most of them are for defense. Bruce's very into cars."

"I can tell." You mumble. "What are we getting at Costco?"

"Your green tea," He stops at the light. "And whatever else intruiges you."

"Can I get a Costco hotdog?"

"Yeah." He laughs. "You want a slice of pizza too?"

"Maybe." You scrunch your nose. "Moreso a hotdog."

"We can get whatever you want." Tim hums.

"Wow, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to woo me." You laugh. (Tim hates the way he notices your eyes crinkle.)

"And if I am? It is Valentines."

"Woah." You mumble. "I didn't consider that."

"Yeah?" For someone so good at reading people, Tim sure struggled with reading you.

"I don't know." You frown. "Are you trying to swoon me? Or are you trying to get into my pants again?"

"Whichever one helps you sleep at night."

You laugh. "Using my own words?"

"You speak better than I do." He hums. "Do you want your hotdog first or later?"

"Later." You unlock your seatbelt, leaving the car. It looks awfully unassuming on the outside. Great for Gotham, you suppose.

"I'll push the cart." Tim holds his hand out for you and you take it, fingers wrapped in his. He lets go once he gets a cart, handing you his membership as you show the worker at the door. "Want a new iPad?"

"You know, I should make you buy Costco for me." You joke, patting his shoulder.

"Two hundred thirty two billion dollars? That's Bruce's money, not mine."

You snicker. "You have it memorized?"

"Stock trading for the company." He hums. "Stock is currently around five hundred dollars per stock."

"How the hell do you have time for schoolwork?"

"Coffee and an insane amount of self-discipline." He hums. "And revenge procrastination."

"At least you have some sort of weakness." You finally catch the drinks aisle, rushing in to find your green tea, Tim following behind you.

"I'll get it." He hums, reaching and pulling the green tea with ease, sliding it to the bottom of the cart. "Want anything else?"

"Can we browse?"

"Yeah."

You wander through the aisles, a comfortable silence washing over the two of you before you decide to speak up.

"Does Alfred need anything?"

"He's probably glad he has the house to himself for once." Tim hums. "Almost all of us are on a date."

You blink in surprise. "Even the youngest?"

"Except Damian." He hums. "Bruce is out too."

"Woah." You mumble. "The house must be quiet."

"Yeah." he hums.

"That did not answer my question." You pout.

"I texted. He sent a list." Tim mumbles, sharing the list. "You don't mind shopping for my family?"

"No." You smile. "I like grocery shopping with someone. It feels warm."

"Yeah? We're in the snacks aisle, so let's start there."

The two of you work your way through Costco, checking off Alfred's list of groceries, double-checking everything over when you finished. Tim grabs a rotisserie chicken for Alfred without it being on the list, and he grabs a tray of croissants, knowing Cass would probably want something sweet to snack on during the day. You text your friends to check if they want anything, and only one of them responds, telling you she's good. You have a feeling the other two are hooking up.

"Anything they want?"

"No." You smile.

"And you?"

"Just the green tea."

Tim raises a brow. "I'll feel bad if I only get stuff for my family while on a date with you."

"The tea is plenty." You beam. "I promise."

You help Tim unload the cart and then reload it, rocking on your feet as he swipes his card, not even checking the price twice, handing you the receipt as he pushes the cart out. The worker swipes the highlighter through the list, and Tim takes a right instead of a left.

"The car's—"

"Hotdog." He hums. "Can you get us two hotdogs? Card's in my wallet."

You take his card and get the hotdogs, tossing them into the cart as you hold the two paper cups.

"What do you want to drink?"

"What are you getting?"

"A little bit of everything."

"Then get me the same thing." He smiles.

You wonder if he's going to hate the flavor on his tongue. Though it's not your problem as you fill the cups, putting them in the holder as Tim pushes the cart back to his car, the two of you loading it into his trunk.

"We'll drop by my place first, and then we can drive to the next place I have planned." He takes the drink, straw in his lips. He blinks at the taste, eyes widening. "Wow. That's a flavor."

"Certainly is." You smile. "Like it?"

"Tastes like something Dick would have." He hums. "I'll push the cart. Get in the car."

You sit in the passenger's seat, opening your hot dog as Tim comes back.

"Ever had one before?" He opens his own, biting down.

"Yeah. My friends and I drop by pretty often." You hum. "Love the hotdogs."

"I should do that." He hums. "Alright. My house."

You chew on your hotdog as he heads toward his place, the music from your phone filling the car.

You wonder for a moment if Tim was actually into you. You have no doubt that you're important to him, but it was a little strange. You had slept with him before. What does that make you two? Friends with benefits? Friends who have slept together? Plain friends? A situationship? You chew on your bottom lip as he drives, mind elsewhere. Also, what were you with Red Robin? You can't call yourself a fan when you've had his tongue stuck down your throat before. There was too much to consider and ask. Maybe you should just ask Tim. (You don't, out of a fear of something. You're not too sure of what.)

When the two of you arrive, You help Tim sort the stuff into bags, carrying them to the front door as he unlocks it with ease, calling for Alfred and Damian to help with the groceries. Damian comes first, taking some of the bags from you, Alfred after him, showing you where the kitchen is.

"Thank you very much for running groceries for me, Master Tim." He nods. "You too, miss."

You smile. "No biggie. We were at Costco and I figured it'd be nice to do the groceries for you."

"It's very kind of you."

"Are you Drake's girlfriend?" Damian's next, eyeing you up and down, a scowl on his face.

"No?"

He frowns harder. "You deserve someone better."

"I really don't think—"

"Demon brat." Tim's voice comes out like a warning. "Don't tell my date to leave me."

"Is she not your girlfriend? I would have expected you to have already—"

"That's enough." Tim warns again, and Damian shuts up this time.

"Shall I prepare food for the two of you?"

"No need." Tim hums. "We have reservations."

"You made reservations? Do I need to change?" You follow after him, waving bye to Alfred and Damian.

"No. It's at the diner. It's Valentine's, which means there's twice as many couples there."

"Ohhh." You follow him into the car, sitting back down as he starts toward the diner again. "Is that all you had planned?"

"Also planned to take you home after this." He pauses. "My home. I was thinking we could use the movie room in the manor, granted none of my brothers get to it first. If that doesn't work, we can use the projector in my room."

"Are we gonna have sex?" You wiggle your brows playfully.

"If you want, I can have you screaming my name loud enough for Metropolis to hear."

You wince, looking to the side, embarrassed. "Holy shit."

"Expect the unexpected."

"I'm going to throw a milkshake at you for that."

"Cry about it."

The two of you get to the diner just in time for the reservation, your regular orders already memorized by the waiter. You're a little embarrassed, but you suppose it's not the worst thing ever. Tim finds the time asking if you enjoyed the day so far instead. You pull out your laptop as you wait for your order, continuing with the assignment due soon.

"Writing?"

"Yeah. Writing." You puff out your cheeks, fingers flying on the keyboard.

"What are you writing?"

You look up from your screen to stare at him. You don't say anything, but Tim gets the idea.

"Need a reference?"

"Actually," You lick your lips, scrolling up through the doc. "I'd like to meet Red Robin again."

"Your date's right here and you're talking about another man?"

"Writing fanfiction for him right now." You deadpan. "Need to know his kinks."

Tim coughs in embarrassment, forgetting how straightforward you could be.

"For a commission?"

"No. Out of curiosity." You pause. "I was curious to know what he would be into."

"Why not base him off of me?"

You raise a brow at Tim, swallowing thickly.

"Is this your way of telling me you don't want me writing fanfiction of other men?" You ask him one question, eyes asking another.

"Yeah." He smiles. "Yes to both questions."

You close your laptop when your milkshake and sandwich arrive, and Tim kicks you gently under the table.

"So what was the other question?" He raises a brow.

"I'll tell you in the car," You smile cheekily. Tim knows what the other question is. He just wanted to see if you were bold enough to ask him. The two of you continue with dinner, catching each other up with your friends' lives, smile on both of you's lips as the sun sets and the moon rises, Tim paying as he said he would. You take his hand into yours as the two of you walk to his car, and he opens the door for you, joining you on the other side.

"Before I ask," You lean over slightly, lips brushing his. "Can I have a kiss?"

"That's a question too, but I won't say no." He leans in for his lips to meet yours, hand moving to hold your face, tongue swiping on your bottom lip, darting into your mouth. You moan into the kiss as his other hand squeezes your waist, and you pull away from him suddenly, licking your lips for whatever taste of him was left. You grin at him cheekily, reaching to wipe the lipstick from around his lips, your voice lowering.

"The question I actually wanted to ask was if you were Red Robin." You grin, wiping the lipstick on a napkin leftover from Costco. "And I knew you'd read it off of me."

"How'd you guess?" He tilts his head at you, eyes still on your lips.

"First it was your perfume," You smile. "Then it was the way you kissed me." You pop the vanity mirror down, reaching into your hoodie for your lipstick. "Not to mention the way your forearms feel the same. Both of you have a specific way that you hold me when making out. I think that was the nail in the coffin."

You pucker your lips when you finish with the lipstick, tossing it back into your hoodie, closing the vanity mirror.

"So? Where are we headed now?"

"My place." He mumbles. "Have to have you."

"You could have me in the car."

"As much as I would like that," He exhales. "That would be very uncomfortable for you."

"Can I have you in the costume sometime later on?" You bat your lashes at him. "If you'd let me, of course."

"Yeah. Anything you want." His head thumps as he stops at the light.

There's a long, drawling silence before you speak up. You're scared, but you might as well ask.

"What are we, again?" You lean over slightly to stare at him. Tim notices you haven't put music on.

"If you'd let me," Tim licks his lips, "lovers."

"Then lovers we are."

The second time Tim gets to have you, he's so much gentler, fingers kneading the skin between them, curling them inside of you until you're a whimpering mess, worried that you'd wake someone in his family, his kisses assuring you that all of his brothers were out doing the same thing he was, wining and dining someone they loved, rooms also soundproof. Tim goes back to you after that, soaked fingers and sheets, licking your cum from his fingers, eyes locked with yours the entire time, pressing his lips to yours after he finishes. Your eyes roll back at how lewd he was being, but you suppose it's what the two of you deserve after flirting for so long.

Tim makes sure you're properly pampered in bed, your legs twitching after your third orgasm, begging for him to fuck you, tears in your eyes. How could he say no? Not when you looked so dazzling under him. He seems to understand something as he pushes into you this time, pausing to drink your form in, still as pretty as you had been before. This time, arguably prettier. You were so much prettier when you were crying about how you were his, cunt still oversensitive from your previous orgasms. Your face twists in pleasure, crying about how you were unable to take another release yet relenting as Tim drilled into you. You have no idea how he has the energy, and you're too tired to ask when he finishes.

You grimace as he peels you from the bed, setting you on the tile seat as he starts a shower for the two of you.

"I love you." You mumble. Not on accident or out of habit this time.

"How long?"

You exhale. "Don't remember."

"Approximation."

"Since I fell at your feet at orientation, maybe." You whisper into the mist as he helps you wash up.

"I love you too." Tim mumbles into your skin as he presses a kiss to where he had left hickeys.

"How long?" You repeat his question, staring at him as he stares down at you, moving the shower head to wash the bubbles from your skin.

"Since Christmas." He whispers back.

You smile at him.

"Since I told you I loved you on accident?"

"Yeah." He stops the water, wrapping you in a towel, drying you. You hum in satisfaction as he dries the two of you off, your fingers warm around his wrist when you grow tired.

"Can we sleep? I usually air dry my hair."

"Yeah." He presses a kiss to the crook of your neck, lifting you into his arms as he takes the two of you back to bed.

"What tag would you put on our story?"

"Idiots in love." You smile as you drift off, and Tim presses his lips to your forehead.

His tag would have been requited love.

[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.

[prismuffin]

Hi hi!! I read ur Hal Jordan getting turned on during training ask thingy, and was wondering if u could do the Batboys separate ( Stopping at Tim of course! so Dick, Jason and Tim) reacting to getting hard during training due to being manhandled by a M!Reader?

Honestly, I don't think they are use to more physical types of fighting. So maybe while training those types, Reader's basically manhandles them. Pinning them, grabbing their wrist, etc. That's when they start to notice their getting hard.

LMFAOAOAOAO THIS IS SO FUNNY WAIT- ok ok ok I think that-

Dick would be so embarrassed. You two were simply sparring and you pinned him down by his neck. You were training so it’s not like you were choking him too hard, only hard enough to where he could feel it. That mixed with the weight of your body holding him down he started to get a little excited. His eyes widened as he realized it and he tapped out quickly. You’ve never seen him shoot up so quickly before. He practically ran out the training room after a quick congrats and you were just left there confused. He’s definitely conflicted around you after that. Was it just the position or did he have some sort of guy crush on you?

Jason never expected you manhandling him to get him hard. You grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back before bringing him to the ground, successfully pinning him below you. You leaned in, tightening your grip on him as you whispered some cocky remark in his ear and that’s when he felt himself getting hard. Usually he’d brush off your gloating but the huskiness in your voice mixed with the closeness had really seemed to do it for him. He felt pathetic as he masked a moan as a groan of pain from you holding his arm behind his back. He tapped out and just laid there, both defeated and embarrassed. He immediately shot you down after you asked if he wanted to go again. He got up turned away from you and just exited the room that way as normally as he could.

Calling Tim embarrassed is an understatement, he’s completely mortified. You both were sparring after he’d asked you for some pointers on hand to hand combat. Things were playing out normally until you’d grabbed his arm and pulled him down, pinning both of his wrists above his head as your knee rested on his chest and he struggled to get out of your grip. You both were breathing heavily and his face only got redder as he realized he was getting hard. He tapped out and you smirked before letting him go. He sat up and masked his erection as best he could as you relished in the win. He was glad you were distracted with gloating because it allowed him to escape without you seeing his little problem. He wanted to melt into the floor and die. Most definitely can’t face you after that.

———

Directory

[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."