caffeinatedtimdrake

[caffeinatedtimdrake]

Hestia

about 1k of Tim x reader fluff!!!!

You unlock the door to your apartment with practiced ease, blowing a strand of hair off your forehead and shifting the bag on your shoulder. 

Sinatra greets you, floating off the record player to wrap you in an earthy melody, and the scent of sautéed vegetables mingles somehow pleasantly with the scent of your favorite clean linen candle.

Hovering near the stove in a dazzlingly pink apron, humming, is tousled raven hair atop elegance and sinew, as if his muscles and movements had been threaded with otherworldly magic. He turns around to smile at you like a fantasy, the corners of his mouth curling upward with ethereal warmth that reaches his eyes and promptly melts any traces of despair resting on your shoulders. 

“Welcome home, Y/N.” Your name falls from his lips tenderly. 

“Hi, Tim.” You half-sigh with dreamy resignation, right hand instinctively drifting to the ring fit snugly around the finger on your left. 

“I made your favorite – I know you had a rough day at work so I hope this makes things a little bit better.” He grins at you, mixing the contents of the pan with regal purpose, but there’s a bashful rosy hue blossoming across his cheeks because you’re smiling at him like he dropped the moon in the palm of your hand.

You drop your bag on the couch and meander over to him, mouth watering and heart throbbing. “Tim, you could feed me unpeeled potatoes and I would be the happiest living creature in the universe.” 

He turns off the stove and brings a wooden spoon to your mouth, palm hovering diligently beneath, and mouth puckered to blow away the steam from the homemade pasta sauce. “That’s undoubtedly the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.” 

You shrug delicately and hum appreciatively when you taste his masterpiece. 

“I only live to make you swoon, Mr. Drake.” 

He sets the spoon on the counter and wipes his hands on the apron before cupping your face gently. He watches you for several heartbeats through a summer sky, bringing heat to the surface of your skin. 

“You do an excellent job, Mrs. Drake.” He murmurs, low and reverent like dripping honey, before leaning into to rub his nose against yours. 

A quiet, breathy laugh escapes your mouth before he brushes his lips against yours. The kiss is soft and saccharine, and you can smell the forget-me-nots blooming on the windowsill that match his eyes. 

Though you haven’t walked this Earth for very many years, Gaea can’t fault you for feeling as though you’ve waited your whole life to find Tim. And, to be fair, you weren’t searching for another soul when you found Tim that summer in the middle of a ballroom. 

You learned early on that true love can only grow without force. Organic adoration withers beneath strict orders; and even if you let love grow inside an atrium, the glass is bound to shatter. You had always been content to let the Fates play with their strings, to let love grow when Zeus opened the heavens for rain and when Apollo let the sun shine. 

When you met Tim for the first time, though his perfect smile concealed an enigma that deeply vexed you, you knew his name had been carved into the bedrock of your soul. For the first time, you were certain of what you wanted, and you would settle for nothing less. 

Tim was born to be a mathematician. Everything in his life had been carefully calculated, whether he was gauging his birth father’s temper or hacking the Batcave’s security system or breathing deeply after getting locked in a closet by Damian. He lived in a world of chaos – he had to be careful. 

After he met you, he felt like everything in his life was out of control. In some ways, that hasn’t changed. The way you’re gazing up at him now through half-lidded eyes and a sultry smile has his heart pounding wildly in his chest. 

“At least once a day, I wonder if this is a dream.” You tell him earnestly as he cloyingly rubs the pad of his thumb against your cheek.

“If that’s the case, I hope we never wake up.” He smiles. He knows this is reality because he wakes from his dreams to you curled against his side or sprawled diagonally across the bed most mornings. No dreams could be as sweet as the reality he shares with you.

Two hours later, satisfied by spaghetti and champagne and Tim’s absurd recon stories, your eyes are growing heavy, beckoned to slumber by Hypnos. In stark contrast, your heart feels featherlight, floating pleasantly in an ocean of newlywed amour. Damian often makes gagging noises when he notices gestures of affection between you and Tim, but Dick sighs reverently and says, “You’re going to be in the honeymoon phase forever.” 

As Tim mindlessly toys with the fingers of your left hand, entranced by the murder mystery playing shadows across his pretty features, you’re quite sure that this isn’t a phase. All it took was some coaxing from Jason, a punch in the jaw, and a literal wild goose chase to get Tim to admit he was enamored with you. Granted, it took you several months to sort through your jungle of feelings and admit that you, too, were in love; but once your words left your mouth, your world shifted on its axis. Atlas moved the heavens to their rightful place, and you hadn’t even known he was off-balance. 

You see the heavens in Tim’s eyes, and you feel a swarm of butterflies when he brings your knuckles to his lips. He looks at you almost playfully as the sleepy haze vanishes from your gaze. 

“What’s on your mind, Mr. Drake?” 

“Forever.” His expression softens. 

“Please elaborate.” 

“You.” 

You quirk an eyebrow and he kisses your palm. “In many ways, your name and forever have become synonymous.”

This brings a bashful smile to your lips. “There was enough cheese in the pasta, Tim.”

He sobers for a moment. “Do you think our kids will like my cooking?” 

Many responses dance on the tip of your tongue, but after some contemplation, you lean into his space with a Cheshire cat grin. “We’ll have to have some kids to find out, I suppose.”

Taglist: @bookish-and-shy

[caffeinatedtimdrake]

Taglist

Hello lovely people!!! Does the idea of a taglist appeal to anyone of you?

Also, happy weekend! I hope you are all taking care of yourselves and wearing comfy shoes when you go outside and drinking enough water and that somone makes you smile at least 10 times a day.

[caffeinatedtimdrake]

Hestia

about 1k of Tim x reader fluff!!!!

You unlock the door to your apartment with practiced ease, blowing a strand of hair off your forehead and shifting the bag on your shoulder. 

Sinatra greets you, floating off the record player to wrap you in an earthy melody, and the scent of sautéed vegetables mingles somehow pleasantly with the scent of your favorite clean linen candle.

Hovering near the stove in a dazzlingly pink apron, humming, is tousled raven hair atop elegance and sinew, as if his muscles and movements had been threaded with otherworldly magic. He turns around to smile at you like a fantasy, the corners of his mouth curling upward with ethereal warmth that reaches his eyes and promptly melts any traces of despair resting on your shoulders. 

“Welcome home, Y/N.” Your name falls from his lips tenderly. 

“Hi, Tim.” You half-sigh with dreamy resignation, right hand instinctively drifting to the ring fit snugly around the finger on your left. 

“I made your favorite – I know you had a rough day at work so I hope this makes things a little bit better.” He grins at you, mixing the contents of the pan with regal purpose, but there’s a bashful rosy hue blossoming across his cheeks because you’re smiling at him like he dropped the moon in the palm of your hand.

You drop your bag on the couch and meander over to him, mouth watering and heart throbbing. “Tim, you could feed me unpeeled potatoes and I would be the happiest living creature in the universe.” 

He turns off the stove and brings a wooden spoon to your mouth, palm hovering diligently beneath, and mouth puckered to blow away the steam from the homemade pasta sauce. “That’s undoubtedly the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.” 

You shrug delicately and hum appreciatively when you taste his masterpiece. 

“I only live to make you swoon, Mr. Drake.” 

He sets the spoon on the counter and wipes his hands on the apron before cupping your face gently. He watches you for several heartbeats through a summer sky, bringing heat to the surface of your skin. 

“You do an excellent job, Mrs. Drake.” He murmurs, low and reverent like dripping honey, before leaning into to rub his nose against yours. 

A quiet, breathy laugh escapes your mouth before he brushes his lips against yours. The kiss is soft and saccharine, and you can smell the forget-me-nots blooming on the windowsill that match his eyes. 

Though you haven’t walked this Earth for very many years, Gaea can’t fault you for feeling as though you’ve waited your whole life to find Tim. And, to be fair, you weren’t searching for another soul when you found Tim that summer in the middle of a ballroom. 

You learned early on that true love can only grow without force. Organic adoration withers beneath strict orders; and even if you let love grow inside an atrium, the glass is bound to shatter. You had always been content to let the Fates play with their strings, to let love grow when Zeus opened the heavens for rain and when Apollo let the sun shine. 

When you met Tim for the first time, though his perfect smile concealed an enigma that deeply vexed you, you knew his name had been carved into the bedrock of your soul. For the first time, you were certain of what you wanted, and you would settle for nothing less. 

Tim was born to be a mathematician. Everything in his life had been carefully calculated, whether he was gauging his birth father’s temper or hacking the Batcave’s security system or breathing deeply after getting locked in a closet by Damian. He lived in a world of chaos – he had to be careful. 

After he met you, he felt like everything in his life was out of control. In some ways, that hasn’t changed. The way you’re gazing up at him now through half-lidded eyes and a sultry smile has his heart pounding wildly in his chest. 

“At least once a day, I wonder if this is a dream.” You tell him earnestly as he cloyingly rubs the pad of his thumb against your cheek.

“If that’s the case, I hope we never wake up.” He smiles. He knows this is reality because he wakes from his dreams to you curled against his side or sprawled diagonally across the bed most mornings. No dreams could be as sweet as the reality he shares with you.

Two hours later, satisfied by spaghetti and champagne and Tim’s absurd recon stories, your eyes are growing heavy, beckoned to slumber by Hypnos. In stark contrast, your heart feels featherlight, floating pleasantly in an ocean of newlywed amour. Damian often makes gagging noises when he notices gestures of affection between you and Tim, but Dick sighs reverently and says, “You’re going to be in the honeymoon phase forever.” 

As Tim mindlessly toys with the fingers of your left hand, entranced by the murder mystery playing shadows across his pretty features, you’re quite sure that this isn’t a phase. All it took was some coaxing from Jason, a punch in the jaw, and a literal wild goose chase to get Tim to admit he was enamored with you. Granted, it took you several months to sort through your jungle of feelings and admit that you, too, were in love; but once your words left your mouth, your world shifted on its axis. Atlas moved the heavens to their rightful place, and you hadn’t even known he was off-balance. 

You see the heavens in Tim’s eyes, and you feel a swarm of butterflies when he brings your knuckles to his lips. He looks at you almost playfully as the sleepy haze vanishes from your gaze. 

“What’s on your mind, Mr. Drake?” 

“Forever.” His expression softens. 

“Please elaborate.” 

“You.” 

You quirk an eyebrow and he kisses your palm. “In many ways, your name and forever have become synonymous.”

This brings a bashful smile to your lips. “There was enough cheese in the pasta, Tim.”

He sobers for a moment. “Do you think our kids will like my cooking?” 

Many responses dance on the tip of your tongue, but after some contemplation, you lean into his space with a Cheshire cat grin. “We’ll have to have some kids to find out, I suppose.”

Taglist: @bookish-and-shy

[caffeinatedtimdrake]

hey there, could you write #54 with dick? love your blog

thank you anon i love YOU!! hope you enjoy 💖

1.5k fluff of Dick Grayson/Nightwing x Reader in which a spa night turns into a superhero reveal. 

54.“You really have no clue who I am?” “You’d think the confused looks and blank stare would have answered that for you.”

Tonight was supposed to be a breath of serenity amidst a weeks of simultaneously tedious and tumultuous school work and job interviews.

But one of Gotham’s vigilantes just had to come crashing through your window in the middle of your solitary spa night. 

You hadn’t entirely intended to spend the evening alone. You asked Dick a few days ago if he wanted to grab dinner tonight because he always radiated abundant enthusiasm when you told him you had a moment of free time and because you thoroughly enjoyed the warm energy and sweet kisses of a man who might be your boyfriend at this point – but you two had yet to label this agglomeration of cute notes, lunch dates, and hand-holding. 

Dick notified you sulkily that he would be busy on this quiet spring night (“I’m distraught that I’m missing out on a night with my favorite person, emphasis on dis”), but pinky-promised to take you out for waffles next week. You tried to expire the disappointment from your lungs with a smile and deep exhale, but largely failed.

It always leaves you a little winded when you ponder the steadily growing piece of your heart reserved for Dick Grayson. ‘Head over heels’ barely captures the sweet, pleasantly dizzying daze of being enamored with Dick. You are beyond head over heels; you are tumbling headfirst, a downward spiral into strong embraces and musical laughter and syrupy adoration. It enthralls you more than it scares you: rather than drowning in a sea of vulnerability, you’re floating on a comfy raft, probably resting against a sun-kissed, muscular chest and drinking blissfully from a coconut. 

Coconuts and a handsome young man are presently absent from your home, but at least you could spend some quality time with your cat, who blinks at you drowsily from the couch as you pour a fizzy, sugary beverage into an unnecessarily fancy glass. 

“You know, Socks, I hate to be nosy, but he didn’t actually tell me why he was busy tonight. And it’s not like I’m…worried…or anything. I’m just curious.” 

Socks doesn’t have much of a response, save for a wide yawn. 

You tell him that you appreciate the feedback as you go into the bathroom and rummage for your favorite clay mask, laced with strawberries and honey. It looks a bit unruly, bright pink against your skin, but you needn’t impress anyone tonight.

Socks chatters softly after you switch on the TV and plop down next to him, glass in one hand and remote in the other as you search for your favorite rom com. He butts his head against your hip and curls up next to you, purring, and you scratch behind his ears. 

“Aw, buddy, you’ll always be the number one guy in my life. Even Dick knows this.”

Socks nuzzles closer and you can’t fight the warm smile across your mouth at the mention of Dick. 

You feel light and pleasant, a soft breeze billowing in through the open window and ruffling your hair and the thin curtains and dragging the scent of strawberries from the mask through the air. You think you even might be dozing off when Socks jumps straight up and digs his claws into your thigh. 

You barely remember to cry out in pain because, moments after, a lithe tangle of black Kevlar comes barreling though the open window.

(Socks, your knight in shining armor, dives beneath the couch.)

The heap of lanky limbs mumbles, “Ouch,” and you raise a pillow defensively, slowly inching towards him. You figure that if worse comes to worse, he’ll be scared away by the thick layer of pink across your face. 

He flips onto his back and props himself up, rubbing his forehead and grumbling. 

His gaze flickers up to you, sheepish smile lingering beneath the curve of a black mask across the bridge of his nose. “Hi.” 

You blink at the glowing blue bird across his chest and part your mouth but omit no coherent sound; you can’t decide whether you should scream or inquire about his well-being.

“I, um, h-hello?” 

He stands slowly, gracefully, shaking out his wrist and rubbing his elbow, toned muscle adorning a lanky frame. “I apologize for…barreling in through your window.”

“It’s…okay. I think?” 

His features knit into a frown. “But it’s late and a weekend and you live by yourself. Should you be leaving your window wide open at all?” 

You frown back. “I like the fresh air. Plus, you aren’t my mother. With all due respect, Mr. Nightwing, I will open my window if I damn please. And I have a cat, I don’t live alone!” You huff, dropping the pillow and crossing your arms over your chest. 

He raises his hands in surrender. “You got me.” He presses his finger to an ear piece and his voice drops, turning his whole body away from you. “I’m good. Tiny accident. No, Red, that’s silly. Socks belong on your feet. I’ll see you tomorrow. Nightwing out.”

You stare at him, bewildered, and your body buzzes with adrenaline. Would this be an appropriate time to call the police? Would it be inappropriate to call the cops on a guy who kind of qualifies as a superhero? Should you call Dick? 

He must see the litany of distraught questions playing across your face because he flashes you a reassuring smile. “This whole thing was supposed to be a lot more nonchalant. But this has turned into a disaster, all dis. I’m a little glad your window was open, I must admit. Crashing through glass is kind of painful.” 

“…what in the world?” You ask for many reasons; why he ended up in your apartment, why he speaks to you so casually, why he plays with words like Dick Grayson, why he sounds an awful lot like Dick Grayson…

The smile droops off his face. The curl of his mouth is achingly familiar, but you hesitate to think blatantly of who it resembles. 

“You look…confused.”

You nod, plopping onto the arm of the couch. “A little.”

He leans back against the counter across from you. “You also look a little bit like a strawberry. A cute one.” 

He jolts at your visceral reaction because you stand up straight, eyebrows arched. “I have a boyfriend. You cannot call me a cute strawberry!” You pause, gaze flitting to the ceiling. “Well, he’s not formally my boyfriend. But I think we’re getting there.” 

A grin quirks at his mouth and you blanch, choking down the torrent of butterflies against your ribcage. 

“Why are you smiling?!”

He sobers, wrinkling his nose and tilting his head a bit like a disconcerted puppy. “You really have no clue who I am?” 

“You’d think the confused look and blank stare would have answered that for you.” 

Nightwing laughs, a warm sound born in his throat and echoing off the walls of the apartment, and you’d know that sound in any storm.

Your stance softens slightly and so does your tone. “I mean, I can speculate.” 

He undoubtedly wiggles his eyebrows beneath the mask and his voice drops in a way that makes heat rise violently in your face, red beneath pink. “Want to come over here and take off my mask, Y/N?” 

The air is different now as he approaches you, cloying and thick. He halts an arm’s length away from you. Dick does this literally and figuratively; he always wants to meet you in the middle, lingering in between distance and intimacy, and you often ponder the idea of soulmates because it seems like in this amorous universe, you’re always gravitating toward him – and he’s pulled towards you with the same sweet energy. 

You move deliberately through the haze of trepidation, timid in the way that you place your fingers beneath sleek Kevlar and against smooth, heated skin because removing this mask is removing countless safeguards and the cover on a can of worms, to reveal vivid aquamarine and the man you are hopelessly falling in love with. 

“Hi, Y/N.” 

You smile so wide it cracks your mask and you might have half a mind to feel embarrassed but you’re too enthralled by the sight of Dick’s handsome face and soulful eyes. 

“Hi, Dick. Er, Nightwing.” You say, a little breathless.

“I really am sorry for crashing through your window. I didn’t know what other way to enter the building inconspicuously and also inform you of my other identity.” 

“You could have just…told me. Socks was less than thrilled about it.” You giggle a little. His eyes are bright with adoration and it makes your heart sing. “But I appreciate any excuse to see you with my own eyes.” 

“Oh, honey, the sentiment is absolutely reciprocated. How whelmed are you?” 

“Not overly at the moment.”

He kisses your mouth briefly, a breath of flower petals and honey. “Am I allowed to call you a cute strawberry now?”

You narrow your eyes for a moment. “Only if you put on the clay mask.” 

“Of course!” Dick chirps. “Then we can both be cute strawberries.”

[caffeinatedtimdrake]

hey, congrats on your 200 followers, you write sooooo well!!!!! i wanna request #1 with jason :)

I hope this is okay, anon! You’re so sweet I wanna give you a hug. 

1.5k of college student!Jason x reader in a bookstore because we know this boy is a literature nerd.

1. “Fancy seeing you here.” “I work here.”

Things change for Jason – and for you – on a rainy Thursday afternoon. 

He’d busted his ankle a few nights ago and, begrudgingly, donned a clunky black boot per Alfred’s orders. He’s been insufferably crabby all week. He knew he could easily duck out of the manor and make his way back to his own apartment, but Bruce said ‘please’ when he asked Jason to stay and heal. Jason still struggles to find closure and meaning amongst cryptic yet caring actions, so he reluctantly agreed.

But he was surely going explode if he had to spend another dull day at the manor while Bruce and Boy Wonder III battled villains, so he tugged at some heartstrings and gained Alfred’s support in taking the car to one of his favorite spots in all of Gotham. 

He doesn’t want to admit it to himself, but maybe he also misses asking to borrow your pens in class and making you blush when your fingers brushed.  The only thing that might distract him is enigmatic 20th century literature.

You showed up on the first day of class in a whirlwind of sweet perfume and wrinkled paper, nestling comfortably in between him and the wall. He remembers watching you dumbly – something about your warm energy captivated him and cursed him. When you caught him looking, you didn’t shy away; instead, you flashed him a smile infinitely brighter than all the stars in the galaxy and tilted his world a little off its axis.

Jason adores the dingy little book and music store. It smells like old paper and coffee grounds and peace. He likes the old tiles that lay across the floor and the framed records that adorn the wall and the little record player in the front corner that sings Motown. He especially appreciates the old man who runs the store; he greets Jason with a weathered smile and nothing more, leaving Jason to traverse stacks of books and albums in sweet solitude. His hair is a little damp from the rain, but it doesn’t dampen his drastically improved mood as he hobbles around the shop.

It’s only natural that when he turns the corner, seeking wisdom from Thoreau, he finds you sitting cross-legged in the middle of the aisle, nose buried in a thick book. 

Jason makes a funny, wheezy noise because for a moment, he can’t breathe. Something strangely sweet claws its way out of his heart, up his throat, and leaves his mouth in the form of, “Hi, Y/N.”

His voice is soft between wooden shelves and rows of novels and the letters of your name. 

You look up at him, glasses perched on the bridge of your nose, and freeze for a few beats.

And then you smile so of course Jason has remind himself to inhale, hold, and exhale slowly. 

Jason Todd is no stranger to your smile now, but you always leave him speechless. 

“Hi, Jason,” 

“Fancy seeing you here.”

You arch an eyebrow. “I work here.”

“Since when?” He wonders aloud, bewildered and giddy and dissolving into a flurry of butterflies and roses. 

“Since three days ago. You haven’t been in class, otherwise maybe you’d be in the loop.” You say wryly. 

This is undoubtedly his favorite place now. 

He knows you have questions for him; to be fair, he did just vanish from Gotham University for several days and you prove your attentiveness time and time again, noting the displeased wrinkle in his forehead when the professor utters exaggerations about Whitman or his boyish smile when he gets to quote Emerson for the class. It’s only natural that you’re curious about his disappearance. If he was feeling really bold, he might even venture to call you a concerned friend (a pretty one that makes him feel like a lovesick puppy). 

“What are you reading?” He asks and you show him the book, pleasantly surprised that he is the only patron in the store.

You don’t understand why he blushes – not that the reason matters, the rosy hue beneath his olive skin is almost painfully beautiful – until he rubs the back of his neck and laughs a little. 

“I was just looking for Walden, actually.”

“Oh! You can have it! I’m supposed to be looking for a book by Whitman for our American literature class…but I have a soft spot for Thoreau and got a little distracted.” You tell him bashfully, standing up to hand him the book. 

He starts to refuse but you simply shove the book into his grasp and start browsing W-row for Whitman. 

“You know, there’s a quote in there that reminds me of you.” You tell him quietly, shooting him a sidelong glance and taking a tiny leap of faith. 

He feels butterflies ramming against his ribcage and he hugs the book close to his chest, sapphire eyes attentive and impossibly soft. “What is it?” 

You’re self-conscious but you swallow your hesitation, tracing your finger along book spines. 

“Could a greater miracle take place than for us to look through each other’s eyes for an instant?”

“Oh,” Jason breathes quietly, and you risk a look at him. 

You adore him like this, wholesome wonder painted across his features. His hair flops onto his forehead a little bit, that tiny streak of wait peeking through a mop of inky black. His brows are raised slightly, framing those mesmerizing eyes. His mouth twitches a little before a smile spreads across his face, like the way the ocean pulls back a wave before she lets it crash upon the shore. It’s boyish and bright and it leaves you a little winded. 

“Y/N, I…kind of love that.” Jason doesn’t think he could stop smiling if his life depended on it, bashfully tearing his gaze from you to fiddle with ancient-looking bookends.

He’s a stranger to this feeling, one that coaxes giddy laughter and elated smiles and warm blushes to the surface from a soul he thought he’d lost amidst the callous chaos of recreation. 

He likes coming here so often because he can lose himself in literature. The world has changed, and he has changed, but the works of Shakespeare and Wordsworth and Hemingway have remained constant – a fact that brings him comfort on his tougher days.

At the same time, he loves these collections of words so profoundly because their interpretations shift like the wind. A simple sentence can mean the world to two different people, but those meanings might be a world apart. There is such beauty in ambiguity. 

There is also beauty in the way you’re looking at him. It’s ambiguous like the books, but it’s familiar – it’s like home. 

“I’m glad you do.” You tell him earnestly. “Honestly, when we first met, I had no idea you were…” 

“A book nerd?” It’s his turn to shoot you a sidelong glance now, but this one is almost sultry – eyes half-lidded and hair curling at the tips from rainwater and humid air, brow arched in question. 

You duck your head a little and nod. The distance between you and Jason has gradually decreased as the two of you have casually tugged on novels and scanned the titles engraved into the spines. 

He’s so close, you practically buzz with energy. He smells of cinnamon and aged leather. You want to bottle the fragrance and cherish it forever; the way you know you’ll cherish this moment in a bookstore on a rainy afternoon with Jason Todd.

“I am a book nerd…yes,” He starts slowly, unsurely, like when you start driving but realize you have absolutely no idea where to go so you have to pump your breaks and look up directions.

Jason really doesn’t have any idea where he is going with this, but he knows he has to go somewhere. He can’t continue borrowing those pencils with a clear conscience if he doesn’t attempt to share this piece of his heart with you. 

“And I am a big fan of chocolate chip muffins. And The Supremes.” 

You nod in agreement. You and Jason were facing each other now. He towered over you a bit, all toned muscle and broad shoulders. You could see the way vulnerability twisted his mouth into a pensive, nervous smile and watched his Adam’s apple bob. 

“And I’m a big fan…of…you?” 

You intend to respond with a loud exclamation of disbelief, but you choke on the air in your windpipe and end up doubled over in the classic literature aisle with Jason Todd patting your back, watching in horror as you have a coughing fit. 

When you finally recover, watery eyed, something possesses you to grab Jason’s hand. 

He looks like he’s been punched at the gut, gaping at your intertwined fingers. You glance up at him and wrinkle your nose a little. “So…you haven’t been talking to me just because I own a copious amount of writing utensils?” 

Jason can’t stop looking at your hands. He shakes his head no, very much like a guilty child. 

“It’s always been you. The glittery gel pens are just a plus.” He tells you quietly, flustered and grinning. He almost worries that you can hear how loudly his heart pounds in his chest.

When you bring his hand up to your mouth and press a tiny kiss to his palm, he squeaks.

It’s more funny than fancy seeing you here because lately, he sees you everywhere and there’s nothing fancy about how you leave him bumbling and blushing. 

In potent black ink, your name is written beneath his eyelids and against his lips and across his heart.

[caffeinatedtimdrake]

sneak peek

Timmy fluff headed your way at some point in the near future - here’s a little preview

Hovering near the stove in a dazzlingly pink apron, humming, is tousled raven hair atop elegance and sinew, as if his muscles and movements had been threaded with otherworldly magic. He turns around to smile at you like a fantasy, the corners of his mouth curling upward with ethereal warmth that reaches his eyes and promptly melts any traces of despair resting on your shoulders.

“Welcome home, Y/N.” Your name falls from his lips tenderly.

“Hi, Tim.” You half-sigh with dreamy resignation, right hand instinctively drifting to the ring fit snugly around the finger on your left.

“I made your favorite – I know you had a rough day at work so I hope this makes things a little bit better.” He grins at you, mixing the contents of the pan with regal purpose, but there’s a bashful rosy hue blossoming across his cheeks because you’re smiling at him like he dropped the moon in the palm of your hand.

You drop your bag on the couch and meander over to him, mouth watering and heart throbbing. “Tim, you could feed me unpeeled potatoes and I would be the happiest living creature in the universe.”

He turns off the stove and brings a wooden spoon to your mouth, palm hovering diligently beneath and mouth puckered to blow away the steam from the homemade pasta sauce. “That’s undoubtedly the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

[caffeinatedtimdrake]

All your fics,,, give me feelings,,, I love them sm. Your recent?? God tier.

I love you with my whole heart ok YOU GIVE ME FEELINGS

[caffeinatedtimdrake]

hello there, could you write “here is the deepest secret that nobody knows.” with tim?

A/N: here is about 1k of fluffy Tim x reader ft almost unrequited love?

here is the deepest secret that nobody knows 

“Well, this is nice.” 

“Um. Yes. Very…cozy.” 

Tim laughs quietly, hot breath brushing against the already heated skin of your face. 

Cozy was a generous word in describing the coat closet considering the fact that you and Tim Drake were currently locked in this tiny exclave of the manor amongst many jackets, several pairs of shoes, and the thudding of your heartbeat.

This choice had not been a voluntary one for either of you. It was the result of a lost bet and a mildly inebriated Dick Grayson. And, if you were being honest with yourself, it wasn’t all that bad. To everyone but Tim Drake, it was no secret that you’d fallen awfully hard for the third incarnation of the boy wonder, a comfortable friendship that had blossomed into much more. But apparently, you’re bad at conveying emotion because your adoration often manifests in the form of avoidance. 

Tim smells like mint and sleepy Sunday mornings and you have to catch yourself, pinching your arm to keep from leaning further into his bubble. 

“Tim?” You say meekly. 

“Yes?” 

“I was…wondering…” 

The lighting is dim, but his eyes are still blue and bright and enigmatic, piercing your soul and sense of coherency. He arches an eyebrow. “You were wondering?”

“Can’t you just…work some of that boy wonder magic and unlock the door so we can get out of here?” You practically squeak. You want to look away from the blue, more vivid than the summer sky, but the intensity of Tim’s gaze has you rooted to the spot.

He shifts a little on his feet and the corner of his mouth curls up into a dangerous grin, practically triggering your fight-or-flight response (heavy emphasis on flight) and your posture stiffens. 

“I can.”

You blink up at him expectantly, trying not to shrivel up and die beneath the weight of swirling emotions in those pretty blue eyes. You can’t read his expression clearly, but you certainly don’t have any trouble hearing him. 

“But I don’t want to.” 

“WHAT?” 

Tim leans in closer, so close that you’re almost brushing noses. “I don’t want to work some of my boy wonder magic and unlock the door so we can get out of here.” His tone is level and he has no idea that your heartbeat is erratic. 

“W-why?” Your half-whimper sounds pathetic, but you can’t help the way your nerves sing with distress, wringing your hands nervously. 

His dark brows knit into a slight frown and his gaze flits to the ceiling. He inhales deeply and a little shakily.

“Because you’re always running away from me lately and I don’t know when else we’ll get a moment alone to talk.” 

You freeze and the worry in your eyes makes his heart ache. “What do you want to talk about, Tim?” You ask cautiously.

His breath catches a little when you say his name, but he’s not surprised. It’s no secret that you’ve always had an effect on him, a flurry of dove wings and guitar strings and rays of summer sun. He flushes, pretty red creeping up the nape of his neck and blossoming across his cheeks. “Um. Honestly, now that the moment is upon us, I have no idea.” 

You can’t help but smile at this, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“You smell really nice. Like flowers or cupcakes or sunshine. A-and I can’t really think straight since you smell good and you’re smiling at me and you’re so…close.”

Tim’s eyes widen to the size of the moon and he clamps a hand over his mouth. “Oh no. Oh no. Did I just say that aloud?” 

You nod yes slowly, in a daze because you can only really hear the blood rushing around in your ears, vaguely wondering about the implications of his little ramble. Tim Drake thinks you smell nice – what does that even mean? There’s a hopeful voice at the back of your head that knows very well what that means, but you smother it with doubt.

He whines your name miserably, resting his head against the closet wall with a loud thump and squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Tim, w-what’s wrong?” You hiccup, frowning at his state of distress. It’s instinctive when you reach up to gently cup his cheek, but it’s also instinctive when you panic and move your hand away. 

His eyes shoot open, clear and focused and cornflower blue, and he catches your wrist to keep your palm pressed against his flushed cheek. The oxygen supply is already limited in this closet and his heavy gaze wraps around your chest and squeezes your lungs. When you try to breathe, it’s only a whisper of his name suspended in uncertainty. 

Of all things, Tim pouts. “Nothing’s been right lately since you started diving behind dumpsters to avoid interacting with me.” He sulks. 

“Hey! That was…one time.” 

His smile is sad and reverent. “One time too many, Y/N. What’s going on with you? With us?” 

The words are out of your mouth before you can choke them back. “Nothing, except for the fact that I’ve been terribly in love with you for the past few months so hiding from you has been much easier than facing the possibility of rejection.” 

From outside of the closet, you hear, “FINALLY!” from a chorus of voices that sounds suspiciously like Dick, Babs, and Jason. 

Tim stares at you, mouth parted in surprise, eyes swirling with secrets you can only dream of knowing. 

He pops your growing bubble of insecurity and fear easily, tightening his grip on your hand. “Say it again.” He nearly rasps.

“And make a fool of myself? No way, Drake!” You shake your head. 

“Please,” He asks softly, melting you. 

It’s your turn to sulk. “I’m in love with you, Tim Drake.” 

A smile lights up his face, the sun breaking through thick storm clouds, and it reaches his eyes. They’re almost opaque now, glimpses into his sweet soul. He doesn’t even have to tell you these next words because you see them so clearly in his eyes. 

“I’m in love with you, too, Y/N.”

(There’s raucous cheering from outside of the closet.)

[caffeinatedtimdrake]

ZO YOU ICON I LOVE YOU I’m sitting here melting over your sweet words. everything you do/say/write/are is a masterpiece and I hope you know!!!

in the mood to spread love

@jason-redhood / @arkhxmknight: ik you’ve heard me say this a lot but the way you write jason is just so lovely. the level of care you include in your writing, whether intentional or not, is clearly conveyed with every word, every gesture you write. your writing encompasses Peak Aesthetic™️ and it’s not forced either, it’s effortlessly picturesque. even with the tender and sweet moments you write, it doesn’t work against the neon lights, rather it works with in perfect unison. you completely control the situation and the imagery you utilize adds another layer of depth to the entire situation. it’s realism but drowned in neon lighting and neck kisses and love. vani you’re the master of conceptual writing and infusing adoration and unconditional love into the narrative, your writing truly is love dyed red 

@shattersstar: mac! everything you write feels like a dream! every word you write reminds me of the soft and nice side of nostalgia, like I’m looking back on this moment and reminiscing. it’s just a hazy and cloud-like dream when reading anything written by you and I just love it! even when you write angst, your writing still drips with an undeniable softness. and the way you write memories too is comment dit on…memorable. you always manage to set up each story with so much detail it’s hard to miss it. you paint the scene of us so beautifully and immerse us into the story; you make it so we’re not just audience members, rather we’re effectively in the story as well. your writing just feels like a dream and it makes me wonder if anything is real. 

@krysalla: your writing…god holly you’re writing has such a beautifully slow pace. it feels holy and I love when you contrast that every now and then with some angst because it always catches me off guard. and the way you pack each fic with emotions is so powerful, there’s a range of emotions and often times they leads back to love. the way you just write your sentences is so beautiful and stunning, mesmerizing with each word. your writing is just so tender that it brings you to tears, knocks the wind right out of you and then you come around from behind and hit us with horny fics when we’re already down..you really said horny people rights you’re so powerful. the concepts you write as well, the scenes you write,,..you’re such a genius what did we do to deserve you.

@caffeinatedtimdrake: sabi your writing is poetic yet highly prosaic, all and nothing at the same time. it oozes poetry but it doesn’t compromise the narrative’s prose, rather it just amplifies it. the dialogue feels natural with the poetic verses sewn into the story. it’s just beautiful writing and your stories?? just as beautiful and compelling to read. your writing also bleeds romance, the kind that echoes Jane Austen’s works but completely in it’s own genre. A mix of Austen’s novels and Joe Wright’s literary film adaptions is what your writing feels like: romantic, hazed with love, a classic. everything you write and share is a gift to read and our eyes weren’t prepared for Quality Literary Merit. 

@prettylittlebrownskingyal: can I just say that every time you post your writings I gain a year of my life? ari, you’re writing is just that exquisite and mesmerizing. it’s packed with immense imagery and beautifully soft language. you perfectly and quite proudly display your tone and mood throughout each piece and it exactly matches the story you’re telling. the imagery is just awe inspiring really, we can see every expression and hear every laugh. you cater to the senses as one should and it’s done so well it doesn’t feel like reading, it’s more like living. everything you write reminds me of nature and the sun, your writing is equally warm and bright, creating vibrant scenes and stories; i need to put sunglasses on otherwise I’ll be blinded by your talent.  

@redoutlaws: you’re an evil writer and I love it. I really admire the way you write because it’s almost like stream of consciousness but it isn’t. you tell the story from point a to point b but the emotions between muddle the path so it’s like we ended up at a different location than planned, it’s absolute genius. and it’s agonizingly painful to read your angst because you use dramatic irony so well. I just love how you don’t shy away from the emotional aspects of the characters and the dialogue between them is always so naturally flowing and powerful. and the way you build tension throughout you fics..exquisite you literally invented literary techniques

@lovegraysons: even though I’ve only read your dick grayson headcanons ik you’re an amazingly detailed and vivid writer vera. those head canons were beautiful and it read like a fic honestly. it was tender and heartwarming and it played like a montage in my mind, series of images just flashing together. it was beautifully written and the detail you included created such a vivid picture of the two moving in together, it was just so soft and tender we weren’t ready for that level of love. 

[caffeinatedtimdrake]

How aboooouuut medusa, cyclopes, and prometheus??

Medusa - do you have any pets?

Yes! A dog and a cat. They are my babies and I’ll attach pictures.

Cyclopes- favorite joke?

Oof this is tough. I think bad pickup lines are really amusing. Like the whole “did you fart? Because you blew me away” thing makes me smile everytime.

Prometheus- If you could have any one ability, what would it be? 

The ability to not procrastinate!!! But if that isn’t substantive enough, probably the ability to learn any language.

What about you?

[caffeinatedtimdrake]

Hades + Hypnos

Hades - greatest fear?

Heights! But clowns are also awful.

Hypnos- On average, how much sleep do you try to get every night? 

7 hours which usually ends up being 6 because I have committment issues.

[caffeinatedtimdrake]

For the Greek Mythology Ask~ Pandora’s box?

Pandora’s Box- What is a mistake you’ve made that you regret? 

I try to employ a #noregrets philosophy in my life but that doesn’t always work out lol. A mistake I’m always making and always regretting is telling people “yes” when I should really say “no”.

What about you?

[caffeinatedtimdrake]

I’m at work & I’m so bored I might perish....anyone wanna help a girl out? 🤧

Greek Mythology Asks

Aether- Name? 

Anteros- Sexuality? 

Apollo- Gender? 

Ares- Favourite movie? 

Artemis- Favourite time of day? 

Asclepius- Favourite animal? 

Athena- Favourite thing to learn about? 

Atlas- Favourite myth? 

Cerberus- Dog or cat person? 

Cronus- Favourite food? 

Cyclopes- What’s your favourite joke? 

Dionysus- Favourite drink? 

Eros- Are you in love? 

Hades- Greatest fear? 

Helios- Night or day person? 

Hephaestus- What is your favourite form of art? 

Hermes- Do you like traveling? Where is one place you want to travel to? 

Hypnos- On average, how much sleep do you try to get every night? 

Icarus- How would you describe yourself? 

Labyrinth- Do you have a good sense of direction/do you get lost easily? 

Medusa- Do you have any pets? 

Odysseus- Do you finish tasks quicker, or does it take time for you to get through them? 

Pandora’s Box- What is a mistake you’ve made that you regret? 

Pegasus- What is your relationship with your parents like? 

Persephone- What is your “type”?

Phobos- Do you think it’s okay to be afraid of things? 

Poseidon- Do you like to swim? 

Prometheus- If you could have any one ability, what would it be? 

River Styx- What do you think happens when we die? 

Titans- If you could go anywhere in time, when would you want to go? 

Zeus- Favourite weather? 

[caffeinatedtimdrake]

Masterlist

updated june 2nd, 2019. 

italicized titles indicate fics inspired by prompt lists.

all works are fluff unless indicated otherwise.

Dick Grayson/Nightwing 

Hey There, Hot Tea 

Nightwing has a rough night. When you spend some time patching him up, you discover he has some startling similarities to your charming neighbor, Dick Grayson.

Domesticity 

Dick Grayson is the only remedy to your bad day. 

Solution to a Storm (steamy fluff)

Dick has a relatively effective coping mechanism for your fear of thunderstorms.

“You really have no clue who I am?” “You’d think the confused looks and blank stare would have answered that for you.”  

“You look…” “Beautiful, I know. Can we move on?” & “You love her don’t you?” “Was it that obvious?” & “I was just kind of hoping that you’d, y’know…. fall in love with me.”

Jason Todd/Red Hood

Eye See You 

Red Hood walks you home and you know there is more to him than that mask.

Light 

Before bedtime, Jason Todd feels sleepy and sappy because he loves you immensely. 

What You Are 

Reverent morning cuddles with Jason. 

Change and Sweet 

You work at the local bakery and you are quickly working your way in Jason Todd’s heart. It takes Clay Face and some cupcakes to get him to confess his feelings. 

In a Garden of Blue Violets (angst & fluff)

You are always trying to heal from the loss and move on with your life, but Jason finds ways to remain tangled in your soul.

Talk to Me

Steamy Jason fluff. You’ve had a bad day and the only way to remedy that is with Jason’s lips.

A Door

Jason confesses the depth of his feelings for you and you’re scared. 

3 Words 4 You

Jason says he loves you three separate times before you say it back.

I carry your heart with me

“If I go through with this, I die. If I don’t, we all die.” 

“Fancy seeing you here.” “I work here.” 

Hold on, you died.” “Yeah, well it didn’t stick.”  

“I’m fine.” “You don’t look fine.” “Then stop looking.” & “I hate you.” “Why? I’m lovely.”

“Did you just… agree with me?” “Oh, I wish I could take-““Nope! You said it! No take-backs!” & “You’re a psychopath.” “I prefer creative.” & “I hate you.” “Why? I’m lovely.”

“You’re not as evil as people think you are.” “No. I’m much worse.”

Tim Drake/Red Robin 

Cookie Monster 

Tim unwisely takes the last thin mint and you intend on making him pay.

So kiss me shy, sweet, eagerly 

Here is the deepest secret that nobody knows 

“You gotta stop doing that.” “What?” “Saying things that make me wanna kiss you.” & “Why me?” “Because you saw me when I was invisible.”

“I’m fine.” “You don’t look fine.” “Then stop looking.”

“I thought you forgot about me.” “Never.” 

Damian Wayne/Robin

Dreams 

You teach Damian about the beauty in possibility. 

“I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you!” “And I’m trying to subtly avoid it!” & “I thought you forgot about me.” “Never.” & “I’m fine.” “You don’t look fine.” “Then stop looking.” & “Why me?” “Because you saw me when I was invisible.” 

Trust your heart if the seas catch fire 

“This is all your fault.” “I hope so.” & “I think I’m having a feeling. How do I make it stop?” & “You can’t just turn into a bat and fly away when you don’t want to deal with things!” “Watch me!”

Peter Parker/Spiderman

Bright Star  

You work at the library and Peter is planning a special Valentine’s Day confession.

[caffeinatedtimdrake]

😭😭😭 I��m suffering! You’re writing is so good omg! Thank you for writing such beautiful stories 😭😭😭

Are you kidding!!!!! Thank you for existing!!!!

[caffeinatedtimdrake]

uhHhhHHHHHH imagine this: pride and prejudice au...with tim drake

[caffeinatedtimdrake]

HOW MUCH I LOVE YOUR FICS!!!! THEY ARE AWESOME AND YOU DESERVE TO KNOW!!!!! I LOOK FORWARD TO READING YOUR FUTURE FICS!!!!!! Stay healthy please and have a good summer

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH this is so sweet!!!!!!!! thank you thank you thank you 💗💘💞💕🌸💝💕���❤️💓 you are awesome and i hope you know!!!!!!!! Please also stay healthy and have a good summer, you lovely human