#Red Robin x Y/N

[creeperkiwi]

ghost of you | Tim Drake x ghost!reader ᯓ★

sumarry: Tim Drake was inspecting the building where one of the most wanted villains of the last month was found. He knew there were strange things going on, but meeting a ghost boy was not in his plans, much less being smitten by his beauty.

male reader, word counter: 3330

masterlist

The building lay in ruins, abandoned to its fate like a forgotten skeleton in the heart of Gotham. Dampness clung to the cracked walls, and the echo of dripping water from a partially collapsed ceiling sounded like whispers of ancient secrets. Darkness gripped every corner, pierced only by the faint light filtering through broken windows and sagging beams. Tim Drake moved cautiously, his flashlight revealing invisible paths among the dust suspended in the air, like stars trapped in a shadowy universe.

There was something peculiar about the place. Beyond the signs of struggle and the traces of the villain captured there weeks ago, the atmosphere felt heavy, almost watchful. Tim was no stranger to the strange, but this sensation was different—an eerie chill that crawled down his spine like cold fingers.

He advanced into a room where time seemed to have stopped. A dilapidated piano sat at its center, its yellowed keys covered in dust. Around it lay fallen books, broken furniture, and air that smelled of dampness and despair. The young hero frowned. Something didn’t add up.

Then he saw it.

At first, he thought it was just another shadow, a trick of the flashlight. But as he adjusted the angle, the figure took shape—a boy, no older than himself, sitting in a corner. He seemed almost translucent, as if he didn’t belong to this world. His pale skin emitted a faint glow, and his disheveled, snow-white hair fell over eyes that held oceans of sorrow.

Tim took a step back, unsettled. There were no signs of entry or exit in the room, and his equipment hadn’t detected anyone else. Yet, there he was, a specter among the ruins.

“Who are you?” Tim asked, his voice firm but not aggressive.

The boy looked up, startled, as if he hadn’t expected to be seen. He didn’t answer. His lips quivered but formed no words. There was a void in his gaze, an absence that spoke of lost memories and an existence barely hanging on.

“You’re not alive... are you?” Tim muttered, more to himself than to the boy.

The ghost shook his head, almost imperceptibly. Then, he raised a hand and pointed to something behind Tim. The young hero spun around immediately, searching for the threat, but all he found was a wall covered in graffiti. When he turned back, the specter was no longer in the corner but standing a few steps away. He seemed to be watching Tim with a mixture of curiosity and fear, as if Tim were the apparition and not him.

“Why can only I see you?” Tim asked, narrowing his eyes, trying to analyze the situation logically. But there was something about the ghost’s presence that defied all reason. It wasn’t hostile, at least not outwardly. And yet, there was a sadness so profound in its features that Tim felt a knot tighten in his chest.

The ghost opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Frustrated, he brought a hand to his throat and shook his head. Tim understood immediately—he couldn’t speak.

“Great,” Tim muttered sarcastically. “A mute ghost. This just keeps getting better.”

The boy tilted his head, as if unsure whether to feel offended or intrigued. Then he extended a finger and pointed at Tim. The young hero raised an eyebrow.

“What? Me?” The ghost nodded slowly. “Perfect. A mute, cryptic ghost. Sure, why not.”

For some reason, Tim’s deadpan expression made the specter crack a faint smile—barely a hint, but enough for the young hero to notice. For a brief moment, something warm seeped into the icy atmosphere of the room.

“I guess I’ll call you ‘Ghost Boy’ until you remember your name, huh?” Tim said, tucking the flashlight into his belt and crossing his arms. “Don’t get too close. I still don’t know if you’re safe.”

The ghost didn’t reply, but his eyes seemed to speak for him. Tim felt a different kind of chill this time—one not from the surroundings but from something deeper. There was beauty in that ethereal figure, a fragility that unsettled him and made him want to look longer than he should.

In the days that followed, the specter became a constant presence in his life. Always nearby, silently following him like a shadow. At first, it annoyed Tim, but he soon began to grow accustomed to it. He watched as Ghost Boy observed him with a mix of shyness and growing trust, as if being close to Tim gave him something he’d long lost—a purpose.

Their conversations became a game of deduction. Tim would speak, and the ghost would nod, shake his head, or point, creating a makeshift system of communication that, though frustrating, worked. There were moments when Tim, exhausted from patrols and sleepless nights, would throw sarcastic remarks at him just to see the ghost roll his eyes or flash a fleeting smile.

“What are you doing here, following me?” Tim asked one night while reviewing documents at the Batcomputer. The ghost stood beside him, watching with a curious expression.

The boy raised a finger and pointed at Tim, as he had the first time. Then he touched his own chest, as if trying to convey something.

“You need me?” Tim ventured, tilting his head. The ghost nodded.

A charged silence fell between them, broken only by the hum of the machines. Tim, almost without realizing it, let out a sigh.

“I can’t promise anything,” he murmured, more to himself than to the specter. “But I guess I can try to help.”

The ghost didn’t say anything, but his expression spoke volumes. And for the first time in a long while, Tim felt that maybe—just maybe—his exhausting life as a hero could be set aside, only for a moment.

Days passed, and Tim’s routine became strangely shared. The ghost boy was always there, watching him with that silent calm that could be both reassuring and unsettling. Tim wouldn’t admit it, but he had started to grow accustomed to his presence. At times of utter solitude, he even found himself speaking aloud, addressing the specter as if it were a confidant.

However, not everyone in the Wayne family was as used to Tim’s new habits.

“You look worse than usual,” Damian grumbled one morning in the kitchen, eyeing his adoptive brother with a mix of irritation and poorly disguised concern. “When was the last time you slept?"

Tim barely looked up from the coffee mug clutched in his hands. The ghost boy stood near the window, invisible to the others, observing the interaction with his sad, large eyes.

“I’m fine,” Tim replied, his tone sharper than necessary.

Bruce, seated at the end of the table, set his newspaper aside and studied him with his usual analytical gaze. He said nothing at first, but his silence was more eloquent than any verbal reprimand.

“You’ve been talking to yourself a lot lately,” Dick commented from the other end of the kitchen, trying to lighten the tension. “And I don’t mean thinking out loud. I mean full conversations with someone who isn’t there.”

“What are you insinuat—” Tim began, cutting himself off when he noticed the way they were all looking at him.

“What we’re insinuating,” Bruce finally interjected, “is that you’re overworking yourself, Tim. The building case, your patrols, your work as Red Robin… You can’t do everything without consequences.”

Tim pressed his lips together, feeling frustration bubble under the surface. He couldn’t tell them the truth. How could he explain that he wasn’t talking to himself, but to a ghost? Even to him, it sounded absurd.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, this time with a tone of exasperation. He stood abruptly, leaving his mug on the table. “I just need space.”

The ghost boy followed him as he left the kitchen, gliding after him like an ethereal shadow. Tim walked to his room, shut the door behind him, and collapsed into the chair at his desk, running a hand through his dark hair in frustration.

“See what you’re doing to me?” he muttered to the specter, who hovered near the window. His tone wasn’t truly angry, more resigned. “They think I’m losing my mind from lack of sleep.”

The ghost lowered his gaze, guilt and helplessness mixing in his expression. He hadn’t meant to cause problems, but he didn’t know how to disappear either.

Tim sighed, resting his elbows on the desk and dropping his head into his hands. The connection between them was inexplicable but increasingly difficult to ignore. Sometimes, it felt like the ghost understood him better than anyone, which terrified and comforted him in equal measure.

“It’s not your fault,” he finally said, his tone softening. He looked up at the specter, who seemed relieved by his words. “Just… if we’re going to keep doing this, I need to find a way to prove I’m not crazy.”

The ghost didn’t respond, but he floated closer to Tim, as if trying to offer reassurance. Tim felt the familiar chill that always accompanied his presence, but this time, instead of being bothered, he found it almost comforting.

“We’ll figure out who you are and why you’re here,” Tim promised, leaning forward to look at him more closely. “But I need you to help me not lose my own mind in the process.”

The ghost nodded slowly, a spark of trust in his eyes—a silent promise that he would be there to uncover his truth and protect Tim from the chaos he had brought along.

The abandoned building remained a key location in their investigation. Tim had inspected it thoroughly, but the ghost boy insisted on pointing out certain places as if trying to guide him toward something important. That evening, Tim returned, fully equipped and on high alert.

“Show me again where you saw it,” Tim requested, holding a scanner in one hand.

The ghost pointed to a crack in the floor where a piece of wood jutted out among the debris. Tim knelt, carefully clearing away the rubble. His fingers brushed against something solid: a small, rusted medallion with barely legible engravings.

“Does this mean anything to you?” Tim asked, holding it up for him to see.

The specter studied the object intently, his expression shifting to one of anguish and recognition. He stepped back, as if the sight of it affected him deeply.

“Well, it’s something,” Tim muttered, sealing the medallion in a bag on his belt. He stood, observing the ghost carefully. “We’ll figure this out, whatever it is.”

The ghost looked at him with a kind of gratitude that didn’t need words, but there was also a shadow of sadness in his eyes, as though he feared what the search might reveal.

Back at the Batcomputer days later, Tim examined the medallion. It belonged to an orphanage in Gotham that had closed over a decade ago. As he read through the files, the ghost remained by his side, as silent as ever but intently focused on the screen.

“Does this place mean something to you?” Tim asked, pointing at the image of the orphanage.

The ghost nodded slowly, moving closer. Tim glanced at him, trying to ignore the cold air that always seemed to surround him.

“We’ll go tomorrow,” Tim said, leaning back in his chair. He ran a hand through his hair, tired but determined. “But I need some sleep first.”

The ghost seemed restless, as if he didn’t want to wait. He took a step toward Tim, instinctively lifting a hand toward his face. It was an odd gesture, almost as if he were trying to comfort him.

And then it happened.

For the first time, Tim felt the ghost’s touch: an intense cold that sliced through his skin like a blade of ice. He froze, eyes wide, as the ghost’s hand briefly rested against his cheek. The contact was fleeting, barely a second, but enough to make Tim’s heart race.

“How…?” he whispered, but before he could finish, the connection broke.

The ghost looked just as startled, staring at his own hand as if he didn’t understand what had happened. He stepped back, his form flickering faintly as though losing stability. Tim reached out, but his hand passed through the specter as usual.

“Great. Another mystery,” Tim muttered, lowering his hand in frustration.

The ghost watched him, guilty, but Tim just shook his head.

“It’s fine. It was… weird, but it’s fine. Just don’t try it again until we know why it happened. I don’t want you disappearing or something worse.”

The ghost nodded, his expression serious. Tim wasn’t sure what had just happened, but a part of him couldn’t shake how human that touch had felt, like there was something more to the ghost that tethered him to this world.

The next day, while inspecting the orphanage building, Tim decided to take a risk. They had found a journal among the rubble, and though the ghost couldn’t touch it, it was clear it held some importance to him.

“All right, let’s try this,” Tim said, holding the journal in one hand and extending the other toward the specter. “If you could touch me before, maybe you can do it again.”

The ghost looked at him uncertainly but nodded. Slowly, he raised his hand and reached toward Tim’s. For a moment, they both held their breath, as if the entire world had paused.

But this time, there was no cold, no sensation at all. The ghost’s hand passed through Tim’s as it always did, leaving no trace. The specter stepped back, his expression disheartened, while Tim glanced down at his own hand, frustrated.

“It doesn’t matter,” Tim said, trying to brush it off, though his voice betrayed a hint of disappointment. “We’ll figure out how it worked the first time.”

The ghost looked at him, his dark eyes filled with unspoken apologies. Tim just sighed and tucked the journal into his backpack.

“Come on, we’ve got work to do. This isn’t going to stop us.”

As they walked through the dark hallways of the building, Tim couldn’t stop thinking about that fleeting moment of contact and how something so brief could feel so significant.

The journal they found didn’t turn out to be the key they’d hoped for. Instead of revealing who the ghost was, its pages spoke of another victim: a young woman who had been trapped and murdered by the villain who used the building as his lair. Her accounts of fear and despair were like a dagger to Tim’s heart, but for the ghost, they were a brutal reminder of his own tragedy.

As they read through the journal’s final entries together, the specter brought a hand to his temple, as if something was breaking inside him.

“I remember,” he whispered suddenly.

Tim looked up, surprised to hear his voice.

“What do you remember?”

The ghost closed his eyes tightly. His form flickered faintly, as though he was on the verge of vanishing.

“My death... It happened here. He... chained us all to the walls, and every week, one of us would die and...” The specter faltered, his barely audible voice breaking into a murmur. “I don’t know who I was before that, but I remember everything. The pain. The fear.”

Tim set the journal aside and stepped closer to the ghost, feeling the air grow colder around him. The specter looked more vulnerable than ever, like a fractured reflection of something that had once been human.

“You don’t need to remember everything,” Tim said softly, his voice cutting through the heavy silence of the room. “You don’t need to know who you were before this.”

The ghost opened his eyes and looked at him, confused.

“How can I move forward without knowing?”

Tim crossed his arms, studying him with a mix of determination and compassion.

“Because you’re not what they did to you. You’re not just your death. You can start over. Be someone new.”

The ghost seemed to consider his words, his lost expression softening little by little.

“Do you really think I can?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Tim nodded.

“I believe in you.”

A heavy silence fell between them, but something had shifted. The specter took a step closer to Tim, and this time, when he extended his hand, it wasn’t to pass through him like before. Tim felt the cold yet firm touch of the ghost’s fingers against his own.

“It works,” Tim murmured, unable to hide the surprise in his voice.

The ghost pulled his hand back, looking at it as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened. Then he lifted his gaze to Tim, his uncertain expression transforming into a faint smile.

Tim slowly raised his hand and gently placed it on the ghost’s cheek, their breaths mingling as their lips met, catching the specter off guard.

The ghost let out a brief laugh—the first Tim had ever heard from him. And for the first time, the air between them didn’t feel cold or heavy. It felt, strangely, like a new beginning.

The tranquility of Wayne Manor was shattered one night when Dick decided to pay Tim a surprise visit in his room. As usual, he barged in without knocking, a carefree grin on his face.

“Tim! Did you know that—?” The words died in his throat.

There, standing by Tim’s desk, was the ghost boy. His ethereal figure glowed faintly under the light of the monitor, and his expressionless face turned toward Dick with an unsettling calm.

Dick jumped back, hitting the door with a loud thud, his eyes wide as saucers.

“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!” he yelled, pointing at the specter with a mix of horror and confusion.

Tim, who was sitting at his desk going through files, turned slowly, frowning.

“‘That’? He’s my… friend,” he replied, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

The ghost tilted his head slightly, staring at Dick without a word.

Dick started pointing frantically between the ghost and Tim.

“I thought Damian was lying when he said you had a ghost boyfriend! But… Oh my God, he was right! IT’S REAL!”

Tim groaned, covering his face with his hand, letting out a deep sigh of resignation.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Then what is he?!” Dick flailed his hands dramatically, clearly on the verge of a meltdown. “Because I swear, if he moves through walls, I’m going to scream louder than Damian does when he loses a chess match!”

The ghost, completely unfazed, seemed almost amused by Dick’s overreaction—probably the first time anyone had found an adult in blue spandex so comical.

“He’s harmless,” Tim said, trying to calm Dick as he stood up from his chair. “And the whole ‘ghost boyfriend’ thing is ridiculous.”

“Sure, sure,” Dick replied, raising his hands in mock surrender as he edged toward the door. “I just want it on record that if he starts moving objects or possessing people, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Before he could leave, the ghost stepped forward and, with a smooth motion, pushed a book from the edge of Tim’s desk toward Dick. The book hit the floor with a loud thud.

“I KNEW HE WOULD MOVE STUFF!” Dick shouted, bolting out the door.

Tim watched his older brother sprint down the hallway, while the ghost, for the first time, showed a faint, mischievous smile.

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” Tim said, though his tone made it clear he was more amused than annoyed.

The ghost merely shrugged, his eyes glinting with playful mischief.

“Well,” Tim muttered, leaning forward against the desk, placing his hands on either side of the ghost, effectively trapping him. “At least now Damian won’t be able to use the whole ‘ghost boyfriend’ thing against me just to annoy me.”

The ghost didn’t reply, but something in his expression hinted that he was enjoying the closeness far more than he should.

[tinydefector]

Behind the Scenes 2

Tim Drake x Male reader

Masterlist

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Word count: 6.1

Warnings: Tim being Tim in his slight stalkerish way for work.

Cut chapter three out otherwise this would have been over 11k words. So I'll edit that tomorrow at some point.

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The rhythmic tapping of Tim's fingers on the keyboard slowed as he stared at the email in front of him, his jaw tightening. It was yet another "gentle reminder" from the pharmaceutical marketing team about their meeting today. He hated these meetings—the endless pitches, the justifications for greed masquerading as "business strategy." Wayne Enterprises was supposed to stand for more than profit margins. That had been Bruce's vision, and it was one Tim was determined to uphold.

The sharp knock on his office door pulled him from his thoughts. He didn’t need to look at the clock to know who it was. “Come in,” Tim called, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his temples. The door opened smoothly, revealing Lucius Fox. The older man stepped inside, his calm and collected demeanor instantly filling the room. He carried a leather-bound notebook in one hand and a tablet in the other, his expression a mixture of professionalism and mild concern.  

“It’s time,” Lucius said simply, his deep voice cutting through the quiet hum of the office. Tim let out a low sigh, his hand dropping from his face as he sat up straighter. “Right. The pharmaceutical showdown.” There was a faint, bitter edge to his voice. Lucius raised an eyebrow at Tim's tone but didn’t comment immediately. Instead, he stepped further into the office, glancing briefly at the coffee cup on Tim's desk. “Triple shot?” he asked, his tone light but knowing.

Tim smirked faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Had to. I need all the help I can get to sit through this one.” Lucius nodded, settling into the chair across from Tim. “I can’t say I blame you. The pharmaceutical team’s proposals have been... aggressive, to put it mildly. I assume you’re planning to shut them down again?”

Tim scoffed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk. “Of course. There’s no way I’m letting them push a campaign to jack up prices on essential meds. Insulin, for crying out loud. Amoxicillin. Levothyroxine. These aren’t luxury items. People need them to survive.” His voice rose slightly, frustration slipping through his usually composed exterior, but it was something he was passionate about, not to mention something that affected, not nearly as much as others, but with one of those medications being one he used it was a subject he was very willing to fight over. 

Lucius regarded him carefully, his expression thoughtful. “ You know they’re going to push back harder this time. They’ve already been courting some of the board members, trying to sway them to their side.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Tim muttered, his fingers drumming against the desk. “I’ve seen the emails. The ‘we’re only doing this for the good of the company’ spiel. As if gutting our reputation and alienating the people who rely on us is good for anyone.” Lucius sighed, adjusting his glasses. “It’s a delicate balance, Mr. Drake. The board still has to answer to shareholders. Some of them might see this as an opportunity to boost profits.”

Tim’s eyes darkened, and he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “And that’s exactly why I’m going to shut this down. We’re not some faceless corporation that only cares about the bottom line. This is Wayne Enterprises. We’re supposed to do better.” A small smile tugged at the corner of Lucius’s mouth. “You sound like Bruce.”

Tim hesitated, then gave a small nod, the weight of Lucius’s words settling over him. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “That means a lot.” Lucius straightens his jacket. “Well, we’d better get to it. The board’s already gathered, and I’m sure Marketing is eager to make their case.” Tim rose, grabbing his tablet and the half-empty cup. He lingered for a moment, his fingers tightening around the tablet as if bracing himself. “Let’s do this.”

Together, they walked down the hallway toward the boardroom, their footsteps echoing against the polished floors. Tim’s mind raced, already preparing counterarguments and anticipating the tactics the pharmaceutical team would use, he knew it all already, as much as he wouldn't admit it to anyone, he had seen all the emails passed between different board members, and knew the words different executives would say. Bruce would say it was Paranoia to be this into it, stalking people's emails and ‘private’ work conversations, Tim on the other hand believed it was being thorough and Knowing his enemy. 

When they reached the boardroom, the double doors loomed before them. Tim took a deep breath, his expression hardening into the calm, resolute mask he wore for these kinds of battles. Lucius gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before pushing the doors open. The room was filled with the murmur of voices, the long conference table surrounded by board members and executives. At the far end, the representatives from Marketing and Pharmaceuticals were already seated, their polished smiles and expensive suits doing little to disguise their predatory intent. They wanted to play predator. Tim would show them what happens when you think the hunter is prey.

As Tim stepped inside, the room quieted. All eyes turned to him, and for a brief moment, the weight of the company’s legacy seemed to rest squarely on his shoulders. But he didn’t falter. He squared his shoulders, walked to his seat at the head of the table, and set his tablet down with a quiet thud as he takes his seat elegantly. 

“Good Morning,” he said, his voice steady and firm. “Let’s get started.”

The boardroom was tense, the air thick with the weight of the discussion about to take place, many picking up on the way Tim Drake’s presence seems to almost shift the air of the room, he wasn't trapped in here with them,they were trapped with Him. Tim sat at the head of the long conference table, His fingers drummed lightly against the polished wood, a steady rhythm that betrays nothing of his thoughts to them.

Around him, the board members murmured quietly, and the team from Marketing and Pharmaceuticals sat with their polished smiles, exuding the confidence of people who thought they were about to win. Lucius sat to Tim’s right, When the room finally settled and all eyes turned to him, Tim leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table.

“Alright,” he began, his voice steady but sharp. “What is your proposal? you pulled me away from my family for this meeting, I hope it is worth my time” he states plainly, his icy blue eyes focusing in on the head members, who squirm slightly under his gaze. One thing was for sure, Tim Drake may have been young but he held a Boardroom with more power than Bruce ever did, Bruce used charm to win over people's hearts, Tim used cold hard facts, logistics and blackmail when he felt it. 

The head of Wayne Pharmaceuticals, a man named Eric Drayton, cleared his throat and stood. He adjusted his tie as he began to speak, his tone practiced and smooth. “Thank you, Mr. Drake-Wayne. As you know, over the last quarter, we’ve seen a significant rise in production costs, particularly in the pharmaceutical division. After careful analysis, our team believes that a modest increase in the pricing of certain medications—such as insulin, amoxicillin, and levothyroxine—would allow us to maintain profitability while continuing to deliver high-quality products.”

Tim’s jaw tightened, but he stayed silent, letting Drayton continue. “The marketing department has already prepared a campaign to frame this adjustment in a way that emphasizes the value and innovation Wayne Pharmaceuticals brings to the market. We believe that this will not only bolster shareholder confidence but also ensure we remain competitive in the global pharmaceutical industry.”

Tim leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable but he doesn't blink and it's clear he's unsettling a few attendees. When Drayton finally sat down, clearly pleased with himself, Tim let the silence hang in the air for a moment. Then, he leaned forward, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

“Let me make sure I understand your proposal,” Tim began, his tone calm but the ice in it cuts. “Your big idea to ‘maintain profitability’ is to price-gouge people for life-saving medication. You want to charge more for insulin, amoxycillin, and levothyroxine—medications that people literally depend on to stay alive. Is that correct?”

Drayton shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his polished confidence faltering under Tim’s sharp gaze. “Well, it’s not ‘price-gouging,’ Mr. Drake-Wayne. It’s—”

“It’s exactly price-gouging,” Tim says, cutting him off. “Let me give you an example. In Australia, insulin packs cost $6.94 that is after Tax and with their healthcare system, it does Vary but Australia has a protection on Medical and medications, but that’s what people pay for it. In America, the same insulin costs $98.70. *Before* tax. And you want Wayne Pharmaceuticals to join in on this racket? To charge people even more for something they can’t live without?”

The room was silent, the weight of Tim’s words pressing down on everyone. Drayton opened his mouth to respond, but Tim didn’t give him the chance. “And let’s talk about Wayne Pharmaceuticals’ insulin,” Tim continued, his voice growing sharper. “Right now, we currently charge $23 for it before it's Taxed by the chemist. That’s already more than triple the cost in Australia. And now you’re saying we need to raise the price even higher? If I may Mr Drayton, do you currently use medication?”

Drayton cleared his throat, his face reddening. “Mr. Drake-Wayne, with all due respect, these adjustments are necessary to keep up with rising costs and—” 

“Don’t,” Tim said, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t try to justify this to me. I take amoxycillin due to my immune system being compromised from my Spleen. I know exactly how often I need new prescriptions for it due to not having a Spleen, which is an organ that I can live without, and I know exactly how much it costs. I can afford it because of my position here and because of my family’s wealth. But what about the people who can’t? What about the single parents, the minimum-wage workers, the people who are already drowning in medical debt? Do you honestly think they’re going to look at your ‘modest price increase’ and say, ‘Oh, yes, I’d love to spend even more of my paycheck on staying alive’? Or are they just going to stop taking their medication altogether because they can’t afford it?”

Drayton looked like he wanted to sink into his chair, but Tim wasn’t done. “And if you think the public is just going to roll over and accept this, I’d suggest you take a look at what happened in New York. The CEO of United Healthcare was gunned down in the street. And you know what the public’s reaction was? Nothing. No one cared, they celebrated it. Because he’d spent his career profiting off people’s deaths, and everyone knew it.”

His words cut through the room like ice. “Is that what you want Wayne Enterprises to become? A company so reviled that people cheer when one of our executives gets taken out? Because if we go down this road, that’s exactly where we’re headed.” 

Lucius, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke, his voice calm but firm. “Mr. Drake is right. Wayne Enterprises has always prided itself on being a company that puts people first, we are known as a world class company for affordability for everyone. If we abandon that now, we’ll lose more than just our reputation. We’ll lose the trust of the people who rely on us. And without that trust, no profit.”

Tim nodded, his gaze sweeping over the room. “If Wayne Enterprises wants to stay a leading company—if we want to remain the most sought-after name in the industry not only in America but the world, then we need to stand for something more than profits. We need to stand for people. And if anyone here thinks otherwise, I suggest you find another company to work for, because I’m not budging on this. And if anyone tries to bring this proposal to me again it will be thrown out before the Email even reaches me”

The room was silent, the weight of Tim’s words hanging in the air. Drayton looked like he wanted to argue, but one glance at the determined set of Tim’s jaw told him it would be pointless. “Any other questions?” Tim asked, his voice sharp.

No one spoke.

“Good,” he said, standing and grabbing his tablet. “This meeting is over. I hope you all enjoy the rest of your day, I have another meeting to attend too” And with that, Tim strode out of the room, leaving the stunned board members and executives behind.

The boardroom door clicked shut behind Tim, and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His footsteps echoed through the quiet hallway as he made his way back to his office, his mind still replaying the meeting. He could still feel the tension in the room, the weight of the arguments, and the barely restrained frustration threatening to boil over. But it was done. For now, at least.

When he reached his office, Tim pushed the door open and stepped inside, letting it close softly behind him. His eyes immediately darted to the espresso machine in the corner. The idea of another triple shot espresso was tempting—too tempting. He stood there for a moment, staring at it like he was trying to will himself to resist. Finally, he shook his head.

turning away from the machine. Instead, he moved to the small fridge tucked under the counter. Pulling the door open, he grabbed a cold bottle of apple and blackcurrant juice. The condensation felt cool against his palm as he twisted the cap off and took a long sip. The tart, sweet flavor was refreshing, and for the first time that morning, he felt himself start to relax, just a little.

Tim crossed the room and sank into his office chair, the leather creaking softly beneath him. He leaned back, letting the cool juice wash away the residual bitterness of the meeting. For a moment, he closed his eyes, the faint hum of the building around him a comforting white noise. The knock on his door was soft but didn’t surprise him. He didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. “Come in, Lucius.”

Lucius stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. He carried the same leather-bound notebook he’d had in the meeting, but his posture was more relaxed now, his expression less formal. He walked over to one of the chairs across from Tim’s desk and sat down, setting the notebook on his lap. “You handled that well,” Lucius said, his voice calm and steady. “Firm, clear, and you didn’t let them sidestep the issue.”

Tim gave a small, humorless chuckle, swirling the juice in the bottle. “Yeah, well, I don’t think I’ll be getting any Christmas cards from Drayton this year.” Lucius smiled faintly. “I doubt you were ever on his list to begin with. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you made the right call. The board needed to hear it, and so did the pharmaceutical team.”

Tim sighed, setting the juice bottle down on his desk with a soft thud. “They’re not going to stop, you know. Drayton, the marketing team, the board members who only care about the shareholders—they’ll keep pushing. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next week, but they’ll try again.”

“Of course they will,” Lucius said. “That’s the nature of the business. But as long as you’re here, Tim, they’ll know they have to fight for every inch. And that kind of resistance can make them think twice.” Tim leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “I just... I hate that we even have to have these conversations. This isn’t what Wayne Enterprises is supposed to be. It’s not who we are.”

Tim looked down at the desk, his fingers tracing absent patterns on the wood grain. “It’s just... exhausting. Knowing that every day there’s going to be another fight. Another argument. Another group of people trying to convince me to put profits over people, especially in that industry.”

The two sat in companionable silence for a few moments, the tension from the morning slowly ebbing away. Tim reached for his juice and took another sip, the tart sweetness grounding him.  

Finally, Lucius stood, smoothing his jacket. “I’ll let you get back to it. But if you need anything”

“I know,” Tim said, looking up at him with a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, Lucius.”

Lucius nodded and made his way to the door, leaving Tim alone in the quiet of his office. Tim leaned back in his chair again, staring up at the ceiling as he let out a long breath. The fight wasn’t over. not by a long shot, but for now, he’d won. And that was something.

Tim glanced at his watch, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His next meeting wasn’t in some stuffy boardroom or sterile office space—it was at the Wayne Enterprises steel manufacturing and shipping plant with Mr. Brill. Out of all the meetings he had to attend, this one was a rare bright spot.  

Brill was one of the good ones, a man who didn’t just care about deadlines and quotas but about the people who worked under him. He was the kind of manager Tim wished every department had, hardworking, down-to-earth, and fiercely protective of his teams, he wasn’t a head but as leading hand of manufacturing Tim had made it very clear he would be dealing with him instead of another Executive. It was evident in everything he did: the way he supervised, the way he fought for fair wages and better conditions.

By the time Tim arrived at the steel plant, the familiar hum of machinery and the rhythmic clang of metal filled the air. The factory floor was bustling with activity. workers in hardhats and safety vests moving between massive equipment, forklifts whirring as they transported raw materials, and the faint smell of oil and heated metal clinging to the air.  

Mr. Brill was already waiting for him near the entrance, his broad frame and weathered face instantly recognizable. He was leaning against a railing, clipboard in hand, scanning over some papers. The moment he spotted Tim, he broke into a wide grin. “Mr. Drake!” Brill called, his voice booming over the din of the factory. He strode forward, extending a hand. “Good to see you again, son.”  

Tim returned the handshake with a warm smile. “Good to see you too, Brill. And please, drop the ‘Mr.’ stuff. Just Tim.” Brill chuckled, the deep sound echoing as he clapped Tim on the shoulder. “You say that every time, and I still can’t get used to it. But alright, Tim. Let’s get started. Got plenty to show you.” The two of them set off across the factory floor, walking side by side. Workers glanced up as they passed, offering nods and waves, which Tim returned with ease.  

“How’s the team doing?” Tim asked, his voice raised slightly to be heard over the noise. Brill’s grin widened. “They’re doing good, real good. We’ve been hitting our production targets ahead of schedule, and the new safety protocols you approved last quarter? They’ve made a world of difference. Injuries are down, morale’s up. Can’t thank you enough for pushing that through. we have had 12% increase in sales, not to mention contracts”  

Tim waved it off. “You’re the one who brought it to my attention. All I did was make sure it got funded.” Brill nodded appreciatively. “Still, we all know it wouldn’t have happened without you backing it. These guys out here? They notice things like that. They know who’s looking out for them.” As they walked, Tim took in the sights around him. Workers moved with practiced efficiency, their faces focused but not strained. There was a sense of camaraderie in the air, a stark contrast to the corporate world Tim had just left behind, it was like a den of hungry wolves waiting for a scrap.  

“You’ve got a good crew here,” Tim said as they climbed a set of metal stairs that overlooked the factory floor. “That I do,” Brill agreed, his tone proud. “Best damn team in the business, if you ask me.” They stopped at the railing, looking out over the bustling plant. Brill gestured with his clipboard. “So, here’s the deal. We’ve got a couple of new contracts coming in over the next few months, big ones. Steel for infrastructure projects, mostly. Bridges, rail lines, that sort of thing. It’s going to ramp up production, but we’re ready for it. Got the equipment, got the manpower. Only thing we’ll need is approval for some overtime pay to make sure the night crews are covered.”  

Tim nodded thoughtfully. “Consider it approved with time and a half added as an extra benefit on top of it. If this is going to put extra strain on your team, they deserve to be compensated for it.”  

Brill’s grin returned. “Knew you’d say that. I already told the guys to expect it.” Tim smirked. “You’re making me predictable, Brill.”  

“Predictable in the best way,” Brill said with a chuckle. “It’s why the guys out here respect you. You don’t just talk, the talk. you walk it. That matters. your not a suit to these men, funny enough you take after Bruce”  

Tim leaned against the railing, his gaze drifting over the factory floor. It was easy to get caught up in the chaos of corporate meetings, budgets, and shareholder reports, but being here, seeing the faces of the people who actually made Wayne Enterprises run, reminded him of why he fought so hard to keep the company’s values intact.  

After a few more minutes of discussion about logistics, safety protocols, and upcoming projects, Brill led Tim back down to the floor. As they walked, workers continued to wave and call out greetings, and Tim made a point to respond to each one. When they finally reached the exit, Brill turned to him, his expression warm. “Thanks for coming out, Tim. It means a lot to the crew and to me.”  

Tim kept walking alongside Brill, the steady hum of the factory floor a comforting backdrop to their conversation. His hand rested lightly on the steel railing as they passed rows of machinery, workers busy at their stations. He couldn’t help but think about how much he preferred this—the clanging of metal, the smell of grease and oil, the laughter and banter of workers over the constant, sterile chatter of executives, shareholders, and marketing teams. These were the people Tim appreciated. The ones who kept the company running. 

“If I could, I’d spend the whole day down here,” Tim said, half-joking but with a trace of honesty in his voice. Brill laughed, a deep, hearty sound that echoed over the noise of the factory. “Can’t say I’d blame you. Sure beats sitting in some stuffy office all day, doesn’t it?”  

“You have no idea,” Tim replied, glancing over at one of the welding stations where a worker gave them a quick nod. Tim returned the gesture with a small wave. “The meetings today have been... let’s just say I’d rather be anywhere else.” Brill raised a brow, his curiosity piqued. “Rough morning already?”  

Tim snorted softly, his expression hardening just a little. “You could say that. Some office heads decided it was a good time to try and pitch a price hike on our medications. Insulin, amoxycillin, levothyroxine. They tried to frame it as a business strategy.” Brill’s face darkened at that, his hand tightening around the clipboard he was holding. “You’re kidding me.” 

“I wish I was,” Tim said, his tone sharp. “They were throwing out all the usual excuses ‘production costs,’ ‘shareholder confidence,’ ‘maintaining profitability.’ But it’s all just corporate-speak for ‘let’s see how much more we can squeeze out of people before they break.’”  

Brill shook his head, his expression grim. “You shut them down, though, right?” Tim gave him a sidelong glance. “What do you think?” Brill cracked a small grin despite the frustration on his face. “Good.”  

Tim stopped walking for a moment, turning to face Brill fully. “You know what pisses me off the most? You. Your team. These guys are out here. You’re the ones I think about when they start pulling that crap. I know plenty of people here rely on Wayne Pharma medications.”  

Brill’s expression softened, and he rested a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, Tim. Not a lot of people in your position would give a damn about this stuff. Most of them wouldn’t even know what their workers are dealing with, let alone care.”  

Tim shrugged, looking down at the floor for a moment before meeting Brill’s gaze again. “It’s not hard to care when you actually look around. These guys work their asses off every day. They deserve better. And it’s not just about them, it’s personal for me, too. I’ve been on amoxycillin since I was 13. I know how often I need to refill the prescription.”  

Brill watched him carefully, his respect for Tim deepening with every word. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, kid. Bruce would be proud.” Tim smiled faintly at that, though there was a sadness in his eyes. “I hope so. I’m trying to do right by him. By all of this.” He gestured to the factory around them.  

Tim was leaning casually against a railing, chatting with Brill about one of the new infrastructure contracts, when he spotted a familiar figure moving through the bustling factory floor. It was hard to miss Alfred he was impeccably dressed as always, his suit and tie a stark contrast to the high-vis vests and steel-toed boots surrounding him. Yet, despite his formal attire, Alfred moved through the factory with ease, his calm presence blending seamlessly with the industrious energy of the workers.  

He was speaking to one of the crew, a man in high-vis gesturing toward Tim. Alfred nodded politely, offering a small smile before continuing in Tim’s direction.  Brill turned to see what had caught Tim’s attention and let out a low chuckle. “Looks like you’ve got company.” Tim laughs. “Of course I do. Alfred always finds me.”  

“That man’s got a sixth sense when it comes to you, doesn’t he?”  

“You have no idea,” Tim muttered with a grin.  

When Alfred finally reached them, he gave a polite nod to Brill before turning his attention to Tim. “Master Timothy,” he said in his usual calm tone, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I see you’re keeping yourself busy.” Tim waved a hand toward the factory around him. “Just catching up with Brill and the team. Honestly, I’d happily spend the rest of the day here if it meant avoiding another meeting.” Brill laughed, clapping Tim on the back. “You’re welcome anytime, Tim. But something tells me Alfred’s not here to let you hang around.”  

“You would be correct, Mr. Brill,” Alfred replied with a faint smile. “I’m here to collect Master Timothy for his scheduled outing” Tim groaned playfully, though there was a hint of genuine reluctance in his tone. “Right. I almost forgot about that.”  Alfred raised an eyebrow, a smile working its way to his lips. “I highly doubt that, sir. You promised me this morning that you’d make time for it.”  

Brill chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, I won’t keep you, Tim. But don’t be a stranger, alright? You’re always welcome here.” “Thanks, Brill,” Tim said, shaking his hand firmly. “And thanks for everything you do. Seriously.”  Brill waved him off. “Just doing my job. You take care.”  

With that, Brill turned and headed back toward the factory floor, leaving Tim and Alfred standing by the railing. Tim glanced around the bustling factory one last time, feeling the faint pull of wanting to stay.  

As they exited the factory, the noise of the machinery faded behind them, replaced by the hum of the city. Alfred led the way to the sleek black car waiting just outside, holding the door open for Tim. Finally, he sighed and slid into the car. As Alfred took his seat in the driver’s position and started the engine, Tim leaned back, the faint smell of steel and oil still lingering in his mind.  

“Alright, Alfred,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Let’s go pick out some plants.” The car pulled away from the factory, heading toward the nursery. And though Tim’s mind was already drifting back to the battles he’d fought that morning.

True to his word, Alfred made a slight detour on the way to the nursery, pulling the car up to the curb outside Tim’s favorite café. It was a cozy little spot nestled on a quiet street corner, the kind of place that didn’t rely on flashy signs or gimmicks to draw customers. Instead, it was all about the warm atmosphere, the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafting out the door. Tim perked up as the car slowed, his earlier reluctance to leave the factory melting into a small smile. “Thanks, Alfred. You didn’t have to, you know.”  

“Nonsense,” Alfred replied, cutting the engine as he glanced at Tim in the rearview mirror. “I believe I recall someone declaring this café’s iced Lungo to be ‘the single greatest invention mankind has ever achieved.’ I couldn’t possibly deny you such brilliance on a day like today.”  

Tim laughed, shaking his head as he opened the car door. “Did I really say that?” “You did,” Alfred said, his tone dry but fond. “Though I refrained from reminding you that the same could be said for the wheel, penicillin, and indoor plumbing.”  

Tim grinned as he stepped out of the car, closing the door behind him. “Fair point. I’ll keep that in mind.” The café was already buzzing with its usual mid-afternoon crowd, the hum of quiet conversations mixing with the occasional hiss of the espresso machine. As Tim walked through the door, the familiar scent of coffee and baked goods enveloped him, instantly making him feel just a little more at ease.  

“Tim!” one of the baristas called from behind the counter, a young woman with a bright smile and a teal streak in her hair. “The usual?” “You know it, Jess,” Tim replied, leaning casually against the counter. “How’s it going today?”  

“Same old, same old,” Jess said as she started working on his drink. “Though I’m guessing your day hasn’t been quite as mellow, huh? You’ve got that ‘already over it’ look.” Tim chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “You have no idea.”  

Jess smirked as she handed him his drink. “Well, at least you’ve got this. One iced Lungo, with an extra shot of espresso because I’m guessing you’ll need it.” “You’re a lifesaver,” Tim said, handing her a generous tip before taking a sip. The rich, smooth flavor hit him instantly, and he let out a satisfied sigh. “Perfect as always.”  

“Glad you think so,” Jess said, waving him off as another customer approached the counter. “Take care, Tim!” Tim gave her a small wave as he headed back out to the car, the drink already working its magic. Alfred had the door open for him by the time he reached the curb, and Tim slid back into his seat with a grateful nod.  

“Feel better, sir?” Alfred asked as he started the car again, merging smoothly into the light afternoon traffic. “Much,” Tim replied, holding up the drink like it was a trophy. “This is exactly what I needed.”  

“Excellent,” Alfred said, the corners of his mouth twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. “Now, if you’re properly fortified, we can continue to the nursery.” Tim chuckled, leaning back in his seat as the car moved through the city streets.  

As they approached the plant nursery, Tim glanced out the window, his thoughts starting to shift. He was looking forward to the greenery, the quiet, and the chance to spend some time with Alfred away from the chaos of Wayne Enterprises. The drive to the nursery was surprisingly pleasant. The city’s bustling energy gradually gave way to quieter streets lined with trees and the occasional glimpse of open fields, a rare sight that Tim couldn’t help but appreciate, even if he wasn’t particularly looking forward to the task ahead. Alfred, however, seemed to be enjoying himself. Tim caught the faint smile on the older man’s face as the car rolled to a stop in front of the nursery’s entrance.

The nursery itself was charming, a sprawling space filled with rows of vibrant plants, earthy tones, and the sweet, clean scent of flowers and soil. A hand-painted wooden sign reading "Sarah's Green Thumb Nursery" hung above the entrance gate, swaying slightly in the gentle breeze. Beyond the entrance.

Alfred turned off the car and looked over at Tim, his smile still lingering. “Here we are, Master Timothy. I’m sure you’ll manage to survive this ordeal, even if it’s not a boardroom battle.” Tim rolled his eyes, though the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. “You’re enjoying this way too much, Alfred.”  

“Guilty as charged,” Alfred replied smoothly, stepping out of the car.  

Tim followed, stretching briefly before shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. He glanced around the nursery, taking in the sight of vibrant flowers, rows of potted plants, and the occasional worker moving between tasks.  As they approached the main office, the door swung open, and Sarah, the owner of the nursery, stepped out. She was in her late 40s, her sun-kissed skin and earth-stained overalls a testament to the amount of time she spent working outdoors. Her warm smile widened when she spotted Alfred.  

“Alfred!” she called, wiping her hands on a towel slung over her shoulder. “It’s been ages!”  

“Not that long, Sarah,” Alfred replied with a chuckle, shaking her hand firmly. “You’re as lively as ever, I see.”  

“And you’re as sharp as ever,” Sarah quipped before turning to Tim. “And this must be the ‘young man’ you’ve been telling me about. Tim, right?”  Tim offered a polite smile, shaking her hand. “That’s me. It’s nice to meet you, Sarah.”  

“Likewise,” Sarah said, her eyes twinkling. “Alfred’s been singing your praises for years. It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.” Tim shot Alfred a look. “You’ve been talking about me?”  

“Only occasionally,” Alfred said innocently. “Mostly when I’m in need of an amusing anecdote.”  

Sarah laughed as Tim sighed dramatically. “Well, don’t worry, Tim. We’ll go easy on you today. We’ve got plenty of plants to look at, but I promise we’ll make it as painless as possible.”  

Tim smirked. “I appreciate that.”  

As Sarah led them deeper into the nursery, she pointed out various sections of flowering plants, shrubs, herbs, and the greenhouse where some of the more delicate plants were kept. Workers bustled around, potting plants, trimming leaves, and watering rows of greenery.  Tim’s gaze wandered as they walked, eventually catching sight of one of the larger greenhouses. Inside, a young man was working diligently, earbuds in as he hummed along to whatever music was playing. He moved with practiced ease, pruning plants, arranging them neatly on benches, and sorting orders with a quiet focus.  

Tim found himself watching for a moment, intrigued by the calm yet efficient way he worked. There was something oddly soothing about it—seeing someone so at ease, so immersed in their task. Sarah noticed Tim’s attention and glanced toward the greenhouse. “That’s Y/N,” she said with a smile. “He’s one of our best. Always up early, always working hard, and somehow always in a good mood. I don’t know how he does it, but the plants seem to love him.”  

Tim raised an eyebrow. “You make him sound like a plant whisperer.” “Sometimes I think he might be,” Sarah said with a laugh. “He’s been helping me here for a while now. Great kid. If you need someone to find a particular plant, he’s your guy.”  

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Tim said, his tone light but genuine. Alfred, of course, noticed Tim’s interest and gave a knowing smile. “Perhaps you should introduce yourself, sir..”  Tim shook his head slightly, though he was still watching Y/N from the corner of his eye as the young man carefully placed a potted mix of Peonies onto a waiting cart. “Maybe later. Let’s get through the plant selection first.” “Very well,” Alfred said, with a content hum. 

_______________

[i-yap]

Batboys x reader- call in the middle of s*x

no minors read this pls

Dick grayson

CHEEKY TEASING PIECE OF SH*T this man is. Will calmly lift his face from your neck to grab the phone on the bedside table. "babyyy* y/n groan mad that he would stop. Oh she wishes he would stop. Because dick put the speaker phone on, kept the phone beside her face and continued to rail her. And she swears he got faster. "you don't want them hearing you do you sweetie? don't want them to know you're a whore right? you'll be good wont you?" he whispers. Somehow all this isn't affecting how he is talking on the call. his voice steady and friendly, but you can tell its hard for him too with the way his hand grips you tighter and his hips stutter.

Jason

Gets mad. how dare someone take away his moment of enlightenment, or joy, or ...ugh he cant even put it in words. has he not suffered enough? will growl and throw the phone against the wall smashing it completely. you let out a yelp in shock your eyes widening in fear which he quickly shuhses holding you face in his hands with gentleness that makes u think u hallucinated the aggression just second ago. slowly rocks into you kissing you slowly as if lulling you back into bliss.

Tim

didnt even realize. You have to tug his hair away from your breasts.."t-tim the phone" you point out "hm?" he is too far gone to register anything..too pussy drunk to think straight.."tim!" you say firmer, " ill call them back" he mumbles. not even the annoying ring of his phone can snap him away from you.

Bruce

groans before siting up to take the call still gently rocking into you. but unlike dick he isn't being mean about it. "bruceee" you whine clawing at his abdomen "pleaseee" you nearly sob. he's teased you enough before this( always does some form of foreplay and usually a lengthy one- usually denial rather than overstimulation) I places his finger to his lip to tell u to shush. Grunt as he talks over the call, will clamp his hand down over you mouth if you make too much noise

[nosyrobin]

IMAGINE

Tim having you in his lap with you snoring. Tim’s groggy eyes look down at his sleeping friend that so very much clingy. But he can’t help but enjoy their presence, Tim shuffled your head a bit, making sure it doesn’t hurt. You groan, clinging to him more as the workaholic just smile. Taking one of his hands off the keyboard and putting it in the side of your hip. You stopped moving and relaxed, snoring again in his touch. Tim just chuckled, kissing your head before he actually got up. Saving his document of reports, and turning off his computer. He lays down with you still clinging to him. Legs wrapped around the man’s waist as his arms are around you safely. Careful to not touch you inappropriately. As he closed his eyes, he felt you smile in your sleep. Hugging him, it felt comforting enough for him to pass out.

[glamourscat]

It was 3am and you were supposed to be asleep, but after dating TIM DRAKE for almost two years now, you picked up on his weird sleeping patterns. Tonight in particular your brain won’t rest. Not until you will receive his usual post patrol message.

2am, then 2:30, 3 and 3:30am rolls around and your lack of sleep was slowly turning into anxiety. Why hadn’t he texted yet? Did something happened? You try to make sense of the situation, but your brain is refusing from making you think logically. And just as you were about to message him, his message comes through.

“sorry for the late message. had to run in the shower immediately after i arrived home cause i was covered in blood” he texts 

“not mine btw” he follows up, knowing already to clarify. 

“good, good. im glad you’re ok love, i was beginning to worry. what are you doing now then?” you text back, eyes fluttering at the screen waiting for those three dots to appear. But they don’t. In their place a picture appears. 

Him. In front of the mirror. His face covered by his phone, one arm on the sink leaning a bit to flex his muscles and that towel dangerously low, enough to see his v-line and the outline of his hardness against it. Oh….

“damn, drop the towel? 🙂‍↕️🙏🏻”  “for scientific purposes obviously…” you add in two consecutive texts. 

You know it’s unlikely he would do it, but teasing him comes naturally to y— he did it. You cannot even continue your train of thoughts because suddenly his next picture comes through. The towel gone, his pretty cock— and that damn blushy pink tip— staring right back at ya, hard against his stomach. 

You can’t even begin to form a coherent thought  as another picture comes through. 

This time he is on his bed, on his knees— which are open to show the view between his legs— His hungry, leaking, cock is begging to be touched; while his face now—no longer covered by the phone— looks at his phone through the mirror reflection with a knowingly devilish grin. And your mind goes to one thought, and one only, how desperately you wish to have a dick. Because he looks so damn breedable right now. 

“cause I don’t feel like I did it right the first time ;)” he texts back within seconds from sending that second picture. 

“hey…? you still there lol?” he texts back after 10,  long minutes without a reply from you. Did he overstep? Was it too much…?  But then the outdoor camera alerts him of a movement outside his front door. 

“im outside. open me up.”  ________________________________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

A/N: I wrote this at 5AM and had the sudden, horny, urge of writing for Tim. Nothing else to add lmao. Also this is not proofread :(

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[ahqkas]

— gn!reader, suggestive content

the quiet hum of the computer was the only sound in the room as TIM DRAKE sat slouched in his spinning chair, his tired eyes glued to the screen. the dark circles that framed them betrayed the exhaustion he tried to hide. the desk was littered with blank papers, empty cups, and half-finished notes. you stood in the doorway, watching him, the flickering light of the screen casting shadows across his face.

“tim,” you called out into the dark room quietly as you took a step inside. the concern was dripping from your tone. “you’re still at it?”

the boy in question looked up and his eyes locked with yours. he offered you a small, tired smile that didn’t quite reach the corners of his eyes. “just a little more,” he muttered, his voice rough from hours of not talking. the way he rubbed his temples told you he was beyond the point if exhaustion.

you approached him, walking slowly across the room. as you came closer, the palm of your hand found its way to his shoulder, gently pressing down. the muscles there were tense beneath your touch, a sign of the pressure he’s been under. “tim,” your fingers traced along the muscle of his shoulder in a subtle attempt to ease the tension. “you need a break.”

his hand lifted and brushed against yours, fingers closing softly around your wrist. his touch was warm and comforting as his eyes found yours once again, but there was something different in their depths now—something softer, like he was finally allowing himself to stop pretending everything was fine. “i’ll take a break if you’re here.”

a small smile tugged at your lips, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned in, brushing your lips over his in a sweet kiss.

the kiss deepened quickly, his hands moving to your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you against him. his touch was urgent now as if the weight of the past hours melted away in an instant once he was with you. one of his hands slid to the small of your back, long fingers splaying across the skin, while the other cupped your cheek in a gentle hold. the kiss grew more heated from this point.

you responded eagerly, your hands moving from his shoulders to his chest, fingers brushing against the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his sweatshirt. he groaned softly into your mouth and the sound sent a shiver down your spine. you heart raced a little faster when you felt tim’s lips trailing down your neck along with his fingers sliding under your shirt, just grazing the curve of your bare back.

gasping softly at the contact, you urged him to kiss you again. his lips were back on yours in an instant, more desperate this time.

you couldn’t get enough of him—his hands, his lips, the way he handled you, like he needed this as much as he needed breathing. ( if he stopped, he’d simply parish ). you ran your hands down his chest, feeling the steady heartbeat beneath your fingertips, before you pulled his sweatshirt off, tossing it aside. tim let out a quiet breath at the sudden motion but he was back at worshiping you just as fast.

if he could, he’d swallow all of your sweetness, have you melt into his veins and let you flow through his system. he’d let you rot his teeth because only then he’d be convinced you’re real.

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

[shortnsweetsposts]

Tim: You have to promise not to freak out!

Bat!reader: Okay...? What is it?

Tim: Do you... like me?

Bat!reader: What do you mean do I like you?

Tim: Like you know, do you have a crush on me?

Bat!reader: Love.

Tim: Uhum.

Bat!reader: We've been dating FOR 2 YEARS!?!!

[ice-cream-writes-stuff]

Hi, random thought but YK how in the first movie in Spiderman into the multiverse and Peter Parker was fighting. During the scene, it showed him stopping a full on huge moving machine- so like... Imagine spiderman!reader surprising everyone with their strength 😧

[That is a great ask! ALSO, Happy Birthday Jason Todd!]

《BATBOYS and SPIDER!S/O》 Mini Series

[1/?]

╭╭(╭◕‿◕╮)╮╮ ♡ /|\ ^._.^ /|\

Bruce Wayne:

Typing down the mission report for the Leauge. Batman heard you scurrying about behind him.

"Where... Did I..? Is it- No...?" You mumble, carefully moving a few things around.

"What did you loose." Batman stated, eyes focused on the big screen.

"My new pen, I bought it just to help finish paperwork!" You mumble worried, jumping up on a near by wall as you crawl above. Looking down below carefully.

Suddenly, you hop down, walking up behind him. Causing him to pause momentarily as you lean down. Wait-

"Found it! It was underneath you!"

You beam up at him as he looks down at you from his seated position. Easily hoisting the chair with one hand. Politely lowering him back down.

"Thanks B!" You lean to his side happily.

-

Dick Grayson:

It was supposed to be a simple patrol... NOT fight off a few henchman from Killer Croc!

Spidey-sense out of control, you duck down from one of the goons swings. Barely dodging out of the way in time-

*CRASH!*

A bottle crashes down on your shoulder, bits of glass still wedge between your skin and suit

The air becomes thick as the goons freeze at the loud noise.

Even Nightwing mid-remark, gapes at the wound.

...

Ignoring the look Nightwing gave you, you drag the criminals by the scruff of their shirts to the officer.

Giving them your report on what happend, you shoot out a web. Winicing at your injury, you ready yourself for web-slinging. Before a hands grasps your shoulder.

"Please..."

He murmers hopefully, tone a bit guilty.

"... Fine." You relent, watching him grin as he goes to grab his bike.

-

Jason Todd:

With a pep-in-your-step, Jason eyes you. Seeing your bright smile like he expected, but what caught him off gaurd were the bags on BAGS you held in your grip, walking with ease.

Bruce had sent piles of gifts to your doorstep and mailbox for Jasons birthday. Many items to the point you knew that could make many trips bringing them inside. But you would not Jason even lift a finger to help on this special day!

While most friends, or boyfriends wouldn't let their s/o carry so much stuff. You stated with glee you would happily hold his things!

"Jason! Look at all of this! Aww!" You gush, holding the items with ease as you place them down by his side. The young man's lips turn up slightly, gazing fondly at you.

"Jason!" You swoon aloud, shoving the gifts so you could sit by his side. Puppy-eyed, begging him to let you smother his face with kisses.

-

Tim Drake:

Yawning, you scratch your neck as you eye Tim snuggled into your tummy's side. Raising a brow, you poke him. Laughing as he merely scooted closer.

Sticking your tounge at him, you poke at him one last time before he wakes up.

"Mornin'!"

Red Robin smiles, a bit more comforted with you beside him. He moves away, analyzing his area before noticing the keypad to the cell.

"O-Kkkkkaaay- How the hell do we get out of here." Glancing around the small prison cell, you notice a keypad as well.

"Oh, easy-peasy."

"You know the code?"

"Yup! Beep bo bop!" You narrate the bottons, but it glowed red. Showing it wasn't the right answer.

Smiling, you shove your fist through as the wires and glass break due to the impact.

-

[A little something for my Jason Todd fans out there! Happy bday Jason Todd!]

[reinersredemption]

celebrity gossip | Tim Drake x Vigilante!Reader ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

summary: while lounging on the watchtower, you decide to comment with red robin about gotham's newest celebrity gossip. masterlist

You’re lounging on the sofa in the Watchtower, the usual tension of crime-fighting missing in the quiet of the night. Red Robin is at the computer, eyes glued to the screen, but the city below remains disturbingly calm, the only sound filling the room was of quiet typing. It’s just the two of you for now.

“What are you doing?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“Catching up on Wayne drama,” you reply, still scrolling through your phone without looking up. The glow from the screen lights up your face, casting an eerie, almost ghostly light. “Can you believe Bruce Wayne is already on his third girlfriend this year? It's like this guy is trying to break his own personal record or something.”

“Is that, like, interesting to you?” Red Robin's tone is flat, but you can hear the curiosity in it.

“I mean, you’re from Gotham, right?” You finally glance up, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t really escape it. They make sure it’s shoved down our throats every day.”

“I’m not really into it” He tries to keep his voice monotone, as if he doesn’t care about the situation.

He’s used to the media circus, it helps him and his family, in a way. The more obnoxious the Wayne’s are, the less likely it is for the public to think they’re Gotham City’s caped crusaders. I benefited him.

Yet behind his mask, hearing you talk about it made him a little tense.

Ever since you entered the team, he’s been interested in you, hell, he was into you before that. You’ve met before, but he never expected his high school friend to become a vigilante as well, although seeing you in your superhero uniform made his heart skip a beat. Ever since then, he’s been secretly happy every time you’re paired up in missions, he treasures the moments where you two talk alone.

“I mean, they’re obviously obnoxious with the whole out-of-touch rich guy stuff.” You pause for a second “Tim is nice, though. I went to high school with him, he was pretty down-to earth. I had a massive crush on him, too.”

Red Robin freezes for a second, his fingers stilling over the keyboard. You don’t notice the slight stiffening of his posture as he processes what you said. He returns to typing on the computer, trying to regain some semblance of control.

You shrug, leaning back into the sofa as you casually reply. “He was a charming nerd with all the gadgets and the brains. He was also really kind to me, so yeah”

"He sounds nice." He forces himself to sound casual, to play it off. He cringes a bit internally, it feels strange to talk about himself like this, besides that, is it weird that he wants you to keep talking?

“Yeah, we don’t talk anymore, though,” you reply, a trace of nostalgia in your voice. "I really miss him."

Tim’s mind stirs, his fingers pausing over the keyboard again, caught in the sudden surge of emotion—maybe it’s the way your voice seemed filled with affection when you mentioned him. He takes a slow breath, trying to push the knot in his chest aside, turning around in his chair to face you, abruptly changing the subject.

"What other gossip do you have there?"

"Oh, you have no idea!" Your face lights up as you prepare to tell him every useless information you've learned in the past few hours.

And as the night stretches on, with the calm of the streets below, Tim lets himself believe that maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something more.

[miwsolovely]

—can you love me (like i love you?)

𝜗𝜚 — in which, red robin likes to shows up at your apartment for an irenic moment from the harsh lines of Gotham. he meets you and you meet him, all of him.

TIM DRAKE x CIVILIAN! GN!READER mild angst. reader pining over tim, vice versa if you squint. 3.8k. — this was so fun — requested

The night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of rain-soaked asphalt and blooming jasmine from the park nearby. You always found it comforting—an odd juxtaposition of Gotham’s grit and its rare moments of beauty. Tonight, however, it wasn’t the air that brought you solace. It was the quiet creak of boots landing on your fire escape.

You smiled before even turning to look. “You’re late,” You teased, peering over your shoulder at the figure perched outside your window.

“Got caught up,” Red Robin replied, his voice light but tinged with fatigue. He stepped into the room with a practiced ease, his cape swaying slightly as he entered. The mask didn’t hide much—the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his shoulders tensed from the weight of the night’s patrol.

“You okay?” You asked, setting down the tea you’d been preparing next to an additional mug, turning around to face him in the living room, ignoring the pressure of your island on your lower back.

It had become routine by now. After weeks of these impromptu visits, you’d learned his habits: the subtle signs of exhaustion, the occasional wince from a barely hidden injury.

“I’m fine,” He said, though the way he sank into your worn-out armchair betrayed him.

You sighed and let the warmth seep into your palms as you spun around and took a mug from the counter and handed it to him. He took it without argument, the warmth seeming to settle him as he leaned back. “Liar,” You quipped. His nose tensed when he lied.

It had started months ago, the first time he appeared outside your window like some wayward bird. You’d been startled, of course—who wouldn’t be? But he hadn’t come for trouble, just a quiet moment away from the chaos. And somehow, without ever planning to, you became part of his nightly routine.

The first few visits had been awkward. After all, how often does Gotham’s very own Red Robin show up uninvited? But over time, the strangeness faded. He was careful never to overstep, never to ask too many personal questions or reveal too much about himself. Instead, your conversations meandered—books, movies, music, even the weird quirks of Gotham’s neighborhoods.

It wasn’t just him who needed the company. You found yourself looking forward to his visits more than you cared to admit. He was steady, like the ticking of a clock in the background of your life, even if you only ever saw him at night.

Tonight felt different, though. He wasn’t as talkative as usual, his responses short and clipped. You watched him over the rim of your own mug, debating whether to press.

“Long night?” You ventured.

“Something like that,” He replied, staring out the window at the city below. “Some nights are harder than others.”

You hesitated. You didn’t want to pry, but there was a vulnerability in his voice that tugged at you. “Want to talk about it?”

He shook his head, the barest hint of a smile playing on his lips. “You’d make a good therapist.”

“I’m just nosy,” You said lightly, hoping to draw out more of that smile.

And for a moment, it worked. He chuckled softly, the sound like a warm ember in the cold.

“Thanks,” He said after a beat. “For this. For letting me . . . just be here.”

“You say that like you’re intruding.”

“Aren’t I?”

“No,” You said firmly. “You’re not.”

The silence that followed was comfortable, the kind that didn’t need filling. You’d grown used to these quiet stretches, knowing that sometimes words weren’t enough to smooth over the rough edges of the night.

After a while, he stood, setting the empty mug on the counter. “I should get going,” He said, his voice softer now.

“Be safe out there,” You say, facing him on your place on your chair, the words automatic but heartfelt.

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than usual. Then he was gone, disappearing into the shadows as seamlessly as he’d arrived.

A foggy evening, after his patrol, he arrived later than usual. His uniform was damp, and he looked more worn than you’d ever seen him.

When his eyes met yours, you let out an amused huff, walking to the closet in the hallway to your room, grabbing a beige towel and making your way back to him. “Take a dip in the lake Red?” You teased, handing him the towel as he stepped closer to you.

“Something like that,” He said, echoing the same vague answer he always gave. Even with the mask, you could feel the dam that wanted to implode.

Your brows furrowed.

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

He looked at you sharply, as if the words had hit a nerve. “I’m used to it,” He said after a pause, his voice low and guarded.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t be.”

The room fell silent again, the tension thick enough to cut.

“I don’t… I can’t risk that,” He said finally. “Letting people in. It’s complicated.”

“Life’s complicated,” Your countered. “But you don’t have to keep everyone at arm’s length. At least not me.”

He stared at you, something unspoken flickering in his eyes. Then, as if breaking under the weight of his own defenses, he said, “I wish it were that simple.”

You didn’t bring it up again, sensing it was a line he wasn’t ready to cross. But the moment lingered, coloring every interaction that followed.

You’d open up to him. Though it wasn’t as reciprocated, you didn’t mind because he listened. Sometimes, when the night was soft, you two would talk about the random things that reminded you of each other, it was your favorite part of when he’d come to your apartment, relaxing in each others presence; it left a sapid taste in your mouth.

You’d talk to him about your life in Gotham University, talked to him about the enigma your heart palpitated for. How his voice made your smile bright and cheeks warm, how it rang though your mind constantly throughout the day, echoing off the walls and finding it’s way back to your heart, the devil that wouldn’t calm down.

You hadn’t realized that underneath the mask, he looked at you with a smile lining his eyes, his own devil pounding in his chest.

When asked if he knew of your feelings, your smiled turned bashful.

“He doesn’t even know my name, Red. I’m just a random with a crush.”

You’re not random, you’re mine. Is what he wanted to say, he wanted you to know who he is. Not the man with the mask — rather the man behind it.

He distanced himself from you at school because he thought that if he didn’t, you’d figure out he’s ‘Boy Wonder’ a bit too easy for his taste. He scares himself every night thinking about what would happen if you find out.

And then one night, he laughed.

Not just the quiet chuckle you’d heard before, but a full, unrestrained laugh that lit up his face. It was over something stupid—a poorly told joke you’d heard from a coworker. But the sound warmed you to your core, and for a moment, it reminded you of your enigma, Tim Drake.

How could someone do that? Look so familiar but unknown at the same time? Your eyes seeing one person, Red Robin: Gotham’s hero. But your heart seeing, hearing, feeling—

“Tim.”

The name left your lips in a whisper, your heart hammering in your chest. You hadn’t meant to say it. You weren’t even sure how you knew, but it was there—like a puzzle piece falling into place.

He froze, his entire body going rigid. “What did you say?”

“Tim,” Quieter this time, you repeated it. “That’s—”

He didn’t answer, but the look in his eyes confirmed it.

“I . . . I didn’t mean to—” You started, but he cut you off.

“How?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“I don’t know,” You admitted. “I just . . . knew.”

The silence stretched between you, heavy with the weight of what you’d just revealed.

Red Robin—Tim—he stepped back slightly, his eyes scanning your face as if trying to read the truth there. You could feel the tension in the room, thick and unyielding, and for a moment you thought he might leave. But instead, he sighed, his shoulders slumping as though a great weight had finally pressed him down.

“I’ve been careful,” he said softly. “I’ve spent so long making sure you — no one could ever connect me to . . . to this.”

You didn’t know what to say, the gravity of his words grounding you to the spot. Finally, you managed, “I didn’t mean to—to figure it out! It’s not like I was trying. It just . . .”

He ran a hand through his hair, the motion uncharacteristically unguarded. “I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have let this go on for so long.”

“Don’t say that,” You pleaded, stepping closer. “I know you think you’re protecting yourself, or me, but you don’t have to do this alone, Tim.”

Hearing his name in your voice seemed to shake something loose in him. He looked at you, really looked at you, and the mask of Red Robin slipped away for just a moment. Beneath it was someone young, someone tired, someone who wanted to believe you. The enigma who became more familiar.

“I don’t know how to stop,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “I don’t know how to turn it off, how to let someone in without putting them in danger.”

You reached out, your hand hovering just above his arm. “You already let me in,” You said quietly. “That’s why you kept—” You stop yourself. “—that’s why you keep coming back.” Your hand connects with the rough material of his suit and you wish you could feel his skin on yours.

He didn’t pull away. For a long moment, the two of you stood there, the sound of rain against the window the only noise in the room.

Finally, he spoke. “You deserve better than this. Better than me.”

You shook your head, your throat tight. “Don’t decide that for me.”

The words seemed to hit him like a blow. He opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out. Instead, he turned his head, staring at the rain running down the window as though it could give him the answers he sought.

“I’ve thought about it,” You continued, your voice soft but steady. “I’ve thought about what it would mean. What it would mean to care about you —really care about you. Even though it was for Tim at first, there’s more to you and I want to care for you and everything that comes with it. And I’m still here. I’ll always be here Tim.”

That seemed to break him. He sank down onto the edge of the couch behind him, his head in his hands. “You don’t understand what you’re saying. What my life is like. The people I go up against—they wouldn’t hesitate to hurt you to get to me.”

“And you don’t understand what you could mean to me,” You countered. You sit on the floor, right at his feet so you can lock eyes with him even though his domino mask hides them, you can still see the blue of his eyes you admire so much.

“I see the risks, Tim. I see them every night when you walk out that window, not knowing if you’ll come back. But I’m still here because I care about you. And you need to stop deciding what I can handle.”

He looked up at you then, the walls he’d so carefully constructed were crumbling, and you saw the man behind the vigilante.

“I care about you too,” He said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “More than I should, and — and it scares the hell out of me.”

You rose from sitting criss-cross to your knees, resting your arms on his, you wanted to get impossibly closer, closing the gap between the two of you. “Then let’s be scared together.”

The confession hung in the air, raw and real, and for the first time, neither of you looked away. You didn’t know what the future held, didn’t know if this thing between you could survive the dangers and secrets of his world. But in that moment, none of it mattered.

He reached for your hand, his touch tentative but warm. “This won’t be easy,” He warned you gently.

“I know,” You said, squeezing his hand. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time in a long time, he smiled—not the practiced smile of Red Robin, but something softer, something real.

“I don’t deserve you,” He murmured.

“Maybe not,” You teased, a small smile tugging at your lips. “But you’ve got me anyway.”

The two of you stayed like that for a while, the storm outside mirroring the quiet storm of emotions between you. And when he finally left that night, it wasn’t with the usual heaviness of his patrols.

This time, he carried a piece of you with him—and left a piece of himself behind.

©miwsolovely do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms . likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated <3

[kimberly-spirits13]

Tired Timmy

Pairing: Tim Drake x reader

Warnings: None

Summary: Fluff- When you return from a mission, you realize how tired Tim is and get him to sleep.

Note: Found this in my drafts and idk what it was doing there so here ya go

Word Count: 1598

Tonight, was an especially cold night. Snow fell over the city and blanketed everything in sight. You had just gotten back from a mission in the Amazon and was on break from patrol duty. Aside from getting used to the change in climate from where you were versus where you are now, you were worried about Tim. Of course, he was relieved that you were back safe and sound, he told you as much, but he seemed especially stressed as of lately. It wasn’t uncommon for him to stress about you leaving for a mission without him, but even coming back didn’t seem to stall his emotions. 

            “How’s it going Timmy?” You asked in the comms, watching the surveillance cameras from around the city. 

            “mmm” he grumbled in response 

            “That good huh?” You started snickering at his response, “Only thirty more minutes and then you can come crash.”

            “Good to know.” He said as you watched him haphazardly swing from one building to another, “any leads on the Riddler case?”

            “A few, I’m pretty sure he and Penguin are in cahoots again. I’d say that they’re getting ready for a heist. Give them three weeks tops.” Tim heard paper being tossed around as you combed through the case files regarding your suspicions, “We can go over them when you’re rested.” 

            “I’ll be fine.” Tim said, “We’ll talk about it when I get back.” 

            You weren’t going to argue with him. Tim could be stubborn about working and you didn’t want him angry on patrol, especially when he was this tired. It was a good way of making sure that he came home injured. 

            “Dick, make sure that Tim doesn’t throw himself off a building or something.” You said on a private link.

            “I’m always on it, Y/N/N.” He replied in a chipper tone, “You see it too?” 

            “Yeah,” you leaned back in your chair, watching as the boys ran through the city, “I’ll pick his brain on it when you guys get back. Just make sure he comes back in one piece.”       

            “Will do.”

            You logged into the computer database on Penguin and Riddler’s recent moves, trying to pinpoint connections to them. It was late and you told Alfred to go to sleep so there was only Damian’s pets keeping you company. The first sign of extra life was the sounds of the Batmobile roaring through the underground tunnels. Sometimes, depending on how fast Bruce was going, the walls would vibrate and shake. Dust from the cave’s ceiling would fall onto the floor and in the air as he came flying into the garage. Today it was mundane, and no dust came off the walls. You heard the mechanical sliding of the doors opening and two pairs of heavy footsteps before the sound of two other engines roared through the cave. 

            “How’s the investigation going?” Bruce asked, raking through the papers as Damian picked up Alfred the cat from the chair arm rest.

            “It’s moving along nicely. I think they’re going for the new diamond exhibit downtown. I don’t know why anyone exhibits anything valuable in this city anymore.” 

            Bruce gave a stiff chuckle before patting you on the back, “Good work, turn in for the night, you need rest.” 

            Bruce started walking off as Tim came up and leaned over the side rest.

            “Hey babe.” He tipped your chin to give you a kiss.

            “How was patrol?” You asked, already knowing the answer.

            “It was fine.” He said, pulling up a chair next to you.

            “You seem exhausted.” “Timmy let’s go to bed. We need rest.”

            “Looks aren’t always as they appear Y/N/N.” He mindlessly ran his fingers through your hair and stared at you, “What do you have on the case?”

            You knew there was nothing you could do to get Tim to go to bed at this point. It was time for plan “yapping to death”. Talking fast, you told him everything you had. There was no repeating what you had said, and you started flipping through the papers as fast as possible without raising suspicion. You had the clocks set to look like a later time, making sure that Tim would think it was later than it was. It was obvious when the plan was working since you saw Tim’s unfocused eyes start wandering around the cave. When it got to this point, Tim would finally decide it was time to rest.

            “Does that make sense?” You asked, thumbing over his fingers, “I’ve got the schematics of the-“

            “Y/N/N, it makes sense but, uh, I’m not focusing anymore.” 

            “Do you wanna go to bed?” You asked, searching for any sign of resistance in his eyes, “Come on.”

            You stood up and pulled him out of the chair, he leaned into you and let his weight rest against you.

            “Sorry, you just got back from a mission, you must be sore.” He said, leaning off you.

            “It’s okay Timmy, I’m alright.” You hugged him and led him upstairs, “Come on, I’ll get you to bed.” 

            “M’ not a baby, I can’t get there myself.” He mumbled into your shoulder before pausing, “That came out snappy.”

            “You’re fine Tim. I know you’re tired.” 

            “I’m fine.”

            Again, you didn’t say anything back, but instead led him up the next flight of stairs and into his room. Leaving him to grab his clothes, you walked into the bathroom and started the shower. When the water was warm enough, you opened the door to tell Tim it was ready. He walked in before calling you back in, the softness of his voice showing how tired he was. 

            “Hey um, you haven’t showered yet either have you?” He asked, crossing his arms with a towel wrapped around his waist. 

            “I showered after dinner Tim.” You said, raising a brow.      

            “Oh yea.” There was a silence in the room for a few seconds.

            “But, if you insist, I can’t say no.” This made Tim chuckle a bit before you shut the door and he dropped the towel before he got into the shower himself.

            You quickly undressed and opened the glass door, joining Tim in the hot stream of water. Tim leaned his head against your shoulder and sighed deeply.

            “I’m tired.” He admitted, wrapping his arms around you, relishing in the heat of the water and the closeness of you.

            “I gathered as much.” “You’ve been over working yourself recently. I told Dick to make sure you didn’t run yourself to death before I got back.” 

            “It’s not Dick’s fault.” He said, “I have my ways.”

            “Oh, I know.” You laughed, making Tim laugh with you.

            “I’m glad you’re back. I thought I’d kill someone for the past three weeks.” 

“I’m glad to be back too. Also, glad you didn’t kill anyone, that would be unfortunate.”  You started running shampooed hands through his hair, washing the dirt and grime down the drain.

Tim closed his eyes and let the water run over his head, washing away the soap and eventually the conditioner that you ran through his hair. He began to wash himself, making sure not to run over the bruises on his torso. Tim gave you a quick glance before double taking.                      “What’s this from?” He asked, running a soapy finger over a stitched wound on your stomach, “I haven’t seen it.”

“Got grazed by a blade during the mission.” “One of the assassins got the best of Cassie and I jumped in front of her.” 

“It looks painful.” “I’ve been leaning on you this entire time, are you hurt anywhere else?” He spun you around and started looking for signs of other injuries.

“Besides a few bruises, I’m fine. You’re fine Timmy; I’m not hurt.”

“This doesn’t look fine. Why did you tell me?” He asked 

“I didn’t want to worry you, you’re exhausted.” The rest of the soap ran off the two of you and into the drain, “I didn’t want you stressing yourself out.”

“I’m sorry.” Tim said honestly, “You said to get rest but I totally didn’t.” 

“Tim I’m not upset with you. I know it’s your job and you feel passionately about it, I’m just worried you don’t sleep, it’ll get you hurt on the field.”

“I know you’re right.” 

“Come on, let’s get dress and go to bed. I don’t think I have a change of clothes in here.” You said grabbing two towels from the heated rack.

“I brought you some sweats.” Tim replied with a smirk.

“Oh, so you’re admitting that you planned this all along?” You laughed nudging him jokingly.

“Just the shower.” 

            When you had dried off totally, you walked back into the bedroom and turned the fan on. Walking back to the bed, you saw that Tim was already getting into bed. His eyes were fluttering shut and opening again, over, and over. He turned his head to you and spread out, getting comfortable.

            “I’m tired.” He said softly.      

            “I know love.” You climbed next to him and reached over him to turn the lamp off.

            “That’s a good view babe.” Tim said with a smirk in his voice before you leaned back onto your side.

            “Glad you approve.” 

            You laid down, pulling Tim closer to you. He put his head into the crook of your neck and took a deep breath before wrapping his legs around you. Pushing the covers over his shoulders, you ran your fingers through his hair, watching as his breath evened out and his body relaxed. 

            “I’m exhausted. Can’t sleep without you” he said in a whisper.

            “I know Timmy, but you can sleep now.” 

[lesbianbarbaragordon]

Still thinking about last night

”No, no, but seriously,” you start, adjusting on your seat, “it wasn’t that bad. At least not by the end. I felt like we had-“ a connection, that you managed to see him as he was for at least the brittlest of moments. But the sentence dies at the tip of your tongue. You prefer to keep that to yourself. pairing: tim drake x reader tags: stalking, average tim behavior, college student reader word count: 1.7k part 2 of Unraveling the World read part 1 here

“Do you look up all your girlfriends?”

Tim doesn’t like the insinuation, but he shoulders on because Barbara’s network is far more extensive than his, far more even than the Batcave’s, and this is a favour, after all.

Your face is on full display, a shot from your ID, taking up the main screen on Oracle’s setup. You don’t look very happy.

Your hair is longer than when he met you the other night, and he sees the fading of some sort of dye on the tips of your hair. 20 years old, born and raised in Gotham, there is nothing outstanding about you.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he replies as an afterthought, his eyes on the screens. You enrolled in GU last year, took up journalism as a major. Why would a college student live in a warehouse? 

Because it has to be a warehouse, why else would it have been called like that in the files?

The incident that led him to your apartment is still something that embarrasses him. A mistake on his part, something that shouldn’t have happened.

He keeps going over the details, trying to understand; it was just the criminal of the week, a robbery gone wrong at a jewelry shop, hostages that shouldn’t have been there. He had been sneaky, gotten inside before anyone noticed, and released the hostages in record time (which was good, because when they started shooting, Tim was the only one inside). But one of the rogues got on the defensive when they saw he was one of the bats, had gotten a hit on Tim’s ear, and broken his comms. Then a shot in the darkness and a sharp pain took over his senses.

Which one was the lesser evil, running away to seek shelter while he was still lucid? Or detaining the rogues but risking further injury?

The final matter came down to “what would Bruce do?”

So Tim had pushed through, managed to knock them out, cuffed them somewhere the police would find them, and left before anyone else could see him.

The sky was raging, as expected of Gotham, when he stepped foot on the rooftops outside. His breathing was ragged, the pain was excruciating and he had left the Red Bird at the cave.

It only crashed down on Tim as the thunder and lightning erupted around him, shivering and in pain. Once the adrenaline left, it hit all at once-

He was alone.

It only took a second for the gears to kick in. He couldn’t access the Batcomputer, or call anyone who could help. He could take care of it without them, but where would he go? Leslie’s clinic was on the other side of the city, and after retiring it had fallen under new management, would whoever was i charge still treat vigilantes? There were no warehouses around the area either, not ones he remembered anyway, and the longer he thought, the more he started to fear bleeding out in the streets.

What other things did he have access to offline? His suit had prior saves of data, backup files from years prior. Tim accessed them with shaky hands. 

As he thought, not many places to go to in the area, but there was somewhere marked as a safe place. Somewhere that wasn’t Bruce’s but that was listed as Bat equipped. He headed there with desperation clawing at his throat, pain drilling at the back of his eyelids.

But he didn’t find what he was expecting. Instead, there was you and a mundane house. Somewhere that looked lived in, rather than a closet stuffed with expensive tech and medical equipment.

He realized too late, that the information was outdated, that he was going to die from a mistake.

Except he didn’t. Except you were there.

And he wants to figure it out, what kind of sane person could possibly do what you had done? He wants to figure you out.

“She isn’t shady,” Barbara supplies unhelpfully. She starts looking over your school records, your extracurriculars, you studied at the same school he did, nothing out of the ordinary; A book club, perfectly good grades, no problems with teachers or classmates. There’s an internship registered under your name at one of Gotham’s local newspapers, and there, a few articles on topics like battok trends or the latest celebrity scandal. The few lines he skims read uninspired.

The only thing Tim finds unusual is paperwork from the year before, for a cat you had adopted.

“I didn’t see any pets.” At least not when he was there. His allergies would have started making him sneeze like a madman otherwise. But what could he possibly get from that?

You’re perfectly ordinary, so ordinary Tim can’t possibly figure out why you’d be living full-time in a Batman safehouse.

And it’s driving him crazy.

Barbara hums, saying your name, and then, she says your second surname, your mother’s maiden name, “Thompkins?”

“Thought it was common,” Tim shrugs because he hadn’t taken notice of the detail during his first research. Barbara sends him a pointed look.

“Who was the safehouse registered under?” It’s a simple question, Tim realizes his slip-up on the next beat.

“Is she related to Leslie Thompkins?” 

“Grandniece looks more like,” Barbara supplies, pulling up your mother’s birth certificate. She digs up an old picture, a younger Leslie posing next to a smiling blonde woman, who holding up a med school diploma. Seems like your mother followed in her footsteps.

“The warehouse is registered under her name,” Barbara supplies, pulling up a scan of the apartment’s deed. Leslie Thompkins is clearly written as the owner. It must have been a safehouse for her, and subsequently for Batman, a long time ago. All before you took over. “You satisfied now?”

Tim says nothing at that, gnawing at his lip.

From the screen, your picture stares back.

…

“It was freaking scary.” You complain over your instant noodles. But they’re too hot and they scald, making you hiss. Your friend stares at you from across the table.

”Right.”

None of your high school peers stuck with you after graduation, so your list of friends remains painfully empty. And it would be a name shorter, had Claudia not appeared into your life.

You met during your internship, where she was interning too, at the literature department of the magazine. You’re both close in age and enjoy reading classics, so you spend lunch breaks together and bond over trash-talking your coworkers. She’s one of the few people you talk to in an otherwise silent existence. And she’s quite funny, too.

”It feels like one of those trashy romance novels, right?” She gestures openly, a sandwich in her hand. You’ve been telling her about your encounter with Red Robin for a lack of anything else. It’s the only interesting thing that’s happened to you in a while. “‘The superhero crashed at my place! And oh no, he’s naked!’.”

You snort, slapping her arm, “he was not naked! And it wasn’t romantic at all! I was so scared I’d throw up all over him from the stress!”

She chokes on a piece of ham, then starts to laugh. You start laughing too. 

It’s a relief having Claudia to make it all sound less scary.

Her laughing stops when her phone beeps and she pulls it out. Meanwhile, you choose to entertain yourself with your food.

”Is it that twitter account?” You ask half curiously. She hums in response, not looking up from the screen.

”Seems like bird boy hasn’t been seen in a while,” Claudia scrolls down her feed as she talks, quickly liking posts or replying to comments. She runs a popular fan account in her spare time that revolves around Gotham vigilantes, which is not a niche topic.  Most of the accounts themed around the bats, much like Claudia herself, are not native to Gotham. Rather, they’re from Metropolis or San Francisco, where the public regularly sees Superman or the Titans. Gothamites don’t have that kind of relationship with their heroes. “Red Robin’s been out of the streets since last Friday.”

”I guess that means you’re not lying,” she says teasing, which makes you blow a raspberry, “how did you do it, though? I would have messed up so bad.”

”Eh,” you start halfheartedly, “I took pre-med classes all through high school. I’ve forgotten most of it, though, but what little I knew came in handy,” you shrug, leaning back against your chair, “he had some pretty useful stuff, too. Super fancy equipment. That definitely helped.”

“Anyone else would have tried seeing under his mask, and you’re telling me what stuck out to you was his equipment?” Claudia laughs. “Maybe your next article will be about the bats’ tools. Does Batman carry around bat-bandaids? What about bat-snacks?”

You choke on your food, pushing down a laugh. It would be better than the stuff you’ve been writing about for these past few months, anyway. There are only so many influencers you can interview without going crazy.

”No, no, but seriously,” you start,  adjusting on your seat, “it wasn’t that bad. At least not by the end. I felt like we had-“ a connection, that you managed to see him as he was for at least the brittlest of moments. But the sentence dies at the tip of your tongue. You prefer to keep that to yourself.

“He was your favorite, you said, no?” Claudia catches on and continues, “I’d be just like you if Nightwing crashed into my apartment too.”

You’re about to retaliate, because-

Because what happened was not without meaning. You had realized he was more than an ephemeral figure or a distant idol, something as tangible as you, and that had made you stop fearing, for better or for worse.

But your boss peeks his head around the corner and takes sight of you both. “Your break is over,” he says and stands in the doorway as he watches you tidy up and throw empty containers and coffee cups into the bin.

Just as you’re leaving you catch something by the corner of your eye. On the TV is a fuzzy image of something humanoid, vaguely red and black. 

Wherever you go, the shadow of Red Robin follows.

[delusionsofgrandeur13]

CASUAL

…your friends call you a loser.

chapter one

NSFW. MINORS DNI.

tim drake x reader

series inspired by Casual by Chappell Roan

readers can expect: fem reader x tim drake. not explicit consent but both parties are willing participants. mention of panty stealing. penetrative sex, prone bone/doggy style. reader on birth control, tim finishes inside. hair pulling. mean-spirited dirty talk. marking kink if you squint. use of 'sweetheart.' no mention of reader finishing. tim is kind of an asshole. don't say i didn't warn you.

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you laugh at his joke, probably louder than you should’ve. 

you feel lydia’s eyes on you as you raise the red cup you’re holding up to your lips. 

you curse yourself silently. what were you even doing at yet another one of these dumb parties??

sure, it wasn’t being thrown by the snobbiest frat on campus, but it is at one of their family homes. you didn’t even know neighborhoods like this existed in gotham. the houses were ridiculously huge.

 lydia was dating her guy now, making her a semi permanent fixture. she had him now, and didn’t really need you for emotional support. 

so again, what the hell are you doing here?

the fabric of your dress is tight against your chest, and you squirm. you think your left nipple is starting to chafe. lydia looks at you expectantly.

“what?” you blink at her over the rim of your red cup, blink out of your train of thought.

 “i asked if you’ve been seeing anyone lately.” your friend settles back into her boyfriend, leaning on him with his arm slung over her shoulders. her boyfriend, josh, is a calm drunk, bobbing his head to the beat of the music and staring off into the distance. 

“it feels like this is the only place i’ll see him.” you mumble under your breath, waving a hand at lydia’s confused expression. “no, i’m not really seeing anyone right now.”

 “well look around! you’re surrounded by future sugar daddies. take your pick.” she gestures, pointing at one guy across the room, raising her eyebrow. “him?” 

you shake your head, curling a lip. “definitely not.”

“bummer.” lydia sighs.

“besides, don’t sugar daddies look for younger women? the guys here are all my age, so it’s pointle-” a hand slides around your hip, and your voice trails off. lydia’s eyes widen when she realizes who’s attached to the hand, the one curving around your lower waist to the front of your body. 

an almost entirely inappropriate hand placement. 

your heart thumps hard in your chest. maybe you’d question who it was if you couldn’t smell the soap his dry cleaner uses. 

you can feel the warmth of his hip pressed into yours as he sidles up next to you. josh practically snaps to attention when he sees that his frat president has his hand around your waist.

 “tim!” josh reaches his hand out to greet him. “didn’t even know you were here!”

tim takes his hand, the one not radiating heat into your hipbone, and shakes josh’s. 

“that’s how i like it.” he punctuates his sentence with a squeeze of your waist, and it takes every ounce of composure you have to not react.

lydia’s gaze keeps dragging between tim’s hand placement, your face, and tim, just over, and over, and over again. you chew on the inside of your lip.

you know how it looks. 

“so you’re ‘not seeing anybody?’ well i can see the frat president with his hands on you!!”

tim and josh finish a conversation about some frat-related event coming up, one that you were not paying attention to. while they were talking it felt like every nerve in your body had rewired itself to where his hand was sitting on your hip.

josh steers lydia away, over to the kitchen, full of stainless steel appliances and an island covered in bottles. 

you can feel her keep glancing back at you, but you can’t meet her eyes. 

you can’t. 

you catch a snippet of the sentence she whispers into her boyfriend’s ear. “..such a loser.” 

your palms start sweating. she throws you another look before josh pulls her back around, kissing her forehead. 

tim nudges you towards him, and you look at him. except you’re about eye level with his chest. his shirt is a deep blue, almost black. it’s starting to become your favorite color. his dark jeans sit low, covering the top of his shoes.

he chuckles under his breath, and sticks a finger under your chin, pulling your face up so you can look at his. he looks down at you through half-lids, his blue eyes sharp and gleaming. your heart pounds in your ears, in between your legs. 

he doesn’t ask you anything, doesn’t need to, but you’re nodding anyways. he smiles that cheshire cat smile at you, and a chill runs up your spine. 

he grabs your hand and pulls you along with him, over to the grand staircase. 

eric, drunk as ever, nods approvingly at tim. he pats tim’s shoulder as the two of you walk past. the guy next to eric whoops, laughing. his eyes run up and down your body. you wish the floor would open up and swallow you whole. instead, you plaster a smile on and wink, hurrying after tim. 

the two of you make it up the wood paneled staircase, the walls of the hallway covered in pristine family photos. you shudder at the pictured family’s matching stares and smiles. tim squeezes your hand, coming up to a set of double doors. he flashes you a smile, and your heart melts a little. 

tim lets go of your hand to open the double doors, revealing a huge room, and a four poster bed, draped with fabric, centered in the middle.

his eyes are full of that hard glint, a look you’ve become all too familiar with. he shuts the doors behind you, locking them. 

walking over to the bed, he sits on the edge of it, looking you over with his head tilted to the side. 

“wait, drake, is this the master bedroom?” you ask, turning around to see the whole room. there’s even an en suite bathroom. 

rich, rich, rich. 

“yeah.” tim reclines farther back onto the bed, leaning on his elbows. 

you say nothing, awkwardly shuffling your feet. 

“..and?” tim prompts you. he raises a hand to bat at the fabric overhead, catlike as ever.

“isn’t that like, a little disrespectful?” you run a hand through your hair, nervous. 

tim raises an eyebrow at you, and flops back onto the bed. his arms are behind his head, making his biceps bulge. a strand of hair falls into his eyes. your heart ba-bumps in your chest. his angular eyebrows scrunch together. he looks actually, genuinely confused.  

“to who?” he scoffs. “they should be so lucky.”

at that, you bite your tongue. (with great difficulty.)

you choose to look him up and down instead, noting his smug smile. the hardness of his eyes. it feels like you're under a spotlight, the front row full of critics. heat creeps up your neck.

"is it hot in here?" you lift your hair into a makeshift ponytail, noting the way tim sits up. his eyes tracking your movements, the way your fist curls around your hair, lifting the sweaty strands off of your neck.

"so take your clothes off. might cool you down a bit." he smirks, the hardness back in his eyes.

"real original, drake." you shoot back.

he shrugs, blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes.

"you'd heat right back up, though. so i can't say it's the best long term solution."

he unlaces a shoe, kicking it off, its twin following in quick succession. he looks at you pointedly, an eyebrow raised. you realize you’re as still as a statue, and staring, so you also begin to undress, toeing off your shoes and leaving them up against the end of the bed. it’s almost comical, your shoes, neat and upright, next to his, haphazardly thrown about, one on its side and the other just fully upside down. 

his shirt is next, tim easily pulling it up over his head and tossing it to one side of the room. his abs ripple as he leans back, the stretch revealing a sharp v-line poking out of his boxers. 

preening under your gaze, he leers right back, his lips curled up as he flexes his biceps. 

“like what you see?” he huffs out a laugh at your sheepish expression. 

you shake your head, silent as you turn away from him. his fingers quickly find the zipper of your dress, and soon that hits the floor too.

 

the expensive denim of his jeans scrapes your inner thigh as he ruts against you. a line of hickeys trace the curve of your neck. his mouth on you felt like heaven, warm and wet as he made his way from your jawline to your collarbone. 

proof of his open-mouthed kisses, dark red and glaringly obvious. 

a problem for future you. morning you. rational you, who will not enjoy the struggle of covering them up. 

tim snaps the band of your underwear. 

you’re brought back into the moment, lifting your hips off of the bed as he slides them down your legs. he tucks them into his jean pocket, giving you a look that almost dares you to protest. you don’t. they join the growing list of your things tim’s taken. a hair tie, a necklace, two other pairs of underwear. 

his lips are on you again, rough and passionate. you moan into his mouth from the feeling of his denim-clad bulge hitting your bare clit. tim wears a smug smile on his lips as he kisses you next, and you hook your legs around his hips in retaliation. your hands run up and down the smooth expanse of his back, the light scratch of your nails making him shiver. 

“control, right?” tim says, his eyes hungry as you unbutton his jeans.

“..what?” you shake your head, confused.

“you’re on birth control, right?” 

you internally roll your eyes. it makes sense that he’d be so thorough, being an heir, and famous, or whatever, but he asks you every single time. like your answer was gonna change any time soon.

“yes, timothy.” you draw out your words, feeling petulant.

he raises an eyebrow at this, tugging on a strand of your hair. 

“uh-huh.” 

his hips snap into the soft flesh of your ass again, sending a spark of pleasure up your spine. you’re facedown on the bed, tim holding himself up over you, your hips raised up just enough for him to thrust into you. one of his hands curls into your hair, yanking at it. 

“tim, i-” 

his pace picks up, unrelenting. 

“what was that, sweetheart? have something to say?” 

you moan in reply as he holds the rhythm he’s established, his fingers gripping at your hair, pulling. 

“you usually have so much to say, y/n.” you can hear the smirk in his voice.

his taunting dies down as he gets closer, one hand gripping your ass so hard it’ll probably leave bruises. the other uses your hair to pull you closer to him, giving you a messy kiss. he sucks in a breath just to let it back out through gritted teeth, groaning deep in his throat. he puts you against the bed again, the hand that was in your hair now pressing down on your lower back. his last few thrusts are sloppy, quick, and you’re clenching around his cock at the speed, your hands clutching at the sheets. 

“mm, fuck, that feels so good,” tim finishes with a low moan, warmth filling your insides in someone else’s four poster bed. 

the praise makes something in your chest start fluttering around, and you turn over to look at him once he’s pulled out. he's sat up, on his knees. his thigh muscles are on display, sending more flurries of desire through your body. the veins in his hands are in hard relief as he fists his cock, milking out every last drop. his cheeks are flushed, his hair a mess, a few raven locks sticking to his forehead.

he's dressed before you know it, tossing your dress up on the bed for you absentmindedly. tim looks over at you, and he's back over you in a flash. he gives you one last quick kiss, pinching your nipple.

"i'll text you."

with that, he's gone. it'd be like he was never here if there weren't hickeys covering your neck and his cum wasn't between your legs.

you dress quickly, tottering over to the bathroom. you look in the mirror, assessing. you use your hands to tame your hair back down. your eye makeup is smudged. and you don't have your underwear. you better get home quick if you don't want his cum dripping down your legs at this frat party.

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tim drake wayne's fan club:

(and THE most patient people on earth. i love you. thanks for waiting.)

(taglist:)

@dfgcbgdc @benditlikegumby93 @agent-nobody-knows @jaybunsblog @astermos-74 @ravenna-reid @borutoistrash1-blog @slut4animedilfs @nuggget-consumer-9000 @turtleturtleturtleturtleneck @hellishattempt @trashhighwaybird @sergeant-angels-trashcan @lilithskywalker @timdrakeisasugardaddy

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[i-yap]

Batboys+bruce x y/n thoughts

Now "the man" is dick grayson. Batman literally said Nightwing is what Batman should have been. He is kind he is understanding he is caring and patient and honestly if you are a little broken, u are assigned to dick . He is wanted by everyone, this is the guy you take home. this is the man who buys you flowers and serenades you and always keeps your boundaries in mind. this is the man that can read you like an open book. that sees the real you no matter how hard you try to hide. Not saying he doesn't have issues, he sucks at communication and commitment. he has a saviours complex. But with the right person, it just fades away and all there is left is the perfect man to marry and have kids and save the world. - aka the married couple

BUT jason is "the man for a woman" . He practically worships the ground you walk on( he lowkey does , like if you're away from the house he'll look at the apartment floor and be like...wheeererrr isss myyyy y/nnnn ) He will leave everything behind for you, will kill everyone no questions asked. Its really heavy and passionate and a little crazy but that's jason for you . It can be a lot for someone who needs personal space or has commitment issues or issues opening up. You got to be really kind, patient and loving when it comes to jason. Very good at reading people and a giver. - aka morticia and gomez

AND Bruce , that dude has a lot of responsibilities. He has no time, he is so busy, he is so tired, he cant be with someone seriously...but why does he want you so bad. You'll have to be strong and patient and forgiving and kind. You will have to force your way into his life and pull him away from all the madness. you are the golden saviour that drags him away from the hell he has been sinking into. pulls him away, encourages him to retire and shows him what a normal life and sleep schedule looks like. After all he has done and given, he deserves to retire with the woman he loves. In many comics, bruce becomes evil from this long life of crime fighting and paranoia or is killed . You save him, teach him that he can too have everything he tries to give other people. A family, peace and love- aka the saving grace

NOW Tim isnt like that at all He is free in all ways the other batboys are not. Dick is so tied down with his superhero responsibilities and jason is so needy and a little demanding to be with . Bruce is tired and not as full of energy . But you can be a kid with tim. there is spontaneity , there is adventure, there is freedom and rebellion and expression of self. The actual teenage love, lets go for a drive and end up in a bull riding contest tim wins and then shut down that ring so no bull is every hurt again. Teeths turning blue from that slushie that just gave him freezebrain. - aka teenage dirtbags

[nosyrobin]

Y/N: My ex is crazy, y'all. I've had him blocked on everything for weeks and yet he still manages to find ways to contact me.

Y/N: *turns camera to microwave* Bro this what i'm talking about look. He’s calling me on my microwave how was that even…. I didn't know microwaves could do- How is he doing that?

Y/N: That actually impressive you go girl.

[glamourscat]

May i please request headcanons, maybe a drabble of the batboys where reader is trying so hard to pretend that they don't know anything about their partner being a vigilante because they want to be told with trust and the boys are growing increasingly concerned about their s/o's obliviousness bcs like?? and the their s/o keeps saying things like "haha yeah!! red robin's super underground but that costume is pretty good timmy!" and "oh? i do have a thing for morally gray men, lovely red hood costume" whenever they accidentally see parts of the costume and can't pretend they didn't see it

idk i just think it would be funny af, ty in advance!!

i decided to go for drabbles. they are quite long so i only did jason and tim. should i do dick, maybe steph too, in the near future? let me know!

"You can't be serious," Jason thought. It's not that you're blind, and he’s not exactly being subtle. He knew from day one that being involved with a civilian meant the topic of his nightlife would eventually come to light. Before getting together you two had been friends for a long time, but he never quite managed to outright say, "Hey, by the way, I’m Red Hood." How do you even drop something like that into a conversation? 

Yet, as your relationship grew, more milestones came along and suddenly, you two were approaching your 2 year anniversary. Now, more than ever, as you found yourselves living together, Jason knew it was going to be harder to explain his secret. How many lies could he keep telling about going to help Roy or some emergency with Dick? How many nights could he still sneak out after you’d fallen asleep, only to return aching from a patrol?

So, he started leaving subtle hints. From his domino mask to his gloves… but hell, at this point, he might as well leave his whole costume out, because how in the hell are you not picking up on the clues?

“You know, Jay, that vigilante... What's his name? The one in red? Oh right, Red Hood. He’s pretty cool, right? I mean, he has a different approach than the others, i think some would say morally gray. I mean, hot.. Anyway, but—oh, wait, this is a lovely Red Hood costume! I didn’t know you were a fan too?!”

At that moment, Jason didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or do both at the same time. Maybe by accident—maybe not—he had left his entire costume out. And it wasn’t exactly cheap. The fabric was thick, heavy, it was definitely not something you’d find at a Spirit Halloween. Yet, you just folded it, didn’t ask any questions, and continued with your little chat.

“Doll, you got a moment?” he asked, trying to keep his tone as calm as possible because he was seconds away from laughing his lungs out.

“Yeah, Jay?” You looked at him, internally sweating. Did you give anything away? Did he suspect that you knew?

“You know, doll… that… the costume. I mean, it’s not fake, right? I…” He sighed, trying to find the right words.

“It’s real. Because I’m the Red Hood.” There. He’d said it. A relieved sigh left his lips as the words came out. Now comes the hardest part: your reaction. Would you laugh? Be shocked?

“Oh, yeah. I knew.”

What?

“What—? I beg your pardon?” Jason asked, his voice laced with disbelief, eyes scanning you to figure out if you were lying.

“I mean, you’re not exactly the most subtle, love, are you?” You said, amusement dancing in your eyes as you tried to hold back a smile. “Besides, I found out a while ago. I was just waiting, I suppose. It wasn’t my place to ask or say anything. I figured when you were ready, you’d say something.” You shrugged nonchalantly.

“Wait… when did you find out?” Jason raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“Well, you see… It wasn’t that hard. At the beginning of our relationship when I’d tell you, ‘Hey, I’m going out with my friends tonight,’ and then coincidentally, when something happened—because it’s Gotham, let's be honest—there you were, Red Hood, swooping in to save the day. Always fleeting, never lingering too long. But what was really odd was that both Red Hood and my new boyfriend had the exact same walk style. Not to mention, Jay, mask or no mask, costume or no costume, I could still recognize you. Even in a crowded room.”

Jason just stood there, stunned. How had he missed all the signs? A part of him was relieved, he didn’t have to keep lying, but another part of him couldn’t believe he had been so obvious. You were too sharp for him to pull anything past you. And to think he was under the impression he had you fooled…

As he looked at you, he realized there was more to your patience than just waiting for him to confess. You’d known, but you’d never pushed him. It made him wonder how long you had really been aware. But now that it was out in the open, Jason found himself surprised by how easy the weight of the secret seemed to fall away. He’d been carrying it for so long, and yet, with you, there was no judgment, no shock. Just acceptance.

"You've always been patient with me," he murmured, his voice soft but grateful.

You gave him a warm, knowing smile, stepping closer. "Because I know you, Jason. And I know what you're doing matters. It’s a part of who you are, just like everything else."

Tim was stressed, but to be fair, Tim was always stressed. You two had been dating for a good while now and had been friends for much longer. However, somehow, he still hadn’t brought up the whole vigilante thing. Maybe it was because he was scared, or maybe it was due to his own selfishness. For once, he just wanted someone to see him as Tim and only Tim. But the truth was, he couldn’t exist without Red Robin. He knew that. And it had been too long. He knew he had to say something. But… does he?

Still, something didn’t sit right with him. It was the way you weren’t questioning him anymore on why he was always so tired, why sometimes he had to be gone for an entire week or why he trained so intensely. His physique, though not the most built, was still incredibly fit for a “simple rich kid.” And for the life of him, he couldn’t understand if you were just pretending not to notice or if you honestly hadn’t put it together. But when you suggested what costumes to wear for Halloween, he almost passed out on the spot.

“Yeah, I mean, we can do a couple’s costumes or… I don’t know, Tim. We can always go as… hmm? What about we go as vigilantes? I can be Wonder Woman and you can be Red Robin. It’s pretty underground. I’m sure the costume will look great; besides, you already have a good replica in your wardrobe. Fits like a glove, no?”

Like, this had to be a joke, right? Sometimes Tim wondered if his life was some kind of reality show, secretly followed by cameras just to capture his reaction to these weird, questionable moments.

He froze for a moment, staring at you, trying to piece everything together. Was this your way of telling him you knew? Was this a test?

“Uh... you... know?” he asked, his voice betraying a mix of confusion and disbelief.

You look at him confused. “Know what?” You shrugged, casually leaning back in your chair.

Tim blinked, his mind racing. He was smart, very so, but at this very moment he felt like the most ignorant being on planet Earth. He looks at you and you look at him and for a moment there is this unspoken, silent battle.

“You know, that I am Red Robin.” he says, quietly. Eyes searching yours for an answer.

“And what if I do?” you reply back equally quietly.

He had expected a lot of things. Shock, anger, even confusion, but not this calm, almost nonchalant acknowledgment. And yet, a wave of relief washed over him. You weren’t angry or disappointed. You weren’t even all that surprised.

“I’ve always known, Tim,” you continued, your tone softening. “You’ve been dropping clues left and right. The late nights, the cryptic phone calls, the strange bruises... And don’t even get me started on your ‘training’ routines. I never pushed because I knew you’d tell me when you were ready. And now, here we are. Although… I certainly did not imagine it to happen in such a way” you say, letting out a small soft laugh. 

Tim let out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging in a way that felt like he’d been carrying a weight for far too long. "I didn’t want to burden you with it. I didn’t want to be Red Robin to you. I just wanted to be... just Tim."

You smiled softly, walking over to hug him. “And you are. You’re Red Robin, sure, but you’re not just that; are you? You’re Tim. My Tim. Two things can coexist at the same exact time, this is just what makes you.. You, ya know?” 

Tim stared at you for a moment, hands around your waist, his mind still processing. It was as if the entire weight of the secret identity he’d been carrying all this time suddenly evaporated. He had been so worried about how you would react, but now that it was out in the open, there was nothing left to hide.

"Thanks," he whispered, his head dropping to your neck. Hiding, but not really. It was more or so a way to feel you even closer. 

Your head gently resting against his, brushing a kiss against his hair. “Always, Tim. You’re still the same guy I fell for. I love you.”

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