#anyway idk what this is i just like metaphors and thinking about tim drake

[breadbrobin]

blanket hog

tim drake x reader — dc / batfam

[gn!reader]

summary: you’d never been close with tim, but now you were sharing a bed—too close. far too close—and you didn’t know what to think

warnings: light swearing, sharing a bed (ONE BED TROPE MY BELOVED), idiots in love, kissing, is my writing good? idk anymore

word count: 1.7k

(this was meant to be in two parts but it’s way shorter than i thought it was when i was writing it lmao. anyway happy birthday tim drake!)

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if tim drake was a magnet you were his polar opposite. that much you knew for sure. rather than draw you in, he repelled you backwards, unfazed by his ceo smile and somehow perfect hair. it was his unnerving ice-blue eyes that seemed to look through you and his fumbling words that pushed you back. there was something in his stare, and it made your cheeks burn and your heart race, and you didn’t like it. if you could’ve stayed away, you would have.

but fate was a fickle thing.

and when blankets were hogged, you’d fight tooth and nail not to freeze to death.

it had been an easy decision to share the queen-sized bed. the hotel room was small—a bed, a dresser and a bathroom alone—and none of his siblings had wanted to share with him. steph and cass took the only other double room in the small-town in, leaving you with no choice. there wasn’t even any floor space.

“we can take shifts?” tim had suggested, his cheeks uncharacteristically pink.

you’d told him not to be ridiculous, and then you’d had to practically tackle him into the bed to get him to sleep at all.

finally, the room was filled with only soft breathing as you drifted off, warm and cosy in the surprisingly soft sheets.

and then you were cold.

what?

your sleepy eyes blinked open and you frowned. did someone open the window? your sleep addled brain hadn’t put the pieces together just yet. your fingers tightened around the blankets you had pulled against your—ah. that was the issue.

you frowned and rolled onto your back, reaching around to find them. where did they go?

there! you connected. how did they get there? no matter.

you pulled the blankets loosely, but they barely budged. you frowned again. what the hell?

you blinked in the darkness, peering at the shape in the bed next to you. it came rushing back. tim drake. typical. you had to be bunking with the blanket hog.

you pulled the blankets harder, to no avail. you gritted your teeth and dug your heels in (metaphorically), pulling with all your might and hoping they wouldn’t rip. sure, bruce could pay for the replacement, but you’d feel bad.

finally, the blankets came wrapping around you. you rolled back onto your side as you pulled them tight to your chin. then an arm was around your waist. then there was a warm breath on the back of your neck.

oh.

tim’s chest was pressed loosely against your back. he was still gripping the blankets too, obviously dragged by your pulling. you shifted for a moment, but his grip on you only tightened. fabulous.

your heart raced—why did your heart race?—and your palms sweated slightly. it wasn’t hot, but you felt all warm and fuzzy, like you’d just had a big cup of tea. it was tim. even if he wasn’t like a furnace, you realised he’d warm you like this. finally, you let yourself relax into his embrace.

you’d deal with that in the morning, and just hope no one came in before you woke up.

the morning was warm and cosy. you didn’t think too hard about why. there was sunlight streaming onto your body through a gap in the curtains and the blankets were warm and—what was that?

it felt like a breath of air against your skin. you opened your eyes and immediately slammed them closed again.

oh. right.

tim.

throughout the night, you’d clearly managed to roll in his grip until you were face to face. his arm was loose around your waist, hand tangled slightly in your sleep shirt. your legs were tangled with his. your stomach lurched with something unknown, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

you opened your eyes slowly, tentatively, and—

oh.

you were thinking that a lot lately.

it was rare to see tim without a tense frown on his face. it aged him, made him look more stressed and intense. but now… his face was soft with sleep, lips parted just so. oh god, your stomach fluttered.

maybe that was why you’d never been able to be comfortable around him. were you…? no. surely not, right?

as if your thoughts were probing into his dreams, tim stirred slightly. the arm around your body tightened for a second, and his eyebrows twitched. your breath caught in your throat and you snapped your eyes closed again. you really didn’t want to look at him when he woke up, but a soft sigh came from his lips, then a gasp, and he retracted his arm like he’d been burned. you felt instantly colder as he jerked backwards.

you looked up him as he sat up abruptly.

he had a shell-shocked look on his face. scandalised, even. his eyes—startlingly blue—met yours. “i’m so sorry.” his voice was soft and rough with sleep.

you had to swallow tightly before you could reply. “it’s okay.”

“i don’t—“ he shook his head and rubbed his face. “i shouldn’t have—“

“you kinda grabbed me when i pulled the blankets back last night.” you admitted quietly, sitting up too.

“oh.” he said dumbly.

“yeah. blanket hog.” you shot him a small smile.

that seemed to break the tension. he smiled back. “shut up.”

“does koala fit better?”

he groaned and flopped back down onto the bed, covering his face. “i said i was sorry.”

“and i said it was okay.” you shot back immediately, watching him with a small smile. you didn’t quite know what it meant, but you did know that there was something different between you now. it was like you’d broken through the previous tension to discover something more. worse? better? you didn’t know yet.

he opened his eyes and peered at you between his fingers. “you’re not upset?”

“why would i be? it was cold. you’re like a furnace.” you shrugged, deciding to play it cool.

he sat up again and pushed his hands through his hair. it fell back in front of his face. your fingers twitched like you wanted to push it back again. “right. yeah.”

you found yourself studying his face. when he wasn’t looking stressed or exhausted, he was actually really pretty, you realised. obviously, you objectively knew that—the tabloids did a great job of describing how pretty he was (not that you read them, no way)—but you’d never taken the time to see it yourself.

he shifted under your gaze. “what?”

“nothing.” you said sharply, turning your head away. you leaned back against the rickety headboard. he followed suit.

there was silence for a long while. you fiddled with your fingers, not looking at him. you could feel his gaze on your profile, probing and studying and examining you like you were a piece of evidence at a crime scene.

finally, you let your eyes dart back to him.

he wasn’t looking at your eyes.

there was a rush that went through you as his piercing eyes flashed between your lips and eyes. your breath caught and you looked away again, before you could do anything stupid.

“why don’t you like me?” he asked softly. “i mean… you act like you hate me. why?”

“i don’t hate you.” you said softly.

he scoffed. “yeah, i know that. why do you act like you hate me?”

you were silent for a moment. you could feel tim’s gaze on your face again. “i don’t know. i think it’s because…” you swallowed your pride. “you always look like you want to say something to me, but you never do. i think i felt like you didn’t like me.”

“i do.” he said in a rush, the words spilling out of him. “i do like you. i don’t know why i can’t seem to talk to you like a normal person, but i just…”

you looked over at him with a small smile. “you’re doing a pretty good job right now, for a boa constrictor.”

he groaned and laughed a little, shaking his head. “you’re terrible.”

“seriously i think you cut off my circulation.”

“very funny.”

“i’ll sue you for my medical bills when i have to amputate from the lack of blood flow.”

“i’ll pay them anyway.” his voice was soft. it sounded like a confession.

your heart fluttered. “so you admit guilt?”

he nodded slightly. his eyes weren’t so piercing in the warm dimness of the hotel room. they were warmer, softer, more gentle. or maybe that was just the way he was looking at you. “and i’d do it again.”

yesterday, you would have laughed at him and kept joking. today… you bit down a smile. “i think i’d allow that.”

he didn’t hide his smile. “yeah?”

you let yours show a little too. “yeah, i guess.”

“and if i were to maybe kiss you? would you allow that?” he asked softly, barely above a whisper. his eyes dropped to your lips again.

your heart climbed into your throat and did a little dance. you nodded. “yeah, i suppose i could allow that.”

for a moment, you wondered if this was a good idea. if this would backfire on you. if this would result in pain and loss and not to mention hours of teasing from steph about getting her ‘sloppy seconds’. if this would end terribly and ruin your entire dynamic with the bats, who you’d only just started working with.

and then tim’s lips were on yours and your mind went blissfully blank.

you sighed into the kiss, your hand coming up to his chest.

the kiss was brief, but as his lips pulled away from yours, your hand tightened on the collar of his shirt and pulled him back to you.

after all that time not understanding what these feelings were, you finally got why your cheeks burned and your heart raced and why he could never talk properly around you.

god, it all made sense, and his fingers in your hair and cupping your jaw were exactly where they were meant to be. the knock on the door only drew you back to reality for a moment before his lips were on yours again, and again, and again, and you realised you could stay there for a lifetime. you’d be happy to.

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

Tim has ALWAYS been a mirror. to anyone and everyone who needed it or who he needed. he reflects those around him and you have to figure out what's at the heart of it all by looking through all those bright, conflicting, broken and warped mirror pieces. as Robin he wanted to be like Dick, yes, but he always wanted to live up to Jason. he formed himself into what Bruce needed, a Robin just enough like both his sons to be accepted despite pain and circumstances pushing back against the both of them, who doesn't realize that in the end he's loved for who he is, not who he reflects. some cameras are made up of mirrors. is the image they capture the same that was alive and in the world, or a reflection, or both? do those mirrors go dark when the shutter clicks or do they light up with flashing fragmentary light? if the Robin is reflected enough times, is it still the same Robin? if the Robin acts as a mirror enough, what does he see when he looks at himself in one?