#i think Tim would be perfect for the job

[bats-and-the-birds]

The Batkids on being mistaken as Bruce's biological children.

Look, the Batkids have all been forced into various social gatherings, and enough of them share vague features with Bruce that some of the older members among Gotham's old money, or the younger ones that are out of the loop, sometimes mix up the facts.

Dick gets it from the very beginning. Old women pinch his cheeks, still tan from a life outside of Gotham's gloom, and tell him, Such a sweet little boy, and just like your father at your age. His hair used to stick up just like yours. Dick didn't like it at all. He bit the first person that told him he had Bruce's eyes, and stomped on the foot of an old politician that told him, With your father's height, I thought you'd be taller by now.

He laughs it off as an adult, but sometimes, it still eats at him. People still tell him that they thought he'd eventually be as tall as Bruce, or that he should be thankful for his inherited jaw line. It's not the comparison to Bruce that bothers him anymore, or even being mistaken as his son, but rather, the fact that he sometimes struggles to remember exactly where his features actually came from; parental faces turning fuzzy in his distant memory.

Jason thinks it's funny, the first time it happens. Mostly because it's his nose of all things. Your nose is bent, grumbled the old man sitting across from him at the gala, Just like your father's. Tough luck on the genetics. The man didn't realize the bent noses were because they'd both been broken in the past. Jason spent days after studying Bruce's face, trying to figure out if their noses really bent in the same way, and eventually came to the conclusion that, yeah, they really did. From that point on, each time either of them broke their nose, Jason would distantly think, Ah, damn, there goes the family resemblance.

As an adult, Jason takes care to make sure people don't often seen his face. The hood does a pretty good job of that. Besides, he doesn't move in circles where the mistake could be made anymore. Still, sometimes he looks in the mirror at the bump in his nose and thinks, Family resemblance. Yeah, right.

It happens less with Tim. Anyone that made the mistake with Jason and Dick also remembered Jack and Janet Drake. It's not until he's almost an adult that a new hire at Wayne Industries, some kid from out of town, sees him and Bruce in the office together and remarks, Oh, you two furrow your eyebrows in the same way when you think. My mom says that my dad and I do that too. We inherited it from my grandpa. Tim feels unsettled all day and makes a conscious effort to not to furrow his eyebrows anymore.

There's no mistake to make with Damian. At least, not the same one that can be made with the others. He's the blood son, and he's a perfect mix between Bruce and Talia. Of course, there's the well-meaning, if confused, adults that assume he's adopted like the others. He corrects them, swiftly, and sometimes aggressively.

There is one incident. It happens while Bruce is gone, after he's been staying with Grayson for a few months. He knew, of course, that people thought that Grayson looked like Bruce. He could even see the similarities. Superficially, of course. However, he never considered that Grayson looking like his father also meant that Grayson looked like him. Not until an old woman leaned over to him at a gala and said, You look just like your father when Mister Wayne first brought him out to these things. The hair, that disgruntled little frown. He hated these parties too. Couldn't ever sit still. Gosh, I really can't believe it's been long enough that he has a child of his own. It took Damian a while to realize what happened, and even then, he couldn't bring himself to tell her that he wasn't actually Grayson's son, or that he and Grayson weren't actually that far apart in age. He felt strangely guilty the rest of the night, and he never dared to tell Grayson about it.

It happened to Steph exactly once. Really, she doesn't look like Bruce at all. It was a man with exceptionally thick glasses, who actually told her that she reminded him of Martha Wayne. She's pretty sure he was just trying to be nice. She tries to forget about it. She never tells Bruce.

You have his eyes, is what Duke gets. Which confuses him, because, uh, no, he doesn't. Not even close like Dick's. He says as much to the woman that said it to him, and she squints her eyes at him and responds, No, you definitely do. Not in the shape or the color, but you look at things the same way he does. Duke thinks about that sometimes, and he swings back and forth between being annoyed and weirdly proud that he apparently looked at the world like Batman did.

People tell Cass that she has his smile. She beams with pride at that. After all, she learned it from him. She studied, closely, the way his mouth ticked up at the corners, both while he stretched the dazzling, fake smile across his face for the public, and the genuine, gentle smiles that he gave her while he helped tie her hair back or slip on her mask, and now she could replicate them both perfectly. She didn't like the fake one, but she knew it was necessary.

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"I bet on losing dogs"

ok this is like my first time actually writing anything EVER, and I don't know how to work tumblr or make this aesthetic so bare with me pls!! I keep seeing yandere batfam x neglected reader and I have had so many ideas so I'm giving this a shot! The reader is referred to with female pronouns but you can imagine it different if you want :) Reader is 2 years older than Damian and is 15 at the start of the story. Damian is 13. Dick is around 10 years older than reader, making him 25 right now. Jason is 8 years older than reader, making him 23. Tim is 2 years older than reader making him 17. Cass is 4 years older than reader and is 19. Stephanie is 3 years older than reader and is 18. Barbra is around 8 years older, making her 23! Bruce is around 35-40ish??? All just kinda guesses to make the plot and dynamics more clear, lmk if you have any questions!!

This is the prolouge and it kinda sucks so pls be nice. Hearts and comments are appreciated. If it's bad ignore it, english isn't my first language. Chapter one:, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4:

You couldn't understand it. You aren't a bad kid, so why were you treated like one? Why did your father treat you like the bane of his existence? Why did your older brothers see you as nothing more than dirt at the bottom of their shoes, a ghost in the manor, a blemish on their picture perfect family of misfits. You tried so so hard to fit in, to be part of the family. You wasted 11 YEARS of your life trying to get noticed, doing activities and hobbies you hated in the hopes of striking conversation with your "siblings". Batman, Bruce Wayne, your "father", ignored you no matter what. He ignored you like it was his job, from the day you came to the manor on your fourth birthday, your mother's death day, to today, your 15th birthday. You saved his life, his and all those other ungrateful losers who you used to call family. Yesterday, you put you life on the line for them, got bitten by that damn snake for them, and they ignored you and told you to walk it off while coddling the girl who suddenly appeared. Never again would you help them, nor would you brush off their mistreatment, not after this betrayal. Not after they took in another girl, a girl your age, the girl who took credit for your heroic act, the girl who bullied you for years at Gotham Prep, the girl who made your life living hell, and called HER family. They choose Tiffany Maverick to be their supposed savior, they would never believe you had the bravery to help them. They chose her to be Tiffany Wayne and scorned you.

You did nothing wrong, from the day you came to the manor you were perfect. Straight A's, no attitude, no complaints and no demands. All you did was try, try, try, and they never noticed.

Richard "The Dick" Grayson, as you and your friends call him, was the world's best big brother to everyone, except you of course! He was your first brother, he was the kid that Bruce Wayne actually wanted to take under his wing. You were 5 and he was 15, he was busy being Robin and then Nightwing. Alfred assured you that Dick adored you, you were his baby sister after all, he was just busy! In later years you realized he was only busy when it came to you. He made time for Damian no matter what, always attended Cassandra's ballet recitals, chatted with Tim and ruffled his hair, and he even dealt with Jason's snarky attitude and biting remarks. Yet, somehow when it came to you, he never had time. Always brushing you off with a shoulder pat and a "Maybe next time sweetheart!" and rolling his eyes when he thought you weren't looking. He's been making time for Tiffany or Tiffybear, as he loves to call her while pinching her cheeks and calling her his favorite little sister, "Don't tell Cass though!" he'll whisper to her. You don't even think he can remember your name. Or that once upon a time you were his "baby bird."

It makes you sick watching her take credit for everything, she's only been in the manor for 6 months and they've all given her more love than they have to you in the past 11 years. She took credit for all your awards, she told everyone she was top of your class, made them "homemade" cakes and muffins. It was all you. She stole everything.

Jason Todd, the red hood, was so mean to you. You used to admire him, looked up to him, and he took all your kind words and gestures for granted and spit them back in your face. Once upon a time, he was your favorite brother, you wanted to be as confident and unshakeable as him, it didn't matter how mean he was now because he was you brother and you loved him. The bond you had before his death was something you couldn't let go of, he was the only one who loved you. When he first came to the manor he was 12 and you came a couple months later. An adorable 4 year old who followed her favorite brother like a duckling. You were 7 when he died. You were 12 when he came back to haunt Bruce and Dick and Tim. You chased after him and tried to resurrect the bond you had for 3 long years. You gave up when you saw them. You couldn't believe your eyes when you saw him and Tiffany sneaking out the manor on a school night, you almost threw up when you saw him strap her on his motorcycle and leave for hours. They came back with shit-eating grins and cupcakes for everyone from a 24hr bakery, everyone except you. The bakery you asked him to take you to months ago. Tiffany saw the tears in your eyes and your clenched fists and she laughed.

Timothy Drake-Wayne, you first saw him after Jason died. Tim, in your 10 year old mind, was trying to steal your dad. Bruce ignored you even more after Jason's death and shut everyone out. Your bond with Tim was non-existent no matter how hard you tried. After you realized he wasn't trying to replace Jason, and saw how he was helping your father heal in ways you couldn't, you tried to bond with him. You attempted to play his video games and ignored his complete disintrest in you and anything that had to do with you in hopes he might come to appreciate you. You brought him coffee after long patrols, asked him about his day, asked to meet his friends, you picked up all his hobbies like hacking, cooking, reading even martial arts and yet he ignored you. You tried to find him in hallways at school, only to be treated like a stranger when you found him. He was embarrassed that you were his sister. You were chubby and awkward and didn't have many friends, he didn't want his cool kid friends to know you were his sister. For 5 long years you chased after him, for 5 years you chased a ghost, and somehow Tiffany captured his attention using one of the gadget-thingys you made in hopes to impress him. She walks the hallways of Gotham Prep with him, a perfect sibling duo, he even had her lunch moved so she could sit with him and his friends. He wasn't embarrassed of her. You watched them get closer in 6 months than you have in 5 years. And it hurt.

But perhaps what hurt most is her newfound bond with Damian. Your baby brother. You tried the hardest with Damian, almost as hard as you tried with Bruce, and yet he chose her while all you got was a sword to your neck and sneers of disgust thrown your way. Damian moved in when you were 12. You were elated, if you couldn't have good older siblings, at least you could be one! That plan went to hell when you realized Damian saw you as less than him. No matter how hard you tried, returned your love with disgust. You tried to show him around school like you wished Tim did for you and he called you " A waste of space and Wayne DNA" and said that there was no way you were of "Wayne" blood and that your "whore of a mother" had to have deceived his father, in front of your two friends and half the school. You could've handled his cruel words if he didn't begin attempting to duel you to become your father's heir. About a year ago, when you tried to hug him he threw you down the stairs and you broke your ankle, you stopped trying with him after that. He was so possessive over Bruce and now that somehow transferred to Tiffany too. You'd feel bad for her if she wasn't eating his obsession with her up.

Barbra, Cassandra, and Stephanie were the "It girls." All practically sisters, they hung out almost everyday and had sleepovers every Friday. They giggled about boys, hook-ups, missions and bonded over everything. You wanted be one of them, you tried so hard to be cool, to be pretty, and they could only see your flaws. You curled your hair and did your nails in hope you would blend with them, you even attempted to be Batgirl at one point. You were quickly denied after Stephanie pointed out that you didn't have the right 'physique' for it. Barbra quickly agreed and said you weren't cut out for it, Cassandra simply looked you up and down. Thats why it hurt extra when they welcomed Tiffany with open arms. Suddenly, she could be Batgirl. She talked to them about boys and bonded with them over girl things. She stole your sisters.

You figured out Tiffany was a spy almost as soon as she came into the manor. Her apperance and ability to act like it was her who saved the Bats from the Joker and his new radioactive snake was not a coincidence, neither was her becoming a vigilante only two weeks after coming into the manor, and neither was you catching her walking out the Batcave with arms full of Batman's weapons and plans. You couldn't believe your luck and pulled out your phone to take a picture, too bad you left the flash on. Tiffany quickly noticed you and tried to explain that it was a misunderstanding when Bruce came into the hallway. You beamed at the sight of him and began to explain what you saw Tiffany doing, only Tiffany was faster. She was quick to blame you for everything, and Batman, the world's greatest detective believed her. She said that you bullied her at school and you were so jealous of her joining the family that you went to steal plans and took pictures to frame her. It was a shitty lie and somehow everyone believed it. You still remember the cold indifference on Bruce's face, the sadness on Alfred's, the look of pure delight on Damian's, the shock on Dick's, the interest on Tim's and the disappointment and disgust on Jason's. Something shifted in you that night. You didn't feel an overwhelming amount of love and longing when you looked at your family, you felt anger. Pure unadultered rage, rage at Bruce for never loving you, rage at Dick for being a liar, rage at Jason for throwing away your bond and cool indifference and disgust at the rest of them.

Maybe that's why your abilities finally formed. Maybe thats why the place the snake bit you that fateful night began to glow as you cried in your bathtub, after being scolded all night and getting body slammed by Damian for trying to "taint his dear sister's image". You had powers now, the agility of a snake, you could eject venom out of your fingertips, you could walk on walls, now you could prove them all wrong.

okayyyy yall this was the prolouge. Again this is my 1st attempt at writing so be nice. If enough people like this I'll put out part one. Hope yall enjoyed and lmk what you want to happen next in the comments!!!!!!!!!

[justsomestuffreally]

I think the Batkids reaction to a Bruce who isn't de-aged to 8 but rather 29 (pre-Jason death, post his adoption) would be fascinating. 

Their reaction would vary wildly:

Dick: Oh. Bruce is soft again. Bruce calls them ‘chum’ and ‘buddy’ and gives head pats for no reason. He still isn’t perfect, his communication skills are still a work in progress, but compared to his future self? Without actively dying Dick is hugged plenty. Bruce asks him to go to the zoo, unrelated to any case, just to spend time together. Dick is hit with more nostalgia and longing for the past than he knows what to do with.

Also notable: his dad is younger than him. That is something. Second, holy existential crisis Batman, his dad is younger than him and already one adult and one teenage kid??? Dick is not ready to feel this old yet. Third, Dick has absolutely no idea how Bruce managed to stay patient through his no-pants years. He is going to thank reason every day from now on that Damian wears full protection.

Jason: After his death and League he clung to an image of Bruce. One many tried to beat out of him, but he still kept it somewhere close to his heart, buried deep enough even he couldn’t see it. When he came back Bruce wasn’t like this idea of him. How stupid of him to believe the mind of a traumatized kid. Trying to create one good thing before the kid drew his last breath. Making up memories that never even existed.

But they did. Every smile and hug and even his words reflect the image tugged safely against his still-beating heart. His dad very clearly, very deeply loves him. Which is so much worse. Because he can understand why a Bruce, who never cared, didn’t kill the Joker. But he cares. So why the fuck did he not kill the Joker?

Tim: The reason he joined the family, the reason why he became Robin in the first place was because he saw a problem when Bruce started self-destructing and thought ‘Someone needs to fix that!’. Therefore he went and collected Dick, who didn’t seem keen on fixing it. So, the job fell to him to fix it.

He thought he did a good job, he thought he fixed the problem. Except now he sees who Bruce was, and he knows he failed. Their Bruce is less soft, less affectionate, less like he was before. Batman needs a Robin and Tim didn’t manage to be good enough of one to save him. 

[Or: Tim has a guilt complex a hundred miles wide and blames himself for things that aren’t his fault part 52]

Steph: Jason and she are very similar. Both come from the Narrows, both have a mother addicted to drugs and a shitty father. The differences start when Steph keeps waiting on the roof of their apartment for Batman to whisk her away, while Jason tries to steal the tires of the Batmobile and is taken in.

When Steph started out as Spoiler Bruce tried to keep her off the field, and obviously this one would too (even if he would probably be less paranoid about it), but she knows this Bruce would have also taken her in. This Bruce would be the father she always wished for when she sat on their roof and couldn’t see any stars. 

And she didn’t get to have this because Jason went ahead and died. (Of course, she knows she isn’t fair to the guy. Dying isn’t fun… And she knows the only reason she lived is because he died. When Batman rescued her from Black Mask she was in such terrible shape that Leslie managed to convince the World’s Greatest Detective that she died. If Jason hadn’t died Bruce wouldn’t have been as paranoid, wouldn’t have noticed her missing so soon, wouldn’t have been as urgent in his response. Would have been just a minute slower, a minute which would have killed her. Just as it had Jason.)

For her, this Bruce is a distorted mirror into a past which never was. 

Cass: This Bruce and B are not the same person. They don’t move the same. In a fight, this Bruce is younger, faster, stronger. Doesn’t compensate for a previously broken spine. Less experienced. Still one of the most experienced she knows, but less. 

He still moves differently, outside a fight, less pain. More likely to engage in physical affection, more likely to hug and pat and talk. He talks more than B. B knows what she means without words. This Bruce doesn’t.

She likes this Bruce, warmth, and softness. But not as much as B. He knows what she means, when she wants a hug, when she tells him ‘I love you’ without words. B doesn’t need words. This Bruce doesn’t know her, doesn’t communicate like her. She wants B back.

Damian: At first, when this version of his father seemed uncanny and oddly familiar, he assumed it to be due to the stories of his mother. After all, she always told him tales about his father. He simply did not have the frame of reference to understand the kindness she spoke of. Clearly, the clash between the ideals of the League and the ones of his father causes these feelings, just as they did when he first entered the manor.

He presumed this to be the case until one day on patrol Batman laid a hand on his shoulder and told him he did a good job after no particularly impressive fight and he nearly called him ‘Grayson’. Because the stories of his mother may have painted the picture of this version of his father, however, it wasn’t what made it familiar; no, he knew this kindness. These hugs and compliments one would bestow upon a child. Compliments which, despite the indignity, still warm him. Because Grayson learned how to be a… caregiver from his father.

His father used to be like Grayson, used to be until his grief hardened him. Damian could have had this. Damian could have a brother and father who would- But he doesn’t because of Todd. He loathes Todd. Loathes him for ruining the life he could have had.

Why did he die anyway? Damian certainly wouldn’t have a problem escaping bonds created by the Joker, Damian would have disarmed the bomb in time, Damian would have never thrown this life away like he did.

[Or: Damian is a child who was raised by assassins and has unreasonable standards for fighting abilities and also is a child who needs to focus his rage on someone.]

Duke: He was neither there before Jason died nor in the aftermath [according to my math he was around 4 when Jason died] he joined the family when Jason was already back for 4 years or so. He mostly skipped all the drama. For him, Bruce is the way Bruce is because he is Bruce. It’s weird to see him so different, to see how grief shaped parts of Bruce which Duke assumed were just Bruce things.

He’s glad this Bruce is brighter, or not because it just highlights how much that light will dim? Who knows, certainly not him. 

What he does know is that, with their Bruce, he has a distance which, with his parents still alive, he appreciates. With this Bruce, he can understand why Dick struggled so much whether he wants to be his ward or son, how he doesn’t want to replace his parents but still have this Bruce as a dad. It definitely explained the ted talk Dick tried to give him after Bruce officially took him in as a ward.

He likes this Bruce well enough, but he doesn’t necessarily want him to stay this way. Yes, their Bruce is less happy, less open but he did heal, he did grow. Duke met a Bruce who tried to learn from his mistakes, learned to communicate better, and learned when to pull and when to push. For Tim, Damian, Dick, and certainly Jason there is too much baggage, too much history in their relationships, it’s difficult for them to ever move past- anything really.

Sure, when Dick and Bruce are on the same page they are essentially invincible but then the past catches up again and they don’t talk to each other for months. And honestly? Apart from Cass, Duke’s pretty sure he has one of the best relationships with Bruce simply because he got to know him at a better time.

Duke doesn’t mind this Bruce. But their Bruce loved Jason, cared for him so deeply the scars still show to this day. And he still chooses to open up again even if just a bit by bit. Even if just Duke can see it. He is used to being the only one that can see.

And maybe knowing this care extends to him, this love even grief can’t shake? Maybe it makes him feel just a little bit safer, a little bit warmer, a little bit brighter.

[alilobsessive]

The Terrible Crow

All your life you desired recognition from your father, well you got it! But not from your bio dad, things only grow worse from there. For the Bats, not for you.

All your life you have longed for one thing, you’re Father’s recognition. At first it was simple things, like getting good grades, school awards. Anything for him to tell you how good of a job you’re doing. When he brought in Dick that changed, the escalation was quick. If he could be Robin, if he could fight with your Father why couldn’t you? Eventually after years of begging he agreed, then not even a week later he took in Jason and he became the new Robin. Your Father told you it was because he was older then you, already making it safer for him to go then you. When you brought up the fact that you’re the same age as Dick when he started, your father countered that Dick already had years more training with his parents than you.

After that you reluctantly didn’t argue, scared of seeming like nothing more than a spoiled kid. Jason in you began training together, although the two of you grew a bond it never felt right. Everyone called you close and although you liked him a part of you was resentful. You’re Father was always tougher on your training then Dick or Jason, always finding a flaw no matter how long you practice. In a way it helped you perfect your skills to the last detail. But he never told you “good job” not like Dick or Jason, it was always moving right on to the next thing. After Jason’s death the training got worse, he was somehow harder and stricter than before. You went to bed sore with aching bones and bruises from training, if you went to bed at all that is. Sometimes your sleep schedule was what was being trained, he would make you stay up for days at I time, rarely doing anything more than a nap. He told you this was similar to the training he went through, that it would make you stronger.

You never got the chance to prove it though, not even a half a year since Jason died a new boy was brought in. Tim’s the same age as you, highly intelligent and good at stealth but completely untrained. “SO WHY IS HE ROBIN!” You screeched at the man you call Father, Tim stands there glaring at you. He has a red mark on his cheek from where you slapped him when you were told he would be Robin. You were instantly yelled at and reprimanded by your Father for this, which started this argument in the first place. “I HAVE TRAINED FOR MOST OF MY LIFE FOR THIS, I HAVE DONE ALMOST EVERYTHING YOU WANTED ME TO! I FOLLOWED YOUR ORDERS I DEDICATED MY LIFE TO THIS” You scream at him, tears filling your eyes and falling down your cheeks. He just stares at you, expression blank and unchanging “what made you think I’d ever make you Robin?” Is all he says. Freezing you just stare at him crushed. “You’re dismissed” you feel like he spits it out, he doesn’t but it feels like he does “don’t ever train here again, nor even think about being a vigilante” you’ve never felt so much rage and sorrow before. You turn around to leave pushing Tim to the ground as you do “you’re grounded!” He calls out. Without even looking back you flip him off “fuck you Bruce!”.

After that things were never the same, you never wanted to try at anything anymore. What was the point in constantly studying if it meant nothing? So you did whatever you wanted, there were barely any consequences. Bruce didn’t give a shit about you, he never truly did. Alfred always sided with Bruce, sure he called him out when he was in the wrong, but that rarely changed anything with you. Dick was as absent in your life as ever. Finally you and Tim’s relationship was shit, it would never recover, at least you didn’t care if it did or not.

Eventually though you stumbled across a niche that peaked your interest. It started small, quick one minute videos about animal biology you finished the nearly 10 year old channel's entire library of content in 2 days. Then it evolved into animal psychology and finally to humans, what made them tick. It was fascinating every last detail interested you, from the mating habits of raccoons to the study that showed most humans could pick out snakes in extremely pixelated and blurry images. Even the more questionable experiments that would never pass today, like the wire and cloth mothers, and the monster study. Things that would have been difficult to prove or research if it wasn’t for the unethicalness of it all. Hell, even the bullshit study with gorillas learning sign language was interesting, even if the whole thing was completely pointless and awfully mismanaged. It was just so interesting to learn about.

Then you stumbled across it, a familiar name, Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow. All his published studies were almost 2 decades old, but that didn’t stop how interesting they were. Both as a glimpse into the mind of a madman who long had his license revoked and as a study in how the mind understood fear in general. Sure you were made to memorize his habits, his usual schemes, hell you even helped reverse engineer and make a cure for several of his fear toxin strands. But you never learned about his studies, never learned about the person behind the mask. But now you wanted to, desperately, of course you couldn’t just go to Arkham. Bruce would learn about it and who knows what he would do once he learns of your little…. curiosity.

No, you didn’t want that, so you lied in wait for the perfect time. But while you did so you studied, falling back into old habits. Day and night you obsessively researched human psychology, several studies both bullshit and true. You memorized everything, dates, names, places, what effects they had, any changes or new revelations in the study, what they were studying and in some cases what they ended up actually studying. You even ended up dabbing deeper into chemistry. All of this to impress someone, but you enjoyed learning these things. All of this was fun, unlike dealing with Bruce.

Then finally the day came, Scarecrow broke out of Arkham. Using the skills Bruce ground into your brain you found him. It was pretty easy, you're shocked he didn’t find Scarecrow sooner. Of course you ended up captured, tied to a chair in one of his labs. Oh also a gun pointed at your head, neat! “What are you doing here?” Scarecrow says suspiciously, a wide grin forms on your face as you happily say “I want you to teach me!” The man just looked at you strangely. Then he laughed, “this isn’t a very funny joke kid” the man sneered at you. “But I’m not! I’ve read your work Mr. Crane! It’s absolutely fascinating! I want to learn more, especially about your newer unpublished stuff!” He just stares at you, “really?” He asks, pointing the gun down. Although he doesn’t look like he believes you, “then prove it” before you can even react the gun is back at your head and he shoots.

The bullet barely misses but you don’t move, don’t even flinch, you just smile. You know how manic you look, but you don’t care. Scarecrow just stares at you surprised, he completely lowered the gun and put it away. “Well..” he mumbles, “I guess I can give you a test” that made you feel nothing but pure glee.

The costume you were put in started out simple, a almost completely black suit with blue gloves and a mask vaguely resembling a plague doctor. You thought you looked like a rip off emperor's coven member but that’s not that important. As Crow as his apprentice you were first given grunt work, helping and leading his henchman in getting supplies for whatever project he was working on. That was when you weren’t doing homework, taking notes, organizing documents. The Bat’s were completely unaware of what you were doing, sure they knew you had something after school. The one time they asked you told them you got an internship. They didn’t even bother to verify if that was true or not. Alfred was the only one who even slightly cared and even then he was just proud that you finally found a calling away from the vigilante life. Boy was he only slightly correct.

Things started ramping up after you defeated Tim, Robin in combat. The pure smug joy you felt at that moment is indescribable. The rejected Robin, who's rusty, proving that they're stronger, faster, smarter, better than the current? You were so excited you almost went into hysterics, and the fear on his face as you brutally kicked his ass? Priceless! They didn’t even realize it was you, but Scarecrow did, he recognized how similar your fighting style are instantly. At first you were worried, scared even about what he’d do now that he knew. Truthfully he was suspicious at first, but once you told him your story, how you were rejected from being Robin in favor of the second and third. How cruel they were to you before and after, even said you would tell him the secret identities of the bat’s and everyone you know is affiliated with them. Both publicly and privately, although he rejected your offer he saw your desperation. How much you want, no needed to stay, to keep this. Scarecrow accepted your loyalty and at that moment you truly became Crow.

To commemorate this occasion you got an outfit change. It became more padded, the mask looking more like a helmet then anything, and boots that increase your height by several inches. You were also made to train in a different combat style with both the added height and change of vision it was a necessity. But also to help cover your tracks as Crow from the Bat’s. So you grow, you changed, you trained and trained and they never noticed. Not when you came back injured from work, with new bruises and scars. Not when you came home with gifts, or when you brought your assignments back with you. They were completely ignorant as Scarecrow, Jonathan Crane, he became your family, your father.

Eventually though Bruce got suspicious, he never figured out who you were, not until much later. But he realized you're doing something shady, the man never put in the effort to figure out what exactly. So he sent you off to a college far from the city, of course he let you pick the field you wanted. It wasn’t too hard to figure out what to do, psychology was already your passion after all and you were being trained by the best. The only issue was Crow, how to excuse there absence. So faking an extreme injury a week before you left easily fixed that. Afterwards you packed up and went to school, a school you would never return from, not to the manor at least.

There you continued your studies, your training in all forms and your contacts with Scarecrow. The only real difficult thing was not getting caught in your less ethical studies. You spent from the age of 18 to 24 studying as much as possible in your field getting both a bachelor’s and master’s. The plan was to go for a PHD too, but sadly things were interrupted and you quickly returned home. Your dad, Scarecrow was extremely injured during a fight and was in the hospital. Someone needed to step up, that person was you.

This time your outfit changed once more, it made you look even bigger and bulkier then you were. A cloak with a feathered collar, iron gloves with clawed ends, the faceless bird helmet looking even more imposing. Everything in your power to make you look as menacing as possible, large and imposing, a night to rival the knight. As you were making your return known you discovered something interesting, a new Robin, a baby brother. Dispute your issue with your family something about this was exciting. You felt so happy and you didn’t know why, but the fact he’s a Robin? Well, the kid needed to be taught a very important lesson before he learned it the hard way.

It wasn’t hard leading him to Wayne tower by himself. Kid had the skills but no discipline, reckless and willing to do anything to prove himself worthy. You can relate, which is way it has to be you who dose this. You approach the 10 year old boy from the shadows “you came alone hatchling?” You say in a soft voice. He jumps away and wipes his head around to face you eyes wide, he pulls out his sword and points it at you. “How-“ “a magician never reveals there secrets” you say playfully “now put the sword down baby bird” he doesn’t just glares at you. He then lunges forward aiming for your throat, but it wasn’t hard to grab the blade and rip it from his hand. He stares at you wide eyed as you throw it to the other side of the building, he quickly reorganize himself and throw a punch. But you dodge it, each kick and punch he sent was easily avoided.

As he moved to kick your head you grabbed his leg, and pulled him away. “You know” you begin walking to the edge tone not changing, “in nature Crows and Robins have an interest relationship. Crows are an omnivorous creature, they don’t just eat seeds and nuts like some people will have you believe. They’ve even been reported to peck out the eyes and tongues of lambs. Robins are no exception,” you hold him over the edge and watch as his eyes widen. He squirms and yells, “Crows will actually protect the nests of Robins, for a fee of course.” Batman should appear any minute now. “There young, they take and feast on the eggs and hatchlings. They basically farm them, it’s fascinating really. Crows are one of the smartest birds, about as intelligent as a 7 year old human. We’re watching the first signs of the evolution of a society!” You say almost giddy, “little mafias! It’s adorable and fascinating!” “We’re are you going with this” you just stare down at him, your mask making it nothing more then a dark void. You can practically feel his presence close to you, “it’s simple really! I’ve never been payed my dues! And you’re just a hatchling that doesn’t know better” and you drop him.

Batman catches him of course, but by the time he does and gets back up the tower you’re already long gone.

——————

Sorry if it takes a while for me to post things! I haven’t been feeling great both physically and mentally lately.

[thebibliosphere]

I was just playing gotham knights again and noticed some passive dialog regarding Babs having a back brace, which is at least acknowledging that there was damage done, but I'm a little sad for the loss of some really cool disability representation. What are your feelings on her (and on a similar note Batman's) miraculous recovery from paralysis in DC?

I think Gotham Knights handled her disability fairly well, considering this is a universe where magic, nanobots, and puddles of evil green goo that can heal the dead exist. All things considered, it would have been very easy for them to either erase it entirely or just handwave and say, "She worked really hard and got better," as previous iterations of the canon have done.

Because she did work hard and get better, but the hard work is ongoing because they depict her issues as chronic.

She's got a limp (it's the most obvious in her Talon suit with no cape in the way), which means she can't rely on speed or high kicks like the others can (I mean, she can kick, but it's her slowest motion, and until you max out her suit, it's the most liable to get her thrown to the ground), so she falls back on precision and her tech.

Jason punches for maximum pain, Dick moves with dizzying speed, and Tim's gonna sneak up on you and drop you like a rock, but Babs is going for the pressure points with ruthless precision. Not to mention her drones.

The conversation with Tim, realizing she might need help boosting her suit to compensate for her pain/strength issues, is a nice little way of making the player aware that she's got these ongoing problems because, honestly, a casual observer could mistake her back brace for athleisure wear if they didn't recognize the shape of it. It's also a good way of throwing in some exposition about how she's still going to physical rehab and that her PT would like her to "wean off" her back brace, but because her PT doesn't know her actual job as a vigilante, Barbara admits she can't and is essentially finding ways to manage her own care and create her own accommodations. Accommodations which they are all shown to be willing to help with.

It's a nice little touch when superhero narratives tend to revolve around self-sacrifice to the point of self-destruction. Alfred giving Dick into trouble for pushing himself too far and hiding injuries is a nice touch, too, even if it's like trying to bail water on the Titanic with a teacup.

I also like that not only do you see her wheelchair lurking around the Belfry—along with the disability adaptations they put in place, like the ramps, the wheelchair elevator, and the desks that move up and down to wheelchair height—but that she also still uses her chair from time to time.

[ID a screenshot from Gotham Knights showing the Belfry. Light streams in through a giant clockface, showcasing a bank of computer screens. In front of the screen, Barbara Gordon is using her wheelchair as Dick Grayson stands behind her, probably making a bad pun.]

Whether she's using it because she's tired or simply because it's more comfortable than the computer chair is never revealed. Nor is it brought up or commented on. It's just something that's normal for Barbara to do, and I like that. I like that it's normal. It's not a part of herself she's trying to erase. She works with it, not against it.

Is it perfect? No. Do they outright erase her disability like so many of the comics are guilty of? Also, no. I'd argue that, in fact, they kept her disability. They just changed the nature of it.

Barbara now has a dynamic disability, one which fluctuates and requires different management based on her day-to-day (or night) activity. She's in active treatment for it and will be for the rest of her life. Are some of the physical feats she achieves realistic for someone with an injury of her nature? Not really, but again, this is a world where nobody stays dead, and there are zombie assassins coming out of the walls. I'll take the attention to detail and care they put into her story any day over the "Willpower Fixed My Spine" narrative we could have gotten.

As for Bruce getting healed by magic, again, it's Batman. Comic book logic is wibbly-wobbly at the best of times, and realistically speaking, they couldn't leave Batman paralyzed. His whole deal revolves around being stealthy and punching the shit out of people. He wouldn't be Batman anymore, and frankly, I don't trust the comic writers as far as I could throw them to handle that right.

By contrast, the Gotham Knights writers handled Barbara with much more care and nuance than I ever expected. And I'm thankful for that.

---

*I also like that both Dick and Barbara are often shown wearing joint braces. Dick's are especially reminiscent of the way gymnasts and people with hypermobility tape their joints to reduce pain and prevent injuries. It's a nice little touch. They're not invincible. Their bodies hurt. They're just like me but with money and much bigger problems like giant killer robots and zombie assassins.

[asce-of-hearts]

Hii omg i love your content SO much and i was wondering if you could write some nsfw headcanons for toby, masky and jeff with an inexperienced darling who’s all eager to please them :(

Eager

contents: NSFW Headcanons of yan!Ticci Toby, Yan!Masky and Yan!Jeff the Killer with an inexperienced darling who's eager to please them.

more content of Masky and Toby here

more content of Jeff here

TAG LIST

WARNINGS: NON-CON/DUB-CON, YANDERE, KNIFE PLAY FOR JEFF, SORT OF GUN PLAY FOR MASKY, MENTIONS OF VIRGITINY FOR TOBY, NSFW.

Jeffrey Woods - Jeff the Killer

Jeff likes it because it makes him feel in control, and also because in his eyes that gives him permission to do anything he wants with you.

He likes that despite your trembling and whimpering, at how you're crying and trying your hardest not to flinch away from his cruel and bruising touch, you're still eager. Like a kicked puppy, you still look at him with those wide adoring eyes, asking for more even when you don't want to.

Trying your best to stay still as he draws blood out of you with his knife, its the best thing ever. He can cut and carve and mince as much of you as he wants and you won't complain, won't put up a fight.

And if you ever refuse he just has to manipulate and coerce you into agreeing, into thinking your refusal and dismissal of his desires its equivalent to murdering him in cold blood.

He's always very rough and harsh, very mean, very cruel. Not minding when you plead for him to slow down in the softest, meekest voice. He doesn't care, as long as he's getting his pleasure you come in second place.

Doesn't mean he's not grateful. He just doesn't care enough about it to say it. But he loves the way you behave, he loves the way you try.

You're the perfect victim.

Timothy Wright - Masky

Tim is relieved. Saves him the god awful job of having to force you. Not because it would make him guilty, but because having to fuck you while pinning you down or pointing a gun at you seems just so troublesome.

Even if he won't say it out-loud, it's cute, it's cute how you try. How your legs always end up trembling because he makes you ride him and you just want to bounce up and down over his cock faster, or how you gag as you try your best to not choke around his fat cock, or how you tear up as he forces you in the most strange and uncomfortable positions. All in the name of pleasure.

And he's... nice about it. Calling you a useless whore only the first couple of times you're unable to put less than half his dick inside your mouth. Degrading names morph into words of condescending praise whispered at you as he grins and pulls your hair, using you however he pleases.

He's not the best teacher, but not the worst entirely. He takes his time, wanting you to enjoy yourself at least a little bit.

Also because when he tried to shove his cock inside you for the first time without any prep you were so tight he felt like he was fucking a hydraulic press. Mmm-hmm, not the most pleasurable experience for either of you.

He's happy to have you willing to learn what he likes or needs.

Tobias Rogers - Ticci Toby

You're eager? Ha! He's eager!

His heart beats so fast when he sees you naked, he feels like he's going to burst when you kiss him. Too much tongue, and teeth and drool between the both of you, from both parts. You're equally as virginal and inexperienced.

A time of experimentation, even with the pains and embarrassments that come with it. Sessions that can last hour after hour, condom after condom, bed broken after bed broken. Some of those end up without either of you able to cum, others with both of you so overstimulated you feel like you'll die if you have another orgasm.

Very sweet, always mindful of doing his best to make you feel good. Definitely a very reciprocal scenario. He wants to please and you want to please, win-win.

His tics make it hard at times, sometimes you're about to cum and he just has to have a spasm that throws his rhythm off. Or accidentally shoving his cock inside your mouth too fast and too hard due to a tic that seemingly came out of nowhere. As long as you're able to overlook it or laugh it off with him, there should be no bigger issues with that.

hope you enjoyed this!!!!!!

have a great day/night

Like my works? Join the TAG LIST! (please write your @ correctly or else the tag won't work)

TAGGING:

For Jeff: @nenekusanagi @mxqiia @yukimutsu @mamachu @justmare

@artist-in-training-wheels @eroscastle @dollywonyoung @hbk99450 @stranger00001

@kitzusune @lakxcpsta @stardustdreamersisi @coolnekochan9961 @gammysblog 

@oliviathatgirl

For Masky: @nenekusanagi @yukimutsu @mamachu @justmare @eroscastle

@dollywonyoung @strawberries-fluff @stranger00001 @kitzusune @lakxcpsta

@amber8393 @melaniemartinez22  @bloody-noodles @gammysblog  @oliviathatgirl

For Toby: @nenekusanagi @yukimutsu @mamachu @justmare @eroscastle

@dollywonyoung @strawberries-fluff @hbk99450 @stranger00001 @kitzusune

@lakxcpsta @amber8393 @gammysblog  @oliviathatgirl

[yandere-wishes]

OMG THE DAMIAN X CATGIRL ONE WAS SO GOOD I NEED CATWOMAN TO ADOPT A WHOLE LITTER. Soooo imagine AK Jason Todd with a catwoman of his own? Having fun until Jason got stuck and torture at the asylum, only to come back to find that Catwoman have Tim as the new Robin? 🥺.

Because seeing this it just fuels he's hate towards the new Robin for 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙨𝙠𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 HIS catwoman away. Pain to Batman, pain to the new Robin, and now he's bringing it to HER. Hey would she recognize him with the the helmet on? Who knows? 🤷‍♂️

This is an idea I want to write, love u wishes ❤️

NO CAUSE I'VE BEEN SO OBSESSED WITH THIS IDEA!!!!!! It is literally everything!! Poor Jason can't catch a break not only has Batman, his mentor, his father, replaced him! But you! The only girl he's ever loved, someone he's been connected to on such a spiritual level since taking up his mantle. Even you have forgotten him, even you have forsaken him! Oh yeah, definitely pain to reader 😠😠

I want you to be measurable too...

=ᗢ==ᗢ==ᗢ==ᗢ==ᗢ==ᗢ==ᗢ==ᗢ==ᗢ==ᗢ

He'd spent the better days of his boyhood, hanging by the thin metallic thread of a grappling hook. Swinging, feet first from rooftop to rooftop. Muscles taut, body coiled around the rope like a snake around a baobab tree.

He'd read The Little Prince last night, that's how he learned of such marvelous grandiose arbors. Trees that breach the mind, that grow tall enough to shadow Wayne Tower. We wonders if Bruce will take him to Africa one day, he wonders if his mentor will show him the baobab trees. If they'll feel cool and brambly under his palm.

Jason lands on the Museum's roof. Prying through the skylight watching as you kneel by your mentor, your mother. Greedily shoving colorful diamonds into fabric bags. Even in the dark, he's half mesmerized by the fluid motion of your body, the way your muscles flex so smoothly. His breath hitches in his throat too engrossed in the moment.

It's not the baobab trees that Jason thinks of when he sees you.

Instead, it's a rose. Not roses, plural, rose singular. As the rose the little prince had. The thing he cherished more than his own life. The thing he'd die for over and over again.

He hears Bruce land behind him. The moment gone evaporating like morning dew upon red petals. He straightens, ready, he has a job to do, a father to impress.

And maybe that book, that dreadful, wonderful book had been his first taste of bitter love. Through the pages and the words spoken between Prince and Rose, little Jason Todd had savored his first dose of obsession.

You kick him in the shoulder, sending him flying to the skyscraper edge. Jason swings himself up just as you are near to inspect your prey. His knees cage your hips and he uses all his force to push you down.

The stars blink overhead, paparazzi cameras catching a private moment between two masked kids. "Hello, Robin" you purr clawed gloves idly tracing his arm. Jason tries to smile to smirk, to flirt back."H-hello Ki-tty". But the blood rushing to his face has him stunned he can't breathe. Why do you look so pretty like this? Laying on your back staring up at him with big perfect eyes. You tilt your head and meow.

"Hey, that's Miss Kitty to you"...

He likes this new side of you, likes the mace you wield like a whip. It looks like yarn, soft and delicate.

The punchline lands at the same time as the flanged head crashes to his ribs. He thinks they shattered, cartilages cracking, freeing the marrow from within.

So this is what love feels like. Pain that rages from the inside sharp shards piercing soft organ tissue. So painful it tickles and you can feel the blood pooling in your mouth along with all the words you long to say.

No wonder the little prince kept going back to the rose. No wonder he found euphoria in the prick of her thorns.

He struggles to his feet and jumps, as high as he can. His side bruns begging him to stay down. Be he can't, he won't, Bruce wouldn't, and Alfred will find a way to piece him back together. So he takes flight flipping through the air, out of your sight.

For a moment you're stunned lackadaisically twirling your mace like a ballerina's ribbon wand. And even though he's mid attack Jason can't help admiring how ethereal you look, like a lion cub out on her first hunt.

Jason's knees land on your shoulder blades, his weight making you fall on your stomach with a pained scream. Your mace rolls away, thank God, that could have gotten too messy he thinks. Jason tugs hard on your cat ears, pulling back your head and exposing your neck to point a Batarang at your throat. "Here, kitty, kitty" he mocks, playful cadence laced with derision. You hiss out in pain as he brings his head closer. He looks so handsome upside down, like the pretty birds that sing on the balcony.

It's a split second, you raise your head, and the Batarang's wing punctures your collarbone. Your lips push on his, hollow but sweet. You feel his body go ridge his hold on his weapon lost. Still, you persist not breaking your first kiss...

You guess it's his too, you hope it is. Only when you feel his lips push back do you force him off with all your might. Grabbing your mace and jumping to the next rooftop. What is this excitement, so raw, so frantic?

You don't stop running until you make it home.

You don't look back, scared he'll see the bright pink dusting your cheeks.

You open the window and silently slip in.

Only to see Selina waiting in the dark.

Arms crossed and eyebrow raised.

He's baptized by blood and iron.

Broken down bone by bone.

Left to bleed out in the dark on the dirty asylum floor.

Still, he holds your name under his tongue, caged between his teeth.

His little kitten.

Sometimes he pretends you're lying next to him, gazing into his eyes as you too bleed out. Sometimes he laughs at your sarcastic quips at the dreaded clown. No dread is too light a word you'd correct. He finds you more attractive when you spill graphic profanities.

But you're not here, not really. And he can't quite tell if he's happy or not. His hand always reaches out to you. Desperate to feel your warmth, just once more...

And yet he's always met with air.

Always met by the stickiness of his own blood pooling beneath him.

He watches you from afar. Haunting the night, camouflaged amongst the shodws. The still Gotham night feels like a homecoming. A bittersweet reunion with a world that's both abandoned and forgotten him.

The arkham night swallows thickly, from behind his digilitized mask he zooms in on two figures in the distance. Swinging on metal threads, bodies coiled like snakes, latching on. One loses muscle one wrong move and they plummet to their death.

But the figures don't seem scared. You don't seem scared as you laugh at the boy wearing his clothes. No not his clothes, he's made sure to burn them all so very long ago. Instead, the boy wears red and black and yellow, he wears his symbol. But the garments are looser, not carved but built, foreign things covering a boy's body. Not armored built from years of endurance.

Still, you don't seem to mind, you scratch at him playfully as if he were a mouse on a string. You hiss and meow as he laughs and spools sanctimonious gibberish that sounds all so very Bat in nature.

Who else have you been sneaking off with? Jason makes a note to keep a better eye on you.

Jason's ironclad fists meet with Bruce's masked face.

Again and Again. He points his gun beneath his old mentor's ribs and shoots. Feel me he scream inside himself. Feel my pain. From the shadows, something pounces. Familiar nails try to dig into his chest, bypass the iron armor, and impale him.

It doesn't take much force to tug her off of him. He smashes her into the cement. Catwoman lets out an all-so-familiar meowl of pain. His boot meets with her flesh, her bones. Grinding them into the pavement, he can't tell why he wants to hurt her. Does he blame her for your disloyalty, does he want to hurt Bruce? The thoughts grow heavy as his ears buzz with rage. When he finally leaves he tosses a glare behind his shoulder watching the bat crawling toward the cat.

"Don't worry about your Kitten, I'll take better care of her than you ever could." His modulated inhuman voice promises...

It's been all so long since he's thought of roses and baobab tress, so long since he's pretended to be a prince returning to his scared beloved rose. Jason- no the Arkham Knight- corners you on a rooftop as you frantically try to reach your mentor. He watches as you twirl your mace, ready to fight. They're so much hatred behind your eyes, do you really not see him?

Your mace's head swings at his ribs, good to see some things never change, he counters the attack seizing the weapon with one hand. You try to pull it back to bring him to you. Instead, Jason pulls back and you're sent hurling into the thick metal of his chest. Your head spins as you glare up at him. His fingers wrap around your neck squeezing.

squeezing

squeezing

He'll find the new bird later. Crush his skull before your eyes. He'll make you suffer for leaving him. For turning your tretory.

At his base, in an interrogation room, the Arkham Knight slowly starts to peel away your sanity. Breaking your bones, your mind, your essence. Morphing you from the helpless little kitty into a bloodthirsty lioness. Whose only purpose is to be at his beck and call. You'll live for him, die for him. His perfect little pet. And once he knows he's broken your mind completely, the only thoughts swimming around that damaged thing are how to please your master. Then he'll unleash you on Gotham, watching as you tear into your mother's throat, ripping her apart with bare teeth and claws. Just like he will do to his father...

Then, and only then. When Gotham is his, he'll pull away the mask and let you see the man beneath the helm. He'll let you see the man who used to be Jason Todd.

Let me know if you guys ever want a fic or HC on what Jason ends up doing to the reader, I'll try to make it as gorey and darkly romantic as I can. Honestly rn my brain is so fired I can't really come up with anything lol. 😅😅

Love you to the moon and back for this ask Anon!! AAAWWWW Arkham Knight Jason is honestly the LOVE OF MY LIFE!!

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

barista (t.d.)

Pairing: Tim Drake x Reader

Word Count: 6.2k

Summary: You have a big, fat crush on your regular—Gotham’s very own friendly neighborhood coffee addict, Tim Drake.

A/N: Please compliment me about the banner I worked very hard on it <3 Also Happy New Year!!!

Getting a job in food service was honestly the last thing you wanted to do. You had heard enough horror stories from your friends who had taken many summer jobs unlike you. They often complained of insufferable superiors, bad working hours, and even worse pay and even though their stories of annoying Karens were extremely entertaining, you didn't think you'd be any good at handling them yourself. Unless your boss was okay with you cussing them out.

So, when your parents brought up you getting a job, you had vehemently refused. It's not like you particularly needed the money, however, they made a good point about needing to gain experience and how you were practically a rotting pile of flesh since you had begun summer break.

You couldn't argue with their points, even you knew that you needed to get back into a routine and get some fresh air. However, a job as a barista was the last thing you wanted to do.

But when your parents mentioned that you'd be working at your aunt's cafe, you were quick to change your tune. You always had a blast with her, and she'd definitely pay you well, lest she face the rath of her older sister, your mother. Plus, she often claimed that you were her favourite niece, despite not having any other but you supposed it was the thought that counted. Plus, you'd make extra money that you could use for pretty much anything.

So, now adorned in an apron, you stood behind the counter and took orders. Your aunt oversaw the pastry making and baking while you were in charge of the register and making drinks.

The thing you liked the most about your aunt's cafe was that it was a rare find for many customers. The cafe was the perfect space for people to sit in the quiet and get some work done. There was rarely ever any rush unless a big party came, however even then you were never really spread thin. You suppose you should feel bad that your aunt wasn't getting much business but she more than made up for the lack of customers with her overpriced coffee and cakes. But you would never tell her that. Besides, she made most of her profits from custom cake orders.

That's not to say that you didn't get any customers, you had very many loyal regulars that were always polite and would always strike up a conversation with you. Most of them were residents from the high-rise building above the shop so they were usually pretty wealthy and thus knew how to tip well.

And of course, the most loyal customer of them all, Gotham’s very own coffee addict; Tim Drake.

You take back your previous statement; he was definitely the thing you liked the most about the cafe.

You would have been down bad if he had just been just good looking; with blue eyes that were unusually bright and clear, like as though God cut the fabric of the afternoon sky and the clear blue ocean and made his irises with them. His pale skin and dark hair definitely made them seem even brighter.

He was so good looking that your customer-service-smile had frozen onto your face when he first entered the cafe, barely hearing his order over the thumping of your heartbeat and your brains incessant chatter trying to tell you to pay attention to what he was saying. Eventually, you had to apologize and ask him to repeat his order in your stupor, giving the excuse that you were new even though you had been there for more than 2 weeks.

He just smiled politely and told you not to worry before fishing his wallet and paying for his drink, tipping 50%. He wasn't just gorgeous but also well-mannered and sweet. You were down so catastrophically, cataclysmically bad.

The next time he came in, you learnt his name by pretending you needed to write it down on the cup and he casually commented how you didn't really do that last time. You said it was because he had been the only one in the store last time even though there was only one additional customer there. And you all were aware that you didn't bother to ask for the other customer’s name.

Tim continued to come almost every morning for the next couple of weeks and once you learnt how to actually comprehend the words coming out of his mouth instead of just listening to angelic singing every time he looked at you, you realized he was actually very interesting.

He'd always strike up a conversation with you and sometimes you'd take your lunch break and sit with him at the table while you talked. He was hilarious and intelligent and creative and the more you talked with him the more your plain attraction turned into affection before you knew it.

"I see you like Red Robin." Tim commented casually, noticing the insignia pin that you had on your apron. You glanced at the enamel pin that you had bought from a bodega on an impulse out of instinct before nodding, "Yeah, he's my favourite amongst the bats."

"Oh really? How come? Most people really prefer Nightwing, like me."

You shrugged, "I dunno, I just feel like he doesn't get enough appreciation as compared to the others. Plus, he makes the papers the least often."

"So, what? You felt bad that no one pays attention to him?"

You shook your head, clutching the screen as you typed in his order that you had already memorized. A brown sugar shaken espresso that you had convinced him to try just once, and he had immediately been hooked onto. You obviously added a couple extra shots of espresso for his caffeine addicted self.

"On the contrary, the fact that he's not seen in the paper probably means that he's getting the job done quietly and efficiently. Or maybe not. But that's just my guess. He's not bad looking either."

Tim chuckled, passing you his card, "Don't let him hear you say that; he might just swoon at the compliment."

"Well, I haven't actually seen his face, so I can't say with full certainty."

Tim lingered by the counter while you made his coffee, speaking loudly due to the absence of customers at this time. You had once mentioned that this was your least busy time; you wondered if he visited during that time, so he'd get to talk to you for longer.

You shook your head, reminding yourself not to get a big head as you pulled a double shot of espresso, quickly adding it to the shaking glass with brown sugar.

"I bet I’m better looking."

You really hadn't meant to laugh as hard as you had; you just pictured Tim Drake, with his posh posture and Gotham elite personality, sniffing at Red Robin as he tried to critique and compare looks. You were fairly sure that Red Robin was a head taller than him as well. The more you thought about it, the harder you laughed.

When you finally managed to wipe the tears from your eyes, Tim was still standing at the counter with a star-struck expression, pink beginning to paint his porcelain skin in beautiful blooms. You bit your lip, smiling in apology. He must have been quite embarrassed at your boisterous laughter.

"S-Sorry, you caught me off-guard." You explained, still giving him a sheepish smile as you grabbed a napkin and straw for him. The red had made its way up to his ears and down his neck before disappearing underneath the hoodie he was wearing.

Great, you had a crush on the guy and just laughed at the thought of him being better looking compared to a guy you had never even seen before.

"It's fine, it was meant to be a joke, so I suppose I’m flattered."

"No, I was being mean, you're definitely better looking." You teased, "If I ever meet Red Robin, I’ll definitely let him know that."

"I’ll hold it to you." He joked, grabbing his drink.

Having a crush was way more physically taxing than you had remembered it being. Every time Tim was around you, your heart slammed so sharply against your ribcage you would get breathless, and your stomach would twist into so many knots you'd find your abdomen getting sore.

You'd grow visibly excited when it was around the time for him to enter the store, making sure everyone else's orders were fulfilled so that you could give him as much of your undivided attention.

After being hopelessly infatuated and pining for him for a while, you had thought that you had gotten used to the incessant butterflies flapping their fingers against the walls of your stomach. However, Tim continued to prove you wrong.

You had just finished wiping down the steam wand of the espresso machine, when the bell above the store door had jingled, telling you that you had a customer.

When your eyes landed on the man standing behind the register, you couldn't help but freeze, stomach squeezing so tightly you could feel your heart crawl up to your throat, stopping you from welcoming him inside.

Tim Drake was wearing a suit.

His hair was styled for the first time you had ever seen him; dark tresses neatly gelled away from his face aside for a couple strands that tickled his nose.

You clenched the cloth in your hands so tightly you could feel the rough fabric beginning to slightly burn your skin. A part of you wanted to collapse into a puddle on the floor, already knowing how weak your knees had gotten at the site of him adjusting his watch. Oh, you wanted to dissolve into a pile of warm syrup, and you bit your lips to hide a dopey, lovesick grin.

Another, more repressed part, wanted to grab his tie in a single fist and yank the handsome man toward you, climbing over the counter and kissing him all over until his white shirt was stained with your lip gloss, his immaculate hair was messed up by your fingers and his cologne had rubbed off on your skin instead. You forced that part of yourself into the corner because she seriously needed a time-out.

"Um, hey?"

This was the first time he had spoken, clearly noticing how you just stood awkward frozen in time. Oh god, his voice was so much more attractive than you remembered. This wasn't fair.

"H-Hi, where are you going off to so prim and proper?" You asked, pulling yourself together by pinching your thigh so painfully that you could feel a bruise beginning to form.

"Oh, I just have a meeting at work. I do most of the work from home, but I’m needed in the office today." He explained, handing you his card like clockwork and you nodded, stepping away so you could start making his drink.

"Wow, how adult." You mused, shaking the tumbler quickly before pouring it into his cup and handing it to him.

"You look good, by the way," His warm fingertips grazed against your own when you handed him the tissue and straw. You watched as a bashful smile grew on his face at your compliment, making your heart flutter like a feather floating through the wind, "Much better than Red Robin."

He rolled his eyes, small smile turning into a full-blown grin.

***

This was the first time since you had met Tim that he hadn't come to the bakery alone and thus it would be the first time in a very long time that you actually had to take the order instead of automatically input his drink order.

Unfortunately, it would also be the last time you would be taking his order. You were supposed to work at the coffee shop for the rest of the month, however you had gotten an opportunity from your professor to be a part of his research team for the next semester and he required you to begin early. Which meant that you would no longer have the time to work for your aunt.

You had yet to tell Tim, upset at the thought of not being able to see him every morning from now onwards.

You had thought long and hard about it last night after you had confirmed your participation on the research team; you didn't want it to be the last time that you spoke to Tim tomorrow, you wanted him in your life.

So, you came to the conclusion that you would finally confess to him. You didn't want to continue the pining and end up in the purgatory that is the friendzone so you figured it would be the least risky to admit your feelings to him on your last day there. If he said no, you'd no longer have to run into him again every morning. If anything, he might be relieved that his regular coffee runs wouldn't be awkward from now on.

However, there was one new detail that was going to make your plan more embarrassing—

"This is my older brother, Dick." Tim introduced and you nodded, recalling when he talked about his extremely big family. Also, there was no one in city who wasn't aware of the Gotham prince, Dick Grayson, the oldest son of billionaire Bruce Wayne. Your eyes flittered between the both of them; despite being adopted, they shared a striking resemblance to each other.

You gave him a kind smile, "It's nice to finally meet you, Tim talks about you a lot."

"Good things, I hope." He responded, ever the ray of sunshine and you found yourself turning toward him like a lone sunflower. You realized he had that effect on people, the other customers also were privy to his presence. It was almost like he had a halo shining on the top of his head. The term 'Prince of Gotham' was certainly well-earned.

"Those are state secrets." You joked, playfully winking at him and he gave you a good-natured grin.

"So, what will you be having today?"

Tim ordered his regular and Dick got a matcha along with a vegan cheese tart for 'Dami' who you assumed was Tim's youngest brother Damian.

Tim held his card out for you to pay for their drinks and you inhaled sharply, digging your heel into your other foot to strengthen your resolve.

It was now or never, (Y/N).

You shook your head, trying your best to remain nonchalant even though your stomach was taking a rollercoaster ride, and you pins began to prick at your toes from how hard you were stepping on it with your other foot.

"it's on the house."

Tim tried to protest but you shut him down, not even making any moves to try and take his card from him, only handing him his receipt with the order number on it.

"Don't let your boss find out you're handing out freebies to everyone." He teased, sliding his card back into his wallet and you dug your nails into your palm, trying not to chicken out in the last second.

"Actually, the freebies are only for the cute customers that the barista has a crush on." You replied smoothly, grabbing the filter for the espresso machine and not looking back at Tim, afraid of his reaction.

Oh god, was your voice shaking? You tried your best to remain collected on the outside even though on the inside your heart was erupting like a volcano, magma flowing through your veins and setting your entire body ablaze.

You spared a small glance at his older brother, embarrassed that he was here to witness this. A sizzling heat began to run up your neck and to your cheeks, fingers stiff as you tamped the coffee.

A chuckle brought you out of your stupor and your stomach sank. It wasn't the usual laugh that Tim had, instead a mirthless sound that made you look back up at him, only to find him staring at the receipt you had given him, now crumpled him in a tight fist.

"Glad I’m the exception then," He said through gritted teeth, "I’m gonna go."

He left without making so much as another glance at you and your cheeks coloured in humiliation when you had realized his brother had seen that whole interaction with an equal expression of shock and pity that made you quickly bite down on an ice cube to prevent any tears from lining your lashes.

You quickly made the drinks, reminding yourself that it was okay since you were never gonna see him again, keeping your customer service smile on until his brother had left the store and then some before you finally let it fall.

***

"Dude, what the hell is wrong with you?" Dick asked, placing Tim's coffee order on the console of the bat computer, already finished his matcha. The coffee had long been watered down; the ice had melted in the Gotham heat on his walk back home since Tim had just left him there at the coffee shop.

The younger brother ignored him, staring at the screen with a glare that began to get increasingly annoyed. When it became clear to him that Dick wasn't going to move from his side until he got an answer, Tim finally sighed "I’m sorry for ditching you at the coffee shop."

"Apology accepted but that's not what I meant. Why were you so mean to that poor girl? I mean if you didn't like her, you could've at least turned her down gently."

Tim scoffed, incredibly peeved, "Are you stupid? She was clearly asking you out! I've been going there for like 2 months now and she's never been so blushy and nervous before you walked in there with your stupid tall height and stupid big grin and stupid good looks!"

Dick's jaw dropped open; blue eyes wide with shock. Wasn't Timothy meant to be like the smartest and most logical one amongst them? As far as he knew he was also acknowledged by R’as Al Ghul himself as a remarkable detective. Hell, he had discovered the dark knight's secret identity when he was nine.

And yet—

"Are you fucking stupid? She wasn't asking me out! That cute little flirty compliment was clearly directed at you!"

Tim still looked upset, though Dick could clearly see that he was beginning to doubt his conclusions. Thank goodness, he didn't inherit Bruce’s or his brother's stubbornness.

"So, you like her but thought she was hitting on me, so you got all emo?" Dick deftly deduced, watching as an embarrassed rash spread across his pale skin, "Dude, you really hurt her feelings. I think she was about to cry when you walked out like that."

You had really tried to look like Tim's exit hadn't affected you and to an untrained eye it probably would've looked like that, but Dick noticed how you were chewing down on your bottom lip til it bled just to prevent from crying.

Tim's eyes now raised to him, now completely uncertain with a touch of guilt and Dick sighed.

He wasn't the son of the greatest detective for nothing, but it wouldn't take years of training to know what a lovesick boy looked like. He had found out that Tim had been visiting this particular coffee shop every day at the same time when he flat out refused to have Alfred’s French press in favour of driving across town to the penthouse, he'd sometimes sleep in just to get coffee.

Tim would never refuse Alfred’s French press unless he was unconscious. Or dead.

Which lead Dick to do some sleuthing.

Didn't take any effort to check his credit card statement and find out that he had been visiting this particular store every single day. Which is really the reason that Dick tagged along that day, to meet the girl who had so clearly captured his little brother's attention.

He was honestly giddy when he realized that you were shooting your shot right in front of him. Oh, he could see the wedding happening before his eyes already, where he would very obviously make his groomsman speech, telling the crowd how he had been there the day you finally became a couple.

But Tim merely crushed up the paper receipt in his hand before storming out and he was left alone in the coffee shop, having to watch as Tim's future wife kept her gaze anchored to the floor while she tried to make the coffee that she had just given them for free. He left a fifty in the tip jar right then.

This would not be the last time that his brother would do something stupid throughout the duration of your relationship. He supposed you might have dodged a bullet due to the misunderstanding but Dick was biased toward his brother and so he felt obligated to try and get you both together.

"Are you sure?"

Dick pinched the bridge of his nose, "Tim, she didn't even speak to me after you left because she was so upset that the guy she had a crush on brutally turned her down."

His eyes narrowed still, "Are you sure?"

This time Dick had had it. He grabbed Tim's ear, unaffected by his shouts of pain and curses at him as he dragged him toward the elevator, "Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, you go back to that coffee shop, apologize for being a jackass and ask her out. And you better take her to a fancy ass restaurant on your first date to make up for this mess."

"Okay! Okay!" Tim conceded, finally ripping his brother's hand from his ear and he crossed his arms, "You know, this wouldn't have even happened if you hadn't been a nosy ass and followed me to the coffee shop."

"This wouldn't have happened if you weren't an idiot either."

***

Tim had been silent during the patrol and while he wasn't the most talkative, it was unlike him to be this quiet. They were already an hour into the patrol and batman had yet to hear this voice of his son over the comms, but he didn't ask about it. He'd inquire about his son's personal life after patrol when he was back to being his parent and not his partner.

Something was definitely off however, since even Nightwing was more on the quiet side of the spectrum that night, which was extremely out of the ordinary.

It all had to do with what happened right before patrol--

Tim really hoped that Jason wouldn't kill him for stealing one of his motorcycles that he left at the manor but honestly it was the fastest way for him to get to the coffee shop without getting stuck in Gotham traffic. And really if Jason didn't want anyone to be using his motorcycle, he really shouldn't have left it in the garage with the keys there for anybody to take. Hadn't he learnt his lesson after Damian had tried to take one of Bruce’s cars?

Even though there were still a couple of hours for closing time, when Tim entered the store, you were nowhere to be found. Hearing the bell, your aunt had answered from the kitchen instead, telling him that she'd be right there in a moment.

When she finally emerged, wiping her hands on her apron, she stopped, recognizing Tim as a regular but he could tell that she didn't really know anything about him or even his name, "What can I get you?"

He angled his neck, trying to see if someone was in the kitchen but when he couldn't spot anything he turned back to your aunt who waited patiently, "Um, is (Y/N) not here?"

"Ah," She shook her head, "Since it was her last day working here, I let her go early."

Oh, Tim really should've had his coffee today because the caffeine withdrawal was starting to make him hear things. He could've sworn he just heard your aunt say that it was your last day working at the coffee shop.

"Last day? What do you mean?"

Tim returned to the Batcave just in time for patrol, shoulders hunched over and a pitiful frown on his face that had answered Nightwing’s question before he could even ask how it went. He didn't say anything else, just walking over to the change rooms without so much as a glance to his father or younger brother.

Understandably, your aunt refused to give your phone number to Tim considering she had no idea of your relationship with him. If there was any relationship anymore. You clearly had every intention to not be in his life anymore if he had turned you down, explaining why you decided to confess on your last day.

He had asked your aunt to pass his number to you but there was no telling whether she actually would or if you would call him even if she did.

And in retrospect it would be fairly easy for him to find your number or address or which university you went to, but how was he meant to explain how he coincidentally managed to run into you before explaining the misunderstanding and confessing his feelings?

His mind was wracked with questions, and he continued to beat himself up for thinking that you had been flirting with Dick in the first place. If he hadn't been such an idiot, he could've avoided this whole mess and could've avoided upsetting you.

Now even if he managed to find you, there was always a possibility that his reaction managed to turn you off and change your mind.

"Woah Timmy isn't that the girl you like?"

Dick's voice cut across the unusual silence for that night, ringing in his ears so suddenly that for a second, he didn't even register what he had said.

However, when he did, it was almost comical the way his head lurched up like a meercat, spotting Nightwing’s figure a couple of buildings away and immediately grappling toward him, nearly throwing himself off the side of the terrace trying to spot you.

You stepped out of Gotham university, hands clutching a binder to your chest. Tim wasn't sure what had his heart beating faster—the sight of your frost-bitten nose, tinged red from the cold—or that you weren't alone.

You were laughing with a man who, much to Tim’s dismay, was undeniably good-looking and wearing a lab coat, which meant he was clearly smart and shared your interests and oh you both were going to get married, and he was going to be alone and coffeeless for the rest of his life.

"What are they saying?!" Tim leant over the edge of the roof like a right fool.

"This is beginning to get creepy, baby bird." Dick commented from behind him, but all Tim could tell him was to shut up because he couldn't hear just what had you giggling so animatedly.

"it's great that undergrads get a chance to be on a research team; I know it might not seem like much but it's gonna look great on your resume, (Y/N)."

You narrowed your eyes teasingly, "You're just saying that because you're relieved someone is gonna be doing the literature review and wash your empty beakers."

The junior assistant, a postgrad student was in charge of showing you around the lab and giving you a list of your responsibilities. Since it was short notice, you were going to have to learn the ropes quite quickly so as to look competent to the other professors.

He laughed, patting your shoulder and you could've sworn you heard a sound similar to a bird shrieking from above you, "You caught me there. But you'll get your name on your first research paper so that's there."

"I am but a modern-day Cinderella." You grinned, walking with him til he reached his car. He sat in the driver's seat, not yet closing the door when he called out for you just as you were beginning to walk away, "Are you sure you don't want a ride home?"

You smiled but shook your head, "No, thank you, maybe next time."

You watched him pull out of the parking space before driving away, wondering whether you should wait for the bus or just take a cab back home. The next bus wasn't for another 25 minutes, and you didn't want to wait around in the dark, however, a cab would be four times the amount you'd spend using the bus.

You suppose you could've called your father and asked him to pick you up from the university, but he had just gotten home from work, and you would hate to ask him to have to come and get you.

You sighed and muttered underneath your breath, "I should've just asked him to take me home." before beginning your trudge home. A part of you was scolding yourself for taking possibly the most dangerous route home but the other part reminded yourself that it was unlikely for anything to happen.

Besides, you had seen Nightwing patrol the area earlier that night and it was way too early for the bats to turn in for the night. With any luck, he was still roaming around here.

***

Looking back, taking a shortcut through an alleyway wasn't the smartest plan you had ever made. However, you were lucky enough because it seemed like the bats had been watching over you for the night; you didn't even have the chance to get mugged before Red Robin has scared off your potential attackers. You hadn't even noticed them creeping up behind you.

You simply stared at him, starstruck. It was the first time you had ever come into contact with the Gotham cryptids and you had least expected an encounter with the most elusive of them, Red Robin.

You had known he had black hair but through a screen it had really looked more like oily snakes that had further cemented your belief that they were demons.

But up close, his hair was soft and silky, he smelt of sweat and grime but with a slight tinge of cologne hidden underneath. You continued to stare at him, feeling like you could tattoo the sight of him onto your retinas.

"Um," You began, not sure how to even begin the conversation. Should you thank him for saving your life? Or apologize for being an inconvenience. Instead, you found yourself following his gaze to the lapel of your lab coat, only to find him staring at the Red Robin insignia pinned there. It was then you had been reminded of the same interaction with Tim Drake.

"Just so you know, you're way better looking than Tim Drake."

You were in slight awe of Red Robin and also still heartbroken over Tim Drake's scorn earlier that day, so you felt the need to settle the score with him even though it would clearly never make its way back to him.

Afterall what were the chances that the vigilante Red Robin knew the trust fund baby Tim Drake? They didn't exactly run in the same circles.

The masked man just stared at you in surprise, quite frozen after your declaration and honestly you couldn't blame him. He had just saved your life and instead of thanking him you began complimenting his good looks while at the same time insulting a completely random man, when really you had no business doing because you didn't really know what he looked like.

Though the more you stared at his face, finding your eyes drawing lines down the same jawline, cupid's bow, and nose bridge, you couldn't help but find similarities between the man you had just compared him to—

You physically shook the thought out of your head.

"Okay, then," You finished, finally turning around to walk away from him, having had enough of standing awkwardly in the middle of the alley, "Thank you agai—!"

"(Y/N), wait!" His gloved fingers clasped around your wrist, and you cut yourself off abruptly, staring up at him in surprise. It seemed his response had surprised him as well, considering the way he continued to stare at you. You couldn't really see his wide-eyed gaze due to the domino, but you could tell from the slight gap of his mouth and the raised brow.

Your lashes fluttered as you lowered your eyes to the hand still around your own, his voice echoing through your head. He had a modulator but this close to him it felt like you could hear the voice underneath it. His voice was crisper, cleaner and lighter underneath the automated depth, you could hear it just slightly through the syllables of your name.

You looked back at the whites of his mask, "How did you know my name?"

You weren't accusing him of anything, at least he didn't think so, not from your voice. You sounded genuinely curious and your eyes ping-ponged over his features, trying to find something. Then he noticed the ways they slightly narrowed before you whispered, "Tim?"

His jaw went slack, eyes going so comically wide now that you had just known you knocked the hammer right on the head. He took a step back, finally releasing your hand and you cupped your gaping mouth, in shock yourself.

"Wait seriously?! I was just guessing! Why on earth would you make it so obvious!" You chastised.

"I’m sorry, ok?! I didn't have any coffee today and so my brain isn't braining today!"

You crossed your arms over your chest, "And who's fault is that? You're the one who stormed out of the cafe after rejecting me—after I literally gave your drinks for free!"

Red Robin—Tim winced, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze fluttered guiltily away from yours, "That was...not my best moment."

"Not your best moment? You acted like I spat on your whole family and condemned you to death!" Okay perhaps you were being a tad bit dramatic, but it had been an extremely long day, and you kept being presented with new information which was a lot to take.

You were just a girl, for god's sake!

"Ok, in my defense, I thought you were confessing to my brother—not me! So, if anything, I was upset that you might like my family a little too much!" He retaliated and you gaped at him, incredulous.

"You are just—wow, unbelievable." You finally breathed. Truthfully, you didn't know what to even do now, something told you that you weren't going to be able to walk home completely unharmed. Since you knew his identity, the worst that could happen was that one of his bat friends was hanging over you to put you out of your misery. Best case scenario, you'd sign an NDA and be on your merry way home.

"I’m sorry, (Y/N). This is all my fault, I was being an idiot earlier and I got insecure cuz I thought you were asking out my brother which stung cuz I’ve been crushing on you for like months now." He finally admitted, holding his gaze low.

If you hadn’t been deafened by the sound of your heart pounding wildly in your chest at his confession, you would’ve given him a hard time about how nervous he seemed—just as you had been before he so brutally turned you down.

"You like me?" Your question, simple as it was, still managed to make Tim's heartrate escalate.

"Yes—I mean, of course—How could I not?"

You blushed, a gleeful response already on the tip of your tongue. Well, you would have, if you hadn’t suddenly been shrouded in a bat-shaped shadow that had you instinctively pressing yourself closer to Tim.

"Oh, I’m so dead." Tim muttered under his breath the second he had caught the figure of his father standing atop a building, having heard everything over the comms.

Your eyes widened and you stepped closer to him, a hand tightening around the utility belt strapped to his chest. You had remembered the rumours of what had happened to the second robin.

Tim's attention was snapped back to you the second he heard your sharp intake of breath, "N-Not literally, really (Y/N). I’m probably just gonna get grounded."

That got you to loosen your grip with a relieved sigh, relaxing and letting go.

"Grounded? As in Red Robin is grounded. Or Tim Drake?"

"Probably Tim Drake, Red Robin is still needed in the field. Maybe both." He admitted with a wince, and you have him a gentle pat on the chest that was meant to be a kind of 'there, there'. He gave you a small smile, gloved fingers holding the hand to his chest.

"I suppose our first date will have to wait, huh?"

Tim would be lying if a part of him hadn't kind of expected you to rethink everything. I mean, he had been so mean to you when turning you down after jumping to wild conclusions at no fault of your own. Then there was also his secret that he had been stupid enough to reveal to you.

You didn't deserve this; you deserved much better.

Still these thoughts were extremely fleeting, easily overthrown by his feeling of giddiness and outright joy, a blinding grin taking over his face.

"I guess so. I'll make it up to you, though—Dinner's on me."

You scoffed, "It better be, I’m standing in an alley 15 minutes past curfew with the identity of one of the illusive bats all because you thought I had a thing for your brother."

If his cheeks weren't already bitten from the cold, you would have watched as they went aflame, "I was young and stupid."

"It was this morning!"

"I was eight hours younger."

***

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@notslaybabes

@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

DC Taglist:

@tchatso

@p--e--a--c--h--e--s

@sometimeseverythingsucks

@sokkas-honour

@unstable1902

@lostgirlheart

@missdisapear

@tadpole-san

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@evermoore580

@dumbbitchgalore

@fuckingjinkies

@some-lovely-day

@that-one-fangirl69

@eloriis

[flwrkid14]

Why Tim Drake Sees the Bats as Co-Workers and Not Family (Tim Drake is a Fenton)

aka a follow up to this post, on why tim calls the bats coworkers because I think it's the funniest thing ever

It’s not that Tim hates the batfam. If anything, he has a grudging respect for them. They’ve saved his life (and Gotham’s) more times than he can count. But to Tim, that doesn’t make them family.

Here’s the thing: Tim already has a family.

Growing up as a Fenton, Tim knew what family meant. Jazz was the protective big sister who made sure he ate, slept, and survived middle school. Danny was the chaotic younger brother who still cared enough to make sure Tim didn’t feel overshadowed. Even his parents, as wildly eccentric as they were, loved him with the kind of unapologetic enthusiasm only Jack and Maddie Fenton could pull off.

Sure, they weren’t perfect. They panicked after Danny’s death-and-rebirth-as-a-ghostly-superhero and left Tim with Aunt Janet Drake, thinking they were protecting him. But they called. They checked in. And once they realized how bad things were with the Drakes, they worked to make amends.

Tim never stopped being a Fenton, no matter how far Gotham took him from Amity Park.

So when Bruce Wayne swept in with promises of training, teamwork, and trust, Tim didn’t see a new family. He saw an opportunity.

————

The Batfamily Dynamics:

The Batfamily operates on trauma and duty. Everyone has scars, and everyone has a mission. That’s how Bruce connects with people—through the shared pain of loss and the relentless drive to make Gotham better.

But Tim’s mission was never born out of personal tragedy. He didn’t lose his parents to crime or see Gotham as something he had to save. He joined because someone had to. Batman was falling apart after Jason died, and Gotham was suffering for it. Tim stepped up because it was the right thing to do—not because he wanted to fill some emotional void.

And that’s where the disconnect lies.

For Bruce, Dick, Jason, Damian, and even Cass, Barbara and Steph, being part of the bats means finding family again. It’s their way of healing. But for Tim, it feels like replacing the family he already has.

————

Tim’s Perspective:

To Tim, the batfamily is a job. A very dangerous, very complicated job, but a job nonetheless.

Bruce isn’t his father. Dick isn’t his brother. Jason isn’t his big-brother-who-died-and-came-back (that spot was already taken by Danny). They’re teammates, coworkers, and maybe even friends. But family? No.

Because family is Jazz sneaking him snacks during his stakeouts. Family is Danny sending sarcastic texts about “ghost-proofing” the Batcave. Family is Jack and Maddie trying (and failing) to make sense of his vigilante life while showing up with enough ectoplasm-based cookies to fuel an army.

Family is messy, chaotic, and full of love.

And while the batfamily might be chaotic, the love feels conditional—wrapped up in the mission, the masks, and the unspoken rule that Gotham always comes first.

————

Why Tim Doesn’t Want a Second Family:

And then there’s the second layer—the one Tim doesn’t say out loud.

To Tim, having a second family feels like betraying the one he already has. Like admitting that Jazz, Danny, and the parents who tried so hard to fix their mistakes weren’t enough. And they are enough.

Tim doesn’t need another family. He doesn’t want another family. The Fentons are imperfect, but they’re his. If he started thinking of the batfamily as his own, it would feel like he was erasing the people who already mean everything to him.

It would also make losing them hurt more.

The batfamily’s world is dangerous. Gotham is dangerous. And if Tim ever let himself think of them as his family—as more than coworkers or teammates—it would make every death, every injury, and every failure cut that much deeper.

Tim’s already had to grieve once, when Danny died. He barely survived it. He doesn’t think he could go through that again, especially not in a world where loss is inevitable. Keeping the bats at arm’s length is self-preservation as much as loyalty to the Fentons.

————

Does It Hurt the Bats?

Absolutely.

Dick wants so badly to be Tim’s big brother. Jason finds it hilarious, but even he bristles at being labeled a coworker. Damian sees it as a betrayal of loyalty. And Bruce—well, Bruce doesn’t say much, but the tight line of his mouth speaks volumes. Tim doesn't even want to think about how Cass probably already knew, and how much it had still hurt her nonetheless.

But Tim doesn’t change his stance. Because at the end of the day, the bats aren't his family. They’re his team, his coworkers, and maybe even his friends.

And that’s enough.

[takumiraine]

Once Upon A Time chapter 4

<first> <prev> <next>

Danny should avoid him, because of his father. Danny should just brush him off and let him drown. Danny should keep his distance from anyone and everyone, but especially him.

Danny was never the best at doing what he should do, and worse, he was hungry.

—-

The cafe on campus was quaint, filled with light chatter and Jason was hating every second of it. Danny showed up just as he said he would, which meant he met Jason there, the man having already taken a back corner table for them. Danny walked up and set his books down. Jason had to wonder, did the kid not have a backpack?

“Any idea what you want?” Jason asked instead, standing. Danny looked over to the menu, eyes skimming it over.

“Uh… burger and fries okay?” Danny seemed uncomfortable. Jason would feel bad if it didn’t put him at the tactical advantage.

Jason nodded at his request. “The works?”

“Please.” Danny bit his lip and Jason waited, while he worked up the nerve for something, “and a coffee? Black?” Was that it? Jason almost rolled his eyes.

“Sure thing.” Jason went off to place the order and leave a hefty tip, because one, he wanted someone to bring it out and two he wasn’t that kind of asshole. He came back and sat on the chair he had been occupying, back to the corner, and resisted the urge to spread out.

Jason the Red Hood man-spreaded, Jason Todd-Wayne did not.

So he sat. And he rested his forearms on the table. “You do not need to look so nervous Danny.” Jason tried for the patented Wayne smile, certain he was coming up short.

“Huh…?” Danny turned to look at him, “oh, sorry. Long day.” The young man raked his fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his face. Jason knew it was a lie, but it seemed a familiar one. Danny tried to position himself so he could have the most visibility while drawing the least attention to himself. The position of a man hunted or used to being ambushed.

Danny refocused his attention after a moment, and looked at Jason, tilting his head slightly. “I hope it wasn’t a drain on your day to wait for me.” Jason waved his hand in response, the perfect practiced rich-bitch wave he hated.

“Nah, my friend works in the library on days when she doesn’t have class. I bothered her.” Danny seemed to relax a bit at the words.

“Oh good. I know I’m like… doing this for you, but…”

Jason cut him off there, turning the train of thought. “Speaking of, have you thought about what you want to be paid?”

“Oh… uh… not really. Most campus jobs make minimum wage right? Is that cool?” Jason wanted to throw Tim at this guy to teach him business sense in negotiation. If he really was 19, what had happened his whole life to make him feel like he needed to be invisible, while also walking away with a literal knife to the stomach and show up to class the next day?

“Most campus jobs do make minimum wage,” Jason agreed, “but nobody in my family is in the habit of paying just that. Just because I think my father is…. Well, words not fit for the polite company he insists I keep, doesn’t mean I’m going to stiff someone out of a well earned wage just to spite him. Twenty an hour is the lowest I’ll go.” He grinned now, all teeth, and something in him got a sick little thrill at watching Danny go even paler at the amount of money.

“Are you sure?” Danny asked, as their food and drinks were brought to them on a brown plastic tray.

“Say yes Dan. It’s a good deal.” Jason offered his hand to shake over the food.

Danny looked like he was offering his soul to the devil as Jason heard the man’s stomach rumble. “Okay. Yes.” Danny took his hand, and while the hand was ice cold, Danny shook with a surprisingly firm grip. Maybe the kid had a spine after all.

“Good. Now dig in,” Jason said after they parted. He picked up a fry off of his own plate and bit it, watching Danny with a sort of idle curiosity, as the boy - no, young man, went about his food with a carefully controlled gusto. Jason couldn’t help but wonder when the last time Danny ate was. He made a mental note to have Oracle check where he lived so he could do some recon later.

By the time dinner was finished, Danny seemed much more alive. His skin seemed to have better color, his eyes seemed more bright, and his energy was up. The kid was definitely going hungry if those changes were so immediate. Since Danny was scrawny, he assumed it wasn’t a new problem.

“So what makes math so difficult for you?” He asked, wiping his mouth and tilting his head. The question was blunt, but there was no open malice behind those bright blue eyes. The same kind of blue as his own when he wasn’t pit mad.

Jason shrugged. “Not really sure. It’s always been my weakest subject.” Not a lie. “Beyond money, my brain doesn’t seem to care.” Half a lie, but plays into the rags to rich bitch stereotype.

“I get that. I told you about me and literature right? For me it seems like there’s poetry in the way the math just… works.” Danny paused then, skin flushing red. “Sorry, that was…. Really stupid.”

In another life, Jason would have really liked this kid he thinks.

“No, not at all. Whoever told you your insights weren’t good obviously never stopped to listen to you.” Was he flirting? Should he be flirting? He flirted to maintain a cover or gain intel all the time. That’s all this was.

He almost missed the way Danny’s skin flushed deeper, from his ears down his neck. Almost.

“Well…. You’re in the minority then.” It came out a little bitter. He watched Danny take a breath and “Anyways.” Danny waved a hand, banishing the thought and something serious took over his expression instead. “I’m not going to take it easy on you just because you’re paying me. I expect you to put in the work too.”

Jason was right, the guy did have a spine. “Sure thing.” He waved his hand and stood, grabbing his bag and the tray. Danny stood and grabbed his books too. “Library?”

“Library.” Danny agreed.

Over the next week Jason was “surprised” to find out that they had three classes together. Math, Lit and Comp and History. All three remedial, and really the only one that Danny seemed borderline to deserve was the Introduction to Literature and Composition course. What he was genuinely surprised to find was that he enjoyed spending the combined nine hours of classes a week with the kid. Although in ‘basic mathematic principles’ Danny was quiet and allowed Jason to focus so they could work on their tutoring more effectively, in their history and English classes Danny was witty and sarcastic. A second thing he had noticed was that now that the tutoring sessions were happening, an hour, sometimes more, after every class, to make sure he ‘got it’, Danny was almost always eating.

Jason had learned that Danny’s ‘big life goal’ was a roof over his head, where his friends and family could visit or stay as they liked and room to tinker. A job that let him help people.

It was that information that made Jason fully convinced that even though he hated the Justice League with a viciousness that most rogues would balk at, for reasons he had yet to disclose, Danny was not really likely to become a rogue unless something big happened.

He should stop the college charade now. It was no longer needed for recon, and the other birds were starting to get suspicious. Bruce was looking at him differently too now. Something like how he used to.

A pen tapped on his notebook and Jason brought his attention back. Danny didn’t say anything, or even look at him, he was too busy sketching what looked like a circuit board in a secondary notebook. Jason quickly wrote down the notes before the slide changed, not looking forward to a disappointed look from his tutor.

Surprisingly, he ran into Danny as Red Hood once more that week. He was doing surveillance on a rooftop, when a sound caught his attention from the fire escape. Jason dipped back into the shadows and around the concrete and brick entrance from inside the building as a familiar mass of unruly black hair appeared and Danny hauled himself up with a surprising amount of finesse for someone who didn’t look muscular in the slightest.

“Damn it. Where’d you go guy? I thought I saw you land here.” Danny grumbled to himself, hands on his hips as he looked around “stupid not a bat disappearing just like the real ones…” While Jason was certain that he wasn’t meant to hear that, he finished his route and appeared almost behind Danny.

“What do you need?” He asked, thankful for the voice modulator as he knew Danny would have recognized his voice by now even if muffled by a helmet.

As it was, Danny startled with a yelp, swinging around and aiming a punch right for his solar plexus. Jason caught his wrist with practiced ease. “Fuck! Don’t scare a guy like that!” Danny yanked his arm back in a way that was meant to break unpracticed holds. Clever.

Jason waited while the kid caught his breath. “Well?”

“What? Oh. Uh. The guy. That…” Danny mimed the stabbing. “Is he okay?”

“Checked himself into the hospital about two hours later. He’s fine.” Oracle’s voice sounded in his ear. He nodded.

“Good, good…” Danny pushed his hair out of his eyes again, looking up at Jason through his helmet. Jason was hit with the disconcerting thought that somehow Danny was seeing through the bullet resistant one way visor. “Um… do you need the knife back? Or…. Should I….keep….it….? Or dump it? What’s…. I don’t know the protocol here, but I think ‘hey officer I was stabbed with this knife and the not-a-bat down in Crime Alley beat him up and then I accidentally stole it’ is a bad one.”

Jason snorted at the rambling, while Oracle laughed in his ear. “Even static filled he seems hilarious. I know why you like him.” He was going to kill Babs next time he saw her. “Knowing what he looks like doesn’t hurt either.”

“I can take it for you.” Jason said instead.

“Great! Wait here.” Danny turned and hopped back over the edge of the fire escape with the ease of someone who had years of training or practice.

“Is he like this all the time?” Babs asked, and Jason shrugged.

“Off and on.” Jason answered, sliding back down the fire escape completely silently as opposed to the obnoxious clatter Danny had made. He had seen and heard Danny move silently, like in the library, even on those creaky metal ladders for the top of the stacks, but he just assumed this was some sort of half assed survival mechanism.

Danny appeared again a few minutes later, with the knife wrapped in a towel in a bag. “I didn’t know how you wanted it so…” like Danny was bringing him coffee or ordering a pizza. Jason opened the bag and took the knife out, examining it.

“Good job kid. Now go home. It’s late.” It was barely ten. But he knew the Alley got more dangerous the later it got.

“Yeah. Okay.” Danny turned.

“Red Hood.”

Danny turned back. “What?”

“My name. Not-a-Bat isn’t as effective at striking fear into the enemy.”

Danny scoffed some. “I don’t need to use you as a shield.”

Jason held up the knife. Danny crossed his arms. “that was under control.”

“Right.”

“It was.”

Jason shook his head and pulled out his grapnel, firing it into the distance. As he swung off he had more questions about Danny than he was sure he would ever have answers.

[laviebunnie]

Creepypasta Relationship HCs / Types! 𐙚⋆°.⋆ ( 1 )

Characters : Tobias Rogers ‘Ticci Toby’ , Evan Myers ‘HABIT’ x Reader

Word count : 2k

A/N : hello pookie bears! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) My request are open right now so please please please spam me with suggestions or fic ideas!!

Tobias Rogers ‘Ticci Toby’ : You were a new beginning, an artistic melody that painted the sky with strokes of light and color. Toby was a faded light, dimmed and jaded— but you lighted his heart ablazed. Once he touched a fragment of heaven, he knew he couldn’t turn away. Because, Toby was never known for being a selfless man.

Toby is someone who desperately wants to be loved— but with how his life turned out, being on the run during his late teens and early twenties, then serving the being that haunted him since he was a child— to put it lightly, Toby never had the time to connect with someone.

It does mess with Toby deep deep deep down— that he isn’t normal, that he can’t build strong relationships— like others do so easily, though it’s something he does crave— he isn’t that delusional; he knows he wouldn’t be able to maintain any sort of relationship anyway.

But that’s thrown out the window when he meets you— I fully believe Toby’s a ‘love’ ( lust ) at first sight type of guy. He tends to fixate on people, starts learning everything about them ( all the parts he likes, anything else he’ll block out.. like it doesn’t exist. ) projects his dream partner onto them, till he gets bored or they break the perfect woman perception— he had for them.

It’s probably a small / insignificant act of kindness that brought Toby’s attention to you.

Maybe it’s when you paid for his meal inna hole and a wall diner / or you helped him when he was injured( even if he doesn’t feel pain— the thought still counts ) / or maybe in passing you complimented his sense of style. No matter how you met Toby, he fell hook and sinker.

In a relationship, I feel that Toby would naturally go for someone more maternal. ( even if your the most masculine woman / person — he’d still project a motherly role onto you. ) He’s so used to older angry masculine male figures in his life— who call him crude names and make him feel less than.

He just wants someone who’s nonjudgmental. Someone who’d love him despite his ugly scars— to kiss them gently, love them like they are art on a canvas.

Toby knows that’s wishful thinking.. and you probably don’t even know he exists but a man can dream.

Toby daydreams about you ALOT, it pisses both Masky and Hoodie off cause the kid won’t do his darn’ job correctly— Masky is one bad day away from grabbing Hoodies gun and blowing Toby’s brains out.

TOBY IS SO AWKWARD IT HURTS.. he isn’t the most social guy ever.. the only real conversations Toby has is either with one his victims.. and Toby barely would call someone begging for the life a conversation— Two, Tim and Brian… and Toby fuckin hates Tim ( the feeling is mutual ) Then Brian… Toby doesn’t exactly have a problem with him.. but Toby thinks Brian a fuckin werido for even liking to be around Tim. Lastly— the voices in his head.. and I won’t elaborate on that.

So when Toby tries to talk to you.. he very creepy— like very fuckin creepy..

Unwavering direct eye contact, prolonged touches, Talking in an unnatural manner, like he’s reading off a shitty 2000’s screenplay.. it’s bad— so bad.. but Toby thinks it went amazingly! Honestly it went better then what he’s been imagining in his head!

I think Toby would try to be a flirt… but he’s straight up tremendous at it— but I wouldn’t recommend telling him that, he has a very small fragile ego.

Realistically.. Even if Toby bagged you, he wouldn’t be able to be with you for long— once his job is over he has to move towns unless..

Yeah, bro kidnapped your ass— are yall really that shocked??

Not gonna lie, getting kidnapped by Toby is lowkey the worst lol ( who would’ve thought?? )

That’s when you’ll learn the most about Toby— mostly how seriously deranged this fucker is.

You’d have to deal with his horrible psychotic episodes, where he trashes the whole fuckin cabin, screaming at you for not loving him back— full on man child tantrums.

Toby most definitely dissects animals for fun.. so good luck with the rotting smell of corpses in your bedroom.

When Toby comes back from ‘work’ he’ll always have a gift for you.. though don’t ask him who or where he got it from— just smile and say thank you.

Toby most definitely stole the password to Tim’s Hulu account.. yall watch anime together.

Toby doesn’t talk much, since he wouldn’t have much to talk about.. ( Toby also hates his stutter/tics.. so he’d rather hear your soothing voice instead of his raspy one ) but he’s a total nerd— Ask him a question about Star Wars and he’ll yap for hours.

Toby accidentally hurts you— more often then he’ll like to admit.. he doesn’t comprehend his strength— and it’s hard to understand a concept you’ve never experienced, so when you cry — he thinks you're being a big baby.

Toby is a DIY husband, always building something new when he’s home— cannot stay still.

You're gonna have to do all the cooking… This man eats like a 3 year old.

Toby loves you unconditionally— though depending on how you treat him, your experience with him will either be hell or decent..

also don’t try to leave the cabin, he’ll find you.

Evan Myers ‘HABIT’ : Evan is losing his mind, a parasite— a monster is taking over his body. It nibbles on his brain, whispering unsavory suggestions into his head. His thoughts aren’t his own anymore, neither is his love for you.

Evan is short-tempered, vulgar, and a bit of a smartass. Not everyone can handle somebody like him— yet there you are ( foolishly ) loving him through everything.

Evan feels his sanity slipping from his grasp, he knows he’s less than sane, that he’s borderline psychotic. He knows the right thing to do is to let you go. That he can’t even trust himself to protect you anymore— especially from himself.

Yet, he selfishly clings onto you, because you are Evan’s breath of fresh air, you're as gentle as a baby bunny, softly holding him throughout his night terrors. Gently patting his tears away with cloth, whispering sweet nothings into his ear— sweet empty promises that everything will be alright— that you’ll stick with him, no matter what— that nothing can take him away from you.

Evan can’t handle the thought of losing you, he’d actually start tweeking out. Especially if slenderman had something to do with it. ( Evan will somehow someway throw slenderman out the window just like he did the rake. )

But seriously— Evan can’t lose you. You are the rainbow after his storm. Evan is a whirlwind of contradicting emotions, yet— you're his only constant that pulls him out of his episodes. He can’t live without you.

You are his distraction, his comfort outside of the hell that is his life. All Evan wants is your touch, your undying nor revering love, and in return he’ll give his everything to you.

Correction: he'll give you everything BUT information on what he does with the EMH ( EverymanHYBRID ) crew.

He has you blocked on all social media, and changed the password to his computer, Evan doesn’t want you involved in his fucked up life.. well more than you already are.

Evan knows that you're not an fuckin’ idiot, there’s only so many times that he can come home with a new injury till you're catching on that the ‘workout’ videos aren’t all he’s doing.

But in Evan’s defense there’s only so many excuses he can make up about how these crazy ass scars keep on randomly appearing on his body— Or the weird brown stains on his jacket.

you're growing more suspicious— even if you don’t directly question him.. he can see in your eyes that you’re worried.

But if Evan were to tell you the truth ( he wouldn’t inna million fucking years ) he doesn’t even know how he’d start that conversation.

“Babe, don’t freak out but.. Y’know slenderman? Yeah, that tall lanky malnourished mother fucker’ that we made fun for having no face? so.. he’s real— surprise! Ohhh, and has been haunting me and the gang for months..and wanna know the best part? I never told you till now! Haha..” yeah no.. Evan rather uses his own body as a pin cushion for his knife collection than ever admit something as lundquist as that.

Evan believes ignorance is bliss ( but only when it comes to you. )

HABIT adores dumb little things, like you. He loves the way your eyes light up whenever he comes home from a long day of ‘work’. HABIT also loves your expressive facial features, how he wishes to contort it, to dismember it into something else entirely new. But what HABIT loves the most is the fact that the ‘man’ you kiss every morning, who you trust unconditionally and let into the deepest crevices of your body, isn’t who you think it is.

HABIT is an inhuman being that predates time itself. He doesn’t have any connection to humanity, only existing to find a suitable host.

It isn’t hard to get HABITS attention, in fact it’s pretty easy. It's just extremely hard to maintain.

But you're so awfully pathetic, kind soul, that he sorta ‘feels’ bad for you. That you ended up with a guy like Evan, and return him.

HABIT finds you interesting, specifically your selflessness. He notices when you go out of your way to help others, or how you consider his feelings whenever you make a decision, or whenever he’s upset, you always make ‘him’, his favorite food.

You're really as sweet as they come, and he’s the murder that wears your boyfriend's skin.

HABIT fucks with you a lot, ‘accidentally’ tripping you, moves your shit around so you can’t find it, constantly trying to scare the shit out of you— just to make fun of you for being scared.

HABIT brings you dead bunny corpses as gifts

HABIT isn’t used to preserving life, that was never really his cup of tea. He prefers breaking down his host, ( or their loved ones ) to their very limit, mentally and physically— till they're unrecognizable from humans or beasts.

Yet, now he does facial saturday’s with you / joins you in your everything showers / and lets you paint his nails any color you want.

It’s not that HABIT, gotten soft— he’s the same evil unforgiving ass mother fucker that possessed your boyfriend, ate a baby, and works with the fuckin slenderman and the rake, you cannot fix him.

HABIT lovesss to mock you, he loves making fun of his dumb little wife for asking ‘dumb questions’— he often flicks your forehead.

HABIT loves that you're a crybaby, he loves wiping your tears away condescendingly— like he wasn’t the one who caused them.

Most definitely daydreams about killing you.. more often than you’d expect— he especially thinks about it when yall are intimate. When HABIT holds you, tracing your body with his fingers— looks at you intensely like you're the only woman in the world— just knows he’s thinking about how you’d look if your organs were spilling out of your stomach.

HABIT unlike Toby can flirt— he never liked the whole brooding boyfriend type of thing— Evan had going on at times— HABIT in his words, ( not anyone else’s ) He’s a simply a little demon, a whimsical silly creature who does things for his own entertainment, and his current fun outside of fuckin’ with the EMH crew is fucking with you. ( sometimes literally )

May that be blowing into your ear, to make you shiver— or picking you up and carrying you, to see your shocked expression — or even holding you by your waist, while the EMH crew is around to embarrass you / prove a point to the group.

HABIT would do it especially when vinnie found out that he processed Evan— the shit eating grin, he would have as you invite Vinnie over to your place for dinner cause ‘he’s been looking stressed lately’ you’ll make Vinnie’s favorite meal, trying to make it feel like old times— but vinnie cannot even enjoy you and your thoughtfulness when your sitting on that monsters that’s cosplaying his best friends lap.. it’s making him sick.

‘Vinnie, are you okay? You.. look pale,’ you ask softly, drink in hand— you walk over to him, handing Vinnie a glass of water.

‘Yeahhh, Vinnie,’ you feel a strong pair of familiar arms wrap around your waist. ‘—What’s wrong buddy?’

ANYWHOO HABIT randomly telling you the most out of pocket shit and just smiles and says,

‘Sorry— hunnie, It’s a bad habit.’

[daydreamabout]

Valentine's Day [Tim Bradford Imagine]

Summary: Tim and you spend the day catching a flower thief.

The fresh air bites at your skin as you sit in the driver’s seat of the cruiser, flipping through radio channels like you’re trying to escape your current reality.

"Do you know how insulting it is that we’re working on Valentine’s Day?" you mutter, mostly to yourself. "There’s a reason I signed up for the LAPD, but this? This is just cruel and unusual punishment."

Tim doesn’t even look at you, eyes fixed ahead as usual. He’s dressed in his standard attire— and obviously entirely uninterested in your commentary. "We’re here to do our job, not play romance novel."

You scoff. "Yeah, because nothing screams 'romantic' like sitting in a car on Valentine’s Day, tracking down flower thieves."

He barely reacts, his voice dry. "If I had to pick a case for tonight, I wouldn’t have picked this either. Let's just get it done."

You glance at him, but the corner of your lips betrays you. You’re not really mad. The whole thing is ridiculous, but somehow... fun in a strange way. "I’m just saying, a robbery case would have been better than hunting down some guy who’s stealing flowers from local vendors."

A pause, as he shoots you a sideways glance, almost amused. "What did you expect, Y/N? A bank heist?"

Before you can respond, the radio crackles.

"Unit 42, be advised. Suspect reported in the area of 5th and Main. Flower theft suspected. Handle with caution."

"Are we really doing this? I thought it was just a prank."

Tim's already putting the car in gear. "Let’s go, Y/N."

The drive to the florist district is short. You pull up behind a row of stores—mostly small, family-owned shops selling overpriced bouquets to all the people who forgot it was Valentine’s Day until the last minute. Sure enough, there's a man standing near one of the displays with a large bouquet, looking suspiciously out of place.

Tim glances at you. "Keep it cool."

You nod, stepping out of the car. As always, he's the first to approach the suspect, his serious demeanor making everyone around him think twice.

"Flower thief," you say lightly, but with enough authority to make it clear you’re not here for a friendly chat. The suspect immediately flinches.

"I—I didn’t steal anything," the guy stammers, clutching the flowers like they’re his lifeline.

Tim keeps his distance but studies the guy carefully. "Where’d you get those flowers?"

The suspect starts to crack under pressure, his eyes darting to the street and then back to you. "I—uh—bought them. I swear. From the shop back there." He points to a little boutique across the street.

"Yeah, well, I don’t see a receipt," Tim says flatly, not buying it for a second. "You’ve got about thirty seconds before we call it in."

You add, "And a very romantic night in a holding cell. You don’t want that." Your smile is so sweet it could be considered a threat.

The suspect gulps. “I—uh—look, I was going to buy them, but then the shopkeeper caught me eyeing them for too long, and I just thought... what the hell? It's Valentine’s Day, I needed something for my girl, and they were just sitting there all perfect, waiting to be taken. It’s not like I was robbing the place."

You raise an eyebrow. "You can’t just walk in and take them. That’s not cool, buddy."

Calm but firm, Tim steps in. "You’re lucky we’re not putting you in cuffs for an actual robbery. But I’m going to need you to hand those over and head home. Don’t let me catch you trying anything else tonight."

The guy nods quickly, practically dropping the flowers in Tim’s hands. "Thanks! I’ll pay next time!" he blurts, before running off into the night, leaving the two of you standing in the fresh February air.

You stand there for a second, trying to process the situation. "Well, that was..."

Tim turns toward you, and the tiniest hint of a smirk twitches at the corner of his lips. "No one ever said Valentine’s Day crimes would be exciting."

You snort. "Could’ve at least been a flower heist gone wrong. You know, something dramatic."

"That would’ve made your night, huh?" Tim says, his voice dry. "How about you focus on the fact that we just stopped someone from stealing more flowers. You’ll sleep better knowing you protected the integrity of the floral industry."

You laugh. "I’m just glad we’re done with this. Now we can go grab a burger or something. No more heart-shaped nonsense for me tonight."

Tim nods, stepping back toward the car. “Let’s go. And no more talking about flowers. This night never happened.”

You follow him, still smiling despite the oddness of it all. "Hey, at least we got the job done. Team of the year."

He glances over, an almost imperceptible look of acknowledgment in his eyes. "Yeah, whatever. But if you’re expecting me to buy flowers after tonight, you must be out of your mind."

You grin. "Disappointed, but not suprised. I’ll take you up on that burger."

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Tim actually seems... relaxed. Maybe Valentine’s Day wasn’t such a bust after all.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Lock and Key

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!shy!pregnant!CSIphotographer!reader

Summary: When Angela and Nyla need someone to go undercover in a women's prison, you seem like the perfect candidate. Inside with Lucy, Tim, and Angela nearby, you find more than a killer.

Warnings: fluff, brief angst, murder case, very quick allusion to past sexual assualt

Word Count: 1.9k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

“Can you do another establishing shot of the bedroom?” your crime scene unit supervisor requests.

You nod, feel your baby kick, and tread carefully through the home-turned-crime scene to take more photographs. It’s no secret that CSIs can never take too many photos, but now that you’re pregnant, you wonder if there’s a way to collect them faster. You love your job; being a police photographer is wholly rewarding and enjoyable for you, but some scenes and some days are more trying than others. Being near Tim Bradford at work similarly has its pros and cons.

“Hey, mama,” Angela greets as she enters the bedroom. “Is this the primary scene?”

“We think so,” you answer softly, removing the sync cord from your camera to photograph the scene without the light.

“How are you feeling?” Angela asks, looking around the room without altering anything before your photos are complete.

“Pretty good,” you reply.

“Tim still… well, Tim?”

You nod as you move toward the corner, focusing the camera on a bloody screwdriver. Whatever happened here wasn’t quick and was undoubtedly painful. Your supervisor walks through the hall and tells you to pack up, and you nod at Angela with a smile. She hugs you before you leave, and you ready your nerves to see Tim when you return to the station.

“Wait, go back,” Lucy requests as you’re shepherded into the roll call room. “Tim, I’m going to say this slowly and I want you to listen very carefully, okay?”

“Chen,” Tim snaps.

She doesn’t heed his warning tone and begins, “You want to send the mother of your child into a prison to get intel on a murder case. Where in that sentence do you hear a good idea?”

“What?” you inquire with your hands clasped tightly beneath your growing bump.

Lucy turns, her expression guilty. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were in here.”

“We were just brainstorming,” Tim explains, walking toward you. “The woman who was murdered this morning was released from CIW last week.”

“CIW, however, is out of our jurisdiction,” Nyla adds. “So, we reached out to San Bernadino PD and they’ve agreed to let us send in a UC.”

“The problem is that the woman we need to talk to is notoriously picky about who she takes up company with,” Tim adds. “Rumor is, she has a thing for strays, she likes being around people she can protect.”

“Which, to me, sounds like she would be ready to turn on them in an instant,” Lucy interjects. “Hence my reluctance.”

“So, because I’m pregnant, you think she’d watch out for me, let me close?” you clarify.

“More or less,” Nyla answers.

Lucy scoffs and shakes her head. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Would I be alone?” you whisper, looking at Tim.

“Of course not. We’d send in two officers, acting as doctors, who can pull you out any time.”

“Would it do it if Tim and Angela went in with you?” Nyla asks.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as you consider everything. You’d be putting yourself and your baby in danger. If Tim and Angela were a call away, the risk would decrease dramatically. Before you can decide, Lucy holds your arms and hugs you.

“Don’t do it,” she says. “There’s too much at risk.”

“We can’t just leave a killer on the street,” you whisper against her.

Lucy sighs as she pulls back, and she nods. “Then I’m going in too. Get San Bernadino on the phone; I want to be closer than a doctor.”

Nyla nods, then looks at you.

“Yeah, I’ll do it,” you state.

“We’re right beside you,” Tim promises, kissing your hairline.

“Technically, I am right beside her, you’ll be in the infirmary,” Lucy corrects. “I better get to be this baby’s godmother.”

Nyla laughs before she says, “In your dreams, single-income, apartment-sharing option.”

“What, just because you’re married and have a house, you’re a better fit?” Lucy questions. Her smile drops as she murmurs, “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Alright,” Tim calls, shaking his head. “Let’s go to Chino and get some answers out of convicts.”

“They call her Pitbull,” Angela had explained before you went in. At your wide-eyed expression, she adds, “She’s essentially a guard dog. She chooses who she’ll protect and sics anyone who comes near. If you can get on the right side of Pitbull, she’ll tell you what she knows about Ringer – our victim.”

You sit on your bunk and look around, wondering if you look like a pumpkin in an oversized orange jumpsuit. When you hear footsteps outside, you drop your head and let your shyness run rampant. If it makes you seem weak, this is a better time than ever to embrace it.

Lucy unlocks the cell door, and Pitbull enters. She looks at you, running her eyes up and down your face before noticing the protruding baby bump beneath your new and temporary outfit.

“What are you in for?” Pitbull asks, her voice raspy and low.

“Stabbed my baby daddy,” you admit, rubbing a hand over your stomach. “He wouldn’t stop,” you add, letting her fill in the blanks.

As you speak, your baby kicks. The farther along you get, the more your voice seems to excite him or her.

“You don’t fit in here, Mommy,” Pitbull sneers.

You nod with your head down, telling the truth when you agree with her.

“People around here don’t like different, don’t like chicas who aren’t the same,” she adds. “What are you going to do about that?”

When you shrug, she surges forward. Her hands land on your shoulders, and you inhale when she pushes you up to make you look at her. She stops, smiles, and brushes her hand against your neck.

“You don’t have to do anything,” she whispers. “Understand?”

“Why?” you inquire.

“Because…” she drops her hand to your bump before she confesses, “I’ve got reasons you won’t understand, and you’ve got a reason to accept the protection.”

“I can’t- I don’t have anything to give you.”

Pitbull laughs as she returns to her cot. “This isn’t a tv-style arrangement; I’m giving you a gift, and I ask for nada in return. Just focus on yourself, and the baby.”

“Thank you.”

As you lay awake in bed the first night, you hear Pitbull whisper a prayer in Spanish. You wonder what she knows when she asks for the eternal protection of Ringer’s soul.

“Dr. Benson is here,” Lucy says, dressed as a corrections officer. “Let’s go.”

“Whoa, hold up,” Pitbull interrupts, moving to block the cell door. “Dr. Benson male or female?”

“None of your concern.” Lucy barks your fake last name and repeats, “Let’s go.”

“She was traumatized by her ex; she probably doesn’t want a male doctor. Right?”

She turns to face you, and you nod sheepishly.

“So, now it is my concern,” Pitbull continues, cracking her neck to the side. “I go with her, or you get another doctor.”

Lucy sighs as she checks her watch. Pulling a radio from her hip, she asks if you can have another inmate accompany you. You recognize Angela’s voice as she begrudgingly allows it just this one time.

“Boy or girl?” Pitbull asks, glaring at the women in the cells you pass.

“I don’t know yet,” you answer honestly. “Doesn’t matter, though, does it?”

“Still your kid. Last chica I shared a cell with, she had a kid on the inside, reached out when he turned 18, and got cartas desagradables from the parents even though he was old enough.”

“Cruel world,” you murmur.

“Crueler people.”

You glance at Pitbull, wondering what she did to get her locked up for nearly half of her life. She’ll come up for parole in a few years. Part of you wants her to get out, but you know better.

“Ringer – that’s what we called her because she rung a guy’s neck for assaulting her niece…”

You know that’s not true. Ringer's niece was assaulted, but Ringer broke a lot of necks looking for the right guy. She was practically a serial attempted murderer.

“Ringer said she was going to find the kid when she got out, just long enough to apologize and let him know she wouldn’t have given him up if she’d had a chance.”

“Noble,” you muse.

“Crueler people,” she repeats as you near the prison infirmary.

Pitbull stands beside Lucy as you move to the examination table. Tim enters a moment later, looking like an angel in a white lab coat. He’s wearing glasses, and his hair is styled differently. His hands on you feel the same, even if he isn’t smiling and keeps his speaking clipped and serious (though you suppose that part isn’t much different than the version of him you see at work).

“How far along are you?” he asks.

“Four months or so,” you answer.

Tim nods, then lays his hands on either side of your bump.

“Have you had a thorough exam by an OBGYN?” he inquires.

You shake your head, and he slides the rolling chair back as his hands fall away.

“She’ll need one now,” he tells Lucy. “I can call in a female colleague if that would be more comfortable.”

“Do that,” Pitbull demands.

Tim stands, nods at Lucy, and exits the room. He returns to hand Lucy a paper robe, then disappears. Lucy takes Pitbull out of the exam room while you change, and you know she will keep her out for the entire 'examination’ so you can tell Tim and Angela what you found. Angela comes in first, her brows rising at the sight of you in a jumpsuit with tight braids framing your face, courtesy of Pitbull.

“She said Ringer was looking for her son – he turned 18 while she was still incarcerated, and she vowed to find him when she got out,” you explain. “His adoptive parents wanted her far away from him.”

“That’s motive,” Angela says, pulling her phone from her pocket. “I’ll get units to the parents’ house now.”

Tim returns to your side, and you pull his hand against your bump. As you tell him everything Pitbull has shared with you, your baby kicks against his hand. Tim smiles as he bends down to kiss you, and you suddenly want to leave this prison. Pitbull’s parole is no longer a thought in your mind.

“We’ll get you out as soon as we can,” Tim promises.

Less than twelve hours later, you’re removed from your shared cell with Pitbull, taken to solitary, and then you walk out of the prison in your own clothes with your hand held tightly in Tim’s. Ringer’s killer, the adoptive father of her son, is behind bars and awaiting trial, and Angela and Nyla have yet another solved case to add to their repertoires.

“Want to grab some dinner?” Lucy asks in the parking lot. “Or breakfast,” she amends, noting the first streaks of sunlight painting the sky.

“We’re going home,” Tim answers for you.

“Thanks for everything, Lucy,” you tell her as Tim opens his passenger door for you.

“I didn’t do much,” she argues. “But anytime.”

In the comfort and safety of your home, you sit beside Tim, brutally aware of his fingers brushing along your bump where his arm is tucked around your waist.

“You did amazing,” he says.

He kisses your forehead and then your lips, and you sigh against him as your baby kicks again.

“We should find out the baby’s gender,” he says. “I know we said we didn’t want to…”

“I agree,” you reply, laying your head on his shoulder. “I’ll make an appointment.”

“You mean you’ll have me make an appointment.”

You turn your face against his shoulder and huff, your ears warming at his teasing. Tim chuckles, holding you like he never wants to let you go, and you feel exactly the same.

[crownremonique]

I Need Your Help

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: When you find yourself in danger walking late at night, You think it's best to give Tim a call rather than trying to deal with it yourself.

Warnings: Mentions of attacking with weapon, Fluff, crying, comfort, (Tim being a huge softie)

Word count: 1.2k+ words

Bright rays of sunshine slipped through the gap in the curtains, illuminating the room in soft hues of orange. You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, trying to turn but stopping when you realised you couldn't. The weight of Tim's arm kept you pinned down to the mattress, his soft little snores vibrating on your skin. You craned your neck, just enough for his face to come into view. 

You always loved seeing Tim sleep peacefully, although it was becoming more rare. His job was taxing, draining him by the end of the day, and it filled you with happiness beyond words to see him relax by your side. The harsh furrow between his brows had disappeared, his face devoid of any signs of stress. 

“I can feel your eyes on me, honey” Tim spoke, his eyes still shut. 

“How long have you been awake?” You questioned, clearly being caught off guard. Tim's face broke into a smile as he opened his eyes, pulling you closer. 

“I just wish I didn't have to leave you so soon..” Tim spoke into your hair, drawing little patterns on your forearm. You hummed in agreement, inching closer. Eventually, Tim pulled himself away from you and started getting ready for the day, asking you your own plans. 

“I have some books I gotta return to the library, It’s the last day and I am NOT paying any late fees.” You concluded. Tim chuckled and kissed the top of your head. 

“Need me to drop you there? I can come pick you up on my break” He offered, with a gentle smile. 

“No need, I'll walk. I have to pick up some milk from the grocery store too.” You said. Tim shrugged one of his shoulders with a look that said “Whatever you say” and left the house, with a quick reminder for you to be careful. 

You also decided to get up and get started with some breakfast and then go out for the errands you had planned. What you didn't know was that you would come across a brownie cookie recipe on Pinterest, spend more than a few hours getting them perfect, and then surprise Tim with them at the station. 

When the realisation of how your time had flown by finally settled in, the thought of the unreturned books struck your mind. It was already well past eight, and you would be able to get to the library and back by ten if you hurried up. You briefly thought about Tim’s offer, but shut the idea down, not wanting to disturb him again after you already wasted plenty of his time dropping off your cookies. 

Pulling a jacket around your shoulders, you set out to the library. You were thankful that you got there soon, not wanting to carry the heavy books any longer. Dropping them off with the librarian, you made your way down the dark street, deciding if the milk could wait till tomorrow. 

Seeing the shortcut back through a narrow alley, you decided to take it, wanting to get out of the chilly night as soon as you could. You had taken that very shortcut lots of times, but always when it was light out. You were already halfway into the alley when you heard something shuffle behind you.

You turned around swiftly, planting your feet into the ground to steady yourself. 

You weren't stupid, you knew what was happening as soon as a man stepped out from behind the trash can, weapon in hand. Calming your breathing, you called out to the man. 

“I may not look like much, but I sure as hell can take you out” You said, making sure to raise your voice to get someone's attention in case things got out of hand. The man rushed forward, taking your words as an open challenge. He swung at your side with his knife, grunting when you seemingly dodged his attack with ease. All the time Tim spent teaching you self-defense really did come in handy after all. You managed to kick the man in his groin, stepping away when he doubled over in pain. 

You decided pretty quickly to run when you saw more people emerging from the shadows. You took off down the alley, as you heard the rest of the thugs follow behind. Your heart pounded in your ears, fear flowing through your veins. You definitely wouldn't be able to defend yourself alone from that many people, and the nearest public place was more than a mile away. Your last option? Call Tim. 

You ducked into one of the diversions of the road, and crouched down behind one of the storage units. Pulling out your phone and quickly dialling your boyfriend's number, you prayed that he would pick up. The phone had to ring only a few times before his voice came through. 

“Hello?” 

“I need your help. I'm being chased and cornered by some thugs. 822 E, 20th street” You cut him off, your voice trembling with fear. You heard the line go silent as he processed the information. 

“I'm on my way.” He said curtly, hanging up the phone. Tim rushed to the parking lot, shoving people out of the way. He barked at Lucy to get in the shop, ordering an entire team of cops to follow him. 

“Geez, what's gotten into him?” Nolan asked, staring at Tim's sudden change in behaviour. Nyla shrugged dismissively.

 “No idea, but with that enthusiasm, I can only assume he's going to come back with the greatest criminal in the history of LAPD.” 

You crouched on the floor, pulling your legs closer to you and hoping that Tim would get to you before the thugs did. The time you spent waiting for the cops was agonising, each moment stretching on for what seemed like forever, filled with anticipation of your fate. Your ears were just starting to ring from the silence when you heard the shuffling of footsteps a few metres from where you were hiding.

Your body had started shivering with terror as you tried to calm your breathing. Clasping a hand over your mouth, you tried not to let your shallow whimpers be heard. You jumped when the storage unit hiding you was ripped away, the man smirking and looking down at your trembling form.

“There you are..” the man taunted, grabbing you by your hair. You cried out in pain, as he tugged harder. He pulled you up to meet his eye, but dropped you immediately as a dozen flashlights pointed at you both, blinding him temporarily. 

“LAPD, Drop the weapon! Hands where we can see them, interlock them behind your head and get on your knees.” You heard Tim call out. Relief washed over you, the sight of Tim flooding you with a sense of safety. He kept his gun high and side stepped over to where you were crouched down. You fell into his embrace as you saw Lucy handcuff the man on the hood of their car. 

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you? I swear to god if he laid a finger on you I'm gonna-” You cut him off with a searing kiss, his shoulders relaxing as he felt you, safe in his arms. 

“I'm fine, don't worry about me..” You mumbled against his lips, running your hand through his hair. He buried his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply as he loosened his grip on your waist. “With you up my alley, I’ll be just fine.” You continued, your eyes welling up again as thoughts of what could have happened flooded your head.

“I am never letting you go anywhere alone again.” Tim declared, searching your eyes for any sign of objection. He never did find any.

✨️

[zerosbubble]

hey lovely! it's @nevereclipse (on anon cause side blog). I'm absolutely obsessed with your like father, like rookie series (anything you write with Tim is just chefs kiss). would you mind writing a story where Tim's rookie is really stressed about their six months exam? like perfectionism, either superrr stressed before hand or not happy with their mark afterwards, and Tim helps them/comforts them? love your work sm!

What You Don’t See Yet.

Tim Bradford x Rookie!reader [PLATONIC] — Ongoing series: Like Father, Like Rookie.

POV: Overwhelmed by the pressure to be perfect for your six-month evaluation, Tim Bradford sees through the cracks—and he won’t let you spiral. Through quiet guidance, firm words, and on-the-job moments, he helps you realize you’re more ready than you think.

A/N: Always a pleasure to hear from you, Eclipse! Thank you for the sweet message and request, this is adorable and I definitely enjoyed writing it! 💕

You hadn’t stopped moving since the start of shift. Not really.

Your nerves were like a second heartbeat—fast, insistent, relentless. Hands fidgeting with your vest straps. Pacing while waiting on call sheets. Tapping your pen against the desk during report writing until Tim’s eyes cut over with a sharp look that made your hand freeze mid-air.

But now, seated in the passenger seat of the shop, you couldn’t fake stillness anymore. Your knee bounced, leg jittering with a mind of its own like you were wired straight into a live socket.

Tim noticed. Of course he noticed.

“You gonna shake the whole damn shop apart, or what?” he asked, his voice even, calm—eyes still on the road.

You startled like you’d been caught stealing. “Sorry,” you muttered, forcing your leg to still. “Just… tired.”

Liar.

You could feel the word in his silence before he even said it.

“Bull.”

Your eyes flicked to him. “What?”

“I said bull,” he repeated, tone clipped. “You’ve been on edge all day. Don’t tell me it’s nothing.”

You tried to swallow the lump crawling up your throat. Looked out the window like the lights passing by might drown out your thoughts.

“It’s—it’s the six-month eval,” you finally said. Quiet.

Tim didn’t respond right away. Just flicked the turn signal, calm and composed, merging into a slower lane like he was waiting for you to keep going.

“And?”

You shifted in your seat, feeling every buckle and seam in your vest. “And, I need to crush it.”

He finally glanced at you—one of those looks. The kind that felt like floodlights cracking you open. Like he wasn’t just hearing you—he was reading between every damn word.

“Crush it,” he echoed, tone unreadable. “Why?”

You picked at a loose thread on your sleeve. “Because if I don’t, it proves everyone right. That I’m too young. That I’m not ready. That I don’t belong out here.”

Tim didn’t say anything.

Instead, he turned on his blinker and pulled the shop smoothly into a parking lot—quiet, mostly empty, lit by a flickering overhead light and the orange glow bleeding from a liquor store window.

The shop rolled to a stop. He put it in park. Killed the engine.

Silence.

You sat there, hands twisted in your lap.

Then Tim turned toward you fully, the weight of his posture shifting—shoulders squared, arms crossing in that solid, grounded way of his.

“You listen to me, and you listen good,” he said, tone hard but not harsh. “This job doesn’t give a damn how old you are. What it cares about is how you show up. And you? You show up. Every single day.”

You parted your lips, some excuse or protest waiting on your tongue, but he cut you off with a look.

“Do you make mistakes? Sure. So does everybody else. You think your eval needs to be perfect? It won’t be. Because you’re not perfect. And you don’t need to be.”

His words echoed in your chest like they were being carved into bone.

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered. “You’ve already proven yourself.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed slightly. His voice dropped an octave—deeper, more pointed.

“You think I didn’t bomb parts of my eval? You think I haven’t sat where you are, thinking if I messed it up, I’d never get taken seriously?”

You didn’t answer.

“You’re not here to be flawless,” he continued. “You’re here to learn. To grow. To take hits and keep moving. That’s what makes a good cop. That’s what makes you worth the badge.”

Your fingers curled around the hem of your shirt. They were trembling. Just a little. But enough.

Tim saw it.

He sighed, quieter this time. “You’re good, kid. Better than you think. And yeah, I’m hard on you. You know why?”

You nodded, voice small. “Because you want me to be ready?”

“No,” he said firmly. “Because you are ready. You just don’t see it yet.”

The words landed with a thud—solid and final. Like the earth settling beneath your feet.

You blinked, jaw clenched against the sudden sting behind your eyes.

Tim didn’t soften. Not visibly. But his hand reached over and patted your shoulder—firm, grounding, real. It wasn’t tender. It was steady.

“Now take a breath. Straighten up. We’re not done with shift, and I need you clearheaded.”

You nodded once. Shaky. Then again, stronger. “Yes, sir.”

His voice was gentler then, but just as sure. “Good. Let’s go.”

He started the engine again, shifting it into gear without fanfare. Just Bradford, making damn sure you knew your worth—even if he had to drill it into your head himself.

And the world kept turning—but slower now. Calmer.

You weren’t okay yet. Not fully.

But you believed him.

And that was enough to keep going.

Post-exam, though? Hit you like a brick with malicious intent.

The fluorescent lights of the precinct buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glow across the bullpen. It was late—too late for how long you’d been sitting in front of your locker, still in uniform, still frozen.

You stared at the evaluation sheet in your hands. It had crumpled slightly from your grip, edges damp where your fingers had trembled. You read the feedback for what had to be the tenth time, the words blurring around the edges. Your chest was tight. Too tight.

“Satisfactory in judgment. Needs improvement under pressure.”

That line echoed over and over in your head, louder than the rustling papers, louder than the clacking keyboard a few desks away. It was all you could hear.

You blinked hard, throat aching. The scent of old coffee grounds lingered in the air. Someone had microwaved leftover pasta—again—but it didn’t even register.

You should’ve done better. You needed to do better.

Footsteps approached from behind—heavy, measured, and familiar. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Kid,” Tim’s voice was gruff, cutting through the spiral. “You planning on camping out here, or…?”

You didn’t answer.

Tim sighed, and the bench beside you creaked under his weight as he sat down. You kept your eyes on the paper, willing it to disappear, or change, or both.

“Talk to me,” he said.

Your throat closed up.

“I messed it up,” you murmured. “I should’ve scored higher. I knew the scenarios. I just—” You broke off, shaking your head. “Didn’t respond fast enough. Froze when it mattered.”

The paper in your hand felt heavier than it should’ve. The words were smudged a little near the corner from how tightly you’d been holding it—creased, sweat-softened, like it had been through war and back. You couldn’t bring yourself to look up just yet.

Tim’s gaze remained unreadable but steady. You felt it on you, the way you always did. Sharp. Grounding. Impossible to shake.

He glanced at the paper, then back at your face.

“You passed,” he said, voice calm, slow and deliberate—like it needed to be heard through the static in your head.

You scoffed before you could stop yourself. “I barely passed,” you bit out. “That’s not good enough. Not for this job.”

The words came fast, bitter, too familiar. You’d been saying them in your head all day. This was just the first time they slipped out loud.

A pause stretched between you. Not long. Just long enough to feel like the air had thickened.

Then Tim’s voice came, low but sharp—like the snap of a taut rope.

“Good enough for who?” he asked. “For Grey? For me?”

He remained sat next to you, his stance firm but not aggressive. “Because neither of us put barely on your report. You did that.”

Your mouth opened, then closed again. No words came. Just that lump in your throat—the same one that had been there since you got your results. It burned behind your ribs, a quiet kind of shame you couldn’t shake.

You looked down. Couldn’t meet his eyes.

He shifted slightly, not backing down.

“You want to be perfect. I get it. But that’s not the job. The job is making the call, learning from it, and staying alive to make the next one.”

The words scraped against the wall you’d built up all day. Slowly, brick by brick, they chipped it.

Your fingers clenched the paper again, crumpling it tighter in your grip.

“I just…” You swallowed hard. “I don’t want to mess up out there. I don’t want to get someone hurt. Or get you hurt.”

The admission cracked something open—soft, exposed. You hadn’t even realized it until it came out. But it was the truth.

The room went quiet. Not the awkward kind. The kind that settled around you like a pause before impact.

Tim didn’t move for a long second. Then his expression shifted—subtle, but real. The edge in his eyes softened. His voice lowered, not losing strength, but gaining something steadier. Warmer.

“You’re not going to,” he said. “Because you don’t quit. And because I’ve got your back.”

The words hit hard. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just… honest.

And that made them worse.

You blinked fast, vision blurring slightly.

A memory flashed—uninvited but vivid. Your first week on the job. Nervous energy riding high. You trailing too close behind him on a call, trying to prove you were sharp, fast, useful. And Tim yanking you back by your vest a second before a suspect swung wide with a pipe.

No shouting. No panic. Just that laser-focused look he’d fixed on you as you stood there stunned.

“You’re here to survive. Do that first.”

Back in the present, your breath hitched. The locker room blurred again at the edges.

Tim hadn’t looked away. He never did, not when it counted.

“Take the win, kid,” he said, voice a little softer now. “You passed. Not because you got lucky, but because you’re learning. Every damn day.”

You gave a slow nod, jaw tight, voice caught somewhere in your chest. You couldn’t speak—not yet. You weren’t sure if it’d come out steady if you tried.

Tim didn’t push. Just gave you a moment, then added, businesslike but not cold:

“I want you rested for tomorrow.”

You looked up, confused for a beat.

“Because I’m putting you behind the wheel for most of the shift,” he continued. “And I expect you to call the shots when it’s your turn.”

That made you blink. “Wait. Me? All day? You never let me drive—”

He gave a short nod, like the decision had already been made and he didn’t see the point in debating it.

“Best way to prove to yourself what I already know.” He got up, already facing toward the doorway, but his words lingered. “You can do this,” he said. “Even when your head says otherwise.”

Then he was gone—out the door and down the hall, leaving you in the low hum of fluorescent lights and the echo of his belief in you.

And for the first time all day, the paper in your hand didn’t feel so heavy.

The next morning started early—before the sun even had a chance to warm the streets of Los Angeles. A low fog lingered above the pavement, curling between squad cars in the lot like smoke that hadn’t cleared. You stood by your locker, already dressed, boots laced, vest snug. But your hands were trembling.

You could still feel yesterday in your bones.

That exam. The feedback. The way it made your stomach twist. And worst of all, the expression on Tim’s face when he told you “You passed”—firm, serious, but not the kind of praise you felt you deserved. He said you did well. Your brain told you he was just being nice. He wasn’t. He never was.

But logic and feelings never played fair.

You were zoning out again—thinking too hard—until a paper coffee cup appeared in your peripheral vision.

“Drink it,” Tim said, not waiting for a thanks as he walked past, heading for roll call.

You stared at the coffee for a second, then followed, hands finally steadying with the warmth of the cup in your grip.

The first call was routine—at first.

Dispute in a strip mall parking lot. You followed Tim’s lead, clipboard tucked under your arm as you approached the two arguing men. One was pacing, the other red-faced and shouting. You kept your tone calm, your posture open, repeating everything you’d been trained to do.

You were halfway through separating them when one of them threw a punch.

You didn’t freeze this time. Your reflexes were faster than your thoughts.

You ducked. Moved in. Grabbed his wrist, pivoted your body like you’d practiced in defensive tactics, and forced him back against the hood of a car, cuffing him with clean, practiced motions.

When it was over, your heart was pounding—but you weren’t spiraling.

You looked up and Tim was already watching you from across the lot, one hand on his belt, expression unreadable.

Back in the shop, after turning the guy over to another officer, Tim gave you a nod.

“Clean,” he said.

You blinked. “Clean?”

“Your takedown. No hesitation. No overcorrection.” He glanced over his shoulder at the commotion dying down. “That’s what I mean when I say you’re growing. You didn’t let your nerves get in the way of your instincts.”

Something about hearing it now, in the field, after doing it right—meant more than the score on your evaluation ever could.

You nodded slowly, your chest feeling lighter.

“Thanks, sir.”

Tim shrugged. “Don’t thank me. You’re the one who put in the work.”

The shift moved on. You responded to a stolen vehicle, a shoplifting call, and a welfare check. Each scene came with moments of doubt—split-second flashes of memory from your early weeks, moments you’d stumbled, fumbled, froze.

But you didn’t now.

You kept moving. You remembered Tim’s voice, his corrections, his dry sarcasm and steady calm.

And at every stop, he was just… there. Quietly guiding, standing just far enough to give you space, but close enough that if anything happened, he’d be in your corner in half a second flat.

It wasn’t until the last call—almost at end of shift—that the day gave you one final test.

A teenager had been reported missing, last seen leaving school.

You and Tim canvassed the area, checking alleyways and bus stops, when you spotted someone curled behind a dumpster. Thin frame, hoodie pulled low. You crouched, gentle voice easing the kid out, while your heart pounded in fear of what you might find.

She was okay. Scared, cold, but okay.

You offered her your jacket, spoke softly while you waited for her parents to arrive. Your words were careful, calm. Reassuring.

And Tim? He stood back and let you handle it.

You didn’t notice he was watching you like a hawk until it was all over.

Back in the shop, you slumped into the passenger seat, the door clicking shut behind you with a dull thunk. Your vest felt heavier than usual—like your body had only just remembered how tired it was now that the adrenaline was gone.

You rubbed your hands together, then dragged one down your face, the skin clammy with sweat and tension. Your chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, like your lungs were still catching up from the last call.

Tim didn’t speak at first. Just adjusted the rearview mirror with a practiced hand, his movements calm, deliberate. The cruiser’s engine hummed under you, warm air filtering through the vents, soft against your chilled skin.

Then, without looking over, he said, “I remember when that would’ve wrecked you.”

His voice wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t smug. Just matter-of-fact, grounded in something that felt like pride.

“When you would’ve stumbled over every sentence trying to talk to her.”

You let out a slow exhale, head tipping back against the seat. The hum of street noise outside dulled to a low murmur through the glass. “Yeah,” you said quietly.

You remembered too.

You remembered that first call with a DV victim—how your voice had caught in your throat, how your hands had trembled when you tried to take a statement, how you’d looked to Tim for backup not because the scene was dangerous, but because you didn’t trust yourself to get it right.

But today, it had been different. You’d moved with purpose. Spoken with clarity. You had looked her in the eyes and told her she wasn’t alone—and meant it. You’d navigated the entire scene without a single glance toward your T.O.

Tim didn’t say anything else. But his silence wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t the kind that made you second-guess yourself or fill the air with nervous chatter.

It was solid.

Like brick and mortar.

The silence of someone who had seen your worst days and never once backed away from them. The kind that said you did good, without needing to spell it out.

You turned your head slightly and caught his profile—jaw set, gaze steady on the windshield, one hand resting lightly on the gearshift. He didn’t look at you, but he didn’t need to.

It wasn’t just about passing the eval anymore.

It wasn’t even about the numbers on the report or the comments scribbled in the margins.

It was about every rough shift that came before this one. Every moment you thought you couldn’t keep up, every time you’d failed and come back anyway. It was about how you showed up today—not perfect, but prepared. Capable.

For the first time in a long time, you weren’t trying to convince anyone that you belonged.

You weren’t trying to convince him.

You were trying to convince yourself.

And in that quiet space between shift calls, in the warmth of the shop’s late afternoon light filtering through the windshield, something in you finally settled.

You believed it.

You belonged out here.

The precinct had thinned out by the time you returned. Most officers were already gone, the last rays of sun bleeding over the city like the world had exhaled a little. The bullpen was quiet, low-lit, with the hum of vending machines and distant radio chatter the only background noise.

You were at your locker, peeling off your vest, when Tim reappeared with two bottled waters and a couple of granola bars.

You stared at them, one brow arched. “This your version of a steak dinner?”

Tim leaned against the row of lockers beside you. “If you wanted a steak, you should’ve tackled a better suspect.”

A small, tired laugh left you before you could stop it. He cracked the faintest smile in return.

“Seriously though,” he said, tone dipping into something lower, more even, “you did good today.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Felt different. Like… I wasn’t constantly second-guessing every move.”

“That’s because you weren’t,” Tim said. “That wasn’t luck out there. That was training. Control. You let your instincts kick in because you trusted yourself.”

You looked down at your hands, flexed them once. “I think… part of me still doesn’t believe I passed.”

Tim’s voice was quiet but firm. “Then believe me.”

You looked at him.

He nodded once. “You’ve come farther than you realize. And I’m not gonna let you burn yourself out chasing some imaginary finish line.”

You blinked hard. “You really suck at pep talks.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, crossing his arms again, “you suck at eating lunch without being told.”

You smiled, warm and lopsided. “Touché.”

Tim reached out and ruffled your hair—not playfully, but with a certain worn fondness. Like someone used to watching over something fragile until it found its strength.

“Go home,” he said. “Get some rest. You earned it.”

You hesitated for a second. Then, softer: “Thanks, sir.”

He gave a single nod, eyes steady. “Anytime, Kid.”

And as you stepped out into the fading sun, boots heavy from the day but heart a little lighter, you realized something important:

You weren’t just surviving out here anymore.

You were growing.

And Tim had seen it before you ever could.

Taglist: @its-ares @nevereclipse @chezze-its @mcckunty @graciereads @gublerstylesobrien1238

[womanofwords]

Silver Swan (Part 4)

Neglected!fem!reader x yandere!batfam

Your persona was coming together now. You had your getaway vehicle, your outfit, and your disguise. Now, you needed to scope out the details of the next event your family would ditch you for be attending.

This was one you had no qualms about gatecrashing. Seriously, who would go to a gala meant to raise money for the hotel franchise owner's son's defence fund, especially considering the crime was multiple counts of rape? How was this guy not in jail already? (Oh, right, he's rich.)

But nevertheless, the family was going. Great. This was going to be so much fun to ruin.

It was going to be held at Gotham Grand Hotel, where money would literally be put into a giant jar at the front of the stage for their nasty little son. That should be a pretty easy in and out sort of thing. Why should he have the money and not jail? Literally anybody else would be a better recipient.

Maybe you should decide who that person was.

"Father, if a night at Gotham Grand Hotel costs $650, why do they need a fundraiser for their son in the first place?" you ask. "Surely, they should be able to pay for his defence fund themselves."

"Most of their assets aren't in cash, Y/N," Bruce explained. "Their assets are tied up in stocks of their own company, which pays for everything they need."

"That still doesn't explain why they can't pay for their own son's defence fund."

"If they liquidate their stocks, the company's value goes down, meaning that banks trust them less, meaning they can't get loans," Tim explained. "This is to make sure their credit score remains as high as it always was."

"OK," you said. But your blood boiled. This kid didn't need this money. Anybody else would be a better candidate than this brat.

"I heard his mother's been hiring private investigators to follow the accusers," Damian said. "To see if they know each other."

"What does that have to do with anything?" you ask.

"They think they might be colluding to ruin his reputation," Dick explained. "The private investigators are there to collect proof of that."

"And in future, Y/N, please do not butt into conversations that you were not originally part of," Damian said, a cruel smile on his lips.

"OK," you said. Your blood boiled some more.

*_*_*_*_*_

"I did it," Irving said. He looked at you with fear, now, as would many people once they realised your potential. "Glue grenades, stink bombs, your hoverboard, it's all there."

"It better be, Redwood." You rifled through the box, your new weapons gleaming at you. Your pretties.

"Good job. So, how do they work?" you asked.

"They have a timer of ten seconds, which starts from the moment you pull the pin. Then, the glue or paint explodes onto the surrounding area. Try not to keep it in your hands for too long."

"I'll keep it in mind. Now, about the hoverboard. It's the thing I'm most interested in."

"Oh, right. It's right here." Irving led you over to a tablecloth, which he unfurled dramatically to reveal your hoverboard.

It was perfect. Literally perfect. Shiny silver with transparent straps to keep you from falling. "Oh, it's perfect. Just perfect."

"It has a weight capacity of 500lbs, so you can carry stuff and even another person, potentially. But due to its small size, I would recommend against it," Irving said, adjusting his glasses.

"Great. Thank you, Irving. I'll collect it bit by bit, can't be seen hauling all this stuff to my house. Until then, you'll house my . . . rush order."

"I can't do that!" Irving protested. You looked at him with a glare that could melt bricks. "I mean, I'll make space."

"Good to know I can rely on you, Irving!" you said, taking your hoverboard and wrapping it in the same sheet Irving had discarded.

"Why are you holding a wadded-up sheet?" Jason asked, as you walked up to your room.

"I'm replacing a bedsheet. The last one has permanent stains from a very heavy period," you lie.

Jason looked at you with utter disgust. "You didn't have to tell me that," he muttered, as he walked away.

Jackpot. Now, nobody would question you because Jason had cleared it, and Jason didn't want to know anything more about your period.

It's a good thing nobody in your family was a detective.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4 <- You are here

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Taglist: @tinybrie, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @simpingfor-wakasa, @kittzu, @simpingpandas, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @galaxypurplerose, @wisefuncherryblossom, @vanessa-boo, @deathbynarcisstick, @sirenetheblogger, @asillysimp, @toxicvoidsstuff.