#tim drake dc

[phosvye]

After a few sloppy kisses and several rounds of being bent over and fucked on every surface of the room in every position imaginable, with him whispering words of praise and longing, he still had the energy to fuck it all into you. At this point, you were spent, muttering nothing but unintelligible, half-formed sentences—pleading for him to stop, attempting to claw your way off of him as the overwhelming pleasure consumed you.

But alas, he dragged you back, impaling you onto him once more, making you even wetter than before and causing you to clench around him a little tighter. Moans and the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed so loudly against all four walls of the room that you both were sure you could be heard all the way down to the ground floor and the neighbouring buildings.

Both of your outfits lay discarded on the floor, either stepped on or stained with cum. Your pretty lace set was tossed somewhere in the room, along with his boxers. But of course, you were too fucked out to care. And it went on like that until the sun rose, and the two of you lay sprawled on the bed, faces glowing in the aftermath of sex. With you, curled against his side as his fingers traced lazy patterns on your arm. Head on top of his chest, eyes closed and breathless.

[lylacdrz]

Idk about u but I HC Tim drake being photogenic at social events but absolutely blurry or cursed when off duty🤔

[glamourscat]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[spocks-husband]

Just thinking about Knight Terrors: Robin. Thinking about brothers communicating. Thinking about Tim and Jason both envying each other. Thinking about... Them. Idk man.

[piercethevalley]

Happy pride no I’m not late

Would have put Damian but he doesn’t talk like that

[tarta-de-limon]

I can't the image of 12 year old Jon serenading 15 year old Damien with one time by Justin Bieber out of my head, it's so funny

(12 year old Jon with his height being 5'7 making him look 15, Damien being 5'5 cuz being serenaded wasn't embarrassing enough we gotta add height difference)

(Jason being Jon's hype man halfway through cuz he wants nothing more than to embarrass to Damien even more)

(Damien just wants to die again)

THIS TOOK ME SO, SO LONG I'M SORRY-

I tried to do this animation like 3 times? But I was never satisfied with how it looked because IbisPaint sucks with animations (in my opinion) and I just wasn't in my... animator era??? Lmao.

Here it is!!!! I really hope you like it, despite the 'problems' I found the whole idea hilarious 😭✋💖

[ahqkas]

— gn!reader, suggestive content

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[eiraeths]

jason: some people need to be told to shut the fuck up more

tim: you can’t talk

jason: what? no. not me. i’m a gift from god and my words should be taken as gospel

tim: every time you speak it’s like a war drum except the omen is one of annoyance. [bad mimic of jason’s voice] oh look at me i’m the great red hood, everyone has to deal with me because i’ve decided to inflict myself on the public today

jason: i could be a cult leader, you got no idea what you’re talking about. people love to listen to me talk

tim: your cult would end in a mass suicide

jason: and?

[ebodebo]

SUPERSTAR!

ˋ°•*⁀➷ PAIR: dick grayson x fem!popstar reader

ˋ°•*⁀➷ WC: 1.9k+

ˋ°•*⁀➷ CONTAINS: fem!reader, angst, some fluff, dick being hurt, jealous dick, mentions of blood & cuts, & purposeful omission of tags to avoid spoilers.

ˋ°•*⁀➷ AUTHOR'S NOTE: hey... tbh this was the fastest thing i've written in a while, so, go me lmao also, if enough people want, i would totally be down to do a part two. also, also, shoutout to @delusionsofgrandeur13 for chatting with me about this concept and screaming with me hehe hopefully you all enjoy this!

Dick won't give up his crime fighting ways...

The gray clouds hung heavily over Gotham, dark and ominous, as rain poured down and thunder rumbled across the city, leaving behind a haze of humid dew.

In the blink of an eye, the previous sunny day had turned cold and rainy.

You are perched on your couch in your apartment, a soft blanket wrapped around you, providing warmth against the chill outside.

From your sofa, you glance out the window at the people scurrying beneath awnings and huddling in doorways, their jackets pulled tightly against the sudden cold. 

The streets, usually alive with the sounds of conversations and city life, felt muted, the typical hustle and bustle subdued by the relentless downpour.

Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed, its piercing sound cutting through the comforting ambiance—a grim reminder that trouble often lurked in the shadows of the city, even on the coziest of days.

You find yourself sinking into the couch, fully immersed in the movie you had popped on. Your eyes threaten to shut close as your head lulls back and forth softly.

Pulling the blanket tighter against you, you inhale a deep breath, leaning against the back of the couch, already lightly snoring before you hear it.

Just as you start to relax, a sudden thud from your fire escape outside jolts you back to full alertness. Your head whips around, your lips pressed together in a tense line as you strain to catch any further sounds.

When none come, you force yourself to settle back on the sofa, trying to push the unsettling noise out of your mind. 

You close your eyes yet again, drifting off as soon as you lay your head back down. Your soft snores fill the room until you hear another noise, making you spring awake, your heart pounding in your chest.

You stand, agitated, ready for whatever comes next.  

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

The series of taps continues, with only a few seconds separating each one. You walk over to the window, reaching for a knife that you've left on the counter for slicing fruit.

Gripping it tightly, you round the corner of the island and stretch your neck to look outside, only to find your boyfriend lying on the cold, wet metal of the fire escape.

In a rush, you toss the knife into the sink; speed walk to the window, unlock it, and pull it open quickly. "Dick?" you call out, your eyes scanning the fresh cuts on his face, which are smeared with blood.

He lifts his head slightly, a lopsided grin appearing on his face. "Hey, baby," he replies hoarsely before dropping his head back down.

"Shit," you say roughly, quickly gripping him tightly and helping him through the window into the warmth of your apartment. You manage to get him inside and gently set him down on the vinyl floor.

"Did I wake you?" he rasps, wincing as he sits up.

"You always do," you reply, watching him reach for the first aid kit under the sink. "What the hell happened?" Your voice carries a hint of irritation.

"Ah, you know," he prompts, as if the answer were obvious. "Work."

You roll your eyes and let out a deep sigh as you carry the kit over to where he sits hunched over. "What happened this time? A knife fight? A toxin blast?" you ask, sounding tired as you soak some gauze in saline solution.

He gives a dry laugh. "It's nothing you need to worry about."

"Mhm," you respond, swiping the gauze across his cheek and making him wince slightly.

His eyebrows furrow in thought. "I know you're upset," he shrugs.

You nod in agreement while continuing to tend to his cut.

"Bruce needed me. Jason was being a hard-ass, and Tim was in Queens," he continued, his wide eyes focused on you as you tended to him. "I was the only one left." 

"Okay," you nodded, applying a band-aid to his clean skin.

He let out a shallow breath, sagging his shoulders. "Gotham… she needed me."

"I need you," you said, your voice louder than intended as you tossed the used gauze on the ground, locking your eyes with Dick's surprised gaze. "And I don't mean Nightwing. I mean Dick Grayson—the real you. The only you I want." You tilted your head back, shaking it slightly.

His mouth hangs open. "I'm here now, sweetheart."

You shake your head, holding back a sniffle. "No. I want you to be here always, at least in the ways you can control. I want you to stay alive, Dick," you say, your love for him evident in every word.

"Baby, I'm okay. You fixed me," his voice begins to fill with desperation.

You huff, biting your tongue. "Gotham always takes you from me and spits you back up at my doorstep, bloodied and bruised," you start, glancing at his cheek. "What if next time you bleed out? What if you get too comfortable and slip up?" you continue, reaching to slide his suit off his shoulders to tend to his side. "What if you don't make it home next time?" Tears well in your eyes as you carefully sanitize the wound.

He doesn't even flinch at the sting, unable to comprehend what he's hearing. "I love you."

"You love Gotham more," you murmur, your voice tinged with a hint of hope as you patch up his wound. "I gave you an ultimatum, me or Gotham," you remind him, tears rolling down your cheeks. "And you chose, so I shouldn't be sad. But I had hoped…" Your eyes, brimming with tears, meet his, and his heart feels the weight of your unspoken words. "You would choose me."

His stomach drops at the sight of you, but he can't help feeling a surge of irritation. "Is this about someone else?" he almost spits, confused by this sudden wave of emotion.

Your eyes widen in surprise as you pull away from him. "What are you talking about?"

He licks his lips, his expression flat as he hesitates for a moment. Then he sniffs and reaches for his phone, wincing as he swipes it open. Turning the phone toward you, he shows you a tabloid from Gotham Times with an image of you at one of Gotham's high-end restaurants accompanied by an article that reads:

"Gotham's Elite in the Spotlight: Sources report that the acclaimed pop singer, a prominent figure in Gotham's social scene, has ended her relationship with Gotham's own Dick Grayson.

This news comes after she was spotted enjoying brunch at the upscale Tavern on the Green with up-and-coming actor Luke Fox, the son of Lucius Fox, a close friend of billionaire philanthropist Bruce Wayne and CEO of Wayne Enterprises." 

You had grown accustomed to the constant scrutiny and speculation surrounding you, with keen eyes evaluating your every move, criticizing and amplifying every action.

What caught you off guard was Dick actually taking the tabloids seriously, let alone believing in their hypocrisies.

"Do you really think I would cheat on you?" you asked, looking up at him, your voice cracking with disbelief and hurt.

His narrowed eyes softened as he realized how ridiculous and unfair he was being. "I don't… I don't know why I said that," he admitted, turning his phone to look at its screen. "I…" he started, glancing back at your now tense expression.

"I was never with him, Dick. We had just met for brunch, which his publicist arranged, and the article failed to mention the other three people at the table. His agent thought it would be good for him to expand his horizons. Not that it matters, but we only talked about superficial shit," you sighed, clearly frustrated.

"Superficial shit?" he echoed your words.

"Yes!" you affirmed roughly, your anger simmering beneath the surface. "I thought you didn't give a shit about these tabloids!"

"I don't!" he insists, trying to convince you. "I just…" he trails off, shaking his head as he searches for the right words. "Sometimes they get to me," he admits, looking at you with pure honesty in his eyes. "I hate it, but… it's true." He takes a sharp breath.

You can't help but find his honesty refreshing. "I understand, Dick, but this is my life," you mumble. "There will always be some ridiculous article trying to portray me as some sleaze," you continue, shaking your head. "That's just how it is."

He nods in agreement, his disappointment evident. "Yeah, I guess it is," he says, the tension in the air thick.

You sink onto the cool floor, finding it grounding. Your mind briefly wanders as you stare at it, lost in thought.

"Can we just have one more night?" Dick mumbles, his bright blue eyes now a soft gray.

You look up at him. "Dick…"

"Just… please?" he pleads, his voice sincere. "One more night of normal? Then, I promise I'll let you do your pop-star thing and tour the world," he adds a hint of humor in his tone that makes you laugh.

"I'm not even on a world tour," you correct him, wiping a stray tear from your cheek as you chuckle.

"You will be," he assures you with his signature smile. "And I'll be cheering you on."

You sniffle, biting your lip. "You're a good guy, Dick."

"Would that opinion change if I kissed you?" he teases with a lopsided grin. 

You let out a laugh before leaning in closer, pressing a kiss to his lips; the warmth of his touch spreads down your spine, sending shivers down your skin. 

You pull away only slightly. "We should get some sleep."

"Not yet," he peers into your eyes, lips brushing against yours. "Let me soak you in."

The next morning, Dick wakes up before dawn breaks. He looks down and sees his arms wrapped around your waist as you snuggle into his chest. He smiles, but beneath that smile, a pang of disappointment lingers.

The night has long since ended, as has the normalcy he had come to rely on.

Thinking it would be easier for you, he decides to leave before you wake up. He gently eases his arms from around your waist and slips out of bed.

He tiptoes across the floor, careful not to wake you, and places a soft kiss on your forehead before putting on a spare white shirt he keeps in his drawer. He leaves the extra shirts behind for you.

He also leaves behind several of his sweatshirts and hoodies in your closet, just in case you get cold.

Stepping out quietly, he walks home through the cold Gotham air, the slight dew hanging heavy over the city, leaving him with a bittersweet feeling in his heart.

When he arrives at the Batcave, he finds Tim and Jason huddled around the Batcomputer. They both turn their heads to look at him as they hear his footsteps approaching.

Tim shakes his head, gesturing toward the computer. "Well, if it isn't Gotham's own charming socialite in the flesh, the Dick Grayson," he teases, nudging Jason, who laughs in response.

Dick lets out an irritated sigh and moves closer to see what's on the screen. There, a news article is blown up, and its headline reads:

"Gotham's hero, Nightwing, was seen sneaking into the pop star's apartment just days after her split with charming socialite and Wayne Enterprises executive Dick Grayson, amidst rumors of a blossoming relationship with actor Luke Fox, son of wealthy Wayne Enterprises CEO Lucius Fox."

Dick snapped his attention to the amused Tim and a serious Jason. "Don't worry about that," Dick muttered. "It won't be an issue anymore."

MINI AUTHOR'S NOTE: how are we feeling? feigning for more?

[jade-zzz]

FOCAL POINT

...YANDERE TIM DRAKE

SYNOPSIS : Tim doesn’t need chains to keep you—Not when he has control, patience—and that camera accompanied by the terrifying kind of love that never lets go.

WARNINGS : Yandere, Obsessive Behaviour, Captivity, Non-consensual Dynamics, Stalking Behaviour (implied), Camera / Photography Kink (non-explicit), Objectification of Reader, Stockholm Syndrome Undertones (implied), Possessive Behaviour

A/N : tims my favourite i cant physically resist writing about him so heres this small drabble,, any ideas for batboys that you guys wanna see me write are welcomed in my ask box as always INTERACTIONS AND REBLOGS ENCOURAGED!

The way in which Tim insists on photographing you like this makes your stomach twist.

His bed is too big. Too cold. Drenched in shadows even when the curtains are drawn wide. And there you are — posed like some fragile, delicate thing on silk sheets that smell like him. You sit just as he arranged you, perched on the edge of silk sheets that glisten under dim light, your body wrapped in layers of delicate lace and tulle, ribbons tied into bows at your collarbones, at your wrists, in your hair. Soft pink, soft white—colours he chose, not you. You’ve become something ornamental. A curated fantasy of his. 

You look like innocence incarnate. He made sure of it.

His bed cradles you—layers of dark silk against your delicate pastels, the contrast deliberately done by him. And Tim, standing before you with that camera in his hands and hunger in his eyes, looks like sin carved into the shape of a man.

There’s too much of him—height and shadow and silence. 

He doesn’t need to raise his voice or move quickly. His stillness is more terrifying than anything else. He doesn’t just stand near you. He looms. He’s dressed the way he always is—like he knows what he’s doing. His sweatpants ride low on his hips, exposing a trail of dark curls running from beneath the band to his navel, soft in a way that makes your thoughts go quiet with shame. He wears a fitted tank top, clinging to his torso like second skin—drenched in heat, sweat, and tension. Every breath he takes causes the fabric to stretch and settle, drawing your attention to the ripple of muscle beneath.

And his eyes—God help you, his eyes.

There’s no warmth in them, only calculation. A slow, simmering hunger always rising. They track you with the sharpness of a predator watching its prey. Cold and exact, like he’s always measuring how much more of you he can claim before you break.

Hanging heavy from his neck is that goddamn camera.

Professional. Expensive, probably. Matte body, thick lens, cold as his gaze. It clicks and flashes, capturing you in rapid-fire bursts. It’s not just a tool to him. It’s part of him—an extension of the way he consumes you. He raises it slowly, reverently, and behind the lens, his eyes sharpen. The shutter clicks.

Each snap cracks through the air like a gunshot, and you flinch every time, shoulders jerking, hands reflexively curling tightly. Each flash sears across your vision like lightning, leaving you blinking, stunned, shrinking in on yourself as if you could vanish into his silk sheets. You hate that he laughs.

He loves when you flinch—when you jolt and squirm and grip the edges of his sheets with trembling hands, silk bunched in your fists like a lifeline. You hate the way your knees knock together, shiny black shoes clicking like porcelain as they swing just above the ground. You look like a doll—posed, dressed, trembling—and he looks at you like a collector admiring his prize.

"Perfect," He murmurs, voice thick with a reverence that makes your skin crawl. The camera clicks again.

You shiver at the sound.

It’s not that he touches you—not yet. That’s what makes it worse. He doesn't have to. Not when every look cages you tighter than chains ever could. Not when he keeps you like this—pretty, pliant, and trembling beneath the weight of his gaze.

a/n : i said it'd be spicy but im very lazy and the weather has me feeling like a hotdog,, may perhaps do p2 of intermezzo since people have been asking idk

[dearestollie]

how does the tag "Dick Grayson is a bad brother" exist but "Jason Todd is a bad brother" is like a dessert..

Friendly reminder that Jason shot 10 year old Damian, beat Tim to near death, kidnapped both Dick and Damian unclothed them and was about to show them live, beat Tim to near death again and so on..

Meanwhile Dick Grayson basically raised Damian (no hate to Talia or Ra my queens❤️❤️) , recommended therapy to Tim when he obviously needed it, gave his number to Jason, went on a ski trip with him and gave him the OG Robin uniform right after Jason replaced dick, Dick was the Batman to both Damian and Steph.

Comment if you are confused Jason fans😍

[phosvye]

His mouth met your folds, tongue sliding between the sopping center—so wet that if he didn't know any better, he'd mistake it for a waterfall. Wet and sweet.

Regardless, he took his fingers to spread you open, and down his mouth went. The expanse of his tongue met your sensitive bud, and without fail, he knew it would earn him a moan and a twitch from you. And he continued to do that until you were trembling, hands combing through and pulling on his hair like it was the only thing anchoring you to reality.

His tongue worked inside you and over your clit, relentless and precise. And when you finally squirted on his face for god knows how many times, he lifted his head only to meet your trembling figure—half-lidded, glossy eyes, parted lips, and a sweat-sheened face looking back at him with the most dangerous mix of contentment and need.

Of course, he was smug.

[oddzo]

Post consistency, who’s she?

My friend got me hooked on DC and this is the result lol

This took me 33.5 hours on IbisPaint X, if the timing is a bit off it’s because ibis doesn’t have audio yet

[gothamiaw]

Super duper messy but I wanted to sketch Tim with a bear that's life sized because he deserves it. Hence this, enjoy timinators

[glamourscat]

TIM DRAKE | “We’re not quite lovers. So I tell everyone we’re just friends. It’s easier that way.”

It’s easier that way. To explain the way my gaze lingers on your lips when we’re alone, curled up in the quiet of my room during our late-night hang outs. Our voices lower, close to a whisper and our noses brush just enough to make my heart race. For a second, I could swear you feel it too, the pull. But I don’t ask. It’s easier not to.

It’s easier that way. To explain the way, even though I have plenty of friends, it’s always you I find myself turning to. The one I can laugh until I can’t breathe, cry, then laugh again. The only one whose face I search for in a crowd. The one whose eyes I lock with across a street, like we already know the other’s there, even before we see it.

It’s easier that way. To explain how we can talk for hours without it ever feeling like enough. Without running out of things to say or jokes to share. I don’t know how you do it. How you always come up with the most ridiculous things to make me laugh. And I do. I laugh, because I want to hear you laugh. I want to hear your voice when it cracks with laughter, the way you say my name so breathlessly, how I can picture your face so perfectly in my mind. You on the other end of the phone, with your nose scrunched up from laughing. Hair a mess, as always. Yet so beautifully captivating. 

And sometimes, in those quiet moments, when it’s just the two of us, the air is thick enough to touch. To cut. I catch your eyes. And for a moment I think I see something there. An intensity, a depth of a feeling that scares me. But maybe it’s just me, wishing for something more. Wishing to see something that isn’t really there.

After all, we’re just friends. Right?

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

sorry not sorry for the Tim Drake angst 🙂‍↔️✋🏻

[corpsedogs]

✿ my annoying siblings (req)

tim drake x f!assistant

more focused on the bat-family

( ♡ he just likes his assistant, is that wrong? )

“Yeah, okay I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks again.” Tim says before looking at the end call screen on his phone. Dick, who was sitting on a chair leaned back to look at him, “Who was that?” he asked. Tim didn’t look back but answered, “My assistant.” Dick’s eyes raised as he looked towards Bruce’s direction.

“Do you know about this?”

“No.” Bruce answers as he looks through his case files.

Stephanie perks up from the conversation. “Why’d you hire one?” Tim looks up at her, “I just needed help at work. You know, to balance my work better.” Tim shrugs, placing his phone in his pocket.

Damian crosses his arms, “Since when are you not capable of doing your tasks?” Tim glared at him, “I am capable, I just needed some help.”

Tim had hired a new assistant, you. It's been a few weeks since he has hired you, his initial plan was to keep you for a week before working by himself again. But god, how it made his life so easier.

Schedules, back reading paperwork, research. It was all done once he went back to see you. Not only that, but he also found you endearing. He would always admire how hard you worked and how you would always get the job done.

He can’t help but smile when you enter his office as you hold onto some paperwork in your arms or when he listens to your voice on the phone as you update on his schedule.

Jason raised his brow as he saw him staring to space, “You good?” Tim was snapped from his thoughts “Huh? Yeah.. just thinking about work.” Jason shrugged, not giving a care as he walked towards the exit of the batcave.

A day passed by and Tim was in Wayne enterprises. He looked up ahead and saw you making some coffee, he didn’t hesitate and walked to your side. Tim cleared his throat as you looked at him surprised, "Oh, sir. I'm so sorry I didn't see you. Did you want some coffee?"

“Yes please.” He says giving you a warm smile. You nodded as you prepared a cup, “Do you have any preferences?”

“Two sugar, with a splash of creamer would be great. Thank you.”

You nodded at his request and started to pour the warm water onto the cup.

Tim crosses his arms, “Anything I should take note of today?” he asks, you thought for a bit before shaking your head “Uh, no one seems to be asking for a meeting and.. the things you requested should be coming in here soon. So I suppose your schedule is quite free, should I write something down?”

Tim didn’t realize he had been zoning out while staring at you until he was back to reality. He blinked twice when he noticed you had been speaking. “Sorry, what was that?” he asked, feeling a bit dazed. “There's nothing important to report,” you repeated, “So your schedule is quite free today.” you said as you gave him his coffee.

Tim slowly took the warm cup from you, “Thank you.” he said, his fingers brushed against yours when he took the cup from your hands.

Free time.

He had been so busy lately that having a free day seemed strange. "You sure I don't have anything scheduled?” he asked, a bit of skepticism in his tone. You took out your phone to double check and nodded, “Well, yes. Unless you want to meet with someone today.” He took a sip of his coffee, savoring the bittersweet taste, “I was thinking…”

“I was wondering if… you’d like to have lunch with me?” You blanked out for a minute, “Me?” you pointed to yourself. “Oh, I mean. Sure, I’d love to sir.” Tim was surprised by how easy it was to convince you to accept his invitation. Not only that, but your eagerness to go was also surprising. Normally he’d expect someone to be skeptical when a boss asks you to have lunch with them.

He smiled warmly at you, “Great, I’ll pick you up at your desk at 12.”

Noon arrived. Tim was a bit nervous as he stood in front of your desk. He had taken off his suit jacket and loosened his tie for the occasion. Tim took a deep breath before tapping the top of your desk to get your attention. “Ready?” You nodded, “Yes, let me just tidy my things.”

Tim watched as you gathered your things, placing them in their proper folders. Once you were ready, the two of you left the building as Tim gestured to you to walk ahead of him.

The cafe wasn't a 5 minute walk for the building, when you approached the cafe, he opened the door for you, gesturing for you to walk in first. You sat down in one of the booths, “Is there a reason why you took me out for lunch sir?” you asked.

Tim shrugged his shoulders as he sat opposite of you, “I thought I’d treat you since you’ve been such a great help lately.”

“Oh, thank you.” you said. Tim could sense a bit of embarrassment in your voice as he replied.

The waitress came by to take the two of your orders. Tim looked at you first, “What’re you gonna have?” You looked down at the menu, then back up at him, "I’ll have the chicken parm and water, please." Tim nodded, then ordered once it was his turn, "I’ll get an iced green tea and the club sandwich."

The waitress took your orders and left the two of you to chat. Tim leaned back in his spot and studied you a bit more before he spoke, "How’s being my assistant like so far?”

You avoided eye contact a bit, “It's nice, the job is for me and I get nice pay.” you answered. He tried to reassure you, “I’m glad you like the job. And also, I don’t bite. You don’t need to be so nervous.”

“Well, it’s a little difficult for me to talk friendly to a higher up.” you nervously chuckled. “You don’t need to feel nervous talking to me. You’ve been doing a fantastic job as my assistant, if anything, I should be nervous talking with you.” he said jokingly, trying to lighten the mood.

You softly smiled, “Well, it was nice for you to take me out to lunch sir.” He smiled back at you as he spoke, “You’re welcome, but don’t call me ‘sir’ when we’re outside of work.”

Night time passed, Tim was on his Red Robin suit sitting on one of the rooftops watching from below. Behind him was Jason and Stephanie who accompanied him on patrol. Jason sat by him as he tapped his fingers on the stone floor, “So..” he trailed, “Who’s your date?” Stephanie asked.

Tim raised his brow at the two, “What date?” Stephanie crossed his arms “The date you had at the afternoon.” Tim looked at the two of them, deadpanning “What date...” oh no.

Tim stood up, “Have you two been spying on me??” Dick’s voice entered in the earpiece “And me.” he fuzzed in. Tim rolled his eyes in annoyance, “All of you were spying on me??” he asked, a bit frustrated.

Jason smirked, “What’s the matter, Red? Didn’t want us to find out who you were swooning over?” Tim narrowed his eyes at Jason, “I am not ‘swooning’ over anyone.” he replied.

Stephanie smirked as she joined in, "You definitely were. Who is it?"

“It’s nothing. Just lunch with an assistant,” he said. Jason scoffed, getting more of an idea of who “that assistant” was. “Since when did you start taking an interest in your assistants?”

Dick chimed in again ”That was your assistant??” Tim looked up at the sky in frustration, and nodded. Stephanie started to laugh, “Oh my god, you’ve got the hots for your assistant!” Tim huffed, he knew where this was going to go. “Why were you three spying on me anyway?”

“Because, we’re nosey.”, Dick said through the comms again. Jason crossed his arms, “You should get used to it by now.” Before Tim could say anything, Barbara chimed in. “Guys, task at hand please.” she said, thank you Barbara. “Let’s talk about this later.” Dick said, before he tuned out.

Tim is positive he won't see the light of day soon.

🍰 part two? maybe? please reblog and comment to support me 🙏