Hello! My name is Gabbi (though Athena works too).
This blog is mostly for fanfics, but I might post about my original projects soon. Chapters that are NSFW/18+ are labeled as needed, so please keep that in mind.
Smut isn't my main focus in any of my work, though it may appear on occasion.
She/Her | 30 | Demisexual | Cat lover
Fandoms: SDV, My Time at Sandrock, Palia, and Batman (though I dabble in other DCU canon as well)
Hobbies: Writing, TTRPG (Pathfinder), video games, and reading
Ask and game tag friendly!
Favorite Tropes: Fake Dating, Found Family, Grumpy/Sunshine (with the woman as the grumpy one), and Meet-Uglies
I like books that: Include diverse casts – LGBTQ+, BIPOC, mental health, and people with disabilities representation!
I don't use this blog solely for writing. Fandom stuff is bound to also arise, but I might share snippets of some of my other works that I just do for fun. I'm looking forward to making friends, and hopefully being a bigger part of the community.
Batman
Multi-Chapter
Dear Daddy Long Legs - Jason Todd x Fem!Reader
Inspired by the novel Daddy Long Legs by Jean Webster. Jason Todd saves you from getting mugged one night and ends up being your mysterious benefactor, funding your college experience. Featuring awkward "zero rizz" Jason Todd and several members of the Bat Family.
Read it in AO3 instead
Status - COMPLETE - 100,086 words
Smoke & Mirrors - Tim Drake x Fem!Reader
When a notable Gothamite winds up murdered, you’re the key witness in the case. The only problem?
The killer is still at large.
Redwing is tasked with keeping you alive, both in and out of the uniform. Easy enough, right?
Wrong.
You and Tim Drake didn’t start off on the right foot. It was probably his fault—definitely his fault. He’ll have to get creative to keep both you and his identity safe.
One-Shots
Show Me How You Like It - Jason Todd x Fem!Reader — 18+MDNI
Jason was less certain about this part.
While you weren’t his first partner, sex never enticed him the way it enticed others. Don’t get him wrong. He wasn’t completely opposed to the idea of physical intimacy, but it took time for him to warm up to the idea. The moment had to feel right. With the right person. Jason didn’t do casual... well, anything. It had to mean something. You understood that and never pushed him to do anything that made him uncomfortable.
He was finally ready to take that next step with you.
The revelations????? The rejection that hurts because it's a miscommunication issue??? MC being a bamf and going in even though she probably shouldn't?? Bruce. Calling at the worst time. Fuck you Bruce.
I expect it's gonna take MC like 2 seconds to figure out who Batman is now that she knows for Tim lmao. I'm also assuming she's gonna somehow end up tied up in his apartment or something once he realizes she's not the kind to stay put LMAO, but that's wishful thinking.
I also hope Mullen isn't dead because I don't see what would be the next step for MC if he is, except finding the killer (which would probably mean needing the help of Tim, who would maybe like the help of someone that's not Bruce or the batfam).
Anyway that was so good aaaaa thank you so much! When I tell you I jumped when I saw the notif haha
I love that your mind is turning anon. Keep it up!
I’m glad to bring joy. I’m just thrilled that I’ve found a rhythm for writing again. It was looking bleak for a while ngl. But I feel good and words are flowing.
A bright red bubble burst on Mullen’s lips, sending flecks of blood flying. Kimber tried desperately to staunch the flow with her hands, now coated in his blood. Tears smeared mascara down her cheeks. A jagged sob wrenched from her throat as she pressed more firmly over the hole in his neck.
You’d never seen her cry.
It was almost more unnerving than the man dying under her.
Dying, not yet dead. There was still a chance. A small voice told you to stop staring and do something, but the shock had yet to fade. As more people crowded around Mullen, the further you seemed to drift.
This wasn’t real.
If Mullen died...
If he died on your watch...
Your career as a PI was over.
You didn’t realize Tim was speaking until he was blocking your view of Mullen. He curled a finger under your chin and lifted your gaze to meet his. Panic crackled like a storm in his eyes, only making the situation more real.
“What?”
“We can’t be here right now. Follow me.”
He helped you up and led you away from the crowd. Sirens blared in the distance. You choked on a laugh. Ironic how quickly the police moved when the victim was a rich, white man.
Concern furrowing Tim’s brow as he hugged you close. His cologne—floral and citrus—almost burned. Your senses felt sharper, every noise and smell pushing you that much closer to the edge.
He led you out of the conference hall, down the corridor, and into one of the private bathrooms at the end of the stretch. The lights flickered on as you stepped inside. It was barely large enough for the two of you. Tim grabbed some paper towel from the dispenser and shoved them at you.
“You’re bleeding.”
You glanced at your reflection in the mirror. Small beads of blood welled from the cuts on your cheeks. Only then did you feel the sting. He shook out his hair, a few shards of glass plinking off the tile at his feet.
Silence followed as you dabbed the cuts. More blood replaced what you cleaned. Realizing its futility, you tossed the towels and stared at the empty sink. Your pulse slowed, the incessant buzz from the lights felt less offensive, and the shock faded until you could finally think.
How the hell did you explain this to Selby?
Yeah, sorry the target died like that. What was I doing at the time? Well, I was a little distracted by this rich boy’s ass. Tim Drake. Do you know him?
God, no. You’d rather die than admit that.
Never mind that you’d spent most of the programming picturing all the ways you could bring Tim to his knees. Something told you that he’d look very good there. Given how direct he’d been earlier that evening, he may not mind it either. Maybe that wine had done too good of a job.
You shook your head.
Focus.
What could have happened didn’t matter. Tim would have to wait.
Except it was hard to forget him when he was so close. Squeezed into the far corner of the bathroom with his shoulders hunched. His eyes darted back and forth, unblinking. Likely replaying the events that just transpired. As you did the same, something stuck out to you.
“You saved me.”
He forced himself to look at you. The storm still raged in his eyes. Blood wept from a small cut across the bridge of his nose. He didn’t seem to notice.
“Why did you save me?”
He didn’t answer.
Anger simmered in your blood, but you forced yourself to breathe. This wasn’t Tim’s fault either. “Of the three of us, you chose me. Why would you do that? You could have saved Mullen.”
That seemed to shake him. “Mullen?”
“Mullen,” you insisted. “Why didn’t you save him instead?”
His brow pitched. Not with concern. Not with confusion. Hurt. Pure and unbridled. Like he’d been asking himself the same question. He looked away from you and said softly, “I don’t know.”
It bordered on a confession, but that didn’t satisfy you. He saved you. It was a fact, and no amount of prodding would change the past. The only thing to do was move forward. You spun away to glare at your reflection.
But how did you move forward?
“I really hope he doesn’t die,” you said.
You could still see Tim through the mirror, looming over your shoulder like a ghost who decided you were their target. He blinked slowly, as if finally waking up from whatever stupor had taken hold. “He was shot in the neck. The chances of surviving that are—”
“Not great. Between 10-35% depending on where he was hit.”
He stared at your reflection. “Right...”
“You sound surprised that I know that.”
“I just...” Tim paused, considering his words. “Why do you know that?”
“Is that the secret you really want from me?”
A flicker of irritation tightened his mouth. “Are we doing this now? A man was shot.”
“And you’re acting weird about it. Well, weird for you.”
“I think I’m allowed to act weird about it.”
Fuck it.
This assignment was already dead in the water anyway. You spun to face him once more. “Well, I don’t like it. So, allow me to take your mind off of the situation. Do you know why I came to Gotham?”
“Work?”
“You’re half right.”
Tim pinched the bridge of his nose, hissed upon finally discovering the cut, and wiped away the excess blood with his thumb. He glared down at it as if it personally offended him as he said, “Can we skip to the part where you tell me whatever it is you’re trying to tell me.”
“I’m a PI, Drake.”
That seemed to catch his attention. “Excuse me?”
“A private investigator. I was hired to track Mullen. I won’t go into the details, but let’s just say this assignment has been the bane of my existence.”
His initial surprise quickly faded. “You were undercover.”
“I thought it was my best chance to get close to Mullen. Spoiler, RAP makes it impossible to get close to any C-Suite Executive. Non-profit has all the committees with sub-committees. I was drowning in work, and I couldn’t get him alone.” You crossed your arms. “And then I had to deal with you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. You. How was I supposed to focus on my assignment when you were always there? Lurking, watching. You’re always—”
Always watching.
No.
Impossible.
Tim wasn’t...
“You’re always watching,” you said slowly.
Tim stared back at you with his usual intensity, glacial blue glinting like silver in the light.
“You saved me.”
You stepped toward him, hands outstretched. He didn’t shy away from you. “Of the three of us, you chose me.” You knew exactly why he saved you. He told you he would. A tremble betrayed your apprehension as you pressed his bangs away from his face.
You lowered your gaze, knowing the illusion would break the moment you saw his face.
Wasn’t it better to know and pretend you didn’t?
“Are you going to look or not?”
Finally, you forced yourself to look.
It was still Tim. The same intense stare with a straight nose with a slight upward lift at the end. A few pimples dotted the bridge of his brow, now exposed with his hair pushed back. You’d seen this face before—hidden behind a sculpted mask.
Tim Drake was Redwing.
You waited for the blow of this revelation to hit, but it never did. Your hands fell back as you stepped away. “I see.”
“I’ll be honest.” He shook out his hair, bangs settling once more. “I was expecting a little more of a reaction.”
“That the annoying prick that’s been tailing me for the last few months is the masked vigilante tasked with my protection? Yeah, I probably should be more shocked.”
What did this information change?
Not much.
Everything.
Instead of answers, it left you with more questions. What led a spoiled prick like him to don a cape and mask to fight crime? Who was the real Tim, the public persona, or the mask, a secret third option that you hadn’t been made privy to? Did he feel personally responsible for fucking up the whole subway system after his fight with Killer Croc?
So many questions, and not nearly enough time.
“But I just watched a man get shot through the throat.” You threw up your hands in defeat. “I think I'm tapped in the shocked department.”
Tim snorted, sliding to the ground. “We’re both a mess, aren’t we?”
You joined him on the ground. His shoulder pressed against yours in a way that was almost comforting. Tim Drake had never cared for the concept of personal space, but right now, you didn’t mind. “There’s something in the water out here, I swear. I’m normally a lot more put together than this.”
He shrugged. “Probably all the fear toxin in the bay.”
You stared at him.
He stared back.
Was that a joke?
Knowing Gotham, probably not.
You groaned. “This city is fucked.”
Tim rested his head against the tiles and sighed. “You’re telling me.”
“What happens now?”
With Mullen off the field, there was no reason to stay. Except there was a killer on the loose. They knew your face, and something told you that leaving during an active murder investigation wasn’t an option. You were stuck, and he seemed to recognize that too.
“Stay with me,” Tim said as if it were the obvious solution. Your chest tightened. “I can keep an eye on you while I—”
“No.”
“No?”
You slid away from him. “You may have decided that I need protection, but I don’t. I can handle this on my own. Just focus on your case, so I can—”
“You were shot at tonight.”
You scoffed. “Mullen was shot at. I just happened to be there.”
“And what if the next one is for you? I meant it when I said we would keep an eye on you. Now that you know, it would be smarter to stick with me,” he insisted. “That way, I don’t have to scramble for lame excuses to be around you.”
Was that all this was to him?
An excuse to keep tabs on you.
It made sense, but it didn’t hurt any less to have his disinterest in you confirmed. It answered one question though. Tim Drake was a mask, much like Redwing, and you’d allowed yourself to believe you were peeling back the layers toward something real.
Clearly not.
You could relate. Your work with RAP was a means to an end for your assignment, so were you in his.
Oh well.
No hard feelings, you supposed.
“I’m still alive, so you're managing just fine the way things are.” You stood and returned to your solace near the sink. The bathroom seemed a lot more cramped. “No need to change things for my sake.”
Before he could respond, and how you would have loved to hear him talk his way out of this, his phone buzzed. He tried to ignore it, but three more messages followed the first text. A growl ripped from his throat as he pulled it from his pocket and scanned the messages.
“I need to get back out there.” He hesitated. “They need Redwing.”
“Naturally.”
His expression pinched, a momentary crack in the facade. “I want to talk about this,” Tim insisted. All traces of the Drake you knew vanished as Redwing slipped into place. It was uncanny how quickly he shifted between the two—even without the mask. “I’ll come back and we can discuss our options. Just...” Another pinch as Tim Drake took hold. It passed, and it was Redwing once more. “Just sit tight while I handle the GPD. Please.”
He didn’t wait for a response, as if he expected you to just listen. Clearly, he didn’t know you at all. There was nothing to discuss. You weren’t a damsel in distress. Tim may not believe that, but you’d made it this far without him.
You pressed your ear to the door and waited until his footsteps faded. When you were certain he was gone, you yanked open the door and darted down the hall toward the lobby.
You were no one’s burden, and you certainly wouldn’t wait around for a hero to save the day.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Finally found a rhythm after months of little to no progress, so I thought I'd celebrate by posting ANOTHER chapter for you folks.
I love a midpoint identity reveal. What can I say?
I see what you did there with the line about arriving precisely at the time he meant to arrive. :^)
Also I feel like a feral animal and I know you're giggling mischievously somewhere with how much edging you're doing to us.
The plot is plotting though?? More dead people??? But I don't know the Batman rooster well enough to really have a clue as to who might have a motive to kill those people (also let's be honest I have to reread your fic. I? Think? They all were kinda bad people? They're also all loosely related to MC but unless someone is watching her and wants to prevent her from getting more clues but somehow can't kill her directly... well... idk. OK crazy theory: MC's client is related to the crimes. Actually I have no idea...)
Ah and Tim might have a picture of the shooter right? That might make Bruce err... a little less grumpy?
This is a bit of a weird question but do you prefer comments in your ask box rather than on ao3?
Anyway great chapter as always!!!! Thank you!!!!!!
Oh. I’m so glad I’m making you have theories. I was so afraid the mystery was obvious or not obvious enough.
🫣 Gah. Murder mysteries are hard.
But worry not dear reader. All will be revealed in time. What I will say is you are picking up on clues I’ve laid.
Not a weird question at all. I don’t have a preference, but if you’re looking for responses I’m more likely to answer anon asks here.
was watching the Spain vs France match while eating ice cream I notice a notis (notfis? I dunno that’s the abbreviation for notification in Sweden unsure if it’s the same in English) aka you updated
(FUCK YEAH)
so I multitasked by watching the match eating ice cream AND reading the new chapter
and sure it doesn’t sound very hard to eat ice cream while reading
BUT in my defense it’s like you gotta look down at the ice cream to make sure you took the chocolate one and not the vanilla one or mix it or whatever so..
I was very joyful indeed at my multitasking abilities amazing chapter btw 😝😝😝 love me dear Tim and love your fics
Go France 🇫🇷
Unless you’re cheering for Spain in which case, go Spain 🇪🇸 Just don’t let my husband hear me say that 🫣
I appreciate this story and I hope you enjoyed your ice cream 🍨 very proud of your multitasking abilities.
Punctuality had never been his strong suit. He always arrived precisely when he meant to arrive, late or otherwise, but his presence mattered tonight. The RCP finally arrived, a culmination of all your hard work and a small portion of his, but that was simply anecdotal. It was a night worth celebrating, and Tim intended to milk every second of it.
Or at least, that was the plan.
“I can’t believe we ran two hours over,” he grumbled as he killed Janet’s engine.
“It would have been shorter if you didn’t reschedule three times.”
Tim shot Tam a narrow look as she touched up her lipstick in the mirror. Burgundy beet. She’d worn it as long as he could remember (and he remembered everything). That shade had ruined several of his shirts. When they used to sneak off between meetings and...
He stopped before those memories fully surfaced. Their relationship was in the past—where he preferred it, but he couldn’t help when a memory was triggered. They took him by force.
She flipped up the mirror and met his stare, undaunted. “Am I wrong?”
He hesitated a second too long.
“That’s what I thought.” She slipped the lipstick back into her clutch and closed it with a sharp snap. “Honestly, I’m glad this RAP event is done after tonight. I know it’s one of the organizations we support, but this is a busy season for the foundation. I need your focus on the whole picture. We can’t be playing favorites.”
“Wait, hold up, aren’t you always yelling at me to take this job more seriously?” Tim countered sharply. Irritation prickled at the base of his skull like an itch he couldn’t reach. “I helped plan this event. I stopped rescheduling their meetings. This is what you wanted, and now it’s too much.”
“I never thought I’d say this, but I’d rather you be off doing your nightly extracurriculars. I haven’t seen you this distracted since...” She stopped as the realization dawned. “You met someone, didn’t you? Damn it, Drake. You just gotten over Bernard, and it’s been like six years. When things go south, I can’t be there to pick up the pieces. A heartbroken Tim Drake is useless to me.”
Not if, when. That one stung more than he wanted to admit, but he kept his expression neutral. “It’s not like that. She’s the new event coordinator for RAP. I couldn’t skirt my duties with her like I did with the last guy. She would have killed me.”
Tam groaned. “Fuck, and she’s a bully. Of course, she is.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“You like people who bully you,” she deadpanned.
Tim wanted to be offended, but it was the truth. Who didn’t get off from a little degradation every now and again? But that was beside the point. It had nothing to do with you. Tam wouldn’t understand that you were more than some girl, but it wasn’t worth getting into right now. He didn’t have time to show off his dismal evidence board with enough loose red thread to hang himself with.
“I'll try to be better.” But try as he might, there was no escape from all the things that made him Tim. “Can we go now? We’re already running late and I need to—”
She arched an eyebrow. “Need to?”
Fuck. He couldn't talk his way out of this one. No matter what way he looked at it, this reflected poorly on him. “Whatever.”
He pushed open his door and got out, Tam hot on his heels. She wasn’t letting this go any time soon. “I haven’t seen you this flustered in a hot minute. She must be something if she has the Tim Drake blushing.”
“I’m not.”
He was.
He felt the heat bloom beneath his skin.
“Can we talk about this later?”
“Sure, sure.” He opened the door to Gotham Hotel for Tam. She breezed past, smugness oozing from her pores. “Just one more thing.”
He dragged his fingers through his hair. “What?”
“If I’ve caught on this quickly, aren’t you worried about Bruce?”
“Why would I be...”
That's when it hit him.
Bruce was here. Tonight. Bruce liked to attend these things to drum up excitement for a good cause (and keep up appearances, of course). It normally wasn’t a big deal. It still shouldn’t be, but the realization made his stomach do a quick summersault. He scanned the lobby for the telltale crowd that followed Bruce wherever he went.
Folks mingled around high-top tables; nursing wine or whatever mixed cocktail was the special that evening. Arched windows spanned the upper half of the room, revealing the dark wood and wall-papered interior of the hotel. Guests passing by could see the events happening in the venue. It offered visibility, and Kimber fell in love with the mahogany and original Tiffany sconces. It looked expensive, which made their donors feel expensive.
Never mind that Tim called in a couple favors and negotiated one hell of a discount to get them here.
His arrival attracted several appraising looks. It was only a matter of time before one of the guests approached him with an agenda veiled behind polite conversation. Once the seal was broken, there’d be no escaping the endless string of ‘hellos’ and ‘I’m looking for someone to join our board’. He wanted to avoid that if possible.
Pipe and drape curtains separated the space from the stage and dining room on the other side—likely where he’d find you. Bruce had yet to arrive, but it was only a matter of time before he made an appearance.
“I’m not concerned.”
“Oh, clearly. Your face screams calm.”
Tim forced his jaw to soften. “I need a drink.”
“Already? I assumed you’d want to find her.” Tam batted her eyelashes.
Oh, he was never living this down.
Tim clasped her loosely on the shoulders and guided her toward the bar. He needed something to take the edge off before he found you.
With two glasses of cabernet in hand, Tim slipped through the gap in the curtain before anyone could approach him. Dining tables set with salads and flickering votives filled the open room. You stood at the foot of the stage with the guest of honor—a middle-aged woman with gray at her temples and a soft pink scarf draped around her neck. She was the founder of a research organization that partnered with Wayne Enterprises often, though her name escaped Tim as his gaze shifted to you.
You wore a wide-legged pantsuit—grey, of course. Beneath, you wore a burnt orange blouse with a plunging neckline tucked into your trousers. Several gold chains hung around your neck, glistening in the low light. He sucked a sharp breath through his teeth.
Fuck.
You spotted him before he could wipe the dumb look off his face. Your rehearsed smile bordered on manic as you excused yourself, meeting him halfway. “And here I thought you weren’t coming.”
“And miss another thrilling fundraising event? Never.” He offered you one of the glasses. “You look like you could use some wine.”
You gave the glass a dubious look. “I’m at work.”
“Even more of a reason to drink,” he said with a shrug, “Come on. Live a little. It’s an open bar.”
The corner of your mouth quirked. You’d painted your lips a shade that complemented your blouse—a deep rust that resembled dried blood. A rough-cut citrine stone hung off the chain that tickled the valley between your breasts.
Was it getting warm?
A thin sheen coated the small of his back. He wanted to blame the summer heat, the warm bodies on the other side of the curtain, certainly not the mascara that darkened the lashes around your eyes.
You said, “That RAP is paying for.”
“With donor funds. It’s fine. Besides.” He nodded to where Kimber schmoozed with the committee chairs near the curtain. A soft flush darkened her cheeks. “It looks like your boss is enjoying herself. A few sips won’t kill you.”
A moment wrought with tension passed between you before you finally took the glass and drank. It softened the harsh line of your shoulders. “Thanks.”
“What else am I good for?”
“More than I realized,” you admitted. “I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for your help with this event. I do appreciate it. I don’t know if it would’ve been half as successful without you.”
To say Tim was touched was an understatement. It wasn’t often he heard praise like that for this half of his life, so hearing it from you stirred something in his chest. He, being Tim, tried to play it off. “Look at you, getting sappy.” He took a long sip from his own glass. It failed to smooth the edge, but the night was still young. Plenty of poor decisions awaited him if he kept at it. “Any plans to celebrate after the event?”
Oh, never mind. Those poor decisions are here now.
Every rational voice screamed at him to stop. You were his charge. He needed to focus on protecting you. Not... whatever this was.
Flirting, one of those voices hissed with the same condescension he liked to sling at others. It wasn’t so fun being on the other side of that snark.
He was flirting with you.
God damn it, Tam. Why did she have to point it out?
Now, he couldn’t unsee it.
“That depends on how the program goes,” you answered nonchalantly.
Tim wet his lips. If this was a night of poor decisions, Tim was never one to half-ass anything. Might as well go all in. “There’s a club a few blocks from here. Maybe after we could—”
“Fuck me. This is bad.”
Minnie pulled up beside you, glaring down at her phone. She wore neon yellow paired with a pair of bright pink pumps, easily the most vibrant person in the room, but confidence was everything, and Minnie had it in spades.
Tim had to respect her dedication to an aesthetic, even if he didn’t appreciate the interruption.
You frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“The photographer isn’t coming. Something about a standoff between Black Mask and Penguin that’s holding up traffic on the bridge in Bowery. He’s been stuck for the last thirty minutes.” She tapped her heel sharply. “This is why I tell people to arrive at least two hours early. This is Gotham for Christ’s sake. This shit happens all the time.”
“Please tell me you’re joking.”
“I wish I was.” She pocketed her phone. “I brought my camera in case, but I can’t do much once we get this show rolling. I need to sit back by AV to run the presentation.”
You chewed the lipstick from your lower lip, and Tim tried desperately not to stare. “Kimber’s going to kill me.”
Distraction momentarily forgotten; he felt a wave of sympathy was over him. This was the last thing you needed tonight. He refused to see all your hard work unravel now. “I can take the photos.”
“You,” You and Minnie said in unison.
Rude.
“I’ve been known to dabble in photography.”
Sure, it included gruesome crime scene photos, but that was basically the same. These events were as lively as the dead, so it wasn’t too much of a leap for him. Fake it ‘til you make it, as they say.
Your eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”
He clutched his chest, wounded. “Is it that hard to believe I’d be willing to do something out of the goodness of my heart?”
You crossed your arms and waited.
Damn, you knew him better than he expected. Tim glanced at Minnie, who suddenly found her manicured nails riveting. “Well, would you look at that? I think it’s almost time to start. I’ll let you two figure this cluster fuck out. Let me know if you need to borrow my camera.”
She hurried off, and only then did Tim respond. “I want a secret.”
Your brow pitched. “A secret? Are we middle school girls at a sleepover, now?”
You were goading him. He didn’t take the bait as much as he wanted to and continued, “Something I don’t know about you.”
“There’s plenty of things you don’t know about me.”
“Exactly. I want—” He snapped his teeth before he admitted something a little too real. It wasn’t the place, nor was he entirely sure what he wanted from you. He was racking up poor decisions and at an alarming rate too. “I collect secrets and I know you’ve got a plethora at your disposal.”
“Oh, plethora. We’re using big words tonight.”
God, you were infuriating in all the right ways. He wanted to kiss that smug look off your face.
He could admit that much to himself.
A few heated kisses didn’t mean anything. He kissed plenty of people. Friends, enemies, and hopefully, infuriating charges with plunging necklines. It didn’t make a difference to him. The tension had been building between you two for a while now, but he resisted the urge to break right there.
Not yet.
He whispered in your ear, relishing the way your shoulders pulled taut. Maybe Tim wasn’t the only one who wanted it. “I think a secret is a small price to pay to keep Kimber off your back.”
He counted the seconds.
One, two, three...
God, you smelled divine. Was that perfume or your natural smell?
“Fine.” You stepped away from him, betraying nothing in your blank expression. “I’ll tell you tonight. Maybe at the club you were just about to invite me to.”
Tim bit back a smile. “Deal.”
Tim watched the event unfold through his camera lens, content to fade into the shadows like he did when he donned a mask and cape.
Being Tim Drake demanded visibility.
The only child of the late Jack and Janet Drake.
Adopted son of Bruce Wayne.
It all came with the crushing weight of expectation, and some days, he wished Tim Drake didn’t exist. Redwing felt more natural, more like himself. He didn’t have to pretend. He didn’t have to be likeable. He just had to be good at his job, though one could argue he didn’t even have that right now.
God, it sounded pathetic when he laid it out like that.
A small crowd gathered around Bruce near the back of the room, almost larger than the one around the guest of honor. Bruce laughed, barely concealing his wince as he hugged his whiskey tumbler a little tighter to his side.
Still healing from his broken rib, it seemed. He’d made a point of using his non-dominant hand the whole night to avoid aggravating the injury. Tim snapped a few photos of him, per the instructions on the shot-list you’d given him. Just because he could, Tim got his bad side.
That’s right. The Bruce Wayne had a bad side.
One too many hits to face and a fancy new jaw had him looking a little too much like Handsome Squidward from the right. It was subtle, but more obvious under lights like this.
Was it petty? Yeah.
Did he care? Not particularly, no.
The image focused as he settled on you. You stood with Mullen and Kimber near the stairs. Triumph sharpened your smile as you chatted with them. The program had just finished, leaving the guests to mingle a little longer before they called it a night. Issues with the photographer aside, everything went off without a hitch.
And maybe he was a little selfish, knowing the success of the event boded well for him. There were plenty of ways to celebrate, but he was willing to see where the night took you and him.
Just to get it out of his system, of course.
Then he could move on from—
A flash of movement caught his eye as someone moved swiftly down the hall on the second floor. He might have ignored it if the figure hadn’t stopped suddenly over the stage. Tim zoomed in with his camera. A vague outline backlit by the amber sconces, a bag in hand. They dropped onto their knees to rifle through its contents. What they pulled out made his blood ran cold.
Tim didn’t think.
He just moved.
A shot rang out as he hit the floor, glass cascading around him like rain. His ears rang as he sat up. You laid sprawled out beneath him, wide-eyed, but otherwise unharmed except for a few knicks and cuts from the glass.
His relief was short-lived as he assessed the situation.
Mullen gurgled on the ground. Crimson purled from the wound on his neck, soaking his collar and creeping down the front of his shirt. Kimber leaned over him, trying to slow the flow with her bare hands. His blood stained the front of her cream dress.
They weren’t aiming for you.
God, you weren’t the target.
Silence stretched in the aftermath, the only sound coming from the man he failed to save. He met Bruce’s gaze from across the room. His cool blue stare betrayed nothing, but Tim knew he fucked up.
Boy, did he know.
This moment felt like it lasted forever, but it was only a few seconds in reality.
Three, to be exact.
Kimber screamed and the room erupted in chaos.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wow, two chapters in less than a month? Who am I? This is almost normal for me.
“You have a visitor.” Minnie leaned on the filing cabinet next to your desk, a smug smile crinkling the skin around her eyes.
Fortunately, she didn’t hate you after the shit show at the Fishing Spot a few nights back. If anything, you two had grown closer because of it. You had plans to grab drinks later that week (at a more reputable establishment, this time). Never in a million years did you think you’d be on this assignment long enough to make friends, but this wasn’t your usual assignments—a fact you were slowly coming to terms with.
Over her shoulder, Tim waited on the other side of the glass doors that separated the office space from the lobby. He caught your questioning gaze and waved. A ring of keys looped around his finger.
“I didn’t see him on your calendar.”
Your eyes narrowed at him before turning your attention back to Minnie. “Because he wasn’t.” She hummed in that irritating way that implied that she didn’t believe you. “I mean it. I’m meeting with my youth emcee at one of our program centers this afternoon. He was not invited.”
“Well, it looks like he invited himself.” You shot her an unamused look that went ignored as she slapped the top of the filing cabinet. “Best not to keep him waiting. I hear he gets antsy.”
She left you with the annoying quandary in an oversized suit on the other side of the glass. He had yet to break eye contact; that tight-lipped smile pulled taut across his face. Sighing, you gathered your things and headed over.
“What are you doing here?”
“I thought we could grab coffee,” he said as if that was something you two did often.
And maybe it was becoming part of the routine. As the RCP drew closer, Tim occupied more of your time. Not only did he join on your morning runs, but he was constantly dropping by the office to see you. If you weren’t with him, your thoughts wandered to him, but that was as close as you’d get to admitting that Minnie may be onto something.
Tim continued when you failed to respond, “I have a few late sponsors who reached out this morning.”
“Can’t,” you said sharply, “I have a meeting with our emcee. I’m leaving shortly.”
“Want a ride?”
You squeezed your eyes shut with the flare of your nostrils. Just once, you wanted something to go your way. “I was going to take the subway.”
“And I’m offering you a ride.” He led you toward the door, and for whatever reason, you followed him. Your lack of self-control where he was concerned was astounding. “It’ll be faster this way. I read that the lines are still a mess after Redwing’s fight with Croc. It’s a no-brainer.”
Again, a conversation you’d never thought you’d have to have, but he said it so casually. One would think you two were discussing the weather.
“Don’t you have real work to do?”
His car sat in the fire lane, cautions flashing. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. He would. He opened the passenger door for you, nonplussed. “Define work.”
You slipped into the passenger seat, its smooth leather soft against your bare arms. “Anything that warrants a paycheck.”
“I don’t need a paycheck.”
Insufferable prick.
“Well, aren’t you lucky.”
Tim closed the door and joined you on the driver's side, his shades falling back over his eyes. His engine purred as he turned the key in the ignition. Nineties grunge poured through the speakers, loud enough to drown your thoughts. Tim turned the volume down until it was barely tolerable before margining seamlessly into traffic.
A chain link fence surrounded the outdoor playground connected to the program center. Children ranged from elementary to high school. The former half hung off the brightly colored playsets or drew with chalk on the asphalt. The latter loitered in small groups along the wall. A few attempted tricks on skateboards while their friends filmed. Laughter filled the air. Months had passed and this was your first time seeing the programs RAP offered.
A young woman met you at the gate. Black hair kissed the underside of her chin, strands of faded blue visible beneath. She smiled, rounding her freckled brown cheeks. A small silver piercing glistened beneath her top lip. “Hey, you must be from the office. Kimber said you’d stop by sometime this afternoon.” Opening the gate, she ushered you and Tim into the playground before locking it behind her once more.
“I’m Izzy Oritz, head counselor.”
You introduced yourself. “And this is—”
“Timothy Jackass Drake,” Izzy finished for you as she bumped fists with the jackass in question. Your expression fell as… something flared in the pit of your stomach, but you squashed it as quickly as it came. “The kids’ll be stoked to see you.”
“Pretend I’m not here,” Tim insisted. “I’m just her ride.”
“He insisted,” you deadpanned.
“I’d do anything for the children.”
Izzy snorted as she led them toward the doors. “Well, Dante is excited to meet with you. He’s never been asked to speak in front of a crowd before. When he got the script, he forced me to sit with him to practice for at least an hour. He’s inside going over it again. I always love seeing the kids get excited to talk about their experience with RAP. It does them a lot of good, and I want the rest of Gotham to see this city isn’t all doom and gloom all the time. If we’re lucky, we can sneak in before the kids—”
“Mr. Drake!”
She stopped, a wicked smile curving her lips. “Too late.”
A small group of teens approached with skateboards in hand. Tim flipped his sunglasses on top of his head and grinned, wide and toothy in the way that made him feel less like a pretentious tool. It was almost charming, not that you’d ever tell him that.
“Yo.” He met each kid with a unique handshake. “I was watching those ollies. Looking real sick.”
“You should show them how the pros do it.”
Tim shot a narrow look over his shoulder. Izzy merely shrugged, unfazed by his ire. Okay, you liked this girl.
The boys pumped their fists. “Fuck yeah!”
Izzy cleared her throat.
The one who shouted looked sheepish. “I mean, hell yeah.”
She rolled her eyes as if to say good enough and continued, “Well, are you going to show them or not?”
“Please, Mr. Drake!” One of the boys exclaimed as he offered his board.
Izzy echoed, “Yeah, Mr. Drake, please.”
You peered between Izzy and Tim in disbelief.
Why was she encouraging this? What the hell was happening? This was supposed to be a very basic meeting with a child. Tim wasn’t even supposed to be here. He seemed to sense your bewilderment and gave you what he probably assumed was a reassuring smile, but nothing about this was reassuring.
He turned back to the boys and said, “A quick demonstration and that’s it. My friend here has work to do. Not me though.” He ruffled the scruffy blonde hair of the boy closest to him. “I’ve never worked a day in my life.”
Effortless.
That was the only word that came to mind as you watched Tim navigate the board over various handmade obstacles along the chain link fence. His stunts quickly attracted the attention of others.
He planted his hand on the ground in a one-armed handstand, flipped the board in the air. Cheers ripped through the crowd as he caught it and landed back on the board. You could feel the waves smug pride rolling off him as he moved onto his next trick, and damn, if he didn’t have every right to be smug.
“You may want to pick your jaw up off the ground before he notices,” Izzy whispered in your ear. “Love the guy, but he’s insufferable enough without the boost that’ll do to his ego.”
Your jaw tightened as you forced yourself to look away. No one liked to be caught staring, least of all you. “How do you and Tim know each other? Are you friends?”
“Friends? With that loser?” Izzy chuckled. “My boyfriend lived with Bruce Wayne for a short stint back in high school? He stays in touch.” She nodded to Tim as he glided across a railing, much like a bird rode on gusts of wind. “They play FIFA most nights and D&D twice a month. He plays an undead warlock and makes his pact with a lich everyone’s problem.”
The way Izzy described it made Tim sound so… normal, likeable even. Playing games with friends, learning how to skateboard, taking time to get to know the kids he funded through RAP. It all clashed terribly with the image of the spoiled rich kid you’d crafted in your mind. You struggled to come to terms with the fact that—just maybe—you misjudged him.
“Oh.”
Tim jumped. The momentum flipped the board twice in the air before he landed once more. Another cheer and he was off. Izzy shook her head and said, “A few basic ollies usually do the trick, but he's going all out today.” She gave you a sidelong glance. “Can’t imagine why that would be.”
You ignored whatever she was implying. “No idea.”
Tim stopped in front of you with hands shoved in his oversized pockets. He gave you a quick once over and smirked. “Impressed?”
Your cheeks warmed. “What makes you think that?”
He lowered his voice and said, “I couldn’t help but notice you staring.”
And then there were moments like this, that made you think that maybe you were right on the mark. “Conceited much?”
“It’s hard not to stare. I’m very impressive.”
That sounded more like him. “Are you done showing off?”
“I think so. I caught your attention, so I’ll take that as a win.”
The heat on your cheeks deepened. “Wrap it up. I have other meetings today.” A lie, but whatever. Anything to get you out of this conversation.
“Sure, sure. Be right back.” He left to return the board to the kids, but not before doing another round of elaborate handshakes with each of them.
Izzy had pulled out her phone, thumbs flying across the screen. You shot her a curious look. “Something wrong?”
“Not at all.” She sent her message and pocketed the phone, though the knowing smile on her face unnerved her. “How well do you know Tim? You’ve only been with RAP a few months, right?”
“He’s just my volunteer chair,” you insisted, but even you didn’t believe it. “We’ve been working closely throughout the process, but our relationship is strictly professional.”
Izzy hummed thoughtfully. “Sure.”
Clearly, she didn’t believe you either. “You’ve told me more about him than he’s told me about himself.”
“Yeah, that’s Tim for you. He hates small talk. He’d rather jump straight to the gut-wrenching trauma. It makes him real popular at parties.”
Before Izzy could continue, Tim returned, a healthy flush tinting his cheeks and his hair tousled. “Alright. I’m ready.” He slung an arm around your shoulders and led you toward the door. This close, the woody cologne on his collar nearly smothered you. “Let’s get to business.”
You weren’t sure how Tim convinced you to get food after meeting with your youth testimonial. Your lie about having other meetings quickly unraveled when he started prodding.
Why would you schedule meetings after an offsite meeting?
Seems like poor planning if you ask me.
You didn’t eat lunch, did you?
Everyone needs to eat. I need to eat. Let’s eat.
And so, you found yourself seated in a booth across from Tim in a small diner on the north edge of the Narrows. It reeked of old grease and stale coffee, but Tim didn’t seem to care as he flipped amicably through his menu. “It may not look like much, but this place has the best pancakes in Gotham. Trust.”
You simply hummed as you studied the other diners. While no one stuck out to you, there was always a chance a stranger’s quirk would be the difference between solving a job and watching it fall dead in the water. It was a bad habit, but one you’d learn to live with.
The woman in the far corner was left-handed, evidenced by the way she fumbled with her fork in her right hand as she tapped away on her phone in her other hand. The man in the booth behind Tim was balding on the crown of his head, a suspicious mole visible. He should probably get that checked out. A small group of teens occupied the largest table in the center.
You noted the matching patches decorating their bags or jacket. ‘R’ for... you weren’t exactly sure. Maybe it was the symbol of a local gang? They didn’t seem to be causing any trouble, so you decided not to dwell on it.
“Hello?” Tim waved a hand in front of your face, drawing you back.
“Sorry,” you said, though your heart wasn’t in it.
“You do that a lot, you know?”
“Do what?”
“You disassociate.”
You bristled. “I’m not disassociating. I’m people watching there’s a difference.”
“How do you figure that?”
“It’s more of a hobby, I guess. People fascinate me,” you started slowly. A bead of condensation rolled down your glass, pooling on the varnished wood. You stared at the water to avoid looking at Tim, though you could feel the weight of his gaze on you. “Humanity at its core is both uniquely complex and yet so easily understood when you see the patterns.”
Your knee bounced under the table, bumping his. His expression didn’t change, but the air sharpened with the current fluttering beneath your skin. You tucked your feet under your chair, ensuring it wouldn’t happen again.
“So, you treat people like machines?”
“It makes them easier to understand,” you admitted, though you weren’t sure why you said anything at all. Maybe because you got the sense that Tim related to the disconnect you felt when faced with regular people.
Finally, you looked at him. His bangs fell over his brow, in desperate need of a trim, but he only had eyes for you. “And what about me?”
You swallowed thickly. “What about you?”
“Am I fascinating?”
“Last I checked, you are people,” you answered, unwilling to balk twice.
His head lolled thoughtfully to one side as he swirled the contents of his glass. “Is that all you have to say?”
“I’m not in the business of stroking egos, Drake.”
“I find you fascinating.”
You arched an eyebrow. “Me?”
“Don’t sound so shocked.” He sipped his drink and wet his lips. “I can see it, something in the way you carry yourself. There’s more to you than meets the eye. I just haven’t figured out what that something is.”
“Normal people ask questions when they want to know someone.”
He shrugged. “Maybe I like looking for patterns too.”
“And what patterns have you noticed?”
“I asked you first.”
Stalemate.
He leaned across the table, breeching your personal space as if he could bully the answers out of you, but you’d gotten used to his lack of personal space. Realizing his usual methods wouldn’t get him anywhere, he settled back in his chair and took another swig of his drink.
“So, what’s your favorite part about Gotham so far?”
Wait.
Was he trying to make small talk?
“What the hell are you doing?”
“You told me to ask questions, and now you’re upset when I do. I can’t win with you.” He threw up his hands, clearly fed up. Panic flared in the pit of your stomach. You thought this was all part of the game, but he looked genuinely frustrated now.
Shit.
“Sorry. You’re right. It’s just—“ This fun back and forth made this easier. As long as you both played it coy, you weren’t obligated to share too much, but you’d reached a crossroads. Playing it too coy might make him think you had something to hide, so you cracked the door for him. It was strategic, nothing more.
“I don’t have a favorite part of Gotham,” you admitted. It wasn’t the answer he wanted but it was the truth. “There’s a lot of things I don’t like, if I’m being honest. The cartoonishly evil villains for one, the fact that I can’t count on public transportation because there’s a fight between them and a bunch of masked vigilantes every other week. It’s cloudy all the time and, god, I just miss the sun. How do you live like this?” You shared more than you intended, but you’d been keeping it all in this whole time. You needed to tell someone.
Turns out, that someone was Tim.
Wild.
“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought of leaving,” Tim said.
You blinked. “You have?”
“Of course. Everyone does, but Gotham is hard to quit. People leave, but they always find their way back eventually.” He shrugged. “I’m no different. There are days I wish I could pack my bags and get the hell out of dodge. I’ve gotten close a few times.” He fiddled absentmindedly with his watch. It was the closest you’ve ever seen him to being nervous. “But it’s never stuck.”
“What keeps you coming back?”
You knew that was the step too far the moment the question left your lips. This moment, or whatever you’d call it, ended, as Tim shook his head. “A lot of reasons. None of them all that important.”
You found that hard to believe. “Right.”
“Besides, if I left, you would have never had the pleasure of meeting me.” His mask shifted back in place, the arrogant Tim Drake returning. You relaxed, realizing you weren’t ready for that level of vulnerability with him—not yet. Probably not ever. “Admit it,” he continued with a smirk, “I’m your favorite thing about Gotham.”
You mirrored his expression. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*Pokes head out of the burrow of life*
Has it been a few months already? My bad.
If you haven't heard, I bought a house. So. That's been a bit of a whirlwind and has been occupying a lot of my time and energy.
But look! I finished a chapter, which is more writing than I've done in months. I thank Supergirl for bringing back my DC excitement. Oh, and Batman Knightfall, which will give some much needed Tim Drake exposure.
"You're not always nice but you're kind. And you're not perfect but you're good,"
Supergirl 2026 CHANGED me, please don't listen to assholes online who tell you not to see it. Especially if you're a girl or a young woman- this movie is for you.
I’m doing alright. Busy. As usual but this time with exciting things! My hubby and I found a home after a (surprisingly short) search and we’re in the process of closing.
So, as you can imagine, my mind is all over the place. I’m living in a state of chaos which is not conducive for creativity.
hi hi hope u are having a good day! i love smoke and mirrors so so so much i love how you write tim i love the pacing i hate it when people make slow burns go a little too quickly thats like a Jogging Pace burn at most right u feel me anyways !!! i jst wanted to say its really funny to read the readers desc (which i love perf for this kind of fic) esp the part where its like gray no pink no bright colors. it made me laugh because i have. Bright Pink Hair. .,, HAHAHHAHA im way too easy to spot and assign a color bc of it… i just wanted to share lol i love the fic it’s sooo great so far!
Eyyyy. I was also a member of the bright pink hair club once upon a time. Rad.
Thank you for reading. I appreciate your kind words.
how long have you been writing? or been on tumblr?
Writing? Since I could string together words. Catch me writing Mary Sue fanfic of myself with the cast of Yu-Gi-Oh and Sonic X under the cover of night. (True story)
Tumblr I got around college, maybe late high school, I think. I was here when SuperWhoLock was big. I wasn’t part of the fandom, but I watched it unfold as many of us did.
But yeah, I’ve been writing at least 20 years if not longer. It was mostly fanfic up until the pandemic where I bridged into original fiction. Clearly, I still write fanfiction, so it’s not like I abandoned it either.
Does writing PI!Reader help with your original fiction and getting more comfortable writing the PI stuff? I know I use fanfiction as a training ground for original fiction sometimes so it made me wonder haha
I would say it helps me do more research that I was gonna do regardless lol. The PI original fic was in a fantasy world, so real-world rules didn’t really apply in the first place.
If anything I have to more realistic now than I was in the original fic haha
That being said, writing fanfic in general helps me get more comfortable with certain aspects of writing. I’ve never liked fight/action scenes but both DDLL and Smole & Mirrors have beat that out of me pretty quick lol
I have a lot of original projects on the back burners that span the spectrum of genre and theme, but fanfic has definitely helped me develop them.
There was no one true source of inspiration like with Dear Daddy Long Legs, but I knew whatever I wrote for Tim Drake had to be a mystery of some sorts because duh lol.
Originally, reader was just going to be someone who worked in non-profit.
Fun fact: there is a reason why I have such vast knowledge of the inner machinations of working for a non-profit—hence where the inspiration comes from with that angle.
I’ll let you draw your own conclusions, but know this is a slightly dramatized version of non-profit work for the sake of entertainment—and venting for my own sanity lol.
But I decided I needed something more to truly push Tim and reader together. That was where the PI angle came from. I was casually working on an original story with a PI reader, so I drew some inspiration from that story to use here instead given that I had no real plans to do anything with the original story.
So yeah, more of a “I know I want mystery genre and I knew I wanted to add in the non-profit angle in some way shape or form because… write what ya know, I guess.”
favorite book and music genre + what r is your favorite book and song
Excellent and very difficult question, but I love it.
Genres first—I love mysteries and cozy fantasy. When I gave both in one novel I’m in heaven. As for music, I love showtunes. It’s just a story set to music :)
As for picking just ONE favorite of each. Inconceivable. So I will show a few favorites of each. Books first!
I would be happy to discuss why on a different post if you’re curious to know, but for the sake a brevity, here they are.
Music next—I’ll share albums because I can’t pick just one song. And YES SpongeBob is a banger and I will not be bullied into saying otherwise.
