Hestia
about 1k of Tim x reader fluff!!!!
You unlock the door to your apartment with practiced ease, blowing a strand of hair off your forehead and shifting the bag on your shoulder.
Sinatra greets you, floating off the record player to wrap you in an earthy melody, and the scent of sautéed vegetables mingles somehow pleasantly with the scent of your favorite clean linen candle.
Hovering near the stove in a dazzlingly pink apron, humming, is tousled raven hair atop elegance and sinew, as if his muscles and movements had been threaded with otherworldly magic. He turns around to smile at you like a fantasy, the corners of his mouth curling upward with ethereal warmth that reaches his eyes and promptly melts any traces of despair resting on your shoulders.
“Welcome home, Y/N.” Your name falls from his lips tenderly.
“Hi, Tim.” You half-sigh with dreamy resignation, right hand instinctively drifting to the ring fit snugly around the finger on your left.
“I made your favorite – I know you had a rough day at work so I hope this makes things a little bit better.” He grins at you, mixing the contents of the pan with regal purpose, but there’s a bashful rosy hue blossoming across his cheeks because you’re smiling at him like he dropped the moon in the palm of your hand.
You drop your bag on the couch and meander over to him, mouth watering and heart throbbing. “Tim, you could feed me unpeeled potatoes and I would be the happiest living creature in the universe.”
He turns off the stove and brings a wooden spoon to your mouth, palm hovering diligently beneath, and mouth puckered to blow away the steam from the homemade pasta sauce. “That’s undoubtedly the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”
You shrug delicately and hum appreciatively when you taste his masterpiece.
“I only live to make you swoon, Mr. Drake.”
He sets the spoon on the counter and wipes his hands on the apron before cupping your face gently. He watches you for several heartbeats through a summer sky, bringing heat to the surface of your skin.
“You do an excellent job, Mrs. Drake.” He murmurs, low and reverent like dripping honey, before leaning into to rub his nose against yours.
A quiet, breathy laugh escapes your mouth before he brushes his lips against yours. The kiss is soft and saccharine, and you can smell the forget-me-nots blooming on the windowsill that match his eyes.
Though you haven’t walked this Earth for very many years, Gaea can’t fault you for feeling as though you’ve waited your whole life to find Tim. And, to be fair, you weren’t searching for another soul when you found Tim that summer in the middle of a ballroom.
You learned early on that true love can only grow without force. Organic adoration withers beneath strict orders; and even if you let love grow inside an atrium, the glass is bound to shatter. You had always been content to let the Fates play with their strings, to let love grow when Zeus opened the heavens for rain and when Apollo let the sun shine.
When you met Tim for the first time, though his perfect smile concealed an enigma that deeply vexed you, you knew his name had been carved into the bedrock of your soul. For the first time, you were certain of what you wanted, and you would settle for nothing less.
Tim was born to be a mathematician. Everything in his life had been carefully calculated, whether he was gauging his birth father’s temper or hacking the Batcave’s security system or breathing deeply after getting locked in a closet by Damian. He lived in a world of chaos – he had to be careful.
After he met you, he felt like everything in his life was out of control. In some ways, that hasn’t changed. The way you’re gazing up at him now through half-lidded eyes and a sultry smile has his heart pounding wildly in his chest.
“At least once a day, I wonder if this is a dream.” You tell him earnestly as he cloyingly rubs the pad of his thumb against your cheek.
“If that’s the case, I hope we never wake up.” He smiles. He knows this is reality because he wakes from his dreams to you curled against his side or sprawled diagonally across the bed most mornings. No dreams could be as sweet as the reality he shares with you.
Two hours later, satisfied by spaghetti and champagne and Tim’s absurd recon stories, your eyes are growing heavy, beckoned to slumber by Hypnos. In stark contrast, your heart feels featherlight, floating pleasantly in an ocean of newlywed amour. Damian often makes gagging noises when he notices gestures of affection between you and Tim, but Dick sighs reverently and says, “You’re going to be in the honeymoon phase forever.”
As Tim mindlessly toys with the fingers of your left hand, entranced by the murder mystery playing shadows across his pretty features, you’re quite sure that this isn’t a phase. All it took was some coaxing from Jason, a punch in the jaw, and a literal wild goose chase to get Tim to admit he was enamored with you. Granted, it took you several months to sort through your jungle of feelings and admit that you, too, were in love; but once your words left your mouth, your world shifted on its axis. Atlas moved the heavens to their rightful place, and you hadn’t even known he was off-balance.
You see the heavens in Tim’s eyes, and you feel a swarm of butterflies when he brings your knuckles to his lips. He looks at you almost playfully as the sleepy haze vanishes from your gaze.
“What’s on your mind, Mr. Drake?”
“Forever.” His expression softens.
“Please elaborate.”
“You.”
You quirk an eyebrow and he kisses your palm. “In many ways, your name and forever have become synonymous.”
This brings a bashful smile to your lips. “There was enough cheese in the pasta, Tim.”
He sobers for a moment. “Do you think our kids will like my cooking?”
Many responses dance on the tip of your tongue, but after some contemplation, you lean into his space with a Cheshire cat grin. “We’ll have to have some kids to find out, I suppose.”
Taglist: @bookish-and-shy
