Saw your request for requests and I had to lock in😼 Tim Drake x Tailor Intern!reader
Reader is a junior/senior in highschool and has always dreamed of being a fashion designer when they're older, so they got an internship with a tailor. This tailor happens to work for the Wayne's and there's a gala or charity event coming up; The Wayne's all go to get new suits for the event and reader is doing the measurements for Tim and they chat and he catches feelings. Then somehow he has to come in daily because his pants need to be hemmed or his shirt button "just popped off" and needs to be re-attached. He also starts "accidentally" bumping into reader at their usual go-to's. Past that you can use ur creative liberty😋
ALSO maybe reader measures Damian too and Tim sees reader getting along with him and saying something that makes him smile and that just solidifies his new feelings (idc what anyone says Tim and Damian love eachother and are brothers)
A/N: this is my first time ever fulfilling a request!! i hope you love, i didn't include an age so that anyone can imagine/relate but i tried my best ! thanks for sending one in, i'll be working on all of them as soon as i can! i'm also going on a trip for all of august so please be patient as i get them all! reblogs, comments, and likes are all so appreciated, love you !! (ps i love tim drake so much)
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Dick mutters, nudging Tim with his elbow.
“I’m not staring.” He mutters in response, eyes darting away from your figure.
“Didn’t say you were.” The older boy sings, a knowing smile growing on his lips.
You were on the opposite side of the room, Damian’s figure before you as he stood stoically on a wooden platform, watching you through a mirror, as you pin and measure the fabric against his body. Tim wonders how much your knees must ache, holding your weight against the biting hardwood flooring, as you focus on capturing the exact length that needed to be hemmed off the ends of Damian’s suit. Jason stands only a few feet away, your supervisor doing the same for his tux, as the rest of the family waits patiently for their turn. A part of him hopes you’ll be the one fixing his suit.
He watches you smile up to his younger brother, lips moving, asking him a question. He watches Damian’s reaction, trying to find a tell as to what you had said. He wears a small smile, whispering something back that makes you chuckle. Something about the interaction makes Tim’s throat burn.
The Wayne gala was this weekend, and in preparation, Bruce arranged a day for all the men to get tailored suits. It’d been a drag at first, no one wanting to sacrifice their day, happy to wear whatever outfit they’d worn at the last party. But he’d insisted, and no one could find it in them to refuse, bringing them to the tailor shop that served the family for many years. But Tim had been pleasantly surprised to find you there, welcoming them into the room. He can’t remember the last time he’d visited, but he knows you were new, he would’ve remembered you if you weren’t. You had a soft voice, a perfect customer service tone, but he could see it in your eyes, the passion. In the way you took down notes, or led them through the different shades of thread and styles of stitching, he could see the dedication you had to it all. He tells himself it’s your working attitude that grows his interest, but as he watches your exchange with his brother, he knows it’s more than that. He wants to know you.
When you turn to call him forward, signalling it was his turn, he nearly freezes. He walks to you, stepping onto the platform, and faces the mirror just as Damian had. Your hands wander around the fabric of his suit, straightening the wrinkles, calculating the length. Your touch makes him shiver, the feather light weight of your fingers dancing over his body. He can hear you humming a light tune as you work, you don’t speak, and neither does he, opting to watch your ministrations through the reflection.
“So, if I may ask, what’s the occassion?” He startles at your voice.
“We’re hosting at our manor in a few days.” Is all he says, and you hum in response.
“Must be very fancy if you guys are all getting new suits.”
“I guess you could say that.”
“Don’t sound too excited now.” You joke at his dry remark.
He cracks a smile at your response, “Oh I'm overjoyed, can’t you tell?”
Laughing, you stand, your eyes meeting. He towers over you, the added height from the stage forcing you to look up. Your smile is kind, eyes warm as you tell him you’ve finished everything you needed.
“I hope you have fun.” You say, before you’re called off to help with Jason.
Tim thinks he’d have more fun at the gala if you were there to keep him company. He spends most of the night thinking about you, what you’re doing, where you are, what you’d wear if you accompanied him. He sits alone, outside and away from the party, needing an escape from the crowd. Toying with the button on his coat, he wonders when he’d get to see you again. After coming home from the shop, he spent that night researching you. He discovered you’d been interning as a tailor for the past few weeks, since summer started, telling him he’d only find you at the shop for a little longer before it ended. He was running on borrowed time.
Sitting on the cold stone steps of the manor, his mind on you, he snaps the button enclosure away from the fabric threaded against it. The small plastic pulls, falling loose, the button dangling and hanging poorly off the thread. He tells himself it’d been an accident, that he’d toyed with it too harsh, absentmindedly. It was a poor excuse, but the thought of getting to see you again to have it fixed, clouded his head.
Your head snaps up at the sound of the bell, alerting someone had walked in. You’re greeted by a smiling Tim Drake.
Surprise fills your expression, no one from the Wayne family or staff had called in for an appointment, and you were worried you’d messed up, forgetting the schedule. He seems to notice your turmoil, holding up the suit jacket of the tux you tailored just a few days ago.
“Sorry, I was just in the area and thought maybe I could pop in to have this fixed.” He gestures sheepishly to the button of his coat.
You smile at that, reaching out to grab the fabric, eyes wandering over the loose thread.
“Of course, can I ask what happened?”
“Oh um, kept fidgeting with it, unfortunately.” He answers, slightly embarrassed.
“Guess the gala didn’t turn out to be that fun.” You tease, writing a note for the order on a piece of paper.
“I should get this done by the end of this week, sorry we’re a little backlogged right now.”
He nods empathetically, “That’s okay, no rush.”
He didn't want to leave, desperate to draw out the short conversation, but he needed to be back to prepare for his patrol that night. So with a lingering glance, he says goodbye and heads back to the manor, the idea of seeing you again so soon, soothing his displeasure at such a brief exchange.
But you hadn’t been there when he came to pick up his jacket. Filled with disappointment, Tim wondered when he’d get to see you again. He wasn’t sure if it was right to keep coming into your workplace in hopes to talk to you more, he wanted to meet you organically. So when he begins to visit the areas you posted online, cafes, bookshops, spots with friends, he visits them all, saying he simply wanted to see what you enjoyed about them.
He didn’t mean to run into you when he visited your favorite cafe. He admits subconsciously, he wondered if you’d be here today too, and the probability was very high, but he tells himself it was simply fate working its magic. He watches you at the counter, ears straining to hear what you ordered. He thinks of what to say, if you would feel uncomfortable to see him here, if he should approach you first or hope you see him before you leave. It’s rush hour, the room growing more and more filled, and as you shuffle through bodies to find an empty spot to wait for your drink, Tim watches you. He hopes you’ll feel the weight of his stare, just so he could look away before you catch him staring, yet still notice his presence, and come talk to him.
And it works.
He sees your head swivel to his direction, as he quickly diverts his gaze down to his phone. Swiping open to a random text, he can feel you approaching. Suddenly, he’s not so sure if he wants you to notice him, the collar of his shirt feels too tight, his hands twitch, needing something to hold. But when you reach him, standing right beside him, he knows he can’t run.
“Hey!” You call out, over the bustling noise.
“Oh, hi!” He replies, trying to parrot your surprise at seeing him here.
Your smile brightens, he takes this as a good sign.
“You look good,” You say, scanning him up and down, and he feels his mouth go dry, “All the buttons seem intact.” You finish, a teasing grin painting your face.
He feels his skin go hot, a pink flush dusting his cheeks. Pushing a hand behind his neck, he grins, looking down at his shirt, “Yeah, never know though, maybe one will fall out later today.”
Your face mirrors a growing flush, and he thinks you’re onto him.
“Well, if it does, stop by the shop, I’ll fix it for you personally.” You whisper the last part conspiratorially, before your name is called out.
You turn to pick your drink up from the counter, but you pause, grabbing a napkin, and something out of your bag. You bend slightly, leaning against the table in front of you, before you turn back to face him. Passing him with a quiet, “Bye Tim” you reach for his palm, leaving the napkin in his grasp. And as you walk out the door, the humid summer air hitting your face, you know he’s still sitting there, watching you in delight.
Because when he looked down into his hand, your number stared back at him.
