am I like the only one who thinks Snape is so obvi a fucking sub like no I don't want him to pin me over a desk or pull my hair while I suck him off or maybe I just like submissive men
pairing: kurt kunkle x camgirl!reader
summary: a chance Spree ride turns steamy when you recognize your driver as your top donor, KurtsWorld96. Kurt eagerly seeks streaming tips from his favorite camgirl. Flirty banter escalates into a live-streamed backseat collab, proving some lessons are best learned hands-on.
wc: 4.1k
tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fem!reader, camgirl!reader, pre #thelesson, car sex, public sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, praise kink, virgin!kurt (implied), oral sex, AFAB reader, vaginal sex, consensual sex, light dom/sub, aftercare (implied)
author's note: HEY HEY HI !! thank you so much for all the support ,,,, I’m literally FREAKING OUT 😭😭 also… thank you so much for the +100 followers lol, I really wasn’t expecting any of this at all ! this oneshot was written thanks to a suggestion from my inbox :3 !! enjoy!
ao3
The bass from the club is still thumping somewhere behind you when you step out onto the sidewalk, phone held up in one hand like it weighs nothing. The night air feels cool against your bare thighs, thick with that electric LA promise that anything can happen after midnight. Your tight black leather skirt rides up every time you shift your weight; the cute little cropped top you threw on earlier clings soft and easy, one thin strap already slipping off your shoulder on purpose. City lights glow behind you, neon bleeding into the dark, and your Instagram Live is already popping off exactly like you knew it would. The viewer count ticks up steadily: 1.4k, 1.7k, climbing fast.
“Hey babes,” you say, voice soft and playful, lips curved in the smile that always works. “Stuck waiting for my Spree ride after the longest night. Club was cute, but I’m so over it. Ready to get home and slip into that new lace set you all voted on —the one that barely covers anything. Might even start the full show early if the vibes feel right tonight. What do you think, chat? Should I give you a sneak peek right here on the sidewalk?”
Comments roll in fast, hearts floating up the screen like little fireworks.
@lacefreak298: YES QUEEN START IT NOW I’M BEGGING 😩💦
@tipking420: already subbed twice don’t tease us...
@yourgoodboy69: that set is lethal omg
@camwhoreluvr: your legs in that skirt tho 🥵
@s817paypig: finger yourself in the car
@thirstyforcontent: just start the show already with the driver lmaooo
You laugh under your breath, reading the last one aloud so the mic catches it. “Y’all are wild tonight. Driver’s just some normal dude—I can tell from the profile pic in the app. Be patient for the real thing, okay? I’m not teasing that much… yet.” You don’t end the Live. The red dot stays glowing steady in the corner. You keep the phone up casually, half your attention on the street, half on the chat.
Headlights cut through the haze, sweeping across the sidewalk in a smooth arc. A silver Toyota Camry pulls up quiet and unassuming, the Spree sticker glowing soft on the windshield. You open the back door, slide in, leather skirt creaking against the seat, and shut it with your hip. The phone stays raised—chat still going, viewers none the wiser that the ride just got a whole lot more interesting. You clock it immediately—the array of cameras rigged up inside. One GoPro-style cam mounted on the dash facing the driver, another clipped to the rearview mirror for that wide passenger view, a third on the headliner pointing straight back at the seats, and his mobile phone secured in its car phone mount. Multiple red recording lights blinking in sync, all feeding into his setup.
Up front, the driver is already mid-rant, phone mounted on the dash, camera light glowing red. His voice fills the car, bright and manic, cutting through the low hum of the engine.
“—and Bobby, dude, come on. The algorithm loves consistency, okay? That’s why KurtsWorld96 is still grinding even when the views dip. We’re building an empire here—”
A robotic voice crackles through the car speakers:
BOBBYBASECAMP DONATED 1$: YOUR VLOGS ARE MID AF
Kurt laughs, bright, try-hard laugh, drumming his fingers on the wheel as he pulls away from the curb. Blue t-shirt stretched across his shoulders, the fabric pulling taut over his chest, sunglasses perched on his nose even though it’s pitch black out —because of course he thinks it looks cool. Messy brown hair falling into his eyes, a little damp. You stare at the back of his head as the car glides forward, stomach doing a sudden slow flip. KurtsWorld96. That exact handle. The one that’s been your top donor for months—the ghost in your chats who drops three hundred dollars without a second thought, who always types “you’re unreal, keep doing you queen” right before the big tips flood in. Same spelling, same numbers. No coincidences here. Of course he uses it everywhere, even on the adult sites.
You stay quiet at first, settling deeper into the seat, eyes locked on him through the rearview. He’s not model-hot, but there’s something about the way he fidgets, the nervous energy rolling off him in waves. Total dork. The kind who probably practices lines in the mirror. And for some reason that makes heat curl low in your belly.
Kurt chuckles nervously. “Bobby! That’s so mean! People are starting to notice. I can feel it. Smash follow if you’re not a hater like Bobby! Hastag ‘haters gonna hate’.” He made a peace sign with his fingers toward his nearest camera.
That robotic voice cuts in again:
BOBBYBASECAMP DONATED 1$: DUDE I’M OUT TS BORING
Kurt groans, shoulders slumping dramatically as he glances at his cellphone. “Awesome. Zero viewers. But hey, chat—wherever you are—we’re rolling through the city that never sleeps. Who’s out there with me? Drop a like if you’re grinding too...”
He finally glances in the rear-view mirror to check on his passenger. His eyes meet yours.
And freeze.
The car drifts half a lane for a split second before he yanks it back, cheeks flushing a deep, telling red. “Holy—wait. You’re… you’re her. Like, the cam girl. The one with the—shit. Hi. Wow. This is… I mean, small world, right? Like, tiny world.”
You couldn’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. He looks like he’s just won the lottery and seen a ghost in the same breath. His sunglasses slip down his nose, revealing wide, honey-brown eyes. “Yeah. Small world. Hello KurtsWorld96”
His grip on the wheel tightens, knuckles pale. “Oh god. You actually know the username. Please tell me you don’t remember the tips or the comments or—fuck, I sound like a total creep. I’m not. I swear on my life. I just… your streams are actually good. Like, you’re funny and hot and you don’t fake a single thing. It’s refreshing as hell. I’m a huge fan. Huge. Not in a weird way. Totally normal, respectful fan. Like, I’ve been subbed forever.”
You laugh softly, the sound genuine and warm, leaning back against the seat as the light turns green and the car eases forward again. “Relax. I remember the tips. They were generous. Saved my electric bill last month. Didn’t expect my top donor to be driving me home.”
You tilt your phone just enough to glance at the flood of comments scrolling across your Live.
@softdom555: THERE’S NO FUCKING WAY
@youronlyfan: he’s living my dream…
@lacefreak: W
@tipking420: KURTSWORLD96 KYS I GAVE BIGGER TIPS
@paypig69: LMAAAOOOOOOOOOO
He lets out a shaky breath, trying to play it cool and failing spectacularly. “Yeah, well… same handle everywhere. Rookie mistake, I know. But hey, I’m all for it. Women owning their bodies, doing their thing—no judgment here. I’m a feminist, actually. Like, full-on support. You’re out here pioneering, and I respect the hell out of that. For real.”
The line lands so earnestly cringey you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning. He means it, though. That’s the weird part. It’s sweet in its own awkward way.
The car rolls to a stop at a red light. He risks another glance back, his eyes flicking over you in the mirror—the way your leather skirt has ridden up just a little higher on your thighs from the seat, the cropped top slipping further off your shoulder, your hair still tousled from the club’s heat. His gaze lingers, hungry but shy. His Adam’s apple bobs.
“So… how do you do it?” he asks, voice quieter now as the light flips green and he accelerates smoothly. “The followers, the tips, the whole thing. My vlogs and streams are dead. I talk, I joke, I show the city… nothing. You make it look easy… What’s the secret?”
You shrug, keeping your tone light, normal, the same voice you use with chat. “It’s not easy, trust me. Late nights, creeps, the algorithm’s a bitch. But people stick around when it feels real. When there’s something raw they can’t get anywhere else. Connection, you know? Instead of just talking at the camera, make them feel like they’re right there with you. Film yourself in the moment. Or with someone.”
The double meaning hangs in the air between you. You watch his ears turn pinker. The car turns onto a broader avenue, the route now detouring slightly from the straight shot to your place—maybe he’s buying time, or maybe the universe is just aligning.
Kurt’s laugh is breathless this time. “Like… adult stuff? I’ve thought about it. Once or twice. Never pulled the trigger because, I don’t know, nerves? But yeah… with the right person? Could be insane. Fun. Real.” He tries for a smirk in the mirror, but it wobbles, vulnerable. “I mean, if someone like you gave the green light, I’d be down. Hypothetically. Totally hypothetically. But for real, any tips? Like, actual advice from the pro?”
You lean forward a fraction, elbows on the console between the seats, your phone angled to capture more of him. “Hypothetically, huh?” you tease, voice dropping just a touch. “Tips: Stop overthinking the vlogs. People want the mess. The real you. Or… show what you’re actually good at when the camera’s rolling. Vulnerability sells. And chemistry? That’s gold.”
He nods frantically, the car slowing as he merges onto a side street. “Chemistry. Right. Yeah, I get that. Like, I’ve watched your stuff for months—your laughs, the way you interact with chat—it’s addictive. You make everyone feel seen. I try that, but it’s like… I’m just yelling into the void.” He pauses, glancing back again as the car rolls to a stop at a four-way, the engine idling soft. “God, this is surreal. You’re in my car. Talking to me. About this. I’ve jerked—fuck I’ve watched your streams more times than I can count. But like… what’s it like for you? The attention? Does it ever get overwhelming? Or do you love the attention?”
The conversation flows easier now, the tension building like a slow burn. He opens up, confessing how he dreams of going viral but always falls short. The car winds through quieter neighborhoods now, car passing sleeping bungalows and the occasional late-night dog walker. Headlights from oncoming cars sweep across the interior, illuminating the array of cams—the dash one capturing his flushed face, the rearview one framing you in the back, all of it feeding live to his dead channel.
“You know,” he says after a beat, voice softer, “I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to collab. Not just donate? Actually be in it you know. With someone who gets the game. You make it look so… fun.”
Your eyes meet his in the mirror, heat pooling between you. The chat on your phone is a storm now.
@thirstyforcontent: THEY’RE FLIRTING SO HARD
@yourgoodboy: pull over already PLEASE
@camwhoreconfessions: this is better than porn omg
@sub4life: $200 tip if he gets fucked in the car😉
The car is getting warmer now, windows starting to fog at the edges even though the AC is on. Your pulse picks up. He’s trying so hard to act chill, but the mask keeps slipping, and you like it. Like how eager he looks under the nerves. You bite your lip, decision made. The energy is too thick, too perfect to waste on the rest of the drive.
You lean into the frame, voice clear and commanding for your Live. “Hey everyone… big change of plans. Tonight’s full show isn’t happening at my place after all.” You tilt the phone to give them a full shot of his profile in the mirror. “Say hi to KurtsWorld96. The show’s moving to his channel tonight. Right now. Just search KurtsWorld96. You won’t want to miss a second of this. See you there in five.”
The chat explodes. Hearts. Fire emojis. All-caps screaming.
You lock your phone screen immediately, ending the Live with a quick tap. The red dot vanishes. “There. All yours now.”
Kurt’s eyes are huge in the rearview, his own dashboard stream lighting up with the flood of new viewers who clicked over from your announcement. “You just… announced it? For real? Holy shit, the views are already at 500 and climbing.”
You meet his gaze, steady and warm, a slow smile spreading. “Yeah. Figured you wanted the boost. And I wanted… this.”
The silence stretches half a second before he exhales a laugh—half disbelieving, half thrilled. “Okay. Okay. Cool. I mean—not cool, this is the most insane, best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ve never… in a carr—fuck. Okay.”
You reach forward, fingers brushing shirt along the collar. “Pull over somewhere quiet.” He doesn’t ask questions. Just nods.
The car turns down the next side street. He kills the engine with a decisive twist of the key. City hum distant now, just the faint tick of cooling metal and the soft whir of the cams still rolling. Thousands are already tuned in.
He doesn’t wait. He climbs over the console into the backseat with you, both of you laughing breathlessly when his knee bumps the gear shift.
“Cars are not specially built for this. But we’ll make it work.” You murmur. He tossed his sunglasses without caring much where they landed.
“Tell me about it,” he mutters against your neck, his voice already wrecked as he follows your lead. His hands find your waist immediately—gentle but hungry, sliding up your bare thighs under the leather skirt, pushing the hem higher like he’s memorizing every inch. You straddle his lap fully until you both shimmy deeper into the cramped backseat. The cams are capturing every shift—the way your thighs spread over his, the leather seats creaking under you.
He’s already hard, pressing insistently against you through his jeans, hips twitching with barely contained need. “Fuck,” he breathes, forehead dropping to rest against yours, breath hot and shaky. “You’re really here. On top of me. In my car. This is… you’re so fucking pretty. Like, unreal. I’ve watched you for months—every stream, every private—and you’re even better in person.” He groans, hands trembling as they shove your cropped top up and over your head, tossing it somewhere into the footwell. His palms cup your breasts immediately, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they pebble tight under his touch. “These are—holy shit. Even better than the streams. So soft. Can I taste? Please? I’ve thought about this so much, dreamed about it—your tits in my mouth, you moaning my name.”
You nod, arching into him, one hand tangling in his messy hair. He ducks his head, shirt riding up his back as he mouths at your chest open-mouthed kisses, tongue swirling lazy circles around one nipple before sucking it between his lips. Gentle bites follow, just enough to make your breath hitch and your hips grind down harder. Every few seconds he pulls back, eyes wide and glassy, checking your face like he needs the green light. “Like that? Is that good? I’ve never done this for real, but I watched all your videos and practiced on my hand and—fuck, you taste so good.”
“Kurt,” you laugh softly, tugging him back down by the roots of his hair, your voice husky. “Stop thinking so hard. Just feel. You’re already making me so wet I can feel it soaking through.”
He listens. His hand slides between your legs, pushing the leather skirt up to your waist, fingers tracing the soaked edge of your thong. When he feels the heat, the slickness, he whimpers outright, a broken, needy sound that goes straight to your core. “You’re soaked. For me? Holy fuck. I did that?”
“All you,” you confirm, voice thick as you reach down and palm him through his jeans. He’s thick, straining hard, the denim damp at the front where he’s leaking. You grab the hem of his shirt, yanking it up and over his head. It joins your top in the footwell. His chest rising and falling fast, a light dusting of dark chest hair across his pecs that trails down in a delicious happy trail, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. His skin is warm, a little flushed. You run your hands over him, fingers threading through the hair on his chest, nails grazing his nipples. “Fuck, you look good like this. I love it.”
His cheeks burn deeper, but he grins, shaky and proud. “Yeah? You do? I was self-conscious about it, but if you like—” He doesn’t finish, too busy shoving his jeans and boxers down his thighs just enough to free his cock. It springs up heavy and flushed, curving up toward his belly.
You wrap your fingers around him, stroking once—slow, firm, thumb circling the slick head and spreading the wetness. His head falls back against the seat with a thud, eyes squeezing shut. “Oh my god. Your hand—fuck, that’s… way better than anything. Don’t stop—please. You feel so good I might actually cry. Or come. Or both.”
You keep the pace teasing, watching his face in the soft glow of the dashboard. The stream is blowing up—tip notifications pinging nonstop, viewer counts in the thousands now. You rise up on your knees, the leather skirt bunched at your hips, and push your thong to the side. Guiding him to your entrance, the first slow sink down has you both moaning loud—the stretch burning sweet and deep, his thickness filling you inch by inch until your ass meets his thighs.
“Jesus Christ,” he pants, hands flying to your hips, fingers digging in like anchors. “You’re so wet. So fucking tight. Feels… unreal. Like I’m gonna lose it in two seconds if you move even a little. Am I… am I okay? Does it feel good? Tell me, please—I need to hear it.”
You stay still for a torturous second, letting him feel you clench around him on purpose, your inner walls fluttering and squeezing just to draw out that wrecked groan from his throat. The cams catch it all: the way your tits bounce slightly with the shift, his cock buried to the hilt, the sheen of sweat already starting on his chest hair. “You’re so good, Kurt. So fucking big. Filling me perfect. Move, baby—slow at first. Let me feel you.”
He nods frantically, hips rolling up in tiny, experimental thrusts that drag the head of his cock right against that spongy spot inside you. The car fills with the filthiest sounds, wet slide of skin on skin, your quiet gasps, his broken little praises spilling out every time you sink down to meet him. “Fuck—yes, like that. You’re incredible. I don’t deserve this. I really, really don’t. Tell me I’m your good boy? Please? I’ve wanted to hear that from you for so long.”
You laugh breathlessly, leaning forward to bite his bottom lip, tugging it between your teeth. “You’re such a good boy, Kurt. So eager. So hard for me. Cock throbbing inside me like you were made for this. It’s so fucking hot.”
The praise wrecks him completely—he groans louder, hips jerking up once, sharp and deep, before he catches himself, trying to stay controlled even though his hands are shaking on your waist, thumbs stroking the soft skin there. You ride him harder now, one hand braced on the headrest behind him, the other tangled in his hair. The happy trail on his stomach brushes your clit with every downstroke. His cock hits that perfect spot over and over, the angle in the cramped backseat making it feel even deeper, dirtier.
“Fuck—right there, yeah? That feel good for you?” he asks, voice cracking with effort, eyes locked on your face like your pleasure is the only thing keeping him grounded. Sweat beads on his forehead, dripping down to mat the hair on his chest. “I want you to come first. Please. Want to feel you squeeze me when you do—clench around my cock like you own it. I’ve dreamed about this—about making you feel even half as good as you make everyone else feel on stream. God, you’re so tight, so wet—listen to how you sound taking me.”
You’re close already, his voice wrapping around you like velvet chains, the way he looks up at you—wide eyes glassy with lust, lips parted and swollen. Your free hand slips between your bodies, rubbing tight, frantic circles on your clit, and you let go—clenching hard around his cock, thighs trembling, a soft, keening moan spilling against his mouth as the orgasm crashes through you in hot, pulsing waves. The cams capture every twitch, every flutter of your pussy, the way your head tips back and your mouth falls open.
He holds you through it, whispering hoarsely against your ear, “That’s it—so good, you’re so fucking good for me, I can feel you—god, you’re squeezing me so perfect.” His hips keep thrusting up slow and deep, drawing out every aftershock until the waves finally ease, leaving you boneless and panting against his chest.
When you finally catch your breath, you kiss him deep—tongue sliding against his, tasting the salt of his sweat. “Your turn, Kurt. Want you to come for me. But not inside—pull out and come on my mouth. Let the chat see how pretty you look when you lose it.” You whisper.
His eyes roll back at the words. You climb off him carefully on shaky legs, knees hitting the cramped footwell between his spread thighs. The position is filthy perfection for the side cam—your flushed face inches from his cock, shiny and slick with your wetness, twitching desperately in the cool air of the car, his chest heaving. You take him in your mouth in one smooth, deep glide, tongue swirling around the sensitive head, tasting the mix of you both—salty-sweet and warm, addictive. One hand strokes what you can’t fit, twisting at the base, the other resting on his thigh, nails digging in just enough.
Kurt’s hands hover like he’s afraid to touch, then thread gently through your hair—not pushing, just holding on for dear life. “Oh my god—your mouth—fuck, you’re actually sucking me. This is the best night of my life. You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth—shit—so deep, so warm—gonna come—can I—please, I’m right there—”
You hum around him, the vibration shooting through his length, taking him deeper until he bumps the back of your throat. Eyes flicking up to meet his, then glancing toward the nearest cam like you know the thousands watching are losing their minds. That’s all it takes. He comes with a long, broken groan that echoes in the car, hot pulses flooding your tongue and lips in thick ropes, some spilling over to catch on your chin and drip down to your tits. You swallow what you can, milking him slow with your hand and mouth until he’s trembling, oversensitive, whimpering .
You pull off with a soft, obscene pop, wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, smiling up at him soft and real, cum still glistening on your lips. The streams are still rolling—viewer counts insane, tips a constant chime, comments a frenzy of caps and emojis.
Kurt reaches down with trembling fingers, thumb brushing the mess from your bottom lip, then tugs you up into his lap again. Shirtless now, chest hair damp and sticky against your skin as he kisses you slow, tasting himself on your tongue, arms wrapped around you like he never wants to let go. The cams keep blinking, capturing the afterglow—the way his happy trail brushes your thigh, the soft rise and fall of his chest.
“That was… the best ride ever,” he mumbles against your skin, voice hoarse but smiling wide. “No contest. You’re actually unreal. Like, actually unreal. We just—live. In the car. With the cams.”
You laugh, fingers carding through his damp hair, still catching your breath. “Told you vlogs weren’t your thing.”
He huffs a laugh, nuzzling into your neck, the city lights flickering through the fogged windows outside. “Yeah. Think I found my new niche. With you. If you’ll have me for more rides.”
The red recording lights keep blinking steady. The fact is that you wouldn’t mind. Not one bit.
author's note: soooooo ... hope you guys like it ! please reblog, comment or like if you feel like it <3
summary: reader is a famous streamer, who is also privately in a relationship with Richard Grayson - Wayne
streamer!reader who had managed to skyrocket to fame during their first year of streaming
streamer!reader who was liked for how calming they where as a streamer, a natural type of peace that was hard to find
streamer!reader who mainly plays sandbox/slice of life games while just sharing life stories and having conversations with chat
streamer!reader who’s chat bullies them in to playing horror games every once and a while to see them scream and/or tense up at every corner they turn
streamer!reader who is so beloved by the online world they gets PR left and right (horror game devs love to give them early access knowing they are too kind to refuse)
streamer!reader who had been dating Dick far before they began their new career
Dick who has been streamer!reader’s biggest fan and donator, making sure to be there for every stream long or short
Dick who had been the one who bought all the equipment and encouraged streamer!reader to follow their passion when they had mentioned they wished to be a streamer
streamer!reader and Dick who preferred to keep their relationship away from everyone other than themselves and family
streamer!reader who was spotted kissing their boyfriend on the cheek by paparazzi
streamer!reader who around the same time kept streaming in clothing that many had seen Dick in public with or post with just days or even hours prior
The public who began to put two and two together and start asking questions
streamer!reader who finally sat down to inform their watchers of their relationship with Dick
streamer!reader who after the publication of their relationship found themselves happier. being able to just sit and play games with the love of their life for “work”
streamer!reader who loves their boyfriend, job, and fans (in that order)
Joey who is sitting on his bed, looking over the magazine perks up. His nieces are walking towards him:” Could we talk to you?”. The comedian sits up straight before patting on the bedsheets:” Sure thing.”. DJ and Stephanie trade a look before the oldest sister begins speaking:” We came down here because we are worried.”.
“About what?”, Joey stares at her and he furrows his forehead:” Did something happen?”. “About you.”, DJ explains, and as soon as these two words evacuate her lips Joey's eyes widen and his expression softens.
“Why would you think something is wrong with me?”.
“Because of Y/N.”, Stephanie murmurs and Joey nods his head:” It’s been two months since Y/N came back into our life’s and ... I don’t know, you seem depressing every time she comes into a room.”, DJ adds.
“I can guarantee you, zero is going on. I’m pretty delighted, that a woman is assisting us. I mean you two are going to have some difficulties eventually... uncle Jesse, your dad, or I won’t be eligible to assist you.”, he laughs but it sounds fairly artificial:” Now, go help your dad or Jesse.”.
He leans back and takes the magazine back into his hands.
————
“We need to find out what is going on between uncle Joey and Y/N.”, D.J. announces when she and her sister get into their beds. Stephanie nods:” And I think I have an idea.”.
————
“Y/N?”.
The young woman that is putting groceries into the refrigerator swivels around at the sound of DJ’s voice: Yes?”. Joey who sits at the kitchen table, jotting down some jokes in his journal perks up as well. “I need some help with my homework.”, the young girl explains:” For my English class, we need to write an internal monologue.”. “About what?”, Y/N takes a bag of milk into her hand and puts it into the refrigerator.
“About falling in love for the first time.”, she says:” And since I am single, I wanted to ask somebody who has been.”.
Y/N gradually turns around and it takes all her strength not to glance at Joey, but she can feel his stares on her.
“I have precisely four questions for you.”.
“Oh- okay.”, she shuts the door of the refrigerator and sits down on the barstool next to DJ:” What is the first question.”.
“What does it feel like to fall in love for the very first time?”.
Y/N sighs, she understands Joey is staring at her right at that moment:” Well, it’s odd for a second. See, to that moment I believed I had felt love. But in that second I knew, that all the boys “I loved before” had been stupid crushes, nothing serious.”.
“Was he a stranger?”, Stephanie who is consuming her sandwich next to Joey asks, and Y/N chuckles.
“No, not at all.”, she clarifies, virtually in trance:” He had been my best friend for years. But I don’t know, abruptly he wasn’t just my best friend anymore.“.
Stephanie can feel how Joey is leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
“We were in my room, at home. And he let out something funny. I laughed. And unexpectedly, he turned into my crush.”.
“How did that feel?”.
“Scary.”, she says:” Because I was worried of damaging a good friendship.”.
DJ nods:” The last question: When did you fell in love for the first time?”.
Y/N smiles:”Must have been in High school, I-“, she stops and her eyes widen, before she stands up.
Stephanie can feel how Joey straightens up.
“I was her first love, too?”,he whispers almost inaudible, but still loud enough for Stephanie to hear. Her eyes grow wide
“Y/N was your first love?”,She exclaims and turns around to look at him.
“Excuse me.”,Y/N says and gets up from the bars too, she quickly leaves the kitchen.
Summary: After years away, Y/N returns to San Francisco — new job, new confidence, and a promise to herself never to look back. But an invitation from her old friend Danny Tanner brings her face-to-face with the past she thought she’d left behind, including Jesse Katsopolis — the high school heartthrob who made her life miserable.
Warning: use of Y/N and probably bad grammar!
A/N: I might make this a series just let me know if you want another part!❤️
——————————————————————
You never planned on moving back to San Francisco.
But after years of being away, a new job, new looks, and a new confidence something about the city called you back. Maybe it was unfinished business, or you were homesick… or perhaps it was Danny Tanner’s voice on the phone saying “we’re having a huge get together this weekend! You have to come. The old gang will be there too!”
You’d been good friends with Danny since high school his calm yet outstanding demeanor is what drew you in. And through him, you met Joey Gladstone, who quickly became your best friend. He could make you laugh, even if the whole world was falling apart around you.
And then… there’s Jesse Katsopolis. Danny’s too-cool-for-school- brother-in-law. The same guy who bullied you for reading, and wearing thrifted clothes instead of huge brands. Jesse was cocky, rude, and flirted with every woman on the planet. But for some reason, you were the only girl he liked to poke fun at.
So when you ditched town after graduation you swore you wouldn’t come back. And especially give Jesse another thought.
——
When you walked into Danny’s home you were greeted with hugs and laughter and everything felt the same, just like when you left (except everyone looked much older). Everything was going fine….until you laid eyes on him.
He was leaning against the kitchen counter drink in hand, hair a perfect mess, and that stupid smirk on his face. But when he looked at you his smile faltered.
His brows were raised in disbelief. “Oh mother of Mary…” he muttered to himself, “Y/N..? When did you get so..hot?” He trailed off eyeing you up and down.
You blink, partly irritated, but mostly amused. “Nice to see your manners haven’t changed.”
Joey strolled in past Jesse grinning, arms extended out to hug you. “Y/N! You’re back! Wow, look at you— California did good to ya.” He pulls you into a big bone-crushing hug and you laugh easing into his embrace.
Jesse’s jaw tightens.
——
Days later Danny invites you over for a house party. “It’ll be family, music, and food!” He explained over the phone. He left out the part about too many people trying to dance in his living room.
You make your way through the wave of people, making small talk and smiling awkwardly when people bring up past high school memories. But when you found Joey the night was less awkward. He’s great company, sweet, funny, and wouldn’t ditch you to flirt with half the women here unlike.. Jesse. Forget him tonight is just you and Joey.
——
When Jesse sees how Joey’s hand is just casually resting on your lower back he nearly drops his drink.
The way Joey guides you through the crowd with his hand on your waist, how he leans in close to whisper in your ear, and how you laugh out loud at all his stupid jokes. That sound always draws Jesse’s attention every single time. And part of him wished he were the one making you laugh.
Every time he tries to distract himself his eyes always wander back to you. How you dance, how Joey keeps making you smile, and how you look at Joey like how you used to look at him before he ruined everything years back.
God, it hurt him.
——
The night air is warm with a slight breeze. You can hear the laughter and music spill out the door as you take in that San Francisco atmosphere, and you feel at peace… until you hear that familiar voice breaking the silence.
“I didn't think you were the kinda gal to run off in the middle of a party.”
You turn and lock eyes with Jesse, standing there under the porch light with his hands buried deep in his pockets, his expression unreadable.
“I didn't take you for the kinda guy who would follow me… considering.”
Your voice trailed off and you shifted uncomfortably
He smiled, the kind of smile that doesn't reach your eyes. “I guess we both have surprises” he chuckled
You nod looking away “yeah. Like you bothering to talk to me at all tonight.”
His jaw clenched for a brief moment. “What's that supposed to mean?” For a second he looked genuinely confused.
Trying to seem casual you just shrugged looking at your feet before your eyes met his again. “C’mon Jess. You made it very clear you hated me.”
He didn't say anything, trying to figure out what to say.
“You called me names, took my things, and even when I tried being nice you kept giving me that same treatment.”
He closed his eyes nodding with understanding. Then he took a step closer to you. Looking at you with those piercing dark eyes.
“You still think I hate you?”
You give him a sideways glance. “You never gave me a reason to think otherwise.”
Suddenly his gaze softens and something behind those eyes felt raw. “People can change.”
“Do they?” you questioned crossing your arms. “Because I still see the same smirk and leather jacket that made me despise school.”
The realization finally hit him. And his jaw tightens, he was a real dick to you. He muttered something under his breath, an apology, deserving better? You couldn't make out what he said but you don't respond.
The silence between you stretches out for a beat too long before he finally speaks. “For what it's worth..I don't think I ever hated you”
“Really? Then what was all that about then? Making someone cry is just your way of saying hi?” you scoffed
He hesitates, he looks like there's something he needed to say but he was holding himself back. “I guess I..just didn't know how to act around you. And I'm sorry.”
You could tell he was being honest but thinking about all you went through saying sorry wasn't enough.
You let out a sigh. “Jesse, don't tell me you’re sorry.. Show me. Show me that you’ve changed, prove that you are a better person now. And then maybe we can talk.” You give him a small smile and a nod before starting for the door.
“Y/N—” his voice called after you softly. You stop hand on the knob and you look back at him.
His expression was soft and real, he looked as if he wanted to say a million things but wasn't sure where to start. But you didn't want to trust him. Not yet.
“Good night Jesse,” you say quietly, and head back inside with Joey.
Jesse stays on the porch for a long while after cursing himself under his breath.
content: fluff, sub!clark, slightly smutty, reader is a rich ceo bosswoman ofc, hints of praise kink, mommy kink
househusband!clark would:
get up way earlier in the morning so that he’ll have plenty of time to make your delicious, specially curated breakfast which would include heart shape pancakes or french toast with freshly cut up fruit.
He’d wear his kitchen apron, one of many aprons you have bought for him, and it has his embroidered initials in Superman coloring. He’ll sometimes only wear his apron and pajama pants, knowing how much you like to see his form on display.
househusband! clark would:
Have the dining table set with all the tableware and utensils, perfectly placed for breakfast and all meals, of course. But if you’re feeling unwell or not going into work, he brings you breakfast in bed with the cutest smile on his face.
househusband!clark would:
help you get ready for work every morning without fail, although you’re perfectly capable of doing it yourself. He’d have your suits, dress pants, pencil skirts, etc., all thoroughly cleaned and ironed for you. He’d have your outfit laid out in the huge, walk-in closet all ready to wear the next day.
If you’re going with a suit jacket, he’d be quick to help you put it on and adjust it for you. If you’re wearing a skirt or dress, he’ll carefully zip up the back for you while pressing soft kisses along your neck because he can’t help himself.
He’ll urge you to sit on the ottoman in the closet as he goes down on his knees to help put on your sharp Louboutin heels, which he definitely polishes every month. Before he slips on a heel, he’ll take your manicured foot and give it a gentle smooch. Oh, how he loves to worship you.
househusband!clark would:
admire you once you’re done getting dressed and grow flustered as a string of compliments fly out of his mouth.
“Gosh, honey, you look so gorgeous as always.” “Oh golly, that skirt makes you look so sexy.” “Gee, when I see you dressed like this, I feel like I’m dreamin’.”
househusband!clark would:
feel himself grow hard at the praises you’d give him in those moments. Every “thank you, baby” and “that’s my good boy” would make him melt.
He’d fix your tie for you as well and use the proximity to finally kiss you on the lips. He’s always so desperate for your affection, and you give in a little before assuring him he’ll have your undivided attention after work.
househusband!clark would:
spend the day handling Superman duties, then use his lightning speed to finish all chores before you return home. Not that you needed him to do all the grocery shopping and cleaning because you could easily afford a maid and a personal chef. However, he insisted that all he truly desired was to be a dedicated househusband to you. Completely and utterly obedient to your every word.
househusband!clark would:
wait for you ever so patiently every time and give you a warm welcome as soon as you set foot inside your luxury home.
he’d immediately take your purse and coat, helping you discard anything preventing you from being comfortable at the moment.
“Long day, honey?” he’d ask while he’s already taking off your heels and massaging your legs and feet.
househusband! clark would:
jump for joy after you say he can shower with you, even though you let him every time. How could you say no to your cutie pie of a husband?
Once you're in, he’s using his big hands to wash your scalp and cup your curves covered in soap. He would beg to eat you out, telling you how much it would help you relax after a long day of running the company. Telling you how much he wants to take care of you and make his mommy feel good.
househusband!clark would:
help you dry off afterward and get ready for bed. He’d curl up beside you on the comfy mattress and lie his head on your chest while you do your nightly reading.
And finally, he would try to wait to fall asleep with you, but always ends up dozing off first when you start giving him head scratches.
i love the vampire au with sam and was hoping i could ask a question! when reader is in her bat form and talking, do you think it sounds like her normal voice or more high pitched and little then normal? either way it’s so cute i love their banter💕
Sam and The Evil Nugget have become my favorite duo, so I'm so glad to read that you like them too!
Thanks for your question because it's one I've thought about as well. Actually, I think she doesn't like talking in her bat form; she knows perfectly well that Sam understands her little grunts. Anyway, when she HAS to speak, I can't help but imagine her with a slightly higher-pitched voice (the difference in vocal cords, and all that…) but especially, I imagine her with a slight lisp. (Because of the length of her fangs, you know?) ANYWAY, because I love this question, I made a quick little post to warm hearts (and because I have a horrible chapter with Sam waiting to be published…).
Tonight, Mr. Monroe was out. Which meant Sam could finally do the only thing he genuinely wanted to do with his time on this earth: smoke under the stars, in peace, without being told to either put it out or to improve his grades at school.
He'd settled on the windowsill, one leg dangling out into the dark, the other tucked up, a cigarette burning slow between two fingers. One earbud in. Death metal leaking out of it, thin and distant, like an argument happening three rooms over. Eyes closed. The night doing what nights were supposed to do, for once.
Your small batlike ears catching every sound, wings folded neatly against your back, and eyes sharper than they had any right to be in the low light. You'd abandoned the laces of his Doc Martens approximately four minutes ago, chewed through one of them, actually, which Sam had clocked and chosen not to address, and had moved on to more important business.
A bone. Small. Probably mouse, Sam had decided. You worked at it with focused, unhurried dedication. Your ears twitched at the sound bleeding from his earbud. You didn't say anything. He didn't either. It was, by most measurable standards, a perfect evening.
"I still don't get why you bother with that," he said, not opening his eyes. "When you've got my blood on tap. And I buy you the good kibble. The expensive stuff. I even had to dip into the money I was saving for my weed, damn it." He paused. "You're the most high-maintenance creature I've ever kept, and I once had a tarantula with anxiety."
You stay calm, unbothered by his sass, tugged at the bone with your teeth.
"It'th not for eating."
Sam opened one eye.
"It'th to keep my teeth in good condition."
He closed the eye again. Very carefully. Very deliberately. His face remained, heroically, neutral.
Because here was the thing: and he would take this to his grave, or at least to the end of the cigarette, the partial transformation did something to your sibilants. Just slightly. Just enough that it's became it'th, and condition acquired an extra softness it hadn't asked for, and the overall effect was so completely at odds with the general atmosphere of supernatural creature of the night that Sam had bitten the inside of his cheek approximately six times in the past month to avoid reacting.
"Like dogs?" he said, which was the first available sentence that didn't involve him making any kind of face.
You gave him a look. Slow. Flat. The specific look that meant I have heard stupider things but I'm choosing to be offended by this one.
"A little… yeth. Like the clawth on dogth."
Clawth.
Sam took a long drag of his cigarette and stared at the middle distance with the focused intensity of a man defusing something.
The truly extraordinary thing — the detail that was currently causing him genuine, low-grade suffering — was that you had absolutely no idea. None. Zero awareness. You were gnawing your mouse bone with complete serenity, ears twitching softly at the distant percussion in his earbud, entirely unbothered, as if clawth on dogth was a perfectly normal sequence of sounds that you had always produced intentionally.
Part of him wanted to tell you. He'd actually opened his mouth once, three weeks ago, and then looked at your face and decided against it with the speed of a man stepping back from a ledge.
"And it allowth you to—"
"Sharpen them," you finished, tugging. "And it'th toothing. For when they come in."
Toothing.
He pressed his lips together. Looked up at the sky. Counted stars. Did what he could.
"Right," he said, when he trusted his voice again. "Sure."
He took another drag. Flicked ash off the sill. Looked at you sideways — the quiet tuck of your wings, the small focused crease between your brows, ears still catching the ghost of his music — and thought, without meaning to, that you looked exactly like what you were: something feral and strange and genuinely unbothered by the world's opinion of you. He respected that more than he'd ever say out loud.
"For the record," he said, studying the ember of his cigarette with enormous fake casualness, "from now on I'm saving bones for you. Small ones." A beat. "Mouse. Bird. Whatever."
You looked up. Briefly suspicious.
"Why?"
"So your teeth stay," he said, "in good condition." He glanced sideways at you. "You're sleeping in my clothes, there's no chance you'll bring anything rotten like bones."
You considered this for a moment. Then went back to the bone, apparently satisfied.
"That'th actually very thoughtful of you."
Somewhere in Sam Monroe's chest, something small and stupid and completely unacceptable happened. He put the earbud back in and stared very hard at the moon until it stopped. And you, you continue to purr as you resume your hard work which consisted of chewing on a bone.
Giving Sam Monroe a diy bracelet that kinda sends the message that he's taken. | Fluff, drabble, established relationship.
“This is so lame, why the fuck would I want to wear a bra strap as a bracelet?”
Sam's flustered words earned a scoff and an eye roll. “Watched it in a movie once. Besides, it's not just a bra strap, it's mine!” You explain with an obvious tone. You know your boyfriend better than anybody, he's totally digging it, he's just an embarrassed, bratty mess. Always making things difficult for no apparent reason. At least he's holding his hand out for you. “... And now people will know you've got a girlfriend.” You teased.
Sam grunts, growing redder with your giggles. He mutters something about this being 'stupid' and making him look like an even bigger loser than he is. “I don't need this thing to show that I'm getting laid, thank you very much. I get laid. Continuously.”
“I know, I'm there when it happens...” Ignoring his words, you keep on wrapping it around his surprisingly delicate wrist which you kiss. It looks good, enough to make you squeal in an embarrassingly loud volume, but it doesn't matter, you're happy. “It's black so it matches with all of your outfits, see?! It's so cute!” You state, observing how your boyfriend glares at his new accessory, judging it from all angles. Geez.
“Is this the equivalent of wearing a dog collar? You taggin' me or something?”
“Hm... Now that I think of it, it's more like when a dog pisses on something to mark it's territory.” You grin, always quick with the comments. It's no wonder you two are dating. “I'm just messing with you, I just wanted to see how it looked, but you don't have to actually wear it. Gosh, such a grumpy expression! Lighten up!”
“Whatever...” Sam was about to speak again when your phone rang, sending you into a frenzy. Of course, your job!
“Crap, I'm late! Why didn't you tell me anything, Sam?!”
He blinks a few times, taken aback.
“Wha- how is this my fault?! You're the one who decided to stop here!” Sam's glare intensifies, watching you scramble for your things. He points lazily at the corner where your other shoe was blending in, after minutes of letting you panic. Smug little prick.
You grimace, looking around to fetch your wallet.
“Wow you really need to clean your room, I can help do your laundry- wait no, I'm late. Bye, Sammy! I'll be back at 5,” kissing him goodbye you leave in a hurry. This happens almost every time that you visit him before your shift. It's easy to lose track of time when you're hanging out with the person you love.
Sam lays down on his bed with a lazy groan, cigarette secured between his lips. Stretching his hand he looks at the bra strap once again, this time allowing himself to smile. He's absolutely smitten by you, it doesn't matter how much he tries to pretend, that fool is crazy in love. “That's kinda hot... Gonna ask for a red one next... Never taking it off.”
I love him so so so much like I just love the whole fucking show aahh and auggie to I don't think I ever read a fanfic with auggie yall be sleeping on him Istg
summary; poor Stephen feels insecure, his secret cheerleader girlfriend helps him feel better (in the backseat of his old car)
a/n: sorry i haven’t been writing for a while!! I hope you guy like this rusty story! also not proof read!
steam fogs on his cars back seats windows, caused by wet kissed and pants. Stephen’s hands clumsily squeeze your waist, holding on for dear life.
Stephen’s whole life he’s been looked over by girls. he lanky, nervous and a newspaper club junkie. on the other hand you’re cute, popular - the cheer captain. that’s why you both keep your little make out sessions a secret, it’s not that your embarrassed to be seen with the book worm… well, it might be. your girlfriends and jock friends would lose their minds.
after a long moment of kissing Stephen pulls away, panting softly. your hands run up and into his neatly combed hair, messing it up despite knowing how much he loves it neat but hell, he would let you do anything to him.
he looks up at you through his thin wired glasses before whispering softly. “It’s okay I’m not some jock?” he asks, he’s asked this question at least a hundred times. you smile, patting his dirty blonde had before whispering back. “stop asking that Stevie” you scold sweetly. he lets out a small, jealous whine. “are you sure… I mean, I saw you with those big jocks” he whispers. you frown slightly. “stop that, I don’t want some stupid jock” you explain gently as if explaining to a puppy how to sit.
a small relived smile spreads across his face. he lives for your reassurance, he craves it. “come here?” he asks, tugging you close by the waistband of your cheer skirt. he let his lanky arms pull you into his lap. his hands slide up your waist and to your chest, his hands hover before he asks softly again. “may i?” he asks. you smile and nod your head, giving him the green light too grope you.
he squeezes, your tits has to be his most favourite thing ever - soft, perky, perfect. he feels himself getting hard and it’s not long before you can feel his boner too. you giggle softly, sweetly. his favourite sound. “that for me?” you ask a little teasingly. he whines, bucking his hips up against your warmth. he lets out a needy groan.
his fingers dig deep into your chest, holding on tightly as he bucks and humps against the warmth that’s barley concealed by your panties. he lets out a strangled groan before buckling one last time. “Christ!” he cried out, completely destroying his nice boxers.
: ̗̀➛ Summary: The chances of befriending a Wayne online are low, but never zero. You honestly thought somebody was trying to catfish you, you don't just believe anybody who tells you that they're Tim Drake online.
When you actually meet him, you realize that somehow you beat that impossibly low statistic and actually befriended Tim Drake. However, there is something strange going on with the Wayne family. You weren’t sure what it was.
Until Red Robin saved you.
: ̗̀➛ Word Count: 14.5k
Warnings/Tags: Online friends to friends to lovers, texting, LOTS of texting, they're literally online friends idk what you'd expect, Tim does photography as a hobby, reader is a uni student, reader and Tim deserve each other <3, secret identity reveal, very fluffy fic
: ̗̀➛ A/N: First Tim Drake fic! Hope you guys enjoy :)! Thank you @r-4-y-v-3-n for this request! This prompt was a lot of fun <3! I hope I delivered :D!
Masterlist
“Yes, I'll have the files emailed as soon as possible.” You place your phone onto your desk, pulling up your drive on your laptop. The moment you place your phone down, it buzzes. The vibration echoes loudly on your wooden table.
“Thank you,” your boss responds on speaker. “Could you have them sent to IT as well?” He asks, and you hear some rustling on his side of the call.
You nod, forgetting that he can't see you. “Of course.” Buzz. “I am sending them right now.” Buzz. “Did you want it sent to your assistant as well?” Buzz.
“If you could.” Buzz. “I'd appreciate it.” Buzz.
You grit your teeth, “Great.” Buzz.
You glare at your phone, hoping the intensity of your stare will compel him to stop texting you.
Buzz.
You sigh, rubbing your temples as you click send. “Alright, I just sent them.”
“Thank you,” your boss says your name. “I'll be in touch.”
You nod, “Let me know if anything else is needed.” Your boss hangs up. The display on your phone changing back to your home screen. Buzz. You are going to kill this man.
Tim: at this point i feel like you're just ignoring me 😔
Tim: i KNOW you're home right now
Tim: gotta admit you're dedicated tho
You glare at your phone, quickly typing out a response.
hey sorry to disappoint but i can be at home AND still work, some of us are actually employed
He instantly responds.
Tim: tf you talking about?? I am literally the ceo of wayne enterprises bro 🥀
I thought that was Lucius??? and even if you are employed you sure act unemployed bro 🥀
Tim: are you calling me chronically online?
Tim: how do you think we met???
Tim: it's a two way street 😭
yeah but like
Tim: 🤨🤨
ok fair enough, but I was working 😭 what was so important that you had to spam me while I was talking to my BOSS
Tim: mb gang i didn't know :(((
Tim: I figured if you didn't respond the first time you'd respond by the 15th time
Tim: and it worked soooo….
get to the point
Tim: so consider
Tim: dinner
You feel your heart skip a beat, your thumbs freezing as any comments you had evaporate from your head.
Tim: at the manor
Oh… That makes more sense. Why would you assume he was asking you out? You scoff, feeling a low surge of disappointment run through your chest.
again??
Tim: yeah i don't wanna be alone 💔
won't there be like 10 people there??? how would you be alone?
Tim: can you just be there pls
no
Tim: please?
i'm busy
Tim: doing what
i shouldn't tell people online what i'm doing, that's creepy of you to ask there buddy 🤨
Tim: you've literally been in my ROOM before hello??
You chuckle, leaning back in your chair as you type. Any prior work you were doing is entirely forgotten.
that's an issue, what if I stole something? clearly SOMEBODY forgot to tell you never to tell strangers online your address 😔
Tim: fyi i can handle myself PERFECTLY fine
yeah huh
Tim: and are you implying you stole something from me???
no but i could've, you wouldn't have even noticed
Tim: no I would've
then why'd you ask me if I did?
Tim: to see if you'd admit guilt
I didn't steal anything though??
Tim: that's what a LIAR would say
oh my goodness
you're on your own for dinner
Tim: WAIT PLEASE
Tim: IM SORRY PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME WITH THEM
Tim: WE CAN HANG OUT AFTER MAKE IT A WHOLE THING
Tim: ACTUALLY WE CAN JUST DITCH LIKE HALFWAY THROUGH AND HEAD UP TO MY ROOM
damn you're acting as if they burn you at the stake each time there is dinner 😭
Tim: please be there i beg of you 🙏
mmmm i dunno you don't sound desperate enough
Tim: now I KNOW you're lying cause there's no WAY you just said that
Tim: I'd literally get on my knees and beg if I could
lmao what's stopping you?
Tim: my dignity
😔
Tim: u being fr rn?
the mental image is very funny
Tim: i'm sure it is, now can we get back on track? could you PLEASE show up to dinner Sunday I'm LITERALLY begging you
THIS SUNDAY???? I THOUGHT IT'D BE LIKE NEXT WEEK OR SOMETHING
Tim: PLEASE I KNOW IT'S SHORT NOTICE I WILL MAKE IT WORTH YOUR TIME 🙏
Tim: I'LL EVEN ASK ALFRED TO MAKE YOUR FAVORITE FOOD AND DESSERT
That makes you pause.
you will? 🤨
Tim: YES JUST PLEASE SHOW UP
mmm okay
gotta ask, why do you need me there that bad??? don't just say your lonely or smth stupid
Tim: if you're there, it forces everybody to act normal
You furrow your eyebrows, pondering what “abnormal” would look like for the Wayne family. They seemed kind of normal when you met them. Maybe it's some Wayne thing you just don't understand.
what does that even mean??
Tim: just trust me, you being there makes my life 1000x easier
oh so I'm bait 💀
Tim: nononono not like that
Tim: it's nothing actually bad I promise
relax Tim I'm joking lmao, I'll gladly be bait to make your family behave normally 🫡 (as long as you hold up with your deal with Alfred of course)
Tim: you're literally my favorite person in the world right now
Smiling, you chuckle at the message, leaning back into your chair. You are not going to read too much into that.
after this I better be, I'll see you later then
Tim: I can pick you up Sunday around five
perfect, see you then
Tim: see you
You place your phone down. Dinner, huh? It's not like you haven't been to the Wayne's for dinner. This shouldn't be any different. The only other time Tim invited you to dinner was when you were starting to get to know him in person. To be fair, he didn't exactly “invite” you. His family actually insisted that they had to meet Tim's new friend. Tim had quickly informed you that you could decline the “offer,” but you had went anyway. It's not like you could just decline an invitation from Bruce Wayne himself.
The difference between now and then is that Tim is not only inviting you, but practically begging you to show up. Sure, he had snuck you in a few times, but formal invitations were not something that either of you did, not anymore.
What changed?
It's not something you should read into. However, your mind keeps going back to that one line. You open your phone again, scrolling to look at the messages. Your thumb hovers over the message: “if you're there, it forces everybody to act normal.”
Now, it should not be something you should read into. However, the strange thing is, you know exactly what Tim is talking about. When you met the Wayne's everything was seemingly normal, but the issue was that it was too normal. It set off some alarm in your brain, but you couldn't figure out what they did that set it off.
Normal.
What defines normalcy?
Is it the standards that you are accustomed to? Is it expectations one expects a well-adjusted person to have? Either way, it set off some alarms because while you didn't know how to describe their usual behavior, Tim does.
They act normal when you're there. This implies that there is a time where they don't act normal.
Your finger lightly traces the edge of your phone as you stare at the messages. Now, you're definitely reading into this, but the fact of the matter is something is up.
You're going to figure it out.
Meeting Tim had been, potentially, the most unexpected event in your entire life. Now, since both of you live in Gotham, one might presume that perhaps you met somewhere in the city. Perhaps you went to the same university or bumped into each other on the street. Perhaps you had met him at one of the dozens of events hosted by the Waynes every year. The possibilities were endless.
Instead, you met him on a thread online.
You didn't even know it was him.
It had been an online forum. You don't even remember what the exact topic was. It was something photography related. One of the users— TimTam— had been discussing something about how to balance one's subject with the environment around them. They had gone on and on about the rule of thirds, and how the the environment was meant to enhance the subject. Curiously, you had checked out their profile. After all, you'd expect somebody who talked the talk to be able to walk the walk. You'd found a link to a blog he had.
Apparently, you should've never doubted TimTam because the photos he took were absolutely breathtaking. You've lived in Gotham for decades, and yet the photos that TimTam took exhibited an unconventional beauty of the otherwise deplorable city. For a moment, you wondered if this was his job. Some of the photos looked too perfect to just be a mere hobby. He had shots next to the gargoyles on Wayne Tower with angles that looked unfeasible for any sane person to achieve.
Who was this guy?
Curiosity got the better of you. You had attempted to look him up for any other social media accounts, but your efforts were fruitless. A conclusion that only made you more curious.
You wanted to find more about this mysterious individual, so you sent him a quick message. Polite and inquisitive.
Hello! I stumbled onto your page, and I adore your photography! I was wondering if you had any other social media accounts. I would love to follow some of your other socials.
Checking the original forum, you noticed that the timestamp was from over a week ago. Hopefully he'd respond. You didn't really keep up with online photography forums much. Stumbling onto this had been an accident, but a happy accident nevertheless. You were about to get up from your chair, when you saw a little bubble signifying a notification.
Your mouth parted in surprise. That was quick.
TimTam: Hello. I don't have any other socials at the moment for photography. I only really post it occasionally on my main.
You nod, understandable. It's a shame, but you weren't about to ask a random stranger for what may be their potentially personal account. You were about to type your response, when TimTam sends another message.
TimTam: You think I should make a photography accoutn?
TimTam: account*
You slowly blink at the message followed by the typo correction. Somehow this person seems a lot less intimidating than they did five seconds ago.
Absolutely! It's rare that I can find somebody capture Gotham in the perspective you do. I would definitely follow you if you make any other socials.
There's a pause for a moment. The bubble appears, disappears, and reappears again. You tap the space bar of your laptop idly, curious what TimTam has to say.
TimTam: Like right now?
You can't help the surprised snort that escapes you.
I mean if you want? I meant more generally, but now works.
TimTam: Right, right, of course
You like their message, unsure how to respond to that. You think that's the end of your adventures with TimTam, but about ten minutes later you get another message. You open the chat back up. It's an Instagram link.
TimTam: Thanks for the advice. I made the social.
You nod as if they can see your physical response. Tapping onto the link.
For sure! Honored to be the first official follower :)
You actually are their first follower. The account's user is Tim_Tam with a profile picture sitting on the ledge of a building overlooking the sunset. Zero posts, one follower, zero following. It was brand new. Not even a bio present.
Satisfied with how the interaction went, you had presumed that your conversations with TimTam had ended. You didn't exactly give them a reason to keep contacting you.
A few days went by, and slowly TimTam began to post on social media. His first posts garnered thousands of likes, which you found impressive for such a fresh account. You did tell him that he'd do well on other platforms. It didn't take long for him to build up a following. Nothing insane, but definitely a good start.
You had been keeping up with TimTam. You weren't sure what drew you to him, but you found yourself liking each post of his. You found a smile appear on your face each time he posted.
Perhaps you were a tad bit proud that your suggestion led to such fruition.
Judging by the way he had immediately asked you if he should make a photography account, you assumed that he had previously considered the idea. Either that or he was a very spontaneous person.
Either way, you took some satisfaction out of it.
Days had gone by and you watched as his followers trickled up. You found yourself living vicariously through TimTam, silently celebrating ten thousand followers with him.
Then you saw it.
You had been about to go to bed. It was nearly midnight, and it was freezing. The comforters weighed heavily onto you, shrouding you in warmth. On top of that, you had pulled the Batman throw blanket up to your neck, nearly suffocating yourself with the soft material. The blanket had the different symbols of all the Bats plastered onto it against a light gray backdrop. You'd gotten it years ago, and to this day it was still one of your favorite blankets.
You squinted your eyes as the bright light of your phone shone through the otherwise dark room. Your eyes started to feel the strain as you continued to fight the urge to sleep.
Then you saw the notification.
The first thing you registered wasn't the message, but the sender of the message.
TimTam (or is it Tim_Tam now?) had sent you a message.
Sitting up, you read the notification, not wanting him to know you're reading his message.
Tim_Tam
[Image attached]
Sent now
Tim_Tam
[Image attached]
Sent now
Tim_Tam
Which one do you think looks better?
Sent now
You paused, thumb hovering over the Instagram notifications. You couldn't see the photos if you didn't click the message. However, if you clicked the messages, he'd know you're awake.
Would it be weird to respond? It's nearly midnight. What if he judges your poor sleeping schedule?
Then again… He texted you first. If anything he should be worried about how he comes across. Also, why should you care? It's just a stranger on the internet.
Before you could reconsider your actions, you clicked on the messages.
Nothing could have prepared you for what you saw.
The two photos looked practically identical. Upon closer inspection, you noticed a few discrepancies, but they were so insignificant that they were practically the same photo.
It was taken on a rooftop. Nightwing and Robin were shown to be conversing with one another. It was, quite possibly, the clearest photos of the vigilantes you had ever seen.
Of course, you've seen the blurry images and videos of the vigilantes captured by the news or even by Gothamites themselves, but none of them were this sharp. It was evident that the photo was taken from a distance (likely due to TimTam not wanting to be spotted), but that didn't change the fact that this was potentially the best photo you'd seen of the vigilantes before.
Sure, you've seen a whispered shadow pass over your head, or even heard the roar of the Batmobile echo across the city, but you had never gotten a clear look at their faces. It's blurry enough where specific identifiable facial features may not be evident, but it's clear enough that you can actually deduce their facial expressions.
Nightwing appears to be smiling, a wide grin plastered onto his face. Robin doesn't share the same expression. It's more difficult to tell what he's thinking, but it's evident that he does not share Nightwing's apparent amusement.
You swipe between the two photos TimTam sent. You were only able to make out five differences total. In the first photo, Robin's shoulders were more tense, Nightwing's mouth was slightly open (though still grinning) as if caught mid-speech, and the lights of the city shined down a low red lighting onto their costumes, bathing them in the ominous color.
The second photo had Nightwing simply offering an amused grin, smiling with his teeth on display. He wasn't saying anything. Robin's shoulders were more relaxed, but the unamused expression was a constant in both photos. The low red lighting from the first photo turned into a slightly more vibrant scarlet that enveloped the subjects. If you looked closely, you'd notice that Nightwing had a couple strands of hair out of place. The change making him look slightly more unkempt. The only other noticeable change was the direction Robin faced. In the second photo, he is angled just ever so slightly more towards Nightwing.
The second one for sure. It makes them both look cooler with the lighting and it feels slightly more personal.
Tim_Tam: Okay, thanks.
You stare at the photos for a moment longer, waiting for something else. No other response came. You furrow your brows, typing another message. Before TimTam was interesting. But now?
Wait that's it?
Now he's borderline unreal.
Tim_Tam: Yeah, I couldn't really decide
Tim_Tam: It's not like I could ask Nightwing and Robin their opinions. I doubt they even know the photo was taken.
Who even is this guy?
You're telling me that you snuck up on NIGHTWING and ROBIN
and you can't choose which photo looks better???
Tim_Tam: In all fairness, their vibes are VERY different. I couldn't tell which one to go for.
He's right. Despite capturing the same moment, the minute differences change the interpretation of the photos immensely.
That's fair.
Should I even ask how you got these photos?
Tim_Tam: It sounds like you are asking
Tim_Tam: Let's just say I have my ways
You frown. That was entirely expected, but still disappointing.
Are you planning on selling them?
There's a pause for a moment. The bubbles appear, then disappear, then reappear.
Tim_Tam: What?
Like the photos. You could probably sell them to the Gotham Gazette and get a quick buck or something.
I don't think I've ever seen any news agency with photos THIS clear. I'm sure they'd eat it up.
Tim_Tam: Maybe? I hadn't really considered that
Wait wait you're telling me you stalked after vigilantes for love of the game??
Tim_Tam: yeah pretty much
At this point, you're wide awake. All sleepiness that clouded your brain fanned away long ago.
Are those the only ones you have?
There's a long pause.
Tim_Tam: At the moment.
I'm not saying you should follow the Bats again but like…
These photos are actually phenomenal, you could get famous for this.
There's another long pause.
Tim_Tam: You think?
100%. I've NEVER seen such prisitine photos of Nightwing and Robin. It's genuinely impressive.
Tim_Tam: Hm
Tim_Tam: I'll see what I can do.
That was the start of your friendship with TimTam. Vigilante photos. Two nights after the Nightwing and Robin photo situation, you received another text.
Tim_Tam
[Image attached]
Sent now
You nearly dropped your phone upon opening the message.
If you thought the Nightwing and Robin photo was clear? This was night and day. It was single handled the best photo of Red Robin you've ever seen. The image pictured Red Robin kicking some criminal. The dynamic pose combined with the sheer clarity of the photo made for an actual masterpiece. You could see the way that his suit fit his form. The way he clenched his jaw as he struck the criminal. It was so close. It almost looks like TimTam had taken security camera footage, zoomed in, and somehow enhanced it.
???
Tim_Tam: Is that a good or bad ???
GOOD DEFINITELY GOOD
HOW IS IT SOMEHOW BETTER THAN THE NIGHTWING AND ROBIN ONE
Tim_Tam: I'm good at photography I guess
Tim_Tam: you're a Red Robin fan?
Were you imagining the smug tone behind that? Was Red Robin even your favorite? You liked Red Robin, but your favorite?
I suppose
Tim_Tam: You suppose?? Damnnnn okay
My bad 😭 didn't realize you were a big Red Robin fan
Tim_Tam: No no it's fine
Tim_Tam: Perhaps I'll have to get more to convince you
At that point just interview him. You're already stalking the poor guy.
Tim_Tam: He's finr
Tim_Tam: fine*
He paused.
Tim_Tam: For the record though, I probably could
You chuckled. Whoever this was seemed very confident they could get an interview with Red Robin. Have you even seen vigilante interviews? Maybe a statement or two here and there, but never full on interviews.
Maybe stick to your day job
Tim_Tam: I feel like you're challenging me 🤨
Nonono
Just like
I'd hate to read in the paper that Red Robin beat you up
There was a long moment of silence, Tim_Tam wasn't even typing.
Tim_Tam: Nah I can handle him
You were full on laughing at your phone by this point.
Tim_Tam: He didn't even notice me taking the photos or anything
And that translates to his fighting ability??
Tim_Tam: I mean all you got to do is get one really good hit in and he's out
Tim_Tam: he's only human
you sure of that? 🤨🤨
Tim_Tam: Positive, I think I have a shot
Well then, I await the day I see the headline
“photographer takes out Red Robin with a single hit”
Tim_Tam: Oh yeah that'll for sure be the headline
Tim_Tam: I'll personally get the photo for that story. Send a photo of it just to you to prove myself
Do you always look for validation from strangers on the internet??
Tim_Tam: Do you always judge the photos of photographers on the internet??
do NOT pin this on me, you asked me to pick between the two :(
Tim_Tam: mhm
I wasn't even being critical of them, all I said was that I liked the second one better
Tim_Tam: I believe your exact words were that they looked “cooler” and “felt more personal”
I didn't say the other ones were bad though!! I'm pretty sure I said they were the BEST photos of Nightwing and Robin I've seen so far
also
Tim_Tam: ?
You hesitated. Was this being too casual with TimTam? The two of you seem to be getting along fine, but you hadn't asked him any truly heavy questions.
I was just curious— feel free to not answer— but are you planning on posting the Nightwing and Robin photos?
Somehow, you felt as if the tension rose at your question. TimTam diidn't immediately respond. There was no indication that he's even read your message. Then you saw the bubble. Typing. Not typing. Typing.
Tim_Tam: No
Tim_Tam: I can't
Absentmindedly you tapped the side of your phone, eyebrows furrowing.
Ah okay
The response was lame, and both of you knew it. You silently berated yourself for ruining the atmosphere. TimTam didn't respond after that. He didn't react to the message, but you still saw that he was online. Resigned, you slowly put your phone back on the nightstand. Shutting your eyes, you twist your body in the opposite direction of the device. Out of sight, out of mind—
Bzzt!
Your phone's vibration caused you to freeze. No, no. You needed to sleep. It might not even be TimTam. It could've been a random email that you'll never look at. Even if it was TimTam, it was completely understandable if you didn't respond, given how late it is.
However, curiosity did kill the cat.
You turned over, slowly grabbing you phone. You had zero expectations (at least that's what you told yourself). TimTam was probably asleep too. It's not like you two were close enough to be chatting casually this late.
Tim_Tam: It's not that I don't want to don't get me wrong
Tim_Tam: It's just that something happened, and I can't do it
Without thinking, you opened the message. Damn it, he's going to think you're a loser, immediately coming online the moment he messages you.
No need to justify yourself, I get it
I'm glad that you decided to share the photos you've taken with me though
TimTam paused, but his next reply had you reeling.
Tim_Tam: Robin paid me a visit
You felt your heart start to pound as if it was you who Robin visited. You could only imagine how TimTam handled the situation. How did he neglect to mention that?!
Are you serious??? Thought you said that he and Nightwing weren't aware you were photographing them?
Tim_Tam: So
Tim_Tam: How do I say this
The responses were rapid, you could feel TimTam's unease through the screen.
Shoudl I be concerned??
should*
Tim_Tam: Would you believe me if I hypothetically said I sought out Robin
like you took more photos of him??
Tim_Tam: No like I talked with him
He did what?
Tim_Tam: And hypothetically he said that the photos must never be seen by the public
hypothetically did you agree??
Tim_Tam: kinda??
oh my gosh are you going to be on a vigilante hit list?
Tim_Tam: I don't think that's a thing 💀
you THINK? the same guy who THOUGHT Nightwing and Robin weren't aware of you??
Tim_Tam: TECHNICALLY they weren't, I just wanted to show them the photos get their thoughts
…my guy this is on you why would you TELL them??
praying for you 🙏
Tim_Tam: Are you still implying that Robin is going to off me??
I'm JUST saying, now they know who you are
if they see any photos like the ones you took they'll know it was you
probably dox you or something idk
Tim_Tam: You make an excellent point
Tim_Tam: eh It'll be fine though
Did you get Nightwing or Red Robin's opinion too?
It felt stupid to ask. You imagine he would've said something if he met another vigilante. TimTam took a minute to respond.
Tim_Tam: Nightwing no, Red Robin yes
Or not… What kind of guy just casually forgets to mention he met not one but two vigilantes?
What'd he say?
Tim_Tam: He thought it was cool
You stared at the message for a long moment, waiting to see if he'd elaborate.
He thought it was cool??
Tim_Tam: Yep
and that's it..?
Tim_Tam: Uhh I can't really remember
did he knock you out or something??? you conversed with RED ROBIN and can't even bother to remember what he said??
Tim_Tam: to be fair he didn't say much
You're telling me he SERIOUSLY just said “cool” and then left??
Tim_Tam: yeah pretty much
You let out a puff of amusement. What a weird world you live in. This random internet photographer you found has somehow met two of Gotham's vigilante's, been threatened by one of them, and is still acting like this isn't a big deal.
Tim_Tam: Oh and he said he didn't mind the photos
Finally, something.
Are you going to try and catch him again?
I feel obligated to preface this by saying this is NOT me encouraging you to go track down vigilantes
Tim_Tam: uhhhh
???
Tim_Tam: [Image Attached]
Tim_Tam: You're a bit too late, already caught him again
You stare blankly at the new image. It's another image of Red Robin. This time it's not an action shot. Instead, it capture the vigilante sitting casually on the edge of the building. His knee is propped up in front of him, his arm casually resting on it. The angle of this photo is different. It isn't taken from above, nor from the streets below. Instead, it's taken from the very rooftop Red Robin is sitting on. If you had to hazard a guess, TimTam took this photo from the ground of the rooftop with his camera at a low angle.
Dude did you CRAWL to get this photo???
Tim_Tam: …why would you ask that??
Cause how else did you get a get that specific angle of Red Robin?? Did you share a rooftop with him??
You pause, scrutinizing the photograph. There's a figure in the back, and upon further examination, you realize who it is.
IS THAT NIGHTWING IN THE DISTANCE???? YOU CAUGHT HIM AGAIN???
Tim_Tam: What???
There is a pause for a moment.
Tim_Tam: Huh didn't even see him lol
“Didn't even see him lol.” You weren't even sure if you're surprised anymore. All you can do is stare at the photograph with Red Robin (and Nightwing pictured in the back) in awe. For a moment, you considered whether TimTam truly asked Red Robin to pose for it. It certainly looked like it.
you ACCIDENTALLY got a picture of Red Robin posing with Nightwing in the distance???
Tim_Tam: Red Robin isn't posing what??
dude he is LITERALLY posing for the photo
There was a momentary pause.
Tim_Tam: idk it looks pretty natural to me
sure we'll go with that
You sighed, rubbing you temples. This guys has to be playing you.
Tim_Tam: damn okay fine doubt me
Tim_Tam: I'll try again
You almost felt your blood pressure spike seeing the message. What kind of person gets threatened by Robin and decides to pursue the guy? Determined, you pick up your phone, fingers flying over the keyboard.
You are not going to be a bystander in this guy's inevitable demise.
Was it an unconventional way to befriend somebody? Perhaps, but it was Gotham. TimTam seemed relatively nice, a trait found few and far between in a city like this. It helped that he enjoyed your company as well. There were many nights where neither of you could fall asleep, and the only thing keeping you up was the quiet vibration of your phone going off, signaling that he was still there.
Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, months dragged on for a year.
After a year, you’d think that you’d know a bit more about who TimTam really was. Perhaps a small slip up that leads to a meet up? Did you even want to meet up with TimTam? What if he’s been playing the long game, waiting to get your trust before inevitably killing you in a back alley, your name never to be mentioned again outside of a True Crime Story podcast in a few years. You shuddered at the thought.
Dramatic? Yes. Paranoid? Absolutely.
Still doesn’t stop the growing desire to know who he is.
Have you walked past him on the street? Maybe you went to school together? Perhaps you both frequent a place with no idea the other is there. The possibilities were endless. They were killing you, and yet neither of you brought up the topic.
The closest you got to hints was talking about the latest news.
did you see hear about those buildings that Firefly lit up?
Tim_Tam: “see” would be an understatement, closer to felt
Your eyebrows raised into your hairline.
oh shit, are you okay??
Tim_Tam: i’m fineeee
Tim_Tam: tis but a scratch
Tim_Tam: or burn
You back straightened as you sat up from the curb. Police sirens still rang out, the blaring noise causing your eardrums to vibrate in an unpleasant manner. You frantically looked over the crowd of people: officers, paramedics, examiners, victims, detectives.
Is he one of them?
You weren’t sure what he looked like. He’d been (frustratingly) vague about who he is, but, to be fair, you weren’t any more explicit.
you’re here?
The message is sent and read almost immediately. You watch as the bubble of him typing appears. On. Off. On. Off. You stare at the screen, squinting, attempting to block out the noise of your environment. For a moment, you wonder if something happened. Does he not want to answer that question?
Tim_Tam: wait you're here??
Tim_Tam: shit what are you doing here?
Against your will, your heart started pumping. The accelerating rhythm causing your hands to shake as you typed out your next message, even if— at the time— you insisted it was just the cold, damp, air of Gotham.
Tim_Tam: are you okay?
Tim_Tam: did anything happen to you?
Tim_Tam: are you still here?
You didn't get a chance to respond. Tim manages to send three messages in the time it takes your freezing hands to type half of one. You ran your finger slowly against the screen of your phone, your hands leaving imprints on the device.
not for much longer, I’m planning on leaving soon
“I’m free to go, right?” You confirmed with the paramedic on your right, looking over a young boy. The kid was unharmed, but apparently did not appreciate the examination. The paramedic turned to you, looking you up and down.
“You were already checked for other injuries? Concussions? Anything?” They slowly turned away from you back to the kid. You nodded, “Yeah, I feel fine.” You weren’t lying either. If anything, you were more shaken up then injured.
The paramedic sighed, “Alright, just make sure to rest. It’s been a long night. Take it easy for the next few days. If you notice anything, I’d go to any of the Wayne sponsored health facilities.” They pasued for a moment. “If anything, I’d recommend the clinic near Crime Alley if you want to avoid wait times.” They shined a light into the boy’s eye, “Sketchy area, but the General Hospital tends to get overcrowded fast.”
You blinked, surprised by the helpful advice. “Thanks,” you nodded slowly, “I’ll keep that in mind.” You waited there for an extra beat to see if they’d respond, but it seemed as if that was all they had to say. Slowly, you made your way around the scene, ducking under the caution tape as you attempted to find a way out of the area. Reporters and police officers appeared to be stationed at every corner of the scene, and you didn't particularly want to look at the burned down section of the Upper West Side mere blocks away from the university.
Braving the crowds of cameras it is.
Slowly, you made your way over to the least crowded corner of the scene, nodding at the officer. He returned the nod and watched you raise the caution tape and walk past the dozens of journalists and reporters.
Then you felt it.
You’re no stranger to the sensation of having eyes on you. In fact, it’s a universal experience for every Gothamite. You’d heard stories from friends who committed crimes, albeit petty ones, that even if they got away with a crime or two, they always felt like he was watching. Despite avoiding crime as much as possible (a challenge on its own), you somehow understood them.
The sensation of somebody always there.
Somebody always in the shadows.
Somebody watching.
Usually, you’d describe that sensation as heavy, looming. It was akin to a shadow being cast over you, blocking out any source of light, essentially leaving you in the darkness with nothing but your own doubts and fears. It's part of how Batman was able to have some semblance of control of crime.
However, contrary to that fear, it also provided a sense of safety. You knew you weren’t a target, you’d never be a target. That fear that’s instilled by Batman wasn’t meant for you, it was meant to help people like you.
This, though, is different.
There is no doubt in your mind somebody is watching you. Your skin prickles at the thought, yet the longer you wait for that sharp spike of fear…
It doesn’t come.
Now, you’ve lived in Gotham for a long time. Perhaps your instincts aren’t perfect, but you’d say they’re pretty damn good.
So the fact that somebody is singling you out and watching you? Your brain screamed at you that there was everything wrong with that, which made sense. It’s an assertion most people would agree with.
However.
With an almost dramatic turn, you slowly lifted your gaze up to the buildings across the street. Far enough to be safe from the fire, but close enough to have the perfect view.
You huffed, a small smile on your face.
In the distance, you saw two figures on the rooftop. While it’s hard to deduce the exact builds of the tem, what you could see were the colors.
You could also tell that one of them is looking directly at you. After seeing who knows how many Red Robin photos in the past year (courtesy of Tim), you concluded that Red Robin was most definitely watching you from across the street.
Yep, this is normal. Perhaps Red Robin knows that Tim sends you the photos he takes of him.
You slowly raised a hand up, hesitantly waving at him.
For a moment, nothing happened, and you felt a tad bit stupid for waving at a vigilante and expecting him to wave back. Awkwardly, you lowered your arm, grabbing your phone out of your pocket to check the time. Shutting your phone back off, you shifted your eyes up, expecting the vigilantes to have vanished (something you’ve heard they’re notorious for).
Instead, your mouth parted in surprise as Red Robin slowly waved back at you.
You blinked slowly at the vigilante in the distance in sheer disbelief, not physically reacting otherwise. Almost as if he’s embarrassed, Red Robin slowly lowered his arm back down. The two of you stared at each other for a moment longer before, inevitably, something else caught his attention. His head tilted away from you, and you watched as he turned to face Spoiler and Black Bat (when did Black Bat get there?).
You used the opportunity to slowly raise your phone up, zooming your camera in on the small group of vigilantes before snapping a photo.
Tim won’t believe this.
Tim did, in fact, believe you.
Truthfully, he was… not as impressed with you as you were with yourself.
Tim_Tam: lowkey?? why is the quality pixilated 💀
I’m sorry I don’t walk around with a professional camera around my neck???
Also what happened to “man that was really scary” and “I hope you’re okay”
Tim_Tam: man that was really scary
Tim_Tam: I hope you’re okay
Tim_Tam: quality could be better tho (genuinely glad you're okay though)
damn I’m sorry not all of us have vigilantes on call to do photo shoots with
I tried my best and I was lucky I even got that shot
you know he WAVED at me
thought he’d ignore me
Tim_Tam: Why would he ignore you??
idk maybe he’s like “eugh look at the civilian waving at me like a loser”
Tim paused for a moment.
Tim_Tam: why does he sound so mean in your head??
oh right mb, forgot you're the #1 RR apologist
Tim_Tam: okay now THATS an exaggeration
is it though??
Tim_Tam: very much so yes
if you say so
You snorted, putting your phone on the nightstand and turning the lights off before you nestled yourself into bed. Gotham's freezing weath showed no mercy tonight, and the warm blankets made you brain leap with joy, sending tingles throughout your body. Your phone was charging, the night was young, you’d actually sleep well tonight, and—
The light of your phone flashed, blinding you temporarily. The accompanying vibration didn’t help because now you knew it was Tim. Huffing, you turn your body away from the device that attempts to lure you in.
You needed to go to sleep early, you had an eight AM the next day. You couldn't afford to lose sleep talking to—
The light from your phone manages to light up the whole room, even if you’re not facing the source.
Okay, you will check the phone once to turn the brightness down. You would not read the messages. Tim would understand. You have to sleep, being a responsible adult and all that. With a slow, deep sigh, you reached over to grab your phone, squinting when you realize just how bright it was. That’s when you saw the messages:
Tim_Tam
Would you want to meet in person?
Sent 3m ago
Tim_Tam
Sorry that was really abrupt
Sent 1m ago
Tim_Tam
Just ignore that lol
Sent now
You had never sat up so fast from your bed, and that’s including the times he sent you those photos of the Bats the first few times.
Tim wants to what?
You haven’t even called the guy before.
Wait you can’t just drop that on me and leave
Tim_Tam: sorry?
Where would you want to meet?
Tim_Tam: Wait you’re saying yes?
Tim_Tam: What if I’m like a creepy serial killer who befriends people on the internet and then takes them to their house to kill them?
You paused.
Are you?
Tim_Tam: No but like
Tim_Tam: how would you know I’m NOT?
I can’t tell if you’re trying to defend yourself
I’m like 99% sure you’re not a killer though?
Tim_Tam: Okay but like
Tim_Tam: 99% isn’t 100%
Tim_Tam: chances are not 0
Tim
Tim_Tam: yeah?
If you want to meet, where would it be?
Tim_Tam: uhh
Tim_Tam: Robinson Park work?
Yeah I can probably head there after my classes
I’ll be done around 11
Tim_Tam: Alright cool
Was it you, or did this feel a little anticlimactic? Perhaps it just hadn't hit you yet? You waited for another message, yet the bubbles of forming messages continued to taunt you.
Tim_Tam: Sorry I gtg, we can work out more details later?
Yeah sure, have fun photographing your fav
Tim_Tam: haha you’re SO funny
I know :)
The next day came all too soon yet not quick enough. The second you opened your eyes, a singular thought implanted itself in your head:
Today was the day you were going to meet Tim.
Despite the quiz you had during your early morning discussion, and the midterm prep went over during your following lecture. Neither of the them made you as anxious as meeting Tim. As the final minutes of your lecture passed, you felt a nervous excitement run through your body.
Okay done with my classes, omw
You sent the quick text, giving him a heads up. It’d probably take you a bit to walk there, but it gave you enough time to plan this out.
Like… Do you need to worry about first impressions?
Is this a first impression?
You're technically meeting him for the first time, but it’s not like he’s a stranger.
It's... First-impression-adjacent. Yeah, something like that. You still weren't sure, but you didn't get a chance to dwell on it because you felt your phone vibrate. You didn't stop walking as you check the screen.
Tim_Tam: Hey there is something I should tell you before we meet
Tim_Tam: It’s a little important
uh oh, you’re not actually a killer right?
Tim_Tam: no, no, no
Tim_Tam: Nothing like that
Tim_Tam: but uh
Tim_Tam: My name
Tim_Tam: it’s Tim Drake
You halted. Staring at the words laid plainly on your phone. Tim Drake?
That Tim Drake? The one Bruce Wayne took in? You weren't well versed in the intricate details of the Wayne family lore, but you know about as much as any other Gotham citizen. Bruce Wayne’s parents were murdered in front of him when he was a kid, and now he’s a billionaire playboy with a known habit of adopting kids. Tim Drake is one of them. You didn't actually know much about him, but you’ve seen him on TV or on the news every now and then talking about Wayne Enterprises or something.
woah that’s crazy
I didn’t wan tot tell you but I’m actually Bruce Wayne
want to*
Tim_Tam: I’m not joking I swear
nor am I
Tim_Tam: You don’t believe me
I believe you when you say you aren’t a killer
idk about the Tim Drake thing though
Tim_Tam: should I be concerned that you somehow find me being myself is less probable than me being a killer?
Probably
Is this like a new catfishing tactic
There was a long pause.
Tim_Tam: I’m sorry what??
You could almost hear the bewilderment, and you chuckle at the thought.
oh you know
Tim_Tam: I don’t actually? Is this a common occurrence for you??
no
hence why I ask what’s with the Tim Drake catfishing tactic
Tim_Tam: I really hope it’s NOT a thing? How would it even work??
idk probably something like “Hey baby my name is Tim Drake, I have lots of money do you want to meet at the park to get to know each other better?”
Tim_Tam: I have never ONCE in my LIFE said that
Tim_Tam: I swear I am Tim Drake, we’re literally meeting in like five minutes
Tim_Tam: I promise I’m here, just meet me around the gardens
Now, was it stupid to potentially walk into such an obviously fake trap?
Absolutely.
Did you do it anyway?
Absolutely.
It wasn’t long before you had found a bench not too far from the gardens. You sent Tim-Maybe-Drake a quick update on your location. In spite of how ill-prepared you may seem to the naked eye, you did ask one of your friends to check your location and check in to make sure you don’t die.
Oh and pepper spray. Better safe than sorry.
Tim-Maybe-Drake reacted to your message with a quick thumbs up, and you fidgeted on the bench. You loosely kicked a rock with your foot, taking note of old footprints on the dirt path. As the minutes passed by, the anxiety began to creep back in. What if this was just a joke? What if you were dead-on with the catfishing Tim Drake idea? It was a strange idea, but it got you to come meet in person, didn’t it?
Somebody cleared their throat from the left side of the path, and you turn to look up.
Holy shit.
You blinked rapidly as if Tim Drake will vanish from your eyesight. He looks both the same and different from what you’ve seen in photos. Physically, he mostly looks the same, perhaps a bit leaner than you expected. He must workout, you idly note. His hair looks the same as it does in the photos, perhaps a bit more messy? It also seems too perfect in every photo you see of him.
However, the way he carries himself?
When you searching up information about a billionaire and his children, you saw what you expected online. Articles written on the Wayne children weren’t nearly as ever present as ones about Bruce himself, but every now and then there would be something.
In the few minutes before Tim arrived (you may have looked him up mere seconds before his arrival), you noticed that he looked confident, composed. He had that air about him that only comes from growing up in such a high-end environment.
On one hand, you see the Tim Drake that the media portrays. The adopted son of Bruce Wayne. A man who has clearly grown up in an environment so unlike your own it’s a miracle you even crossed paths with him.
However, you also see the hint of uncertainty that bleeds through his fleeting glances to you. The way his eyes rest on you anxiously, as if waiting for your judgment. For a moment, you consider that he was just as anxious about meeting you than you were meeting him. The prospect seems absurd, but looking at him now, you believe it.
“Oh…” You commented eloquently.
He furrowed his eyebrows, “That’s— That’s it? Just ‘oh?’”
You nodded slowly, “I mean— I… You know I had like zero faith in you.” That’s a lie, you had at least a sprinkle of faith that he was telling the truth. Not that you’ll tell him that.
“That’s reassuring. Thank you for that.” Tim replied dryly.
“You know the whole photographing vigilante’s thing makes so much sense now.” You stood up, hesitantly approaching him.
He tilted his head, “How so?”
“Only rich people would have such an insane hobby. The adrenaline rush or something I assume.” You shrugged casually, and Tim had the gall to to look offended.
“Okay, but my main thing isn’t even photographing vigilantes. I don’t even post those, and you know that.” He raised a finger indignantly. “And they aren’t even intentional anyway! I’m just lucky.”
“Luckiest guy I’ve ever met then.” You smirked, “Save some for the rest of us.”
He chuckled, “Of course, it’s my fault whenever somebody has bad luck.”
“At least you acknowledge it.” You huffed, a grin plastered on your face.
He laughs, and it hits you that this is Tim, as in the Tim you’ve been talking to day and night. That Tim also happens to be the billionaire Tim Drake, and you are having a normal conversation with him in a park in Gotham. You watch as his eyes crinkle in amusement, and you feel yourself mirroring his expression involuntarily.
You stifled your laughter, clearing your throat, “You know, I was actually worried you were catfishing me.”
He groaned, rolling his eyes. “If I wanted to catfish you, I’d have gone about this way different.” He pauses, "For the record, I do not want to catfish you."
“That’s reassuring.” You threw his own words back at him, and he sighed.
“It should be.” He paused for a moment, and the two of you continue to walk down a path. “Did you really not suspect anything?”
You blink, “About you being…” you gestured to him, and he nodded. You shook your head, “Not until you said anything, no. You don’t give ‘Tim Drake vibes’ when we text.” You did air quotes.
He let out a surprised laugh, “What— What are ‘Tim Drake vibes?’” He looked amused at the prospect.
You shrugged, “I don’t know. It’s just, when I text you, I don’t think ‘wow this guy seems like Tim Drake.’”
He nodded as if that made sense, “I’m going to take that as a good thing?”
You shrugged, “I mean it’s certainly a thing. Your call about whether it’s good or bad.”
He sighed, and you laughed at his exasperated expression. “Y’know now that I actually know you’re you, I’m surprised you actually showed up.”
His eyebrows raised in surprise, “Why would I not? I asked you?”
“You had no idea who I was up to like five minutes ago, what if I had planned this and planned on using you for ransom?” You teased, and the two of you exit the park. You weren't sure where Tim is taking you, but you’re heading back in the direction of Gotham University.
“Been there.” By his tone alone, you believed him. “And trust me I can handle myself perfectly fine if you tried kidnapping me.”
You raised an eyebrow, “If you can handle yourself so well, how come people were able to kidnap you for ransom in the past?”
He opened his mouth, glaring at you, ready to defend himself, but no words came out.
“I… Those were extenuating circumstances.” He scoffed.
“Mhm, real extenuating.” Your voice contained the utmost sympathy for him.
“And I feel like you’re mocking me.” He tutted, shaking his head disapprovingly.
“It’s okay, I probably wouldn’t have been able to escape the thugs too.” You winced, patting his shoulder sympathetically.
“That’s not—” At your laughter he stops talking, and instead stares dumbly at you, slowly blinking, as you continue to laugh at him. He released a half-amused exhale while you snickered at him for the next few minutes.
The rest of the meeting went well, very well. The two of you had instantly fell back into your familiar banter, except it was a thousand times more exciting in person. After that meeting, Tim had started asking if you wanted to hang out regularly. It was a safe distance for both of you. Neither of you got too close.
Then he invited you to one of Bruce Wayne’s charity events. It was a casual invite, it meant nothing, and you knew that. He wasn’t inviting you as a partner, but as a friend. It was a completely normal invite that had no other implications. Why would you stress over that?
It certainly didn’t help your stress levels when you realized that if you accepted you’d have to meet Bruce Wayne himself.
You had— not subtly— asked Tim if this meant that you would be subjected to the judgment of his family. He had told you that you “Don’t need to worry about that” and that “They should be the last people judging.” Both of his “reassurances” did little to truly ease your worries.
Eventually, you had accepted, attempting to dress your best. The actual event itself was as you expected. Long and filled with lots of meaningless chatter. The main joy found was snickering with Tim off to the side. You had teased him for the sheer switch in personality he would make every time one of Gotham’s elites approached you both. It was kind of jarring, the phoniness of everything here. It made you feel better every time would side eye you with a look reading “Get a load of this guy.”
It reminded you that somehow you had worked into one of the highest circle’s in Gotham without even knowing. Seeing him turn to you, relieved to have somebody who knows him?
It may sound silly, but it made you feel good, like your friendship actually means something.
Your gratification at the prospect was short lived. Quickly replaced with the familiar stress of meeting Bruce Wayne. Tim reassured you that it would not be as bad as you were imagining, and that he’ll like you. You didn’t share his confidence, but you appreciated his optimism. You ignored the idea in your head that this could be interpreted as you both dating.
Cause that’d be stupid.
It turns out that Tim was right though. Bruce was actually not as bad as you expected. He was a bit brash and you definitely forced some laughs in the conversation, but he seemed to approve of you the second that Tim introduced you. You didn’t miss the look that he gave Tim when first introducing you. Tim never mentioned it afterwards, and while you were curious about it, you didn’t feel the need to bring it up.
By the end of the night, he had introduced you to most of his family, and— like Bruce— they all seemed to like you. The consensus seemed to be positive, which was what you were hoping for. After leaving your final introduction with Duke, Tim had placed his hand on your shoulder with a grin as if saying “See? You lived!”
After that event, you had assumed that meetings with his family would be few and far between. Perhaps for a social event every now and then, but you didn’t expect to start seeing them regularly.
It felt strange at first, like visiting someone’s house for the first time and always having to go through the unavoidable phase where you practically tip-toe everywhere, not wanting their family to hate you.
It was that but tenfold.
Tim had welcomed you in, soon followed by Steph and Duke. You felt more at ease the longer the four of you spent time together. By the time it was time for you to return home, you had practically forgotten your earlier worries.
It quickly became routine. At least once a week, you’d come over to hang out at the Manor. Sometimes Steph would be there, sometimes some of his brothers would be, and sometimes it’d be just you and Tim. As time went on, you started to hang out with his family without him, and you quickly found yourself recounting stories about Tim over girl’s night with Steph, Cass, and occasionally Barbara. You had told them how the two of you met, and somebody must have talked because you had received texts from Tim the next day saying that everybody was making fun of him. You felt a tad bit bad for him, but both of you seemed more amused than genuinely angry.
You were happy.
It seemed like everything was going right for once. You were doing well in university, your job was paying the bills, and you had a group of friends you truly liked being around. Your life felt normal, and that felt good.
Obviously, that normalcy didn't last for long.
You got out of the taxi, walking up the stone steps as you put your phone away. Unfortunately, registration this semester was not kind to you, and you ended up with a lecture at seven in the evening on a Friday.
Not ideal.
You had debated skipping this class, but you told yourself that you’re going to do the responsible thing and show up to class. After all, with finals coming up, you didn’t want to make any risks that could lead to failure.
The lecture itself was the same as always. You had definitely spaced out a few times, and the dim lighting of the room combined with the slow tone of the professor was not helping one bit. By the end of the lecture, it seemed like everybody was eager to go home, and the professor had even let the lecture end ten minutes earlier.
Instantly packing up all your notes, you had promptly left the building. The chilling breeze of Gotham immediately hit you, and you sighed realizing it had begun raining. Typical Gotham weather strikes again.
You had attempted to stay under any roofs you could, but eventually you were forced to venture out into the pouring rain. Before reaching the main streets, you had taken a shortcut. A shortcut you had taken hundreds of times in the past. It was a lot less crowded, and did a better job of shielding you from the rain.
Weaving around puddles on the ground, you attempted to get out of the path as fast as possible. All you could think of is that warm taxi that would be awaiting you at the end of this alley. The end was in sight, but that vision crumbled before your eyes when the resounding blow of gunfire echoed in your enclose space. It caused you to flinch, and you immediately spun around, attempting to determine the source of the sound. You didn’t see anybody behind you, so you came to the dreadful conclusion that it came from your intended destination.
You slow to a stop, is it worth just pushing forward and attempting to run for the first taxi you see? You already made it this far, and you’d have to retrace your steps just to take the alternative path. Sighing, you move to turn around when four men in balaclavas entered the alley, running like their life depended on it. Fuck.
“You think we lost em?” One of them, still looking back, asks. He turns to face you, and you stare at each other awkwardly.
“Scream and we put a bullet through you.” Another one hisses, raising his gun to point at you. Your heart thumps against your chest as you silently raise your hands, nodding.
They don’t separate as they each point their gun at you, slowly moving around you. They keep their eyes trained on you, and you aren't entirely sure which one to look at. They eventually made their way around you, and you were stuck in this awkward stalemate. They don't move to lower their guns.
“We can’t just let her go! She’s gonna run out and yell for someone!” One of them whispers to his friend.
“So what're we gonna do?” He whispers back.
“We can kill her?” Another one suggests. Please no. You bite your tongue to keep from saying something stupid.
“No, no, bad idea. The Bat will be on our ass if we leave a body behind.” A different one responds.
“So what? We just knock her out?” One of them gestures to you with his gun.
“Probably the best idea. We’re taking too long to debate this, somebody knock her out.” The one next to him points to you. You let out a sigh of relief, at least they won’t kill you. Maybe you can get away with just pretending to get knocked out and waiting for them to leave?
“Alright, I can do it.” One of them approaches you and raises the butt of his gun. He’s about to strike down, when he is flung against the wall, startling all of you.
“Who the hell?!” A thug cries out, raising his gun, finger twitching on the trigger. You instinctively cover your head and hunch over as he swings his gun to point to you. Once you realize he’s not aiming for you, you turn your gaze from the ground up to your savior.
Red Robin? Huh, what are the chances?
You watch as he effortlessly disarms the goons before sweeping two of them off their feet. Red Robin rushes to pin them back down, but one of them uses the opportunity to strike the vigilante just above the eye with the butt of his gun. You wince, hissing in sympathy. Red Robin barely reacts, instead giving them a quick strike to the head, silencing their yells.
You feel yourself relax as you watch Red Robin turn his head to the remaining thug. He’s attempting to run away, and Red Robin pulls out a grappling hook before launching it and yanking the guy back. “Please man! Let me go!”
“Not a chance.” Red Robin replies dryly before knocking him out, similar to the guys before. With all the threats neutralized, he turns to face you for the first time. Instinctively, you stand up straighter.
“Are you okay?” He asks, shifting on his feet under your gaze.
Huh, you didn’t expect him to sound like that. You weren’t sure what you expected, the voice modulation wasn't a surprise, but his tone is somewhat discernable. You had expected something similar to the grittiness of Batman or even the charismatic confidence of Nightwing.
If anything, you’d say Red Robin sounds just as awkward as you feel right now.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” You nod, “Thanks.” You smile at him.
He returns the nod, “Yeah, of course.” He nods at you, and you smile at him. For a beat, neither of you say anything.
Well, this is going great.
“He didn't hit you too hard, right?” You break the silence, and Red Robin gives you a questioning frown. You gesture up to your own forehead, around the area you saw him get hit.
“Oh, that,” he mirrors your action, offering a small smile. “Nothing I can't handle, barely even noticed it.” He waves off your concern.
You nod, accepting that answer. “Were you the one who was chasing those guys?” You ask, and you want to smack yourself for the stupid question. Obviously he was the one chasing them.
“Hm? Oh,” he blinks down at the unconscious thugs, “yeah that was me.” He confirms. “They mention me?”
“Not by name. They just said they were being chased.” You watch as he grabs a bag off one of the thugs.
“Ah,” he clicks his tongue, “yeah that was me.” He’s not really facing you, but you can tell he’s smiling.
You purse your lips, unsure how to proceed with the conversation. Do you just leave? As you look over the scene, you notice something glint out of the corner of your eyes. You turn to Red Robin, but he isn’t looking at you. Hesitantly you approach the object, and you crouch down to look at it. It’s one of those Bat-shaped objects that the Bats carry on them.
Carefully, as if it's fragile, you pick it up. You’re surprised at first. It’s heavier than you expected, but you suppose that makes sense. To be able to do damage, it’d have to have some weight for something so small.
“You want to keep it?”
You jump as Red Robin’s voice suddenly appears right next to you. He raises his hands up, and gives an apologetic smile. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No worries.” You offer him a small smile before returning your gaze to the object. “Don’t you guys need these things?” You wave it up.
He shrugs, and the action is so normal that you want to laugh. “Batarangs?” Huh, that’s what they’re called. He waves a casual hand at you, “We have plenty. Plus, we lose them all the time. You can keep it.”
Your mouth parts, and you’re about to open your mouth when he adds on. “Consider it a souvenir.” He grins looking down for a second before reaching to rub his back, meeting your eyes again as he massages himself. You watch as his eyes flicker over your form, looking up and down.
You freeze.
Not because of the Batarang, but because of the actions.
He chuckles at your appalled expression. “I mean you don’t—” he abruptly stops speaking before letting out a deep sigh.
His sigh only causes your jaw to drop even more, yet he doesn’t notice. He mouths a quiet “Sorry” before turning away from you, speaking to whoever is calling him.
You aren’t sure what he is talking about or even who he is talking to, but you’re hit with what may be the most insane conclusion you’ve ever reached (even more insane than Tim attempting to catfish you).
You steel yourself before turning your full attention to Red Robin. He’s restless, shifting on his feet in a way that tells you that he’d rather be pacing at the moment.
There’s no way your hypothesis is correct.
Red Robin sighs again, and you see him place his hands over his mask. You narrow your eyes at the action.
It’d make sense though.
You’re willing to chalk up a few shared mannerisms to just basic human traits. A couple makes sense, that’s normal. Now if you add the fact that Tim has been the best photographer for the vigilantes you’ve ever seen?
That’s a little more suspicious.
Then if you add on the fact that he has confirmed that he’s conversed with Robin in the past?
Your eyes are locked onto Red Robin, and he must feel your piercing gaze because he turns towards you. He seems to be taken aback by your blatant staring, but you can’t even help yourself because how else do you process this? He tilts his head, and you offer a strained smile in apology before averting your gaze.
The reason he couldn’t post the photos was because the vigilantes asked him not to.
The reason he could take the photos wasn’t because he had insane luck.
You watch as Red Robin shifts on his feet once again, before tilting his head up to the sky in an exasperated motion. The action uncannily familiar.
Holy shit.
You don’t a chance to process the revelation because the reason Red Robin was looking up quickly becomes evident. You jump back as Nightwing lands casually behind Red Robin and in front of you.
He turns to face you and for a moment he looks startled by your presence before he smirks. “Ahhh, I get it now.” Nightwing grins as Red Robin slowly turns to face him. “Real important stuff to handle, huh?”
“Can you not—” You watch as Red Robin furtively glances between you and Nightwing. “I did handle stuff.” He gestures down to the unconscious bodies below, "As you can see.”
Nightwing nods, “Yuh-huh,” he places his hands on his hips as he turns around to look at the entire scene. “I’m sorry, Miss. Is this guy bothering you?” Nightwing gives you a shit-eating grin, and yup.
If you didn’t know that Red Robin is Tim before, you certainly know now. Dick looks nearly the exact same, and for a moment you ponder how people have never connected him with Nightwing, especially with the devious grin he is giving you now.
“I am not bothering her! I just sav—”
“Ah, ah, ah,” Nightwing raises his finger and shushes him softly, and you have to look away in order to avoid laughing. “Let her speak for herself.” Nightwing gestures to you in a slight bow.
Yeah, Tim. You snort as Red Robin takes a deep breath in order to calm himself. You offer a small grin to Red Robin, and he keeps his gaze trained on you, “He wasn’t a bother. He saved me from these guys. In fact—” you raise the Batarang up, “—he gave me a souvenir.” You grin at Dick.
He lets out a surprised bark of laughter before turning to Tim, who refuses to look at either of you. You think you can hear Tim mutter “Oh my God.”
“Aw, givin' out gifts to civilians now?” Dick teases Tim.
Tim groans, and you think you can see him turning red. You feel a little bad for embarrassing him in front of his brothers, but this reaction makes it all worth it. “I’m leaving.” He declares before launching his grappling hook up to the railing at the roof above you. He gives you one last look, a minuscule nod, before leaving.
You and Dick watch as he leaves before he turns back to you. “You are actually okay though, right?” He reaches out to put his hands on your shoulders before stopping and awkwardly putting them down.
You smile at Dick, nodding. “Yeah, I’m alright.”
He nods, “Well, get home safely. I’ll handle these guys.” He gestures his thumb down to the thugs on the ground. As if on cue, one of them begins to groan as they wake up. “You might wanna stay down, bud.” He gives you one last glance before winking and turning back to the thugs on the ground.
You watch him for a moment before walking out of the alley and waving down a taxi. You tell him your apartment complex, and look out the window. You rest your head on the window as you watch Gotham pass by you. You feel yourself truly relax for the first time in an hour before immediately stiffening.
How the hell are you going to tell Tim?
The day of the dinner arrives sooner than you’d like.
You are no closer to figuring out how to tell Tim that you know. You debated just texting him, but quickly threw that suggestion in the trash. Bad idea, terrible idea.
You pace your living room back and forth, trying to calm yourself. It’s not even dinner you’re worried about. What if you act oddly? Tim will definitely figure it out if you are fidgeting every five seconds. You must act normally, that can’t be too difficult? Just don’t think about it. It’s not like Red Robin or even Nightwing will come up in conversation with his family, right? That’s not really a dinner table topic.
Yeah.
You’ll be fine.
Just act normal—
Tim: I’m here
You swallow as you grab your items, giving your apartment one last look over, before exiting. You find Tim waiting in the parking lot, and you make eye contact through the windshield. He raises a hand, giving you a small smile, his other hand is lazily tapping the steering wheel.
“Thank you again for doing this.” Tim smiles gratefully at you as you step into the passenger seat. You attempt to smile back at him. You observe the interior of his car.
Hm. Red. Interesting. Almost like Red Robin—
You chuckle, more out of nerves than any actual amusement, “Yeah, no problem."
He pauses, giving you a long look before laughing softly. “Don’t be nervous. It’s relatively painless, and Alfred is making your favorite.”
You smile at the thought, “How’d you convince him to do that?”
Tim smacks his lips, “Let’s just say that my dignity isn’t in tact anymore.”
You raise an eyebrow, “I thought you didn’t have much of that?” He takes his eyes off the road for a second to give you a decidedly unimpressed expression. You return it with a smile, “I mean you practically had to beg me to show up with you—”
“Woah, okay.” His eyebrows shoot up, “First off, that wasn’t begging—”
You pull out your phone, “— ‘I'd literally get on my knees and beg if I could’” You recite his words to him, reading the text directly. When you look up, his face is a light red. You try and catch his eyes, but he is stubbornly refusing to meet your own, instead focusing on the road. “Sound familiar to you?”
He remains silent for a bit. “I— Uh— Well, no. I never heard that before.”
“Mhm, sure.” You lean your elbow against the side of the car, propping your face up. His eyes flicker over to you, and he somehow gets more red. He looks you up and down for a brief moment, and while Tim usually does that, you did notice that Red Robin also—
Nope. Do not think about your best friend’s alternate vigilante identity while in the car with him. Stay focused.
The remainder of the ride is filled with light banter, your teasing provides a reprieve from your thoughts. It’s not long before you both pull up. “Master Tim.” Alfred greets Tim before turning to you and greeting you in similar fashion. “A little birdie told me to put your favorite on the menu for tonight.” Alfred offers a small smile, and both you and Tim stiffen.
Oh. Bird puns.
Yeah, Alfred definitely knows.
“Aw, thank you, Alfred. I think the little birdie knew I wouldn’t have come otherwise.” You nudge Tim teasingly. For a moment, he doesn’t react and you wonder if he’s even breathing. “Right, birdie?” You lightly nudge Tim again.
“Yeah, uh— mhm?” You frown at the reaction. Tim shifts on his feet, and waves you off casually. “Sorry, just uh— dinner, you know? Got me stressed?”
You nod, narrowing your eyes at him slightly, “Right,” you turn back to Alfred, “Thanks again, Alfred.” You grin at him.
“My pleasure, Miss.” He inclines his head to you, “Now, if you’re ready to greet the others.” He turns around, tossing a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure you and Tim are following.
“Look who finally showed his face— Oh,” Steph abruptly cuts herself off.
“Hello to you too.” You respond dryly, taking a seat at the table.
Steph grins at you, “Hello!” She greet you before glaring at Tim. “You know what you’re doing.”
“Yep.” Tim replies dryly. He takes the seat across you, he offers you a small smirk.
“And you know we can’t do anything about it.” She huffs, shaking her head disapprovingly.
You nod solemnly, “I was informed that I was bait.”
Dick chokes on his water, “You told her that?”
“I did not tell her that.” Tim furrows his eyebrows at you, raising his hands in surrender. “She reached that conclusion on her own.”
“Is that all you told her?” Duke asks, raising an eyebrow. He looks between you both.
“Yes.” Tim nearly hisses, eyes wide as if saying “Not one more word.” He clears his throat, sparing you a quick glance, and releases a long sigh, “Is Bruce here, yet?”
“You’re attempts to change the topic at hand are futile.” Damian looks between you and Tim, evidently bored.
Dick frowns at Tim before sighing, “No… He had some last minute business to take care of. He’ll be a little late.”
“Perfect.” Tim abruptly stands up, and your mouth parts, taken aback. “It’s getting kind of hot in here. I think I need a minute. I— Uh— Do you wanna head up for a bit until Bruce shows up?” Tim turns to you.
You furrow your eyebrows, if he needs a minute, why is he asking you to come with him?
“Sure?” Tim is already walking around the long dining table, he raises his hand to gently guide you away from everybody before you get a chance to say anything else. “Isn’t this rude?” You whisper to him, his hand is still guiding your back.
“Not with them. That kind of rude doesn’t count.” Tim huffs, and you two begin the familiar trek to his room.
You release an amused huff, “For you. What if they think I’m rude or something?”
Tim spares a glance at you, as if the idea you presented is absurd. “They’ll just blame it on me.” He shrugs. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’ll deal with it later.” He rubs your shoulder casually, offering you a smile that tells you he’s used to this.
You furrow your eyebrows in concern, “If you say so…” You trail off, hesitant. He gestures for you to enter his room. The space is familiar. You’ve been here many times in the past. However, never had you known that Tim is Red Robin during those times. Your eyes survey the room in front of you. Nothing is different about it (why did you expect there to be anything different?). You slowly make your way over to his desk, a few pieces of scrap paper lay on it. Nothing incriminating. You frown looking over the contents of the paper.
Tim appears at your side, “You okay?” He asks, following your gaze to the paper.
You nod, turning to him, “Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?” You pace the room for a beat before planting yourself onto his bed, something you’ve done a million times before.
He looks you up and down, and you resist stiffening under his scrutiny. He must’ve found something because he frowns. He opens his mouth to say something, closes it, then slowly walks over to you. “I… Sorry, was asking you to come for dinner too much?” He sits down next to you, and his gaze falls down to your hand on his comforter.
You blink, looking off to the side before returning your attention to him. “No, no, it’s fine.” You shake your head, “It’s not something I haven’t done before.” You shrug, attempting to offer him a reassuring smile.
Tim’s frown doesn’t change. “You don’t actually have to do this if you don’t want to… I know I was kinda joking about needing you here, but if there’s something—”
“Tim, there’s nothing wrong. What gave you that impression?” You feel your heart race. Does he know that you know?
He meets your eyes, your heartbeat pounds in your ears, and his eyes trail down to your shoulders. “I… You just seem—” his eyes look off at something off to the side, “—distracted, is all.” Your lips part, and his gaze returns to you. “You don’t have to say anything. This isn’t me trying to pressure you into telling me if something is up.” He rambles, shaking his head.
You heave a sigh, “It’s— I don’t think you want to know, Tim.”
Perhaps that’s the wrong thing to say to a detective because Tim— despite his attempts to be sympathetic— also has that spark of curiosity in his eyes. He trains his eyes on you, as if expecting to you to continue. When you don’t, he hesitantly responds: “If— and again, this is not me pressuring you— If it helps you get something off your chest, then I will always be here to listen.”
You swallow, looking toward Tim, “That’s… Thanks, Tim. I really appreciate that.” He nods, offering you a smile, and slowly inching his hand closer to yours. You pretend not to notice. “Are you sure you want to hear what I want to say?” You whisper softly to him, smiling nervously.
He blinks, “If that’s what you wish,” he changes his focus from your hand to your face, “then yes.” He gives you a disarming smile.
Your smile grows, “This is your last chance, Tim.”
His eyes lighten up, “Well,” he chuckles, “I’m not planning on changing my mind.”
You smile, leaning closer, and Tim mirrors the action whether he knows it or not. His chest rises and falls, slow, and you look into his eyes. The blue diminishing by the second as its replaced by the growing size of his pupil.
“Do you remember the other night?” You keep the same quiet tone, the words are meant for him— and him alone.
Tim’s eyebrows raise, evidently not expecting that, “What?” His words are breathless, but still ring of confusion.
“I just… I appreciate you helping me out.” You smile at him, watching as he processes the information.
“Yeah…” He slowly nods, eyebrows furrowed. “Yeah, that… It’s no issue it all. I…” He runs a hand through his hair, his eyes are turned away from you. His eyes gloss over the ground. He must remember that you’re watching because he suddenly turns to look at you tight-lipped smile. “Yeah...” he trails off, “Could you remind me exactly what I helped you with?”
You chuckle at his attempts to play it off— and failing. “Oh, come on, Tim.” You tilt your head at him, “You remember. You gave me the souvenir.”
You can see the exact moment his soul leaves his body.
He doesn’t instantly react. Instead he stares at you (or, more accurately, through you) unblinking. At his lack of a functioning reaction, you worry that maybe this wasn’t the best idea to go about this. After all you still have to sit through dinner after this. You aren’t even sure if he’s breathing when his smile strains in a way that almost looks painful.
“What?” His voice is quiet, as if incapable of mustering up any more volume.
Your purse your lips, taking a deep breath. You don’t get a chance to respond because he continues. “I… I haven’t given you anything— I think I’d remember if I gave you a souvenir.” He laughs, slightly hysterical. “You might be thinking of somebody else?”
You sigh, slowly reaching your hand up to his chin. Tim immediately stiffens at the contact, as if afraid him moving would deter you. A small smirk grows on your face when you realize how red Tim is at your touch. Gently, you move a few strands of hair out of his face, and he doesn’t stop you. They were covering up a specific spot, and while it appears Tim did try to cover up the bruise he received from the other night, he did not do a clean enough job.
“That’s,” he swallows, “That’s uh— I fell off my skateboard.” He doesn’t attempt to move your hands away from his face.
“Mhm,” you hum disbelievingly, “in the same spot Red Robin got hit, right? You two skateboard together?” You tease lightly.
“Well, I—” he clears his throat, leaning away from you, and you don’t try to stop him. “I… think?” He presses his hands onto his face, shielding his face from your view.
You frown, amusement evident in your tone. “You don’t know?”
He shifts his hands slightly, peaking through his fingers to look at you on his side. “I… You know, maybe you were right that I didn’t want to know.”
You let out an startled puff of air, “Oh,” you begin slowly, “now you heed my warnings?”
He avoids your eyes, smacking his lips. “Okay, fine, but how did you figure it out?” He asks, resting elbow on his knee. He props his head up, rubbing his forehead as if to remove tension.
“You share mannerisms with Red Robin.” He squeezes his eyes shut at the mention of his alter ego.
His jaw drops. “There’s no way you figured me out just because I acted kinda similar. I had a voice modulator!” He whisper-yells.
You nod, “Well, yeah, initially it was just suspicion. Then Dick showed up.” You watch as Tim mouths the words “Oh my God.” You smile sympathetically at Tim, “Yeah, I don’t know how anybody who looks at Nightwing for longer than a minute doesn’t put two and two together.”
“So what you’re saying is that it’s Dick’s fault.” Tim furrows his eyebrows at you. His hands aren’t covering his face anymore.
You frown, “You sent me photos of yourself.” Tim instantly gives you a look of horror, and you watch as he begins to turn red again. “Uh— I mean you were posing for the camera as Red Robin.” You elaborate, and Tim looks no less embarrassed.
“Okay,” he holds a finger up, adjusting his position on the bed next to you. “I did not pose for the camera. I just took a photo of whatever I was doing at the moment.” He grumbles.
You nod, “Modeling, apparently.” You quietly respond, at his glare you smile back at him. “I kept the Batarang by the way. It’s sitting in my room.” His glare softens at that, and he looks at you for a beat before flopping onto his back. The action causes the bed to jostle a little bit. You follow suit, turning to face him. “I wasn’t gonna tell anybody, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He turns to face you, and the two of you are inches apart, “That wasn’t my worry. It never was.” He whispers back.
You use your arm as a pillow as he continues to stare at you, “Then what is?”
He doesn’t immediately respond, but when he does his words are soft. “I didn’t want you involved in this.” He begins. “I… I don’t want you getting hurt because you know me.”
You let out a long exhale, “Tim,” you start, reaching for his hand, “if I didn’t want to be involved, I would’ve stopped the moment you started ‘chasing after vigilantes’ for photos.” You chuckle as he sheepishly looks away at the mention of his escapades. “I like being around you, Tim. That doesn’t change just because you go out as Red Robin every night.”
He swallows, squeezing your hand, “I… I like you—” He hastily cuts himself off, “—I like being around you too.” He smiles at you, and you feel better seeing that familiar spark in his eyes. “I… You’re not mad or anything right?”
You furrow your eyebrows, “That you like me?”
Instantly, that spark is replaced by pure unadulterated horror. He sits, startling you, “No! I meant the—” at your laughter, the tension leaves his body, and he releases a soft puff of air before slowly settling next to you again. “You know what I meant.” He scoffs, but it appears more endearing than anything.
You chuckle, smiling at him, “I’m not upset, Tim. If anything it makes sense. I was wondering how you always had such clear photos of the vigilantes. Oh— Terrible way to hide your identity by the way, going around and taking selfies of yourself.” You watch as he lightly glares at you before settling down closer than he was before. “And your terrible sleeping schedule makes sense now.”
He smacks his lips, “Okay, but I have an excuse. You—” he lightly points an accusing finger at you, “— do not.”
You grin, grabbing his hand, pressing it against the soft mattress of his bed. You adjust your position, ready to defend yourself, “Oh, really—”
“Father is here. He requests your presence—” Both you and Tim jolt as if caught doing something illegal before turning to look at Damian. To nobody’s surprise, he looks wildly unimpressed (and perhaps a little disgusted) by you both.
“Damian, can’t you knock?” Tim groans, brushing off imaginary dust off himself.
Damian’s eyes linger on your hand laid casually over Tim’s. Slowly, you remove it, and Tim frowns down at his lone hand. “I did knock. I took your lack of response as permission for entry.”
“I don’t think that’s how that works… like at all.” Tim stands up, and you follow suit.
Damian eyes you both accusingly then huffs. He whips around before shutting the door behind him, leaving you and Tim there standing awkwardly.
“We… We better get down there. He’s going to tell everybody.” Tim looks over to you, eyebrows creased in worry imagining what might be conversed at the dinner table. You nod solemnly, that would not be ideal.
“Lead the way, Birdie.” You walk up to his side, and Tim freezes at the nickname. You release a loud laugh at the reaction.
“You’re lucky I don’t have time to address that.” He narrows his eyes at you, but there’s a smirk on his face.
“Aw, I knew you like me.” You grin, nudging your hand against his own.
He lets out a long sigh, and his smile turns soft. “Yeah,” he swallows, “I do.” He clasps your arm, and you give him a blinding grin.
A/N: Maybe I should just start up a collection of “civilian reader scaring the shit out of her boyfriend after figuring out he’s a vigilante but being unsure how to tell him so she goes about it in the most stressful way possible for him.” We’re going 2 for 2 and I absolutely LOVE this trope.
Anyway, sorry this took a while! I have one more final then I’m FREE! I absolutely LOVED this idea, and I really hope I did it justice. Online friend!Tim Drake has so much potential and it’s definitely an idea I wouldn’t mind revisiting in the future. As always, feel free to let me know about any major errors :)!
Funny thing, I actually had to write some small headcannons for myself of some random traits I think Tim would have so that Reader could inevitably realize Tim = Red Robin. If you guys wanna see that let me know, they aren’t very long, but you might notice a few things if you go back and reread it :)!
Tim Drake Taglist: @sebstancevanss @gaychaosgremlin @koibleufish
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Want to be added to one of my taglists? Fill out the form here or leave a comment asking to be added under my DC Masterlist post :)!
Dick was the one who found the photo album. He, Jason, Cass, Tim, Duke and Damian were tidying the attic. A punishment given by Alfred, and approved by you. It was for a mixture of being careless on patrol, sneaking out when banned from patrol the night after, and a build up of disobedience.
The only reason Bruce wasn’t up there with them right now, was because he claimed he had “important work” to finish, but you promised the children that Bruce would join them shortly. Plus, Alfred remarked that the Christmas decorations needed to be found up there anyway.
Dick pulled the album out of an old box, and opened the cover to be met with a photo he had to blink twice to figure out properly.
It was very obviously you in the photo, but much younger. You looked like you were college age, standing with a group of girls that were clearly your friends, judging by the arms around each other.
After flicking through a few more pages, Dick held it out and called, “hey look, it’s all old photos of mom.”
Damian’s head appeared from above the small wall of junk he had built while searching through the different piles. He made his way to Dicks side, stepping over whatever Tim or Jason had carelessly tossed over their shoulders. “Let me see.” He demanded, before humming a little as Dick lowered his hands.
Cass had appeared at the other side of Dick, also interested in the pictures of her mother. Duke had also made his way over, equally as interested. Jason shrugged, deciding that it was definitely better than continuing to clean and walked over. Tim was also interested, wanting to see any picture that he wouldn’t have seen when he was doing his previous research.
When they properly turned each page of the album, they found that the pictures started when you were a baby. There was a picture of you, small with chubby cheeks blowing spit on a birthday cake with a big ‘1’ decoration on it.
A couple of pages later, there was a picture of you, a couple of years older. You had hair that was just past your shoulders, flashing small teeth in a smile with one missing in the front. There was a small note underneath the picture that said “First day of school.”
First school play. Graduating elementary. First day of middle school. First day of high school. Prom, homecoming, and you with your diploma. You throughout different years crouched by a Christmas tree or you with different costumes through the years on Halloween.
That was the first half of the album.
Dick flipped the second half, when you had started college and most of the pictures were now taken by you or your friends, rather than your parents. They varied from different locations, from parties to your dorm room.
In one picture, you’re taking a shot with one of your friends, the clock in the background showing that it was 2:30AM. “And she tells me not to stay out too late.” Jason rolled his eyes, but had no real bite to his words. “She was cool.” Duke said, his voice laced with awe.
When Bruce made his way up the ladder to the attic, the album was open on a page that showed a picture of you getting ready for some event. You had rollers in your hair, and a bathrobe on as you beamed at the camera. The lighting made your eyes sparkle and your smile shine. There was a different look of happiness that the children hadn’t seen on your face. You looked much more carefree, and you had the look of someone that could never fathom the horrors the world had to offer you. It wasn’t that you weren’t happy now, it was just clearly different back then.
“What are you all crowded around?” Bruce asked them, making each of their heads fly up to notice him.
“A photo album of Mom.” Tim answered him before swiftly turning back to the photo album.
When Bruce cast his eye on the photos of you, he didn’t look surprised. A small, easy smile appeared on his face. Cass reached out to flip a couple of more pages, and they reached the section where you had clearly just started your relationship with Bruce.
The picture was the two of you in a kitchen that looked very different from the one in the Manor. Even though it was barely seen in the background, it was clearly smaller, with much simpler looking furniture. You were both dressed in pyjamas, the morning light coming knocking through the window in the background.
The camera was held in your hands, just the upper half of your bodies shown. You were making a face at the camera while Bruce wasn’t even looking at it. His eyes were closed, his lips pressed to your cheek as he stood behind you. Bruce looked younger too. He had some lines on his face, and there were a couple of scratches on his shoulder from presumably the previous night as Batman. But still, younger.
Bruce’s fingers reached out, eager to see more pictures of the two of you from the past. That’s when they heard somebody else enter the attic.
“Are you all doing alright up here?” Your voice was heard before you found them huddled around something in the middle.
“Grayson found an album of you.” Damian answered, already taking a step towards you as you joined their huddle.
You smiled upon seeing the different pictures of you when you were younger. There was a picture of you when you first appeared at a gala with Bruce. Your face was smoother back then, the crease between your brow not yet there. you weren’t yet aged with the stress of having a husband who likes to throw himself into danger every night, and six children who did the exact same.
“I was fairly pretty back then.” You said, “Been a while since that was a relevant fact, though.”
Bruce’s head immediately turned to yours at your words, his mouth opening. But a couple of people got there before him.
There was a chorus of outraged sounds, shouts of confusion and overlapping voices of siblings that don’t know how to speak in turn.
“Absolute nonsense.” The smallest boy at your side said, shaking his head. Damian was acting as if you had gotten a simple question wrong on a test. “You were beautiful then and equally beautiful now.”
“Exactly.” Tim nodded. “You’re gorgeous, mom. The amount of camera flashes when we’re forced to galas should prove it.”
Cass had slid herself close beside you, so that your arm subconsciously went around her. She shook her head at you too, before saying quietly, “very pretty.”
Dick looked downright horrified at your words. “How could you even think that?” He said. “Mom, you’re literally inspiration for like, five different clothing brands.”
“You’re stunning.” Duke declared. “In all these pictures you are. And you are now.”
Jason also tutted. He looked pained to agree with all of his siblings, but he had no choice. “Saying nonsense.” He muttered. “You’re beautiful, ma, always have been and always will be.”
You were silent for a moment before you smiled. “Thank you.” You said, a little sheepish. You pressed a kiss to the top of Cass’ head and ruffled Tim’s hair. “You know how to make me feel special, anyway.”
They continued fussing over you before you eventually reminded them to return to their ‘punishment’.
Later that evening, Bruce found you in your shared en-suite bathroom, washing your face before bed.
He stared at you for a moment, letting that indescribable feeling settle in his body again. Even after years of marriage, gentleness is still unfamiliar to him. He would’ve stayed there for hours if you hadn’t noticed him.
You caught his eye in the mirror before turning to him, “you okay?”
Bruce just nodded before walking the few steps to put his arms around you. “i’m okay.”
and that was enough.
“they’re weren’t lying earlier, you know.” he mumbled into your hair. “when they said you were still beautiful. you are. you’ve always been.”
You smiled against his shoulder. “thank you.”
And Bruce took every opportunity he could to remind you of it. because it wasn’t just your face that Bruce found beautiful, it was everything.
How you loved and cared for his children, how you put up with him and his late nights for years, how you cry and laugh at movies and books, how you treat Alfred with kindness and respect, how you were able to bring in so much love into his life when he thought it wasn’t possible, how you held him even when he couldn’t admit he wanted to be held.
Bruce Wayne might be the best detective in the world, but he’ll never figure out how you didn’t see how gorgeous you are.
How'd you think the batfamily would react to walking into the living room and seeing Damian and a reader, who hate each other's guts, just cuddling and sleeping (PLATONICALLY) on the sofa?
TOTALLY PLATONIC
batboys x reader (gn!reader no Y/N)
Clark Kent x Reader (gn!reader no Y/N)
Includes: Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, and Damian Wayne
Synopsis: Your relationship has always been hard to explain. This is only worsened by the fact that you both keep getting caught in seemingly compromising positions. Despite what their friends and family say you swear that YOU AREN’T DATING.
A/N: Oooooooooh, yes. I see the vision and I am so down! but I can’t leave my other boys out of it! So it's an ask for one get five free kinda situation. I hope this hit the mark you were looking for Rokosbasalisk! Also, I was feeling particularly prickly when I wrote this so I think the reader is a bit sassier than normal.
Bruce Wayne:
You've worked with Bruce Wayne for a long time.
Known him for even longer.
So, you've been involved in quite a few last minute plans to maintain both of his identities.
This is easily your least favorite.
You were already late for the WE press conference, and then someone grabs your forearm and pulls you in the opposite direction.
You don’t automatically recognize him by the back of his head, but you do recognize his voice, “You're late.”
Okay.. Rude, “So are you?!? And the conference is that way” You point attempting to redirect him.
He shakes his head continuing the walk towards (you assume) his office.
“I need a cover.”
You look him over as he drags you into his top floor office.
He turns around and then you see it.
He. is. a. mess.
Eye black still prevalent around his eyes, obvious dark bruising on his neck, hair every which way, white button-up slightly buttoned wrong, and the Pièce de résistance his ear is actively STREAMING blood.
You feel your eyes widen to a cartoon level, “Did you come straight from patrol?”
“Scarecrow, can I?” He gestures in your direction and points to the desk.
You glance at the desk and sigh, “Ya, I guess. Someone is looking for you right, we aren't just making Gotham wait for kicks?”
He lifts you onto the desk before stepping between your knees.
“That executive with the greying hair and mole on his neck.”
You roll your eyes, “Paul? That blabbermouth. Oh that's lovely, another rumor about inappropriate workplace relationships between the CEO and the COO.”
He nods, "That's what I am counting on.”
You remain in this position before Bruce perks up, "He's coming. I’m gonna-”
“Go ahead”
He kisses you hard and fast, slipping into the playboy persona instantly.
This isn’t the first time you’ve been “caught.”
It probably won’t be the last.
You both have gotten good at this.
Maybe… too good.
The door opens and a voice that is definitely not Paul rings out, “Bruce, they have been waiting for y-.…I’m going to pretend I did not see that.”
The door shuts as quickly as it opened.
And you don’t think you have ever seen Bruce move so fast.
That was definitely not Paul. That was Tim Drake.
Bruce speeds out of the room after his son.
You know what.
Maybe you should just skip the press conference today
Clark Kent:
You make it a point to avoid Superman at all costs.
You never really thought about it until your friend Clark brought up all the bad luck surrounding the man after the latest world ending event that ended up with your capture.
So, you both agreed to avoid the man.
Which is not great for either of your front page spreads, but you get paid the same regardless.
You decide to tackle political topics instead.
Laws, jail time, police affairs.
Not as glamorous, but it still matters at the Daily Planet.
You end up traveling to the UN to cover the latest political powder keg which is of course when the Joker decides to become the Ambassador to Boravia.
So, here you are kidnapped (again).
It seems like your “stay away from superman” idea held no water at all.
You’ll have to update Clark when you get out of this.
The thick rope rubs your wrists raw as you hear a large thud above you.
You contemplate that this should be significantly more terrifying.
*Thud*
You have survived aliens, monsters, and psychotic billionaires.
*Thud*
If anything, dying to a deranged clown is just embarrassing.
Speaking of, the joker is easily thrown by Superman causing a third thud and a wave of applause erupts from the other captured journalists.
Lovely! This gives you the chance to call Clark before he can freak out.
You don’t get more than 5 steps before being swept off your feet in an almost bone crushing hug.
*Cameras click frantically*
You freeze.
He also doesn’t move, but refuses to let go.
“Mr. El, Superman, Sir. Can I help you?”
You feel his deep stuttering breaths against your chest.
His breathing stutters when you say his name before he whispers, “I don’t care what the reporter said. Don’t avoid me.”
How… how did he? You don’t think you've talked about Superman with anyone but Clark…
He puts you down gently and you get a chance to watch his face.
It’s familiar…
But something is wrong.
No, it can’t be.
Superman clears his throat and addresses the crowd avoiding the gaggle of questions, “Be safe, and don’t all run for the door at the same time.”
And then he flies off. Leaving you with thirty journalists who just caught a very damning photo of you and their favorite super hero.
This… is gonna be a long ride home.
Dick Grayson:
“It’s not a date?”
“It’s not a date.” Dick replies.
You nod “So, we are going to a Michelin star restaurant…”
“Yep”
“Completely alone…”
“Absolutely”
“On Valentine’s day” You apply airquotes, “To spy on the waitress”
He nods
“Who you believe is a shapeshifting criminal who is wanted in 30 states.”
“There you go! Not so hard to believe right, bug!”
He is pulling out the grade school nicknames now he wants this bad.
“You’re paying right?”
He scoffs, “Bruce is paying.”
“Fine. I’ll go”
- Later-
You watch as the waitress cleans up the soup she just spilled all over the dining tiles, “Wow Dick, she truly is a criminal mastermind.”
Dick glares at your amused expression, “What master criminal would be a good waitress! If anything I think this furthers my point.”
She drops her notepad in the soup.
“Of course, how foolish of me.” you say, taking a small drink out of the glass of water in front of you.
“Jason gave me the tip off. I swear I got the right waitress.”
The glass freezes on your lip and you raise your eyes to look at him startled, “Jason? Tried to help the bat family with a tip… Willingly?"
Like a light, Dick starts frantically looking around the restaurant.
Three booths over sit Jason Todd and Damian Wayne, watching the two of you like a live sporting event.
“Did you do something?” you ask as you see Jason takes a photo of the two of you.
Dick puts his head in his hands, “Tim and Damian have a bet going on who can convince Bruce that we are dating first. Jason appears to have been dragged into it as well.”
Jason, ever the little brother, holds the photo out in front of him like a trophy
You wave at the two boys before turning back to your “date”
“Why?”
Dick shrinks a bit,
“Bruce likes you.”
He sighs.
“He’s funding the bet.”
You nod again feeling like you might need something stronger than water
“So this is a date?”
He sighs and nods, “This is a date”
Jason Todd:
You’ve never been to the manor before.
Jason always says it brings back bad memories.
Which is why his invite to family dinner seems so random.
“I need help finding a source in the Wayne library for the case I am working on, and I’m not sure if I can handle any of my family without a buffer.”
You hum, “Nothing like being compared to bowling equipment.”
He levels a look at you, “Please? I’ll let you swipe a book.”
“Any book?”
He nods
“Alright, fine.”
The manor is somehow larger than you imagined and Jason must have warned Alfred about your arrival because a place setting is prepared with everything someone could possibly need to eat a meal.
You sit down next to Jason, and in the family’s credit a whole five minutes passes before the questions start.
Damian, of course, cracks first, “Will you be joining us for dinner more often? Todd is much more manageable with you here.”
“Manageable?” Jason asks glaring at the teen.
“You and father haven’t yelled across the table at each other yet. So, yes I would say manageable.”
You knock your foot against Jason’s under the table, “No, Damian, I am just here to help Jay research for a case.”
Bruce, likely trying to be nice, says, “Well, any partner of Jason is more than welcome here.”
You decide at just the wrong time to take a drink. Causing you to inhale your drink.
“We are not dating,” Jason says.
“We are not dating,” you quickly agree.
The entire table goes silent.
No one looks convinced.
Then the entire table speaks replies at once.
“Really,” Cass questions, “Your body language is quite close for friendship.”
Bruce: “My apologies for assuming”
Dick: “Please, I doubt that.”
Tim: “Are you sure. Have you asked them?”
Duke: “Huh, I never even got to meet Artemis but they get to come to family dinner as friends.”
Damian: *huffs in disbelief*
Jason stands up abruptly, grabs your hand and starts pulling you away from the table towards the library.
Alfred in the distance calls, “I will bring you and your… guests, food to the library Master Todd.”
Jason mutters under his breath, “Ignore them.”
He tightens his grip on your hand slightly.
“They read into everything.”
The last thing you hear from the table before the library door shuts is faint but somehow the most damning.
“Seven minutes,” Damian says.
“A new record.”
Tim Drake:
Tim always claims that he feels more relaxed when he can see you.
Which is how you end up 9/10 sleeping on the couch next to his computer.
This has never been an issue in the past, you wake up in the morning and force Tim to take a nap before you head out for the day.
However, no one has ever walked in while Tim is gazing at your sleeping form.
“Ooooooohhhh, look at Timmy and his new beloved.”
Conner Kent.
Tim quickly shushes him, “We are just friends.”
Con pulls back in surprise, “No Timtom, we-” he gestures between the pair, “are friends and I have never caught you looking at me like that.”
Tim deflects, “Maybe I do and you just don’t notice.”
“Nice try Timbo, I’d notice if you looked my way like I hung all the stars in the sky. So when are you gonna ask them out?”
Tim shakes his head, “It’s not like that, Con.”
Conner hums in disbelief and looks at Tim’s screen filled with security footage, files, and various documents.
He points at a tab with your name “Do friends have a tab dedicated to possible love interests?”
“That's not what that is.” Tim argues.
Con tips his head before turning back to the computer, “Really? What is it then?”
Silence sits for a moment, “Possible threats.”
Con laughs, “I would be ten bucks that you have that guy they brought up last week on that list.”
“He looked at them weird. It was suspicious.”
Con hums again, “I’m sure he was. Do me a favor Timothy.”
Tim yields and turns to face his friend, “What?”
“Swipe them up before someone else does.” Con winks and flies away laughing leaving a slightly ill Tim Drake.
Con winks and flies away laughing leaving a slightly ill Tim Drake.
The room is quiet again.
Tim turns back toward the couch.
Unfortunately for him, you are no longer asleep.
Your eyes are half open and fixed directly on him.
“Possible threats?” you mumble sleepily.
Tim freezes.
“…It’s a very thorough list.”
You blink slowly.
“Did you rank them?”
Tim stares at you.
“…Yes.”
“Wow,” you say, already drifting back to sleep, “That’s either extremely flattering or extremely concerning.”
Tim replies softly “Anything for a friend”
Damian Al-Ghul-Wayne(aged up):
You do not like Damian Wayne.
To be honest, it's closer to loathing than dislike.
He's loud
Egotistical
And has a superiority complex that could reach the top of the batcave if he tried.
Damian Wayne is not particularly fond of you either for very similar reasons.
Both of you are also extremely boisterous about your dislike of each other
So, when Dick Grayson and the other members of the Bat Family walk in with Damian and you very closely cuddling on the couch, they know something is up.
But, first things first.
PICTURES (they take so many pictures for blackmail later.)
Damian’s arms are firmly wrapped around you while your head lays on his chest. It creates a perfectly domestic scene that would be endearing, if not so out of character.
After, somehow, avoiding waking you both up.
Rumors begin to fly
Dick: “I told you they were dating!”
Barbara: “Cuddling doesn’t mean they are dating”
Dick points dramatically at the sleeping pair, “You wanna tell me they aren’t dating?!”
Duke: “Dick, you have seen those two fights. That isn’t a type of arguing that you can kiss better”
Jason smirks in response: “It sure looks like they did.”
A cacophony of vaguely disgusted sounds emerges from the group.
This is what wakes you up.
You choose to ignore the loud bickering between his siblings, choosing to keep your eyes closed until you are better acquainted with your surroundings.
You feel heavily disoriented, What happened? Where are you?
You had your late anatomy lecture last night.
The group project.
With Damian Wayne
You were forcefully partnered with Damian for a group project by your professor who said, “One skill both of you need to learn is how to get along with people you don’t like.”
Hence the unfortunate pairing, but that doesn’t explain how you fell asleep on this couch.
You were learning about the spine.
Trauma to the spine to be exact.
It happened so fast. Damian's intake of breath, he got up for a drink suddenly.
He didn’t come back for a long time, so you went to look for him.
Eventually, you found him on the fire escape having a panic attack.
It’s startlingly unlike Damian.
Messy. Quiet. Still edged with his usual anger.
You eventually lure him inside making use of his hyperventilation claiming you are afraid of him falling.
You get him on the couch and hold his hands
(Despite his attempts to convince you to stop “babying” him)
You both sit like that for a while before leaning back into the couch.
You fall asleep fast after that. Unsure of what else happened.
The bickering has settled, giving the perfect chance to interject.
“If this is what Damian wakes up to every morning, no wonder he's so grumpy all the time.”
He huffs.
Turns out he's been awake a while too.
You quickly stand up ignoring the nosy glances of your peers' siblings.
Stephanie laughs out loud which earns a sharp look from the man of the hour.
“Bold words from the person who cut off the circulation in my forearm after passing out.”
You nod and grab your belongings before waving at the highly amused family and a disgruntled Damian, “Now that is my key to leave.”
He stands up fast and walks you to the door.
It's fast and barely legible even from your close proximity, “Thank you… for last night,” he mutters quickly.
“It was unnecessary. But not… unappreciated.”
Before you can respond, the door shuts firmly in your face.
As you walk away, you hear someone ask, “You two done pretending you hate each other?”
superbat with jealous superman is SOOO delicious. lets say justice league is revealing their identities and superbat are already together. batman is the last to go, and when he reveals himself, everyone who is surprised is like “no. fucking. way.” because you mean the HOTTEST, most BEAUTIFUL man in gotham (and maybe even the world) BRUCE WAYNE is BATMAN?
so the next couple weeks at the justice tower, anytime batman is in the room or simply walks by, oliver and hal just kinda watch him with awe on their face and a slight blush. (along with the other members, but they’re the first bystanders victims)
superman notices and pats them on the back way harder than he knows he should. (when dealing with humans)
hal: OWCH- what the hell supes? did you wake up on the wrong side of the sun, or something?
oliver: i think you dislocated my shoulder-
superman: whoops! just wanted to say hey!
then he pulls them close and whispers into their ear, his smile never leaving his face. whatever he says makes hal and oliver freeze and immediately shake their head up and down, before they walk (run) away.
another incident happens where batman’s cowl is slightly damaged, revealing his left eye and cheek. aquaman rushes to cover his face to hide his identity, but superman notices the flustered look on his face. quickly finishing up with whoever he was fighting, he bolts over at top speed.
superman: hey uh, i got him- so- hah, no worries!
superman kindly nudges aquaman out of the way, and uses his cape to cover batman.
(he doesn’t notice he knocked aquaman 20ft away, thankfully being caught by flash)
soon, after a couple of incidents like this happening, the jl has come to the conclusion: superman is very protective of batman. and the best part, is batman has no single clue. after every incident, he looks at superman with confusion on his face, and superman just smiles and kisses him on his nose.
How'd you think the batfamily (+Clark) would react to their s/o using their capes (or part of their costume in Jason's and Dick's case) as a blanket?
I Am Not Leaving Anytime Soon
batboys x reader
Clark Kent x Reader
Includes: Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, and Damian Wayne
Synopsis: He’s been gone the past few days, saving the world and keeping everyone safe. But, in the process you came down with the flu. It’s not earth shattering, and not important enough to distract your partner when there are bigger issues. So, you wait, but now he comes back home to find you wrapped in his gear running a fever.
A/N: LOVE IT, but I did add a little more to it. I hope that's okay, I have come down with a bug of some sort and tbh, I am relishing in the thought of sick fic cuddles. Also, Nightwing gets a Nightwing Teddy Bear because I thought it was a little odd to be cuddling a spandex suit.
Bruce Wayne
It was supposed to be cold.
Not… whatever this is.
Bruce and the kids are off doing something with the JL.
They’ve been gone for the past two weeks.
Bruce has given minimal updates, but you can tell from the ever growing anxiety on his forehead that the stakes are pretty high.
He missed a call from you.
Which means whatever they’re dealing with is serious.
This is why you and Alfred agreed to keep your illness under wraps.
The family does not need their one civilian member complaining about a runny nose when aliens were about to blow up the moon.
You both figured it would pass by the time they got home.
This was a miscalculation on your part.
Alfred has been taking good care of you (despite your attempts to convince him to take a break)
Soup
Blankets
Nightquil
The whole nine yards, but something Alfred can’t supply you with is Bruce.
Bruce always says you’re his anchor.
But right now?
you feel like you’re floating, like you need him there to tether you back to the manor.
Your solution?
His old batman cape.
He kept it in the cave as backup in case the ‘superior’ one gets worn down
But this one is your favorite: It’s broken in. It smells more like him than the cave. And it’s heavy.
For the first time in what feels like weeks, you have successfully gotten more than 3 hours of sleep all thanks to this cape.
Things will be better from now on, you can feel it.
That’s how Bruce finds you when he gets home.
You look so small under his cape.
Like a child playing in their parent’s closet.
Your cheeks are bright red and you are firmly wrapped around yourself shivering even under the dense fabric.
He knows something is wrong before he even touches you.
On his extended missions, you are always prepared for his return.
Even if Bruce had no idea when he would be back.
You had everything prepared down to the minute.
This… is far from normal.
He quickly throws his suitcase to the ground and rushes to your side.
You are warm, too warm.
He needs to get you up and your temperature lowered.
“Darling, I need you to wake up for me.”
You groan and turn away from his hand, pulling the cape up farther to your nose.
He pauses.
His cape, the cape he uses to strike fear into the minds of Gotham's criminals and as an omen of vengance…
Is currently being wrapped around you like something precious.
For a brief moment, he considers letting you sleep.
Let the cape remain what he always dreamed it would become for just a moment longer.
‘But-’ he thinks ‘I am selfish.’
He needs you more than his vision at this moment.
Bruce chooses you.
So, he picks you up
Cape and all and walks towards the bathroom.
He wets a small rag and pats it across your forehead.
You wake with a start, but quickly settle into his touch.
Bruce, in a tone barely above a whisper, mumbles, “You should have called me.”
You shake your head before leaning against him, “I knew you'd come home eventually.”
You stay like that for a while as Bruce continues to try and bring your fever down.
His cape ends up on the tile floor.
And you finally wrap your arms around the real thing..
Clark Kent:
Day four of your illness is the straw that breaks the camel's back.
Perry sends you home at 8:05.
You should have seen it coming.
Clark did promise that he was going to snitch if you ever put yourself in danger on purpose.
So now, you are in bed.
Mad at the world
Mad at Perry
Mad at your body
And mad at your boyfriend for caring more about your physical wellbeing than your front page news spread.
There is one more thing you are mad about, that you can’t cuddle your boyfriend while you’re sick.
So, you come up with a solution.
Originally, you were just going to find one of Clark’s college sweatshirts, but then you found it.
THE cape.
It's the perfect blanket.
You carry Kal- El’s cape back to your bed and promptly take the best nap ever.
Your last thought was, “Okay, maybe I did need today off…”
Hours later, Clark comes home to find you wrapped like a mummy in his cape.
You’ve been fighting this infection for days… and avoiding the doctor in the process.
So Clark is beyond relieved to see you finally taking care of yourself.
He’s also a little proud when he realizes you chose his cape over every other blanket in the apartment.
You didn’t reach for a blanket.
You reached for him, or at least the closest version of him.
So, he makes the decision not to wake you.
You do have a slight fever, but it's nothing dangerous, and if he wakes you there is no promise that you won’t throw yourself back into working.
He decides to join you on the bed, delicately wrapping himself in the cape as well.
There’s nowhere else he’d rather be.
You don’t wake up until later that evening.
You feel his arms around you first.
Then the wave of embarrassment hits…
You sit up fast,
promptly yanking the cape off both of you.
“Hey- I was using that.”
You make it about six steps before the sudden movement makes you feel a bit faint.
“Hey, Hey, slow down.” Clark sits up and guides you back to the bed.
You lean against him, the cape still firmly in your arms, “Sorry… I didn’t mean to use your cape.”
He shakes his head and lightly kisses the top of yours, “You can use my cape however you want to, sweetheart.”
You disagree, “No, the cape means hope and goodwill. Not… being used as a comfort item when I’m sick.”
His face shifts to a state of confusion, “Well, it’s my cape. And I think you using it is exactly what it was made for. I’m sure Ma would be fine with it.”
“I’ll have to ask the next time I go to Smallville.”
Not taking the bait, Clark simply drags you back against him and gently lays the cape back over the top of both of you.
He whispers, “How are you feeling?”
You sigh, “I’ve definitely been better, but it's nothing I can’t handle.”
He squeezes a little tighter, “I don’t want you to have to handle it. I want you to let me help.”
There it is.
“I could have worked fine, I would’ve been at my desk all day.”
You feel his head tilt slightly against yours, “I can’t believe that. I may not have a human body, but I have helped Ma and Pa before when they were sick. I know when you are at your best. I just want you to feel better.”
You nod, “I know. I just struggle to see the point of not working because of an illness. It will pass one way or another. I might as well work while I recover.”
“Recovering and surviving are two very different things.”
You yield, “Okay… I will stay home tomorrow.”
Clark melts into the bed and your back, “Thank goodness. Hey, I can even leave out another one of my capes if you want?”
You hit him lightly with your hand, “Shut up!”
Dick Grayson:
Despite what he claims, Dick is a helicopter mom when it comes to people he cares about being sick.
This is why you didn’t tell him about it.
It's a cold
An awful, horrible, soul-breaking cold.
But a cold nonetheless.
Give it a week and you will be right as rain.
But you hit an unforeseen issue.
Hiding something from one of the world’s greatest detectives is damn near impossible.
So, you avoid him.
Not enough to be obvious, but enough so you can lie in your own misery in peace.
You also forgot that he has a key to your apartment.
Dick walks in one evening with flowers and a very well-written apology note… considering he’s not sure what he did (thank you very much) and finds you passed out with a small bear dressed just like Nightwing.
He pauses at the sight, his favorite person cuddling a small version of himself, before looking around the apartment.
Tissues. Medicine. Too many blankets.
And a thermometer sitting right next to you on the couch.
You are sick- and have been for a while.
Brushing aside the hurt, Dick decides to do the next best thing.
He was going to make soup!
Okay… he tried to make soup.
You wake up to the smoke alarm blaring and a very panicked Richard Grayson running around your kitchen.
You don’t even take the blanket off your shoulders, or remove NightBear from your arms, as you walk over and take the “soup” off the burner and open the window.
Once the smoke alarm stops its screaming, you glance over at your boyfriend.
He winces. “I saw that you were sick and I wanted to help.”
You sigh but nod and drag him away from the stove and back towards the couch.
Your immediate plan is to go back to sleep- and prevent any further arson attempts.
He, however, has other plans, “When was your last dose of medicine? I can set it up while I order some soup.”
You groan in response and cuddle back up on the couch, bear and blanket still in tow.
“I will take that as a while ago. I’ll be right back.”
You were in for it now.
He manages to brace himself behind you on the couch and forces you to sit up so you can take the medicine.
You've mostly given up on falling back asleep when Dick asks, “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped.”
Your voice sounds rough even to your own ears, “You worry.”
You feel him reel back, “Of course I worry. I love you and I would never want you to be sick. I don’t think NightBear here could make sure you take your medicine and buy you very delicious soup.”
You lean back against him and turn to smile at your partner, “You are jealous of a stuffed animal version of you?”
His hands shot up, “Well he knew you were sick before I did!”
You hum and gently put the small bear on the ground before turning into his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck.
“Prove to me that you're a better cuddlier and I won't ‘tell’ him first next time.”
He pauses. “Promise?”
You laugh into his neck, but feel his grip tighten around you, “Yes I promise, can I sleep now?”
He kisses your temple, “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
As you settle into his arms he looks down at the small plush bear and thinks, “You didn’t call me, but you still reached for something that looked like me”
Jason Todd:
Jason has quite literally gone to hell and back.
The last thing he needs to worry about while out with the Outlaws is his partner being sick at home.
Roy, Jason, and the others have been planning this trip for months.
You weren’t going to be the partner who ruined it just because you needed support while you were sick.
So you keep up appearances over the phone and secretly buy every medicine you can find from the pharmacy without raising suspicion.
You don’t even realize you’re wearing Jason’s jacket until you drop the bag of meds on the bedside table.
The coat rack is really far away and it smells just like him.
Smoke, gunpowder, and vanilla, his smell, lulls you into the sweetest kind of calm.
So you don’t move much for the next few days.
Then Jason gets home earlier than you expected.
He wasn’t expecting a welcome party, but you not being awake at 5 p.m. on a Friday is vaguely concerning.
He makes a quick sweep, running through possible scenarios.
Then, gun in hand, he sees you lying half-dead in his jacket on your bed.
What the hell happened?
He rushes over, convinced this is some sick message, but you seem fine.
Weak. Pale. Breathing a little shallow.
But alive.
He kisses your forehead, you are burning up.
“Doll-” he shakes your shoulder, “I need you to open those pretty eyes for me.”
You do, slowly.
Your eyes are glassy from the fever, but awake and aware.
Now that he knows you’re, relatively, okay,
Jason switches tactics, not quite able to keep the anger out of his voice., “Why didn’t you tell me, Doll? I could have been home days ago.”
You blink up at him, almost convinced this is a dream, “Didn’t wanna bother you.”
His hand moves up and down your arm- through his jacket.
You didn’t call him.
But you still reached for something that smelled like him.
“Bother?”
You keep talking, “Roy was so happy to work with you again; I didn’t want to slow you down-”
You were spiraling.
Jason starts to tune out your excuses and look at the medicine you bought.
You don’t have any food or water nearby.
Looks like you tried to fight it off with nothing but spite and cough drops.
He gets up and walks out of the room without a word.
In your sleep-addled mind, you’re convinced this is it.
The end of your relationship.
Surprising you all the more when he walks back in with soup, orange juice, and a book.
“Jason! I’m so sorry”
As you attempt to mend an unburned bridge, Jason notices how you cling to his jacket.
It became a lifeline while he was gone.
“Doll, here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna make sure you eat this soup—”
(he glances at you)
“and I will feed it to you if I have to- then we’re gonna talk about you thinkin’ you’re a burden. Okay?”
You stop talking and carefully grab the bowl.
He gets in on the other side of the bed and gently pulls you into him.
You finish the bowl and lean your head lightly against his chest.
“You are not, and will never be, a burden to me.
I need you to know that.
I’ve lost a lot of people over stupid shit.
You being sick? That’s not stupid.
Roy could have dealt with me not being on that mission.
But, I could not have dealt with you not being here when I got back.
Gotcha?”
You nod.
“If you need me, call me. I’ll be there.
I do it to you all the time and it’s time I return the favor, okay?”
“Okay.”
Tim Drake:
Tim knows you well, well enough to guess you’re getting sick before you do.
Except this time because you are in your hometown for a visit.
It's not awful, but it's bad enough that you don’t go home on time.
So, much to the surprise of both yourself and your family, he lands the private jet in your town and comes to pick you up.
After a lengthy conversation with your parents, Tim is finally allowed into your room.
He finds you asleep, wrapped in his cape.
You are definitely coming home.
He gingerly gathers you and your things, makes an awkward goodbye to your parents, and brings you aboard the jet.
(You will make him apologize later, don't worry)
While you’re still wrapped in his cape, he tracks your symptoms: your breathing patterns, your temperature, your heart rate.
After coming up with an in-depth recovery plan, Tim sits next to you and studies the cape.
He noticed it had gone missing but never thought to ask.
You probably took it to feel close to him on the trip.
He’s thankful you did because at least he can feel like he has helped in some way.
He should have been there.
You wouldn’t have gotten sick if he’d been there.
He’s gotta make it up to you somehow…
“Tim?”
He shakes himself out of his stupor, “Welcome back, baby. Sorry for the change of scenery.”
Your glassy eyes look around the Wayne Jet.
You’re not entirely sure how you got there, but his guilty smile tells you enough. You decide to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“I can’t believe you flew a private jet to pick me up because I have a cold.”
Tim shrinks back, equal parts surprised and offended, “The batcave has the most up to date medical equipment in the world. I wasn’t going to let you ‘wait it out’ when I could fix it.”
“I bet my folks loved that.”
“It… took some explaining.”
You nod and bury yourself deeper in the cape.
His fingers trace the seam of the fabric, ““You know, I could’ve given you something less conspicuous than a vigilante cape. A sweatshirt… or something.””
You shake your head, “This is easier to hide. My folks just thought it was a blanket, and I didn’t really wanna have the whole ‘billionaire’ talk with them yet.”
Tim nods.
An alarm goes off on his watch.
He perks up and walks over to the side of the jet grabbing a small pill bottle and a bag of saltine crackers.
“Take these, and I brought crackers if you haven’t eaten anything today.”
You don't sit up and look skeptically at the pills, “You set alarms?”
Tim smiles and pours the pill into his hand, “If you think this is bad, I have a quarantine zone set up in the cave.”
You tilt your head at him, but start to sit up, “Aren’t you afraid of catching whatever I have?”
He scoffs, “I don’t get sick. And if I did? Sounds like an excuse to stay with you longer.”
You take the pills out of his hand, “Ah, how foolish of me.”
This was going to be quite the weekend.
Damian Al-Ghul-Wayne(aged up):
Damian Wayne is a med student and a vigilante of course he can see through you, even if you are lying to yourself.
Over the past few days, Damian has noted the following:
Shallow breathing.
Stuffy nose.
Persistent chills.
Exhaustion.
You are ill, and likely to get worse, but you refuse to accept it.
He has questioned you about your health, repeatedly, but you refuse to accept his conclusion.
In the beginning, he merely thought you were trying to convince him that you were fine, but now he realizes you’re trying to convince yourself as well.
Damian has come to a decision: he will be dragging you to the manor tonight, regardless of your qualms.
He opens your apartment door and finds you fast asleep turned away from the door wrapped in his robin cape.
He had given it to you after he had outgrown it as a memento and a sign of attachment, but he never expected you to use it in this way.
He doesn’t wake you immediately
Just stands there, staring at you wrapped in his cloak
Then:
“Tt. You are terrible at deception.”
He touches your forehead.
You have a moderate fever.
This disrupts his plan.
Sleep is what you need most right now.
He decides to allow it.
In the meantime, he plans to make himself useful in order to make your apartment a more liveable space while you are ill.
He cleans for a while and then sits down next to your slumbering frame.
The cape, he has never fully understood sentimentality. Not until you.
You needed him, as a shield or protection from this illness.
If he were in your position, he would have done the same.
You stir and gently attempt to push off the cape, “Damian… how long have I been out? This is so embarrassing.”
He grabs the edges and pulls it back into place.
“Do not remove me from your life when you need me most.”
It has a double meaning and you both know it.
You take his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.
tangentwithtanner
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