♡ Pairing: Michael Olise x black!actress!reader
♡ Summary: During an interview, Michael leans in and almost kisses you, which causes him to go viral on social media and the internet realizes he may not be as nonchalant as they believed him to be.
A/N: inspired by that moment in that one Tomdaya interview
♡ Content/pairing: fluff, sfw, down bad Michael
♡ Word Count: 1.1k
It all started with one innocent interview. Or what should have been an innocent interview.
You and Michael had graced the cover of GQ magazine; you were the new IT couple. Everyone wanted to know about you, about how the actress of the moment came to date the footballer of the moment. Especially knowing Michael said he watched no movies or series.
The questions had been genuine and honest, never chasing gossip and sensationalism. You were asked about your inspirations, your future projects, or your careers, and how you each managed to balance them with your personal lives. You were in the middle of answering the question when it happened.
"It's hard, sometimes, but we make it work," you said. "We call each other often, and I live with Mikey when I'm on a break. We try to limit the distance as much as we can."
You shifted in your seat, leaning slightly to the side to adjust your posture. Michael, whose gaze had never left you as he drank in every word you said, found himself lost in your eyes when they crossed his. For a split second, the set vanished. The interviewer was gone, the technical crew was gone, the world stopped.
And in that split second, Michael's body subconsciously leaned towards you as if he was about to kiss you. And he was. He was about to kiss you. Until he quickly caught himself, playing it off as if he needed to adjust his posture as well.
But it was too late. The interviewer noticed. The technical crew noticed. And especially, the internet noticed.
The second the video was uploaded to GQ's channel, that specific clip went viral across all social media. TikTok edits, Instagram posts, and Twitter reactions. During the interview, you hadn't even realized it happened until your friends and family sent you the video, amused by the bit.
Olise's socks @/goatlise • 20h
Is it me or was Michael about to kiss her? 🤨
🗨 149 ⇄ 5.1k ❤︎ 60.8k
Y/Ndefender @/YNpeopleprincess • 20h
It's not you, he was def about to kiss her 🤭
PYTs don't do drama @/dancingqueen • 18h
He was so ready to risk it all, I can't with him 😂
🗨 39 ⇄ 1.3k ❤︎ 20.5k
Odyssey lover @/ftbgirlie • 17h
Look at how happy he was after he nearly French-kissed her in front of the whole world. He's so insufferable
Olise truther @/ladyinyourlife • 15h
Find yourself a man who looks at you the way Michael looks at (Y/N)
🗨 200 ⇄ 6k ❤︎ 77.3k
Susie got your number @/tranquilodequoitoi • 15h
She has him wrapped around her finger 🤭
Y/N's double Emmy Awards @/BJisnothislover • 15h
They're so in love it makes me sick (I want what they have)
For example, nothing @/annieRUokay • 14h
It's so funny that Olise never posts (Y/N) on his socials, but whenever they're in public, he always looks like he's two seconds away from swiping her away and eloping as if they were in some Shakespearean play, and honestly, I respect that
🗨 57 ⇄ 2.3k ❤︎ 48.1k
Do you want me to apologize @/URavegetable • 14h
That man CANNOT control it. He cannot behave when she's around
Y/N's gowns @/itsawonderfulday • 13h
Remember his face when she hugged a fan? He's gone 🤭
Maynard @/loveu3000 • 13h
He doesn't play about her! He was about to smack those paparazzi when they crowded her, and he would have been right!
Olise's locs @/goldenpantslover • 20h
Why do people call Michael Mr. Nonchalant again? That man is a loverboy through and through!
🗨 79 ⇄ 3.4k ❤︎ 35.8k
I'm too competitive @/likeacandlewax • 20h
I realized he was a soft boy in that one video where he needed to hold her hand like he was always taking it back when she was moving away
Apple Pie A La Mode @/11minutostarde• 20h
(Y/N) said multiple times that he isn't nonchalant, just shy
I have no idea @/includingjermaine • 20h
He holds her purse, he drives her around, he helps her down the stairs, her calls her often, and the list goes on. This man is WHIPPED
It got to the point that even his teammates would have a little fun about it. The France National Team group chat was burning up, everyone teasing him to no end. To absolute oblivion. Rayan was very fond of posting a screenshot of the clip whenever Michael attempted to deny everything. Manu kept asking if he got his kiss once the cameras were off. Ousman posted a screenshot of his updated contact list, having changed Michael's name to Mr. Loverboy. Désiré tried to calm everyone and defend him, though typing, 'they were cute in the video', only triggered another wave of teasing directed at Michael.
And if he believed it would have been better once he was back in Munich, well, it may actually be worse. Because, at least with the National Team, he could mute the group chat or straight up block everyone if he wanted to.
He could not do that in real life.
The teasing began as soon as he set foot in the locker room.
"Oh, isn't that Mr. Loverboy!" Jamal said with a chuckle.
"Give him a break," Harry chimed in, though with a smirk. "He just loves his girl."
"Hey, were you really about to kiss her?" Luis asked.
Michael remained quiet, his head lowered to let his locs hide his burning face. Though a smile was still playing on his lips. He was embarrassed. How could he not? But he was also not the tiniest bit ashamed, because he would never be ashamed of loving you.
And you found it adorable. Michael always made sure to show you he was all yours. With words, but especially with actions. It was not something he could keep in. Try as he might, it was impossible to act normal. To act as though there was only platonocity between the two of you. If you were around, he needed your touch.
The funny thing, though, was that no one ever expected him to act as if there was nothing between the two of you. Just to maintain decorum in public. Which, in theory, was supposed to be easy, as he was not very fond of public displays of affection. He would much rather show you the depth of his love in the safety of your shared apartment.
And yet, he was still very much displaying his affection in public. With his eyes. With his smiles. With the hand-holding. With the never leaving your vicinity. With the always needing to have you close. But it was beyond him. He could not act anything else. It was going against everything he believed in. Against who he was. Against one truth he would never let anyone deny: Michael was head-over-heels in love with you.
summary: birthday gifts, a cold morning, and a boy who can't finish a sentence.
warnings: michael olise x reader, established relationship, fluff, shy!reader, shy!michael, established relationship, one semi-public kiss, minor injury.
wc: 2.4k
You'd arrived early, before Michael even knew you were coming, and tucked yourself into a quiet corner of the stands overlooking the training pitch, hands stuffed deep into your coat pockets, breath fogging faintly in the cold. You'd taken longer than usual getting ready that morning, half-braiding the front sections of your hair back into a small crown, letting the rest fall loose in soft waves behind you, a small effort you'd told yourself was just for you and had nothing to do with today being his birthday.
Once training started you just watched, quiet, a small smile you couldn't quite help tugging at your mouth every time he did something well, every time his voice carried across the pitch calling for the ball, and somewhere in between you'd pulled an envelope onto your lap and bent your head low over it, tongue caught slightly between your teeth in concentration as you worked at something small and careful, entirely absorbed.
He spotted you somewhere around the twenty-minute mark, mid-drill, head turning almost by instinct toward the stands like he'd felt you there before he'd actually seen you. His whole face changed the second he did, easy and open in a way that made one of his teammates nearby actually stop jogging to follow his eyeline, curious. From that distance, cold light catching your hair where it fell loose down your back, head bowed over something in your lap, entirely unaware you were being watched, his heart doing something stupid and immediate at the sight of you like that, quiet and unguarded.
He didn't wait for a break in play. He jogged straight off the pitch toward you, ignoring the coach's half-hearted shout after him, breath visible in short clouds, cheeks already pink from the cold and the running, training trousers and jacket doing little against the winter chill.
You'd tucked the envelope back into your bag just before he reached you, some things you wanted him to just find rather than watch you do.
He came to a stop just below where you sat, chest still rising and falling from the sprint over, and for a second neither of you said anything at all, just looked at each other, both of you grinning in that helpless, matching way where your smiles didn't so much appear as simply refuse to leave, the corners of your eyes creasing with it, neither of you able to look anywhere else.
"Hi," he managed eventually, slightly breathless.
"Hi." It came out smaller than you meant it to, and then neither of you said anything else for a moment, just sat there beaming at each other like two people who'd forgotten conversation was a thing that existed.
"You're here," he said eventually, like he needed to confirm it out loud.
"I'm here."
He knew what it had probably cost you to actually come. Neither of you were built for this sort of thing, cameras and crowds and teammates who noticed everything, and you'd never once turned up to a session before, always finding some quiet reason to stay home instead. Seeing you tucked into the furthest corner of the stands, half hidden, clearly hoping to go unnoticed even by him for as long as possible, told him more than anything you could've said out loud.
"You came all the way out here," he said finally. "For me."
You nodded, a smile growing on your face while he was still just looking at you, eyes catching on the loose braid crowning your hair.
Something went quiet in him then. Whatever he'd been about to say got lost somewhere on the way out.
"You did your hair, too." Softer. "You're so pretty."
Heat crawled up the back of your neck and settled high in your cheeks, and you looked determinedly at the pitch, at the grass, at anything that wasn't him. "You can't just say things like that."
"I can, actually."
"It's the middle of your session."
"Mhm." He didn't look convinced in the slightest, still smiling, that same smile that hadn't moved since he'd first spotted you. He climbed the few steps up to where you sat, dropping down beside you despite still being mid-session, kit damp with cold sweat, breath still catching.
"Could've sat closer. Better view of me, y'know."
"I have a perfectly good view from here."
"You're miles away."
"I can see you fine, Michael."
"Doubt it. Reckon you missed my last through-ball entirely from all the way up here."
"I saw it. It went about a metre wide."
"It did not go a metre wide."
"It did. I've got eyes."
He smiled, bumping his shoulder lightly against yours, thumb coming up unthinkingly to brush along your bottom lip, a small, absent habit he had whenever he was looking at you too closely to help himself. "There she is. Was worried you'd gone shy on me for a second."
"I'm always a bit shy around you," you admitted, quieter now, his thumb still resting there, though the teasing was still there underneath it, "doesn't mean I can't also tell when your passing's gone wobbly."
"It’s calm, it’s calm. My passing has never gone wobbly in its life."
"Metre wide, Mike."
He shook his head, grinning, finally dropping his hand, only to notice you shivering slightly and reach for your wrist instead, tugging your hand out of your own pocket and straight into his jacket pocket alongside his, warm from his body heat, fingers loosely lacing with yours in the cramped space.
"Michael—"
"You're freezing. This is warmer." He said it like it settled the matter entirely, entirely unbothered by how it looked, and you let it, mostly because it did feel warmer, his hand solid and familiar around yours. You'd kept your other hand tucked into your own sleeve still, a deep cut across your palm hidden under the cuff, a bruise already spreading faintly around it, hoping he wouldn't clock it on today of all days.
His fingers brushed the edge of the bandage before you could stop him.
"What's this?" He turned your hand over properly, brow furrowing at the sight of it, the cut deeper and the bruising more visible than you'd wanted him to see.
"It's fine. I was doing some baking earlier and the knife slipped a bit. I bruise easily, it always looks worse than it is."
"That's not nothing, though." His voice had gone quieter, more serious, thumb careful around the edges of it. "You were hiding it from me."
"Didn't want to make a fuss on your birthday."
He was quiet a moment, something soft settling behind his expression instead of the alarm you'd braced for. "Let me clean it up properly when we're home. Wrap it right."
"You don't have to."
"I want to." He pressed a slow kiss to the back of your hand, careful of the cut, before tucking it gently back into your sleeve himself. "Later. Promise."
You nodded, silently thankful, before reaching up to cover his eyes with one hand. "Alright. On happier notes. Close your eyes."
"They're already closed, you're covering them."
"Keep them closed anyway."
You reached into your bag and pulled out the cake box, setting it carefully on his lap before he could ask what you were doing.
“Happy birthday, Mikey.”
Something in his face shifted at the nickname, soft and a little caught off guard, before he'd even opened his eyes properly.
He blinked them open slowly, and went very still at the sight of the slightly lopsided cake sitting in his lap, a handful of candles pushed unevenly into the frosting.
"You made this."
"It's not very good. That's actually what the cut's from, if I'm honest, cutting the board down to size. I bought the candles this morning too, nearly forgot them." You were talking fast now, nervous under the quiet way he was looking at it. "I'm not really a baker, so if it tastes strange—"
"I don't think anyone's made me a cake since I was a kid." His voice had gone rough, and when he looked up at you, his ears had gone properly pink, matching yours. "This is... yeah. This is really nice. Thank you. And now I feel worse about the cut."
"Don't. It was worth it."
He set the cake carefully aside, like it might tip if handled wrong, before you passed him the wrapped bandanas next. He unwrapped them slower this time, and when he saw what they were, something shifted behind his eyes entirely.
"You noticed I was running low on these."
"You kept using the plain black ones to tie your hair."
"I didn't think anyone paid attention to stuff like that." He turned them over in his hands, quiet for a moment, before setting them beside the cake and reaching for the last envelope you passed him. He turned it over first, and his thumb caught on the corner, on the small drawn heart and the careful happy birthday, my love written beneath it, the thing you'd been so carefully bent over earlier.
He traced the little heart lightly with his thumb, something unguarded crossing his whole face, before finally opening the envelope properly, two Playboi Carti tickets sliding out into his palm. He stared at them a beat too long, still faintly distracted by the drawing.
"You could take a mate, if you wanted," you offered, "I just thought—"
"A mate? Hell no." He looked at you, brow furrowed slightly like the question genuinely confused him. "You're coming with me."
Warmth spread up your neck, and before you could duck your head the way you usually did, you reached up instead, tucking a loose braid back behind his ear, your fingers brushing lightly against the shell of it. He went still immediately, something shy flickering across his whole face, a small, helpless smile tugging at his mouth that he seemed to have no control over whatsoever.
"You've gone all soft," you said, delighted, noticing.
"Have not."
"Your ears are basically a switch, Michael."
"Shut up." But he was smiling too widely to sound remotely convincing, and he leaned in and kissed you, one hand coming up to cradle your jaw, slow and unhurried despite the cold and the open pitch behind him. You melted into it without meaning to, and it was only the sudden eruption of noise from the pitch that made you both go rigid.
"OI." The midfielder's voice carried clean across the grass, delighted. "Is he seriously kissing his girlfriend mid-session?"
"MICHAEL." That was the coach now, torn between exasperation and disbelief. "We are training."
Michael didn't stop.
If anything, he kissed you slower, more deliberately, the corner of his mouth curling up against yours in a way that told you exactly how much he'd registered the shouting and exactly how little he cared. You felt your face go properly hot, cheeks aching from how hard you were trying not to laugh, the little lines at the corners of your eyes deepening the way they always did when you couldn't help smiling into a kiss.
"Michael," you mumbled against his mouth, laughing now, "your whole team is watching."
"Let them."
"Your coach is watching."
"He can wait." He finally pulled back, just enough to look at you properly, thumb coming up to brush slow over your bottom lip, still slightly swollen and a little cold from the kiss and the weather both. "Your lips have gone proper cold."
"Whose fault is that."
"Mine, clearly. I'll take responsibility." He pressed his thumb there a second longer than necessary, watching you, something helplessly fond in it. "You go all pink when I do that, and all this shit."
"Everyone's staring."
"I know." He didn't sound remotely bothered. "Worth it, though."
Behind him, a ripple of whistles and laughter went up from the pitch, someone shouting something about him being a goner for you, and the coach's voice cutting through again, more resigned now than actually annoyed.
"You should get back," you managed eventually, cheeks still warm, dimples still showing. "Before he actually loses it."
"Probably." He didn't move right away, just looked at you a moment longer, something doe-eyed and dazed in his expression, "Got you something too, actually. A jersey. With my name."
"MICHAEL!" You heard his coach yell whilst he continued rambling.
"Want you wearing it. Everywhere, really." His eyes flicked to yours for half a second before dropping again, one hand coming up to twiddle absently at your fingers where they still rested against his chest, restless energy with nowhere else to go. "At home, on the couch, up here in the stands if you ever wanted. Just. Like the idea of you in it. A lot."
He watched you go pink with open delight, still not quite looking at you properly, ears gone thoroughly red now, clearly in no hurry to stop causing that particular reaction in either of you.
"You'll be alright out here?" he asked eventually, standing, reluctant.
"I've got my thermos and apparently a very generous view of your wobbly passing."
"It wasn't wobbly." He was still grinning as he backed away, glancing over his shoulder twice more before jogging properly toward the pitch, only to stop halfway, turn on his heel, and jog straight back, snatching the small pile of bandanas up off the seat beside you.
"Forgot these."
"You're going back out there wearing one?"
"Obviously." He pulled one on right there in front of you, tying it off with a bit more flourish than necessary, then threw you a wink, entirely pleased with himself. "Gift from my girl. Everyone's going to know it too."
"You're a menace."
"I'm proud." He leaned in and pecked you quickly on the lips, one more grin flashed your way, before finally jogging off properly this time, glancing back twice more before rejoining the drill, where the coach was very visibly still shaking his head.
He kept glancing over for the rest of the session, and once, catching your eye across the pitch mid-drill, you gave him a small wave, unable to help yourself. He stopped dead for half a second, then broke into a grin so wide he had to duck his head and shake it slightly, visibly flustered by the sheer effect you had on him even from fifty feet away, before jogging on, still smiling to himself, blue bandana bright against his hair, entirely unable to help it.
Behind him, one of the teammates from earlier nudged the other. "Man doesn't say two words to us before eleven most days."
"And now look at him." The other shook his head, grinning. "Whipped."
I am a father of two children 👨👧👦 from Gaza 🇵🇸, currently living through extremely difficult humanitarian conditions after losing my home due to the war 💔, and I am now displaced far from my original place of residence.
Life here is filled with daily challenges 😔, especially when it comes to providing basic needs such as food 🍞, water 💧, and care for my children.
My children are everything I have in this life ❤️, and I am doing my best to provide them with the minimum level of safety and food, but the current situation is very hard, and sometimes I cannot even provide them with a proper meal during the day 🍽️.
I also want to be able to provide my children with their school needs 🎒, such as supplies, stationery ✏️, and basic materials that help them continue their education despite the difficult conditions 📚.
I am only writing this because I have reached a point where I can no longer manage on my own 😞. Therefore, I am asking for help from anyone who is able to support, even with a small amount 💵, as it may help feed my children or ease part of our suffering.
Every contribution, no matter how small, makes a big difference in our lives 🌱. And if you are unable to help financially, sharing this post 📢 could reach someone who can, and that would also be a great support for us.
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^ྀི genre: real life, smau, established!relationship
^ྀི context: y/n and italianbach vacate to italy for their 10 year anniversary, both fans and y/n wonder when he is gonna put a ring on it.
^ྀི warnings: none that i’m aware of
^ྀི sophie speaks!: i listened to “summer song” by Remy Bond when i wrote this, i felt like it just fit the vibe perfectly 💋
The villa was straight out of a daydream. Warm terracotta walls, sprawling olive trees, and a lemon grove so picturesque it practically begged to be posted on Instagram. You and Isaac—aka the love of your life and part-time chaos goblin—had the whole place to yourselves for the next ten days. Ten days for ten years.
A whole decade together.
And somehow… no one had died. Or been arrested. Or left the other in a pit of romantic despair because someone (cough Bach) left the milk out for three days. Again.
You flopped onto the cushy linen sofa in the sunroom, grinning as you scrolled through the photos Bach had taken that morning.
“You posted them yet?” he called from the kitchen, where he was aggressively stirring pasta with the confidence of a man who once burned toast trying to “warm it up.”
“About to,” you replied. “Do I give you the title of ‘love of my life’ or ‘chef who’s about to burn penne’?”
He poked his head around the corner with an exaggeratedly wounded expression, flour on his nose and a dish towel over his shoulder like a true Italian nonna.
“Rude. First of all, it’s rigatoni. Second, this dish is revolutionary. It’s called ‘Pasta alla Vaguely-Winging-It’. Very traditional.”
“You’ve made that joke six times today.”
“And I’ll keep making it until someone laughs.”
You did. Every time. Stupid man.
⸻
That evening, after a sunset so orange and pink it looked photoshopped, you finally posted a photodump to Instagram:
@/youruser
liked by italianbach, glambyflo and 165,897 others
@/youruser: 10 years of love, laughter and him still not knowing how to put on a fitted sheet. (and him clearly not knowing how to put a ring on it)
comments:
@/user: 10 years!!!??? you’re basically married atp
@/theburntchip: bro, put a ring on it. beyoncé didn’t make that song for no reason.
@/taliamar: i’m just here for the chaotic pasta chronicles. please record the next dinner.
@/user: please can you guys adopt me? I’ll cook, clean i’ll do anything!
@/italianbach: patience ✋ these things take time
↳ @/youruser: don’t play with me rn. i’ve been waiting 10 years.
⸻
You showed Bach the comments while you both lay on a deckchair, your legs tangled under a shared blanket. He scrolled through them, eyebrows bouncing with amusement.
“I feel attacked,” he said. “But like… lovingly.”
“Oh yeah. The internet’s bullying you because they love us. Especially me. Mostly me.”
He leaned in and nuzzled his head into your shoulder. “Ten years,” he murmured. “How are you not sick of me yet?”
“Stockholm syndrome,” you said sweetly. Then, a beat later, “Also your butt looks great in linen pants. That buys you another year.”
He laughed, warm and full. You could feel it in your chest. Like it had been there since the day you met.
⸻
Day 3:
You both decided to “cook together.” A bold choice, considering last time it ended with you eating cold cereal on the floor while he tried to fix a smoke alarm with a spatula.
“I read somewhere that couples who cook together live longer,” you said, chopping basil.
“Yeah? Couples who don’t cook together don’t die in grease fires.”
“…touché.”
Eventually, dinner was served: slightly burnt bruschetta, lumpy carbonara, and wine that made you both giggly.
He kissed you with tomato still on his lip and declared it “an authentic Italian experience.”
You corrected him, saying it was an “authentically ridiculous experience,” but the truth was—it was perfect.
⸻
Day 6:
Bach woke you up with breakfast in bed. Sort of.
He tripped over his own shoes and nearly spilled espresso all over your pillow, but you caught it in time. The croissant was slightly squished from being carried in his hoodie pocket, but he’d written “Happy 10 Years” on the plate with Nutella, so he was forgiven.
“I was going to make you pancakes, but then I remembered… I don’t know how.”
“You’ve literally made pancakes before.”
“Not successfully.”
You shared the squished croissant in bed, laughing as he smeared Nutella on your nose and immediately regretted it when you retaliated with whipped cream to the face.
The whole thing went straight to your Stories. Obviously.
⸻
Day 9:
You were sitting by the pool, legs in the water, sipping limoncello, when Bach quietly sat beside you.
He didn’t say anything for a moment. Just looked out at the olive grove, then back at you.
“You know,” he began, “we’ve made it a whole decade without murdering each other. That’s impressive.”
“You should put that on a card.”
He laughed, then reached into his hoodie pocket. You froze.
Was this it?
Was this finally—?
He pulled out a single, slightly melted chocolate truffle.
“…I was going to propose with this,” he said. “But then it melted. So I panicked. And I ate the other one.”
You burst out laughing, shoulders shaking. “Classic. You gonna marry me with sticky fingers and cocoa breath?”
“I mean,” he said, pretending to take a knee dramatically, holding the remaining truffle between two fingers like it was a diamond ring. “Will you continue putting up with me for another ten years?”
You plucked the truffle from his hand and popped it into your mouth. “Only if you actually propose someday. Preferably without snacks.”
“Fine. One day. Not today.”
You kissed his cheek. “One day’s good. I’m not going anywhere.”
⸻
Day 10:
The trip ended with a romantic dinner under fairy lights, Bach attempting to sing in Italian (badly), and the two of you slow dancing barefoot in the kitchen to some old jazz record that skipped every thirty seconds.
You posted one last photo:
@/youruser
liked by italianbach, arthurtv, 267,878 others
@/youruser: 10 years. No ring. The love of my life. (no but seriously. Next year, or i’m gonna riot)
⸻
And you knew, whether he proposed next week or next decade, none of it really mattered.
heyyyyy, can someone write fanfic for italian bach pleaseeeeeeeeeee people don’t write that much for him but i need it guys im charmed by his humour and his face i need to read some things about him. i would be very happy pleaseeeee
SUMMARY A freak accident during a challenge may not be the worst thing in the world if it means you get all of Garrett’s attention.
CONTENT love island au, fem reader, use of pet names (baby), descriptions of injury, reader sits in Garrett's lap and wears his clothes, reader's kinda a loser but it turns Garrett on, a tiny bit suggestive, Dean yet again being used as entertainment lol, barely edited
A/N this is inspired by these requests, but I changed it a little bit and I was already almost done writing it when I got the second request (if that situation specifically is something people wanna see I can write it in another part, but I think it would be similar to this haha) anyway please enjoy!
love island masterlist
“You know, if you keep pouting that hard, your face is gonna get stuck like that.”
Garrett doesn’t take his eyes off the gauze wrapped around your calves.
“I’m not pouting.”
“You’re definitely pouting.” Dean chimes in. Garrett’s head snaps up with a glare and Dean holds his hands up quickly, having enough sense to have already started backing away. “Right. Sorry. Going.”
Garrett grumbles something under his breath and you flick him lightly on the forehead. “Don’t be mean.”
“There is more of your skin on the pool deck than on the back of your legs, I’ll be as mean as I want.” His jaw clenches, one of the muscles ticking in annoyance.
“Even to me?” You bat your lashes at him teasingly.
Garrett softens, cupping your cheek like you’re something fragile, his thumb stroking the delicate skin under your eye.
“I’m still deciding.”
“Hey!” Your mouth drops open in shock. “You’re not allowed to be mean to me, I almost died today.”
At the reminder that your legs currently look like a 3rd grader’s paper mache project, Garrett’s eyes darken and the small smile he was wearing drops as his hand falls from your face.
Your face falters in confusion. “What?”
“Don’t say shit like that,” he chides you softly, his body hovering over yours awkwardly, like he’s unsure where to touch you without hurting you more. “It’s not funny.”
Truthfully, you thought it had been a little funny, but you wisely keep that to yourself.
It had all started with a simple challenge where you were all given a stack of cards that had various quotes said by different Islanders during your time in the Villa. Each Islander would read a quote out loud before guessing which person said it by pushing them into the pool.
Unfortunately for you, during Paul’s turn, he picked you as the Islander who had said his quote—you hadn’t—and, before you even had a chance to process it, he was pushing you into the pool. The problem was that, as you had not been expecting to be pushed into the pool, you had not been standing remotely close enough to the edge.
While the top half of your body hit the water just fine, your calves hit the lip of the pool instead, scraping painfully against it as you fell in—essentially skinning the back of your calves in the process.
The challenge came to a swift halt after that as the on-site medic tended to your injuries. Luckily it was nothing more than a couple large scrapes and, since you’d already had your turn and most of your quotes had already been read, production decided to continue the challenge without you and allowed you to go back to the bedroom to rest.
The only person left out of this decision—and deeply offended by that fact—was Garrett, who production realized was pointless to argue against, and just let him leave with you after he refused to go back to the challenge.
While you’ve been keeping a pretty positive attitude about the whole thing, laughing about it with everyone when they came to check on you after the challenge was over, Garrett did not share the sentiment, growling like a guard dog at anyone he deemed too disruptive—(Paul had smartly made himself scarce.)
Your jovial demeanor drops at Garrett’s words and you frown slightly, sitting up before he can stop you and crawling into his lap.
“Wait—Baby—Please—,” Garrett panics, his hands gripping your body in a confusing battle of pushing you away and also pulling you closer as he tries to stop you from putting any weight on your calves.
You ignore him, settling in his lap and cupping his jaw with your hands apologetically. “I’m sorry,” you say quietly.
Garrett melts beneath you, turning his head to press a kiss into your palm. His lips brush against your skin, “Don’t be sorry, I know you’re trying to make me feel better. I just… I didn’t like watching you get hurt.”
“I mean, it would be kinda concerning if you did—,” You clamp your mouth shut when Garrett raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Sorry. No more jokes, promise.”
Garrett lets out a thin sigh that sounds suspiciously like he’s holding back a laugh. “Somehow, I seriously doubt that.”
You stick your tongue out. “I can’t help that I’m a natural born comedian, Garrett.”
“Mmm.” He lets out a teasing hum.
“I am!”
Garrett’s hand travels up to the back of your neck, massaging the muscles as a way to coax you into lying down against him. “Agree to disagree, baby.”
You bite down lightly on his bare shoulder in protest—which Garrett is far too used to at this point—but let the empty bedroom fall into silence as Garrett shifts to get comfortable against the headboard of your bed. His hand falls to your back, tracing up and down your spin in large circles.
“Does it hurt?” He asks softly.
You freeze. “...No.”
“Baby.”
“A little.” You concede.
“Where?”
“Everywhere,” you pout. “It’s not awful, it just… burns.”
“‘M sorry,” he coos, pressing gentle kisses along the skin of your neck that’s peeking out of the hoodie you’re wearing—which is definitely his. “Is there anything that’ll make you feel better?”
You let out a shy noise, craning your neck to give him more access. “I mean, this feels nice.”
“Yeah?” Garrett’s lips move to explore the new skin, his hands curling under the hem of your sweatshirt to continue caressing your bare back. “How ‘bout I keep doing this and you finish telling me about that game you were talking about this morning.”
You shiver when he sucks softly at the spot just under your ear. “You’ll distract me.”
“Mm, I think you can get through it,” Garrett says in that somewhat condescending tone that makes your thighs clench.
It takes the squeeze of his hands against your hips to spur you into speaking and you pick up where you had left off earlier in the day when you were explaining the convoluted lore of the Five Nights at Freddy’s franchise to Garrett. The feeling of his lips on your neck causes you to lose your train of thought a couple times, but Garrett prompts you back into it with a verbal reminder to keep talking or another squeeze of your hips. Eventually, he gets genuinely interested enough in what you’re saying that he gets distracted, pulling back in confusion to ask multiple questions as you keep explaining, the pain in your legs now the furthest thing from your mind.
You keep talking until the rest of the Islanders come into the bedroom, everyone saying their ‘goodnight’s as the lights turn off and Garrett pulls the blankets over you both.
“Oh,” you lift your head up suddenly. “I forgot to tell you about—,”
Garrett’s large hand covers your mouth, muffling the rest of your sentence. “Tomorrow. I need sleep to prepare myself for how whiny you’re going to be in the morning when I have to disinfect your cuts.”
You pull his hand away with a raised brow.
“I thought you said you like when I’m whiny.”
“...Go to bed.”
BONUS
“Ow, ow, ow—!”
“I’m not even pressing that hard—!”
“Yes, you are!” You whine, your fingers digging into the granite sink of the bathroom as Garrett presses a cotton ball drenched in rubbing alcohol against your wound. “Stop, Garrett, it stings!”
Garrett grits his teeth as you try to kick your leg away from him. “I’m almost done.”
“You said that 30 minutes ago!”
“Baby. It hasn’t even been two minutes since we started.” When he meets your pitiful eyes, Garrett sighs. “Just one more, okay? I promise.”
He stays still until you give a hesitant nod and then lifts the cotton ball back to your leg.
“Wait, wait, wait!” You cry before it touches your skin. “Dean, hold my hand.”
You turn pleadingly to the aforementioned blond, who had been pretending to brush his teeth while he and Allie watched the two of you in amusement.
The toothbrush falls out of his mouth and clinks against the sink. “What? Why do I have to—?”
“Please?”
“Dean, just do it!”
Both your and Allie’s words overlap as Dean continues to object.
“Hold her damn hand, Dean.” Garrett interrupts all of you with a finality that has Dean shuffling his feet over to you begrudgingly.
Unsurprisingly, the picture Allie takes of Garrett crouched down by your leg with a focused expression as you and Dean both wince in pain—you, because Garrett is disinfecting your last cut and Dean, because you’re squeezing his hand hard enough for his fingers to overlap—is posted to the Love Island USA Instagram account as soon as the episode airs.
please don't copy, repost, or feed my work into ai, thanks!
liked by yourusername, arthurnfhill, georgeclarkeey, and 45k others
livvydimartino bellend crashed our matcha date
tagged yourusername, arthurnfhill
arthurnfhill first and last performative matcha i can't even larp
↳ yourusername pardon
yourusername don't let my affectionate demeanour fool you the first thing i said when he put his shoes on was "far out"
↳ georgeclarkeey So based.
user1 what was in y'alls matcha like what is this comment section
user2 of course arthur hates matcha
↳ user3 bro prolly whipped out some sylvia plath too
↳ user4 chill guys only y/n can bully him
liked by lolayounggg, italianbach, radvxz, and 204k others
yourusername i need stars out to keep me going
tagged arthurnfhill, arthurtv
user5 shes in the studio i repeat ‼️SHES IN THE STUDIO‼️
arthurnfhill ooh woowww look at the uncrippled singer promoting this and that😒
↳ yourusername thats your babysitter u sassin
↳ arthurfnhill right babysitter now i want all the sherbet straws you hid
↳ georgeclarkeey Crippled Finchy core
arthurtv thanks for popping in for a horror game😊
↳ yourusername well you needed to get those views up somehow
italianbach If either Arthurs are ever missing y/n's gotteem
↳ arthurnfhill why television im the boyfriend why television
↳ arthurnfhill ray ferrari
↳ italianbach Yes?
emi ⋆ . ˚ thoughts . ⊹ ₊. . ݁ . . ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁ ݁ . i fear this is awful. i wanted to post smth bcuz im still trying to get out a like three year long mental slump so i hope u angels dont find this awful like i do😭 also i really hope arthurs doing okay mentally i know how injuries can affect depression levels from experience so im not taking his injury lightly <3 . ⊹ ₊. . ݁ . . ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁ ݁ .
requested: Okay! This just came to me when making my previous Arthur Hill request but it had to be its separate thing! What about an imagine where Lisa is the one to set them up?? Like she said she had “someone on her radar” in the pod with George one time?
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You’d met Lisa by chance. Your parents were quite well off and since the housing market was in shambles, you’d decided to still live at home, turning a spare room into your office for work.
One of the conditions to staying at home was walking Clyde; your family dog, something you revelled in anyway. He adored you, often sitting and waiting by the door around four in the afternoon when he knew you would come along with the leash and take him out to explore the neighbourhood.
On the day you met Lisa, you’d been running late. Clyde had been shamelessly whining by the front door for an hour by the time you could drag yourself away from work and grab his leash.
Halfway into the walk, he’d become interested in a cocker spaniel currently off leash and bounding towards the two of you. You’d been wary at first, keeping him at bay to assess the small dog running as fast as their little legs could carry them. The dog stopped two feet away, barking softly and wagging their tail so fast, it was like a blur.
Slowly loosening your hold on the leash in your hand, you let the two of them approach each other. The second they were within sniffing distance, they both barked happily, swirling round and round as you laughed at the pair who whipped around to look at you, wagging tails hitting each other happily.
You could hear a woman shouting in the distance. “Bonnie! Bonnie, oh for goodness sake!”
You couldn’t help but giggle at the coincidence.
Seconds later, a frazzled lady rounded the corner, lead in hand, eyes darting around the little path you were both on. The second she spotted the cocker spaniel, currently engaged in another round of sniffing with your dog, she breathed a sigh of relief. Speedwalking up to you and the two dogs, she bent down once she had a chance, huffing at what was probably a very stressful five minutes.
“Um, hi. I’m guessing this cheeky little girl is yours. Her and Clyde have been getting very well acquainted.” You smiled brightly at the woman, who had since caught her breath.
She let out a startled laugh, eyeing the two dogs running round the both of you. “Clyde? Bonnie… and Clyde. What are the odds, eh?”
You echoed her sentiments, laughing along with the woman.
“Oh, where are my manners? I’m Lisa, and I see you’ve met Bonnie.” She reached a hand out for you to shake, the interaction brief but kind.
“I’m Y/N, and that’s Clyde, as you already know.” You pointed over at the elderly dog, playfully going for Bonnie’s tail.
The two of you watch the dogs play for a moment before Lisa gestures over to the end of the path. “There’s a little park just around the corner if you want to go and sit and let them play for a bit?”
You know the park well, often choosing to take Clyde there if you wanted a more laid back approach to a walk. You nod, walking after the older woman.
Once the gate is shut, you let Clyde off his leash, watching him bound over to the cocker spaniel as they run circles around one another. Lisa takes a seat on the bench, patting the spot next to her for you to sit.
“So, I haven’t seen you around here before. Have you just moved here?”
Shaking your head, you point back to the estate behind you. “Nope, I live just over there. I normally walk Clyde around four-ish so maybe that’s why our paths haven’t crossed before.”
She hums in response, giving you a once over before looking back towards the dogs.
She seems to be deep in thought, so you chose to take that moment to check your phone for any notifications. There was only one from your boss, setting up a meeting for you and a potential client early next week.
Lisa clears her throat, attention now back on you. You smile at her, pocketing your phone.
“So, since those two are going to be a while, how about we get to know each other?” Her returning smile is kind, almost motherly.
“I guess I’ll go first! I’m Y/N Y/L/N. I’m 24 and have just finished a university degree in Business and Marketing. I’ve had Clyde since I was little, he just celebrated his 20th birthday, believe it or not!” The two of you look back at the dogs, Clyde exuding the energy of an excitable puppy rather than the sometimes grumpy old man you knew him to be.
“Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Lisa Hill. I won’t say my age for fear you’ll faint.” She chuckles as you nudge your shoulder against hers playfully. “Me and my husband live just over that hill. We’re currently empty nesters as both my son and daughter have long since moved out. They’re roughly around your age actually!”
She pulls her phone out of her pocket, the lock screen lighting up to display a picture of what you assume is her family. Lisa and her husband stood at the back, arms linked and smiling down at her two children fondly. The girl looks kind, eyes closed in laughter as her brother has her captured in a headlock.
You take a second to look at the brother. Sparkling brown eyes, full moustache over pouty lips and a little stubble, with short, slightly wavy hair. He’s very pretty.
“I’m currently doing odd bits and bobs, as in I quit my long term job to raise my kids but now my son has somehow coerced me into doing a podcast with him!”
You perk up at this. “A podcast? What do you guys talk about?” You were always on the lookout for something new to listen to, your usual podcast currently paused on your phone.
She hums, looking towards the two dogs. “A little bit of this and that. It’s called Mummy’s Boy so people write in with questions they want a mum to answer, or with silly stories. And then my son updates me on everything happening on the web.”
You rack your brain for the title, your mind coming up blank. You make a mental note to check it out when you’re back in the comfort of your home.
You and Lisa spend the next hour chatting away, her relaying stories they have spoken about on the podcast whilst you add in your own experiences that relate to them.
The sun sets behind the two of you, and before long your phone rings, your mum worried on the other end as it’s been 3 hours since you left.
Shocked at how the time has passed so quickly, you and Lisa call the dogs over to the pair of you, attaching their leashes and beginning the walk home. Once you reach the crosswalk, Lisa turns to you, a motherly smile on full display. “Take care Y/N. If you ever want to catch up, you know where I’ll be.”
Overcome with how lovely she is, you wrap her up in a quick hug, feeling her chuckle as she pats your back softly. Pulling away, she waves you goodbye.
Popping an airpod in, you pull up the Mummy’s Boy podcast, eyes widening at just how popular it is. Clicking on an episode titled “Mum, I can’t stop mewing”, you head down the alleyway to your house.
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Days went by filled with spreadsheets, trips to London for business meetings and the Mummy’s Boy podcast.
After the first episode, you did some digging online and found their youtube channel, quickly clicking on their newest upload. You’d smiled as Lisa came into view, rattling off a prewritten script before the camera changed to her son. Arthur.
Over the last few weeks, you’d developed somewhat of a crush on the man. Watching back on all their old podcasts, plus checking out his music he had plugged during one of the episodes, you couldn’t help but fall for the talented musician.
Iced Coffee played through your earphones quietly as you trek down the pathway, Clyde steadily pulling on his leash. Another late work day meant you were heading out around the same time as when you had met Lisa, heart thumping gently as you thought about running into the kind woman again.
As much as Arthur had captured your attention, you couldn’t help but smile thinking back on how open she had been when helping people on the podcast, and the way she had so easily fallen into conversation with you as your dogs ran circles around one another.
She was the definition of the word “motherly”, kind and caring to her core.
Iced Coffee comes to a close and as the first notes of You’re Not A God begins to play, you hear a voice from behind.
“Y/N!”
Recognising Lisa’s voice, you turn around quickly, pulling Clyde to a stop beside you. She waves excitedly at you, hurrying down the path to where you’d stopped still. You look around, no Bonnie in sight.
“Hi, Lisa!” You manage to get the greeting out before she wraps you up in a warm hug, rocking the two of you back and forth gently. One hand still wrapped in Clyde’s leash, you use the other to wrap around her, squeezing her tight. “No Bonnie?”
Lisa pulls back, suddenly aware of the lack of dog next to her. “She’s here somewhere- oh! Arthur, hurry up, slowpoke!”
Your eyes follow her line of sight, quicker than you would like to admit. A man stumbles down the path, eyes wide as Bonnie drags him along, the dog catching sight of you and Clyde. He eventually reaches the pair of you, reaching down to rest his hands on his knees as he catches his breath.
“She nearly took my arm off, Mum! I’ve never seen her run so fast!” He huffs through quick breaths, unwrapping his hand from Bonnie’s leash to pass her back to Lisa.
She smiles over at you, eyes drifting past to find the park a few metres away. You catch onto her train of thought, nodding as the two of you begin to head down to the gates.
“Come on, Arthur, I want you to meet Y/N.”
Looking back over your shoulder, you notice when Arthur finally acknowledges your presence, head tilted up from where he was still hunched over. You smile politely, hand raised in a little wave. He returns the action, eyes blinking rapidly.
By the time you make it to the gates, the two dogs have managed to tangle their leashes into a knot, you and Lisa huffing as you free them of their constraints.
Lisa settles down on the bench, sitting on one edge and patting the space in the middle. You can see her eyes flitting between you and Arthur, a scheme forming in her mind. Before you have a chance to press her on it, Arthur appears beside you, breathing finally back to normal.
Grabbing your hand, Lisa pulls you into the spot next to her, eyeing Arthur and then the empty spot on the other end. He settles down gingerly, sitting close enough to the edge that you’re pretty sure a slightly stronger gust of wind would send him tumbling.
“Arthur, this is Y/N. I met her on a walk the other day. The little guy over there with Bonnie is Clyde, it’s almost like it’s fate!”
You wince at her not so subtle tone, throwing her a playful side eye as she grins back at the two of you.
Arthur shuffles from his precarious spot, wiping his hand on his trousers before offering it out to you. Chuckling softly, you wrap your hand around this, revelling in the warmth of it.
“Hi, I’m Arthur.” He pauses for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut. “But you knew that already. I see you’ve befriended my insufferable mother.”
The two of you share a laugh as Lisa lets out an indignant noise, glaring at him.
“Hi Arthur, I’m Y/N.” You grin as he realises what you’re about to say, mouth pulling up into a hybrid of a smile and grimace. “But you knew that already.”
You realise the two of you are still shaking hands, moving to pull away as Arthur squeezes once more.
“She’s very pretty, isn’t she?” Lisa's smile curves up higher as Arthur buries his head in his hands, a whining “Mum” falling from his lips. She holds her hands up in mock defence. “I’m just saying!”
Deciding to spare him any more embarrassment, you pull Lisa into a conversation about how you’d checked the podcast out, telling her about how much you had enjoyed the episode with the Italian.
Your eyes flicker back to Arthur every now and then, inviting him to join in with little tidbits of behind the scenes. Eyes flickering across his face as he delves into the tiktoks they had filmed with Isaac, the Italian Arthur helpfully supplied, you grin as he moves closer to you, no longer in danger of falling from the bench.
The two of you transition the conversation from the podcast, to his tiktok, his music, your work and bits and pieces the two of you have in common, not noticing as Lisa steps away from the bench, moving to throw a stick to the two energetic dogs.
As the conversation continues, you and Arthur have practically merged together, your feet resting gently over the top of his.
You were in the middle of showing him pictures of Clyde when he was just a puppy, trying to zoom the photo in so he wouldn't see a brace faced tween version of you, when your phone rings.
Startling at the noise, you smile shyly up at Arthur who removes his hand from your thigh, having subconsciously moved there when you'd jumped at your ringtone.
Your mum was once again calling you back for dinner, your eyes widening as once again hours had flown by in the presence of the Hill's.
Untangling yourself from Arthur, you call Clyde back, reattaching his leash.
Arthur looks up at you nervously, hand reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck. “Do you think I could, maybe, get your number?”
Reaching a hand out for his phone, you grin at the way his cheeks flush when your fingertips brush slightly. You send yourself a simple text so you have his number, trying to ignore the way Lisa rocks back and forth on the balls of her feet, a smile permanently etched onto her face.
She pulls you in for a final hug, whispering a small goodbye as the three of you part ways. Glancing back, you blush as your eyes catch Arthur’s who had done the exact same thing. He sends you a small wave, eyes not leaving yours until they round the corner.
Popping an earphone back in, you pull up a random podcast, eyes flitting up to the top of the screen as a text comes in.
Hi Y/N. It’s Arthur. But you already knew that :p
Would you want to grab dinner tomorrow night?
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a/n: arthur has returned to tinycoffeeroom!! thank you so much for your request, this was so much fun to write <33
summary: your boyfriend proves that loving you is as easy as breathing.
pairing: jack abbot x girlfriend!reader
tags: afab reader, pre-established relationship, an age gap mentioned but not specified, reader described as having longer hair, domesticity, fluff, acts of service jack abbot, talks of failed last relationships (reader), just some cutie stuff
word count: 1.5k
notes: gentle jack abbot my love
“I’ll handle it, honey.”
A common statement inside of your household, however it never seems to fall from your lips. Instead, your boyfriend seems to be holding it hostage, consistently ready to fix whatever problem you may have. Even when you complained about a problem and already told him about the solution you’d planned in your head, he had handled it before you could even get home from work.
Once you were within the four main walls of your shared apartment, you didn’t have to worry about a single thing. Jack worked nights and yet still managed to get everything done during the day while you were gone, leaving your clean laundry folded on the bed and an empty sink. When you complained about the fact that you felt like you weren’t helping at all, he simply kissed you on the forehead with a hand on your bicep and told you that you helped by just sitting down and looking pretty.
This morning, as a test, you had written out a to-do list for yourself and kept it private. It was filled with things you hadn’t yet brought to the attention of your acts-of-service boyfriend, such as unclogging the shower drain or finally putting away the stack of books that had just been accumulating in the corner of your bedroom as you purchased more and more. Things he wouldn’t even be able to think of without you mentioning it.
Work is gruesome, as it usually is. Jack’s outside of your apartment when you get home, t-shirt pulling taut around his shoulders as he leans down to grab the numerous packages sitting on your doorstep. His face lights up when he sees you, sitting up straight so that he can loop his index finger into your beltloop and bring you closer for a welcome home kiss. “Hey, sweetheart,” he mumbles against your mouth. “How was your day?”
You reach to grab one of the packages, trying to help him from having to hold them all, but he skillfully manuvers away from your reaching hands and opens the front door for you instead. When you stop to give him a stern look, he just nudges the back of your ankle with his foot, gesturing with his head for you to step inside.
Surrendering on this fact, you sigh, stepping into the apartment. You’re quick to shed your bag and hang it up, kicking off your shoes and abandoning them next to the door. Seeing Jack eye them out of the corner of your eye, you lean down to grab them, setting them down on the shoe rack. “Exhausting,” you admit.
He places the packages on the kitchen counter, stacking them neatly. A palm flattens against the granite as he turns to look at you, the muscle of his bicep just begging to be let out the confines of his shirt. “Want me to run you a bath?” He asks.
You laugh at the pure incredulousity of the moment. Months ago, you had been dating guys your age, worshipping the small things like opening doors or paying for your drinks. You had been fighting about feeling insignificant, about having to pull them away from video games long enough to have an at-home dinner with you, about feeling ignored when you hung out with their friends.
And now there’s Jack Abbot. Older than you, sure, but he was everything you had been asking for on every birthday wish. He spoke about you when you weren’t there, had you plastered upon everything that everyone would see (his home and lockscreen, your initials engraved on the inside of his watch) and chose to hang out with you over everyone else. His phone was abandoned on the kitchen counter from when you got home until the both of you went to bed, the ringer on so he didn’t have to check it just in case anything from the hospital came in.
Everyone who had been with you throughout the trials and tribulations that was dating in the modern age had told you the same thing – the perfect one will come by when you least expect it. Of course, you didn't believe them. It was hard to have hope in the later days when every person you became slightly interested in treated you so horribly, like you were just another person rather than you.
But then Jack came about. A charming smile, a calmness about him, an empathetic soul that you thought only existed in books and movies written by women. He had courted you kindly, although carefully, not wanting to come off as some older creep who wanted you just for your youth. Your first date had been filled with flowers and butterfly feelings, showing off everything Jack Abbot was rather than a facade of everything you wanted him to be.
You smile as you step closer, leaning up to kiss him again. A “thank you” to something he did without knowing he did it. “It’s alright, baby. I’ll probably just quickly shower before dinner.” And then you kiss him once more, just because you want to.
“Alright,” he concedes. He places a final kiss on your forehead, hand playfully swatting your ass as he steps away. “I’ll get dinner started so you don’t have to cook while you’re hungry.
Shaking your head, you laugh as you step into your shared bedroom. You don’t close the door when you strip off your work clothes, a girlish giggle leaving your lips when Jack playfully whistles from the kitchen. After fixing him with a matching glare, you finally disappear into the bathroom, closing the door behind you to keep the steam from seeping out.
Once you’re in the shower, you look down at the shower drain, remembering your list from this morning. A task for tomorrow morning, you decide, a good way to spend your day off when Jack is at work. For now, you’d have to deal with a little bit of water pooling around your feet while you washed off the grime of the day.
Except the water never catches. Instead, it flows down the drain easily, never staying in the tub for longer than a moment. Shock flows down your body the same way the shower spray does, your jaw dropping.
You finish up quickly before hopping out, drying off and wrapping yourself in the fluffy robe Jack had bought you the moment you had complained about not wanting to get dressed as soon as you got out of the shower. After ensuring you won’t drip water all over the apartment, you bombard your way into the kitchen, where your boyfriend is happily cooking while humming some old rock tune to himself.
“Did you unclog the shower drain?” You ask, letting your tone be as accusatory as it wanted to be.
Jack glances over his shoulder at you, the wrinkles around his eyes softening at the look of you all bundled up. He remembers your question and looks up at your face, shrugging. “Yeah. I noticed it wasn’t draining as well, only took about two minutes to do.” His horrible habit of brushing off everything he did comes roaring to a head, his focus turning back to the stove.
“Jack,” you whine. You sidle up behind him, arms wrapping around his waist from behind and placing your cheek between his shoulder blades. His hand grabs yours, lifting them up slightly so you weren’t accidentally burned. “You didn’t have to do that. It’s my hair.”
He laughs softly, the sound rumbling beneath your cheek. “I’m insulted that you think my luscious locks wouldn’t help clog the shower drain,” he deflects. “Oh, I also put away those books in the bedroom. I’m not sure if it’s exactly how you organized them, so let me know if you need me to move them.”
That just pulls another groan out of you, turning your head to press your face fully into his skin. “You’re so annoying. I was going to do both of those things tomorrow.” Your voice turns whiny as you trail off, fingertips pressing into his abdomen.
“But I did them today so now you don’t have to. You can enjoy your day off the way you’re supposed to.” Jack steps away from the stove, grabbing your hands so that he can turn around and pull you into his chest. He places a gentle kiss on your hairline, smiling into your hair. “Sittin’ pretty and spending my money.”
Your brow knits as you look up at him, hands sliding down to his waist. “You’re mean.”
“I love you,” he responds easily. Still grinning like a child on Christmas morning, he tucks a strand of your wet hair away from your face before tilting your chin up, placing a lingering kiss on your lips. “Can’t be mad at me for lovin’ you, sweetheart.”
As he intended, you relax into his touch, chasing his lips when he pulls away. Then, you pout, huffing your indignation. “Fine. But only because I love you, too.”
“I know.” Jack laughs at your petulant look, swatting your ass again. “Now get out of the kitchen so I can feed my woman.”
it's too hard to describe this in a way that feels honest, but even when i'm quiet / i love you, baby, i promise. (or: you, oscar, and the years that have come and gone.)
ꔮ starring: oscar piastri x childhood best friend!reader.
ꔮ mixed media au.
ꔮ includes: fluff, friendship, romance. suspended disbelief on timelines & flat wasps. inspired by olivia rodrigo's honeybee.
ꔮ commentary box: let's get this show back on the road, baby. did all of this in one deranged sitting. thank you for always indulging me, @cinnamorussell.
could u write a fic where reader goes on a blind date w pedri ❤️
౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ Pedri - Blind Date
⋆｡˚Pairing - pedri x fem!reader
౨ৎ Summary - Your work friends set you up on a blind date with a mystery man for the first time since your break up.
⋆｡˚Word Count - 5.2k
౨ৎ Warnings - none!
౨ৎ
You sit at your desk as the Barba sun pours in through ill-stained blinds, your fingers tapping away at the clacking keyboard that was too old and too worn. 10 months. That's how long you had worked here, and how long it had been since you moved to beautiful capital of Catalonia. 6 months was how long it had been since your little Spanish summer romance had died out like a sparkler dunked in water. Since then, it had been work work work. It was hard for an immigrant to move through a heavily Spanish company, but your were career minded and determined.
"joder este trabajo" (fuck this job), Your colleague and close friend Miguel blurts out from beside you as he pushes himself away from the desk and begins to swirl in his chair.
"Todo lo que hacemos es analizar datos, hacer un par de llamadas y responder algunos correos electrónicos." (all we do is analyse data, make a couple call and answer some emails), You roll your head watching him, a sigh oozing from your mouth. "and we get paid decently" You finish, slipping back into your native tongue.
"Decently," Your other colleague, Lola, sarcastically responds from the desk diagonal to yours mocking your non-spanish accent. You simple offer her an overly fake smile back before returning to your work.
"Taaaaan, no te uniste a nosotros el sábado" (soooooo, you didn't join us again on saturday), Miguel moves his creaking chair closer to you with an inquisitive glare that lets you know he can see right through the fake excuse you were about to give.
"Ocupada" you simply shrugged, not taking your eyes off the monitor in front of you as you imputed endless data into a spreadsheet.
"¿haciendo qué?" (doing what?), Lola nosied her way back into the conversation.
"Cosas" You waved your hand in fake annoyance at their questions as you pathetically told them you were just doing stuff and that was the reason you were unable to meet them at the club for drinks on Saturday. In reality, you had been tucked up in your small room with a herbal tea and watching the same comfort episodes of Gossip Girl again while your noisy roommate had his friends come round for drinks.
"You have done a 'thing' since Lorenzo" Miguel poked while Lola laughed. You rolled your eyes. It wasn't like he was lying, since your summer romance ended 6 months ago you really hadn't been with another man. That was your choice though. It felt like everyday you were getting asked out by a colleague or being asked for your telephone number in the street but none of them were impressive. They just didn't have that...spark? They just didn't have it, whatever it was you were wanting.
"Deberíamos emparejarte con alguien" (We should set you up with someone), Lola smirked and that set Miguel off into his fantasyland that he just adored living in at all times. That was the same land where he was convinced that in a few years he would just magically be famous and not working. In a weird way though, it was nice to have that level of blissful delusion around the office.
"¡Dios mío! We have too!" Miguel could barely contain the excitement bubbling under his skin, popping in every vessel of his body. Then he stops like something miraculous has sprung into his mind.
He leans in closer, his voice dropping into that conspiratorial tone he uses when he's two seconds away from something both ridiculous and somehow endearing.
"Escúchame," he whispers like you’re about to learn a state secret, "there's this bartender at Macarena Club. Argentinian. Looks like a young Gael García Bernal, pero con músculos."
You blink. Once. Then slowly swivel in your chair to finally look at him.
"A bartender?" you repeat, one eyebrow arching with all the skepticism in Barcelona.
Lola laughs, delighted. "Miguel, you can't just throw every attractive man at her and hope something sticks. We must take time and think about this."
You let the laughter hang for a moment, indulging in the distraction. It was better than the blinking cursor on the spreadsheet or the never-ending influx of emails marked “urgent” that clearly weren’t. The sun outside cuts sharply through the blinds now, a golden reminder that you’re inside while the city lives and breathes without you. You saved up for two years to move here. The city of your dreams. Were you letting it pass you by?
"Look," you finally say, "I'm not opposed to meeting someone. But I’m not… búsqueda."
Miguel’s brow furrows. “No estás en una búsqueda… like a knight or a pirate?” He makes a vague sword-slashing motion in the air.
Lola rolls her eyes. “She means she’s not searching, idiota.”
You nodded with a bitten lip, hiding your laugh at Miguel.
"Lucky for you, Miguel and I will search for you" Lola said and you instantly worried. The anxiety of it all so overcoming.
"Relax, you're in good hands. Just give us a few weeks. "¿Sí?"
You narrow your eyes at her, suspicious. "A few weeks?"
Miguel clasps his hands together like he’s praying to the gods of love. “Great romances take time to plan. You can’t just throw a dart at a map and hope for a match"
“You literally just tried to set me up with a bartender five minutes ago,” you point out.
“That was impulse matchmaking,” he says proudly. “This is the real deal.”
You sigh, but it’s one of those half-surrendering sighs, the kind that already admits defeat even as you pretend to resist.
Lola leans forward, her eyes sparkling with that dangerous look she gets when she’s already several steps ahead of you. “We won’t do anything crazy. Just a few introductions. Some gentle nudges. Maybe a ‘casual’ drink after work. That’s all.”
You glance at your screen again, the spreadsheet now mostly ignored, cells half-filled. The truth is, it wasn’t the idea of meeting someone that unnerved you. It was the effort. The forced conversations. The smiling when you didn’t feel like smiling. The constant inner scan of: Do I feel anything? Is this the spark? Or am I just bored?
Finally, you give in with a dramatic groan, pushing your chair back. “Fine. But no weird setups with your cousin’s coworker’s gym buddy, and absolutely no bartender.”
Miguel raises three fingers like a scout. “We swear”.
You give them both a look, somewhere between affection and dread. They smile back at you with beaming eyes. Ugh, what have you got yourself into.
-
In truth, Lola knew exactly who she was going to go to to find you a date. In fact, she had been wanting to set you up with someone for a while. To cut a long story short, Lola had a cousin who played for the FC Barca Atletic. Too young for you but he happened to have some friends in the older squad. She'd met a couple of them once or twice, at things like dinner or maybe a party her cousin had thrown.
So, she messaged her cousin about you. Sent a photo, a little fact profile about things you liked. You know the mundane and basic stuff. Then she asked him is he knew if you were anyones type, to which her cousin replied:
¿La has visto? Es del gusto de todos. (have you seen her? She's everyones type)
Lola rolled her eyes at the message and then instructed her cousin to ask around, see if anyone he knows at the club is up for going on a blind date.
Apparently, after showing a couple of the boys at the club your photo, they were practically fighting for the chance to take you out to dinner but like the well trained cousin he was he waited for one that he actually believed would be a gentleman. He didn't want to suffer the consequences of pissing off Lola.
So, a few weeks later a match was made.
Pedri.
Somehow word got around to Gavi and Ferran that some ridiculously good looking foreign girl needed a date and of course they had to do a favour for their dear friend. They were getting bored of him asking to tag along on couples day outs.
You, meanwhile, had no idea that your face had been passed around a locker room like it was part of a scouting report. If you had, you might’ve moved to Madrid out of sheer mortification. But blissful ignorance was one of life's greatest gifts.
You went about your days, still sipping herbal teas and fake-smiling your way through office interrogations about your love life, pathetic and cringe attempts of flirting from the finance department, completely unaware that FC Barcelona's golden boy had seen your photo on a sweaty phone screen in the middle of the training facility and said...
¿Ella? Claro que sí.
Her? Of Course.
౨ৎ
You found out three days before the date was scheduled that you were even going on a date. It happened on a random Wednesday morning when Lola came booming through the office with three cups of coffee and the biggest grin you had ever seen.
"Te conseguí una cita. El sábado." (I got you a date. Saturday.)
You froze mid-keystroke, blinking at your monitor like the spreadsheet might somehow translate Lola's Spanish into something that didn’t mean what you just heard.
“Que?” you asked slowly, turning in your chair.
“A date,” she repeated, practically vibrating with glee. “Este sábado. Dinner. Somewhere nice.”
Miguel popped up from behind the cubicle like a meerkat with a twisted smile “¡¿Ya?! You actually found someone?”
Lola handed him his coffee like a soldier completing a mission. “Not just someone,” she said, taking a dramatic sip from her own cup. “Someone perfect.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You said this was going to take weeks.”
“It did take weeks,” she said, offended. “I was vetting. There was a whole process. I’m not just throwing you to the wolves.”
You turned fully in your chair, arms crossed, brows furrowed. “Who is it?”
Lola hesitated just long enough to make you nervous. Miguel, on the other hand, was already bouncing in place.
“Well,” she started, carefully. “He’s nice. He’s polite. He's very intelligent and he has a real job. Very stable.”
"What is his name?" You ask, this time more stern.
"mis labios estan sellados" She said while making the motion of zipping her mouth. Miguel cackled like a witch.
"Where am I even going?" She huffed, slouching back in your chair and finally grabbing the coffee she had brought in for you.
"Paradiso. 9:00pm" You huffed again at the fact that this meant you actually had to go out at the weekend and not just remain wrapped up in the comfort of your bed.
You groaned, dragging your hand down your face.
“Outfit guidelines?” you mumbled, already regretting everything.
Lola lit up. “Something classy. Not too formal. He's already seen what you look like and he's muy contenta"
Your brows furrowed once again, "So I'm the only one who is blind. ¿Cómo es eso justo?" (How is that fair?)
Miguel simply shrugged, "It's not" and then for the first time since you had known him actually went back to doing his work.
“You’ll thank me later.” Lola said, finally sitting down at her own desk.
You rolled your eyes.
“Maybe.”
౨ৎ
Saturday afternoon came quicker than you wanted it too.
Three days and that was it. All the time was gone like a blink. And soon you would need to begin to get ready to meet the mystery man that Miguel had told you was from your dreams.
Somewhere across the city, Pedri had already reserved the table.
He was sitting in his car, outside training, looking at the contact name Lola’s cousin had sent him.
Just a name and a picture. That was all he had. But it was enough. Enough to know that girls like you don't just come around very often. Enough to make his curiosity latch on like a stubborn echo of the mind.
It wasn't just your looks either, although those alone has sparked enough commentary in the locker room for the past three days. Every single day. Every hour. It was constant questions: When are you seeing the hot girl? Have you seen her yet? Have you texted her? If you don't like her can I take her out next? It was too much commentary, the type of commentary that made his stomach turn slightly over a girl he had never even met.
It was your softness and the way there seemed to be this sunlike aura around you, even in a candid photo. This sort of quiet confidence that said you knew you were attractive but you also knew what you were worth. This untouchable challenge that he needed to try.
He liked that. A lot.
He ran a hand through his damp hair, fresh from training, as the late afternoon sun painted golden lines across his dashboard. The city was glowing and somewhere out there, you were deciding what to wear, probably pacing your apartment or texting Lola to threaten her one last time.
He smiled to himself.
He just hoped you would actually show up.
౨ৎ
By 8:58, you were standing outside a tucked-away bar in El Born, heart pounding so loudly you could barely hear the soft music drifting out the door.
You kept glancing at yourself in the window reflection across from you. Had you overdressed or underdressed? You brush the fabric of your short black dress down. It was simple and classy. A boatneck neckline, sleeveless. A small gold cross necklace around your neck like God was going to be any help tonight. Your hair was slicked back into a tortoise shell claw clip. Big gold hoops hung heavy from your ear lobes because in a strange way that gave you more confidence. On your feet were just some simple glossy black kitten heels, and you paired the whole outfit with a small burgundy red shoulder bag.
Your makeup was natural, an emphasis on looking bronzy and glowy more than anything but as you stared at your reflection you wondered if you should have worn more.
You exhaled slowly, willing your heart to settle. It didn’t.
The nerves danced under your skin, tightening your chest, making your fingers twitch around the strap of your bag.
It’s just a date, you told yourself.
But it wasn’t. Not really. Not when it had been six months since your last, not when this one came wrapped in mystery and anticipation, and certainly not when you were walking into it completely blind and he wasn’t.
Your phone buzzed.
Lola
He's already inside, just go in. He's sat at the back corner. The reservation is under Lopez.
You sighed and shoved your phone into your bag before you could turn around, back out and catch the train home.
Instead, you turned to the door which was illuminated by red lights and you pushed it open.
Inside, the place was warm and comforting. A welcoming bar filled with exquisite decor and the smell of spiced rum mixed with cologne that was worn by those in a different tax bracket. Jazz music serenaded the background. Chatter rippled throughout the establishment.
You hesitated at the entrance for a breath too long. Your eyes scanned the space. It was dim and sultry, walls lined with dark wood, candles flickering at every table like it was scripted that way. Neon signs plastered around the place.
Without thinking, you glance at the back corner.
And you find him. and you can't explain how but you just know it's him.
He sat alone, phone screen glowing faintly in front of him, but he wasn’t scrolling. Just resting his fingertips on the table, like he was trying to act casual.
You contemplated running out the bar. The nerves of seeing him was simply to much to handle.
But then he looked up.
And your eyes met his. And it was like all the air in the room was sucked out, and suddenly your breathless. Breathless because he's beautiful. The kind of beautiful that remains both boyish and clean cut. His bone structure so sharp but on them a subtle blush.
And then he smiles, and for some reason you feel like you have seen him before. He's familiar but you can't place it. You must be mistaking him for someone else because you would remember if you had met a man that looked like him before. You were sure of it.
He stands from the table, and you walk towards it. In typical European style you give a small quick embrace. A friendly hug which lets you know he smells of coconut and raw wood-like musk.
“Hola,” he says gently, “I’m Pedro.”
Pedro. Hmm. The name doesn't ring a bell but now that you're up close you know you've seen him before.
"Hola, Pedro" You reply, slightly nervous under the gaze of his honey coloured eyes, "I'm y/n"
“y/n,” he repeats softly, like he’s trying it out on his tongue, like he wants to commit it to memory the right way. He holds your gaze for a beat longer than expected. Not in a cocky way, but like he’s genuinely taking you in. Or like he was stunned.
Then he gestures toward the seat across from his, and you slide into it, smoothing your dress as you sit.
'Cómo estás?' He asks politely, a hint of nerves on his voice.
"Soy buena y tu?" You reply.
"Bueno" He responds, and you can't explain in but there is a hint of cheekiness in his word. Something charming hidden behind it and it makes butterflies soar in your empty stomach. You can't help but smile, it's a wide one.
You both settle into this stillness that hums with unspoken attraction. Gentle clinks of glasses ring in the background, a low humming of late night conversation rising and falling but you stay tethered to him, to the way he's smiling and the way he's looking at you.
'No creo que necesitaras una cita a ciegas' (I don't believe you needed a blind date), Pedro says, looking at you and shaking his head a little, his eyes quickly flicking up and down your frame as you sit opposite him. 'Entonces, ¿por qué aceptaste esto?' (So, why did you agree to this?)
For a moment, you are taken aback by such an opening question. You ponder on it for a few seconds. I mean he was right, if you really wanted to go on a date you could have found someone yourself easily. The guys from the finance department were cheesy but they also happened to be good looking. Hell, all you needed to do was actually go to the bar with Lola and Miguel and you would get some guys offering their numbers. So, why were you here?
'Quería la emoción y los nervios. Algo diferente' (I wanted the excitement and the nerves. something different), You answer.
'¿Y tú? Hay una mesa llena de chicas al otro lado de la barra que no pueden dejar de mirarte. Entonces, ¿qué haces aquí?' (and you? There is an entire table of girls on the other side of the bar who can't stop looking at you. So, why are you here?), You ask.
Pedro's head quickly snaps to the table you were referring to, and you follow his gaze. You can see it makes him shift a little in his seat. You can also see the girl seem to get...excited? They seem to pause like they can't believe Pedro is a real human being. They all blush and giggle. You quite literally never seen anything like it. Maybe they were eighteen, and they had never seen such an attractive man. That had to be it.
Pedro turns back to you, ignoring the girls.
"No eres una cara a la que puedas decir que no" (You're not a face you can say no to)
You gulp, and blush. Breaking eye contact because the gaze of his brown ones are too hard to bear. Heat seems to rush between your thighs and you haven't felt since Lorenzo. Even then, that felt different to this.
Pedro sits back in his seat, not in arrogance but in confidence. The nerves of before seem to have gone and usually you hate guys with overconfidence but this. This was turning you on. It was making you hungry.
A waiter appears, and Pedro gestures for you to order first. You glance at the menu and pick something easy, a classic cocktail one you always get. He orders a Negroni, barely even looks at the menu. A man that knows what he wants with no hesitation. You begin to wonder if he is like that about all things.
Pedro’s eyes settle on yours again, his thumb tracing the rim of his water glass absentmindedly.
'¿Has vivido aquí por mucho tiempo?' (have you lived here long?) He asks.
'Ten months," you say, not even realising it wasn't in Spanish. "casi un año" (almost a year)
He nods, the waitor brings back the drinks and they settle on the table. He takes a sip of the negroni and you take a sip of your cocktail. Then he asks, '¿Y a ti te gusta aquí en Barcelona?' (do you like it here in Barcelona)
You think on that again. Your finger dance around the rim of your glass. You don't notice but Pedro can't stop staring.
'Si, Casi todos los días. Pero a veces extraño tanto mi casa que siento que no puedo respirar. Estar tan lejos de mi familia. Y hablar español todo el tiempo es difícil y agotador. Traducir constantemente lo que pienso a otro idioma.' (Most days. But sometimes I miss home so much and it feels like I can't breathe. Being so far away from my family. And speaking spanish all the time is hard and tiring. To constantly translate what i'm thinking into another language.)
You begin with more honesty than you should have given on a first date.
'Pero luego, cuando esos momentos pasan y contemplo esta ciudad, me doy cuenta de que es el primer lugar donde realmente he sentido que encajo.' (But then when those moments pass and i take in this city. I realise it's the first place i've ever truly felt i've fit in.)
Pedro smiles, warm and unforced. You don't know it but what you have just said is a reflection of how he feels. Being away from Tenerife, and family. He's used to it now because he has done it so long, but he still has the moments of homesickness you talk about.
He leans slightly forward, elbows resting on the table, the Negroni still untouched in his hand. “Nunca nadie me lo ha dicho así,” he says finally. (No one’s ever put it like that before.)
You look up, your fingers pausing their slow orbit around the rim of your glass. “You feel that too?”
He nods, but it's quiet. Like he’s admitting to something he usually doesn’t.
"Me fui de casa joven,"He says, 'y al principio sentí libertad. Luego, solo distancia. Como si hubiera cambiado lo que amo por algo que se suponía que debía amar más.' (I left home young, and at first it felt like freedom. Then it felt like only distance. Like I traded what I love for something I was supposed to love more.)
You don’t say anything, but your eyes stay on him. Studying him, seeing what seems to be fragility for a split second.
You let your eyes move over him now with a little less hesitation. The curve of his mouth, the small mole on his neck just under his jaw, the way his fingers sit so still on the table. And again, that flicker of recognition you still can’t quite pin down. You have seen him somewhere before, you just cannot place it.
'¿A qué te dedicas?' You ask him what he does for work to break the silence. And in the hope to get to the root of where you may have seen him before. Maybe he working in the other office building round the corner and you have seen him on your lunch break.
Pedro chuckles, a quiet rumble of a sound. He leans back in his chair, not defensive, just resigned. It was like he had been waiting for this question to inevitably come up all night.
He looks at you for a beat, then says, “I play football.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Like… professionally?”
Pedro nods once, casually. “Sí.”
And just like that, the pieces start falling into place. The girls at the bar. The waiter’s slightly-too-eager attention. That sense of familiarity that’s been gnawing at you since you walked in. You study his face again.
"¿para quién?" (For who?), but you fear you may already know.
'FC Barcelona' It rolls of his tongue like thunder in the sky.
Lola had to be kidding. This had to be a sick joke. She had set you up on a blind date with a footballer from one of the top clubs in world football.
Your mouth parted in shock.
The fact that even sitting across from him, you’d felt like you’d seen him before, but couldn’t place it—because it wasn’t real life you’d seen him in. It was screens. News clips. Bus stop ads. Shirts with his name on the back, now that you think about it.
Pedro.
Not just Pedro.
Pedri.
It clicks.
"Pedri' You say, it's just above whisper. "When they talk about Pedri, they talk about you"
"¿Quiénes son 'ellos'?' He asks. (Who is 'they'?)
'Los chicos de la oficina, la gente del bar. Los medios de comunicación.' (The guys in the office, the people in the pub. The media.). You ramble.
You let out a breath, leaning back in your chair like the air's been knocked out of you. You glance around the restaurant again, suddenly feeling too aware of your dress, your lipstick, the way your hair’s probably already curling out of place.
Pedro watches you quietly, letting you sit in the weight of it. He doesn’t rush to fill the silence. Doesn’t shift uncomfortably or crack a joke to ease the tension.
He just watches.
“I didn’t know,” you say finally, softer now, like you’re trying to make peace with the fact that you’ve been speaking to someone the entire city seems to know and yet, you were speaking to him like he was just a normal guy.
He smiles, just a little. “That’s kind of why I agreed to this.”
Your eyes flick back to his. God, did he have to be so handsome. I mean this was painful now that you knew this could never work. You could never be a wag. You didn't want that kind of exposure and lifestyle and media attention. You just wanted to exist in a peaceful and normal life. There was also one other slight problem.
"Esto nunca funcionará entre nosotras" (This will never work between us)
Pedro sits up, brows instantly furrowing. That makes your heart beat because it means he too was already picturing this blind date as something that could be more. He too had already settled into the familiarity between you that made it feel like you had never not known him.
"¿Cómo no?"
You look at him, taking in his wide honey eyes and his beating anticipation.
"Porque soy fan del Real Madrid"
Pedro stares at you. Blinks once. Twice.
And then he exhales a short laugh, disbelieving. "¿Estás bromeando?" (You're joking?)
You lift your glass and take a long, steady sip of your cocktail, eyes locked on him over the rim. When you set it down, your expression is perfectly deadpan. “No.”
His mouth opens, then closes again, like he’s trying to form a coherent response but the betrayal—the audacity—has knocked the words right out of him.
"Eres Madridista?" he says the word like it physically hurts his throat.
You shrug, biting your bottom lip to stop the smirk from pulling at your lips. "Si, desde que era niña" (yes, since I was a girl)
He groans, one hand dragging down his face, the other gripping the side of the table like he’s bracing himself against emotional collapse. "Sabía que tenía que haber algo en ti que no fuera perfecto." (I knew there had to be something about you that wasn't perfect)
Pedro drops his hand from his face, shaking his head slowly, but he’s smiling too even though he should not be. "Te das cuenta de que esto te convierte en mi enemigo?" (You realise this makes you my enemy.)
You grin, tilting your head just slightly, as you lean forward on your elbow and say, with mock innocence:
"Archienemiga." (Arch-enemy.)
Pedro lets out a low laugh, one of those genuine ones that starts deep in the chest, not forced or filtered for charm. It rumbles out of him like it surprises even himself. His smile now—it's real. Warm. Dangerous.
This feeling between you, it's dangerous. So dangerous because for Pedro it felt like love at first sight, and you had been swept of your feet.
He looks down at your lips with deep desire, then his eyes flick up looking between yours.
"Sabes," you say, swirling the last bit of your drink around the glass, 'Esto es probablemente un desastre a punto de ocurrir.' (this is probably a disaster waiting to happen.)
Pedro shrugs, completely unfazed.
"Quizás," he says simply, "pero no parece que quieras evitarlo." (Maybe. But it doesn’t seem like you want to avoid it.)
You glance down at your glass, hiding the way your lips twitch into a smile. He’s not wrong.
“Y si lo quiero?” (And if I do?)
He leans back, watching you for a beat. “Entonces ya habrías salido por esa puerta.” (Then you would have already walked out that door.)
You look up. He’s right again.
The music hums softly around you, low and warm. The girls across the room have long stopped staring. The restaurant has faded into the background, blurred by the quiet weight between you and him—this strange, unexpected comfort like you’ve met before in another life.
You exhale, resting your chin on your hand. “You know this is going to be complicated, right?”
Pedro smiles. “Si.”
You don't say anything to that. You just reach for your glass, take the final sip, and set it down.
Then: “Uno condición.”
Pedro arches a brow.
"Nunca vestiré una camiseta del Barcelona" (I will never wear a Barcelona jersey)
He groans immediately, dragging a hand through his hair. "eso es cruel"
You grin.
He shakes his head, but he’s smiling too. Wide and without hesitation.
“Pero soy un hombre adulto, puedo manejarlo." (But i'm a grown man, I can handle it)
And just like that, the rest of the night stretches ahead of you. Unwritten. Unplanned. Maybe messy. Maybe impossible.
But something about it feels like exactly right.
And come Monday morning, you would be thanking Lola for this night and all the night that were about to come between you and Pedro.
liked by uncle_jezzy, theinada, jakehirshland and 184 others
reader forcing this loser to leave chicago for a few months 🙄✈️ good luck filming ur little netflix show i guess… don’t become famous and forget about us or i’ll personally fly to atlanta and humble you. the flowers are for me btw.
Comments
uncle_jezzy: my little netflix show 😐
reader: that’s literally what it is
theinada: can’t wait for it to get cancelled after one season
jakehirshland: joe’s gonna come back thinking he’s famous
daltonallison: bro booked ONE job 😭
uncle_jezzy: why are none of you supportive
stinkyjavi: we are
stinkyjavi: this is support
reader: stop bullying my boyfriend bitches
mattwillz: can’t wait to say “i knew him before he got annoying”
reader: too late
uncle_jezzy: I HATE THAT PICTURE
reader: which is exactly why i posted it
samuelmjordan: bae is leaving 😣
2016
liked by uncle_jezzy, theinada, jakehirshland and 1.378 others
reader his little netflix show premiered today. still can’t believe people actually showed up.
Comments
uncle_jezzy: stop calling it my little netflix show 😐
reader: no
theinada: joe’s gonna be insufferable now
jakehirshland: can’t wait for him to forget where he came from
uncle_jezzy: i fly home tomorrow buddy
trentkainalu: so… mr. netflix is buying dinner?
uncle_jezzy: absolutely not
reader: he still made me pay for airport coffee btw
daltonallison: never beating the broke allegations 😭
strangerthingsfan: STEVE 😭❤️
steveharringtons: you guys are so cute omg
reader: thank u 🤍
80skids: i just finished the show and i already love steve
daltonallison: don’t encourage him
2017
liked by finnwolfhardofficial, samuelmjordan, uncle_jazzy and 10.478 others
reader Documents from the only day the Duffers let me be on set.
Comments
uncle_jezzy: they tolerated u for one day
reader: they invited me back actually
uncle_jezzy: still don’t know why
finnwolfhardofficial: she brought snacks that’s why
reader: THANK YOU FINN
gatenm123: the snacks were fire
sadiesink_: can confirm
theinada:joe’s work wife era is over
reader: never existed
uncle_jezzy: thank u
strangerthingsfan: YOU GOT TO MEET THE KIDS 😭
reader: they’re all cooler than joe
steveharringtons: this is so cute omg 🥹
2018
Liked by uncle_jezzy, maikamonroe, theinada and 18,491 others
reader moving to LA with pookie
Comments
uncle_jezzy: now let’s start a family.
reader: bro.
maikamonroe: welcome 🫶
reader: finally have someone to save me from joe
uncle_jezzy: ???
theinada: can’t believe chicago lost another soldier
Daltonallison: see u in two weeks when u miss real pizza
reader: already do
charlie.r.heaton: la suits u guys 🤍
samuelmjones: mom and dad moved in together 😭
steveharringtons: STOP YOU TWO ARE SO CUTE
netflixgeek: steve harrington won in life fr 😭
2019
liked by uncle_jezzy, charlie.r.heaton, sadiesink_ and 28,416 others
reader spent the morning getting photographed. spent the afternoon watching this idiot get fake blood all over himself. productive day.
Comments
uncle_jezzy: my job makes yours look boring
reader: BRO, obviously because you keep playing catch with Gaten
uncle_jezzy: don’t call me bro and don’t put that image out there of me….
sadiesink_: the fact that he needs 6 people doing his makeup and you only have one 😭
gatenm123: joe was looking at your pictures THE WHOLE DAY
uncle_jezzy: my future wife is hot, what can i say 😉
strangerthingsfan: joe won fr
reader: i know
uncle_jezzy: she’s humble too
maya_hawke: my favorite people 🤍
KaleKeemy: she’s carrying this relationship
uncle_jezzy: crazy thing to say
reader: she’s right
jakehirshland: can’t believe she still puts up with u
reader: me neither honestly
uncle_jezzy: ?????
2020
liked by uncle_jezzy, charlie.r.heaton, maya_hawke and 34,918 others
reader the day i went to the spree set and made a new friend 🥹
comments
steveharringtons: her collecting dogs while joe collects fake injuries 😭
uncle_jezzy: i’m carrying this post
reader: no, the dog is
uncle_jezzy: unbelievable
jakehirshland: did joe tell everyone he had to wear an eyepatch
reader: before saying hello
strangerthingsfan: post more ST btsss!!!
jezzyfan: sick movie Joe
finnwolfhardofficial: Joe looks so hot
uncle_jezzy: appreciate it man
maya_hawke: the puppy 😭🤍
stinkyjavi: joe sent me that first picture at least six times
reader: he thinks he ate
uncle_jezzy: i ate.
2021
liked by milliebobbybrown, stinkyjavi, samuelmjordan, 195.389 others
reader Rome looked pretty on us 💗
comments
jakehirshland: how long until joe wanted to go home
reader: day 4, it’s the taurus on him
joekeerydaily: we need the rest of the photo dump!!
jezzyfan: tell him to activate his account again, we miss him!!!!
ninakeery: bring me back a grandbaby!! ❤️😘✌️😅
kalekeemy: omg mom
reader: i promise nina i’m trying!!!
samuelmjordan: how many “wait one more” pictures did u make joe take
reader: at least 50
daltonallison: poor guy
stinkyjavi: did he wear that shirt every day
reader: …
mattwillz: did you buy that wine that i asked for?
2022
liked by djotime, charlie.r.heaton, maya_hawke and 14.289.203 others
reader boyfriend so hot i HAD to give him a baby
comments
stinkyjavi: can’t wait to teach the kid how to annoy joe
reader: that was going to be my job
jakehirshland: so this is why you’ve been saying “i can’t tonight”
reader: i was busy growing a person
strangerthingsfan: OMG
joekeerydaily: WHAT THE FUCK
jezzyfan: this is the best news i heard in my life.
samuelmjordan: joe’s gonna be the dad with the camera on his hand every hour of the day to take pictures of the baby
reader: he already has an album ready
djotime: it’s organized by month
djotime: my favorite people ❤️
milliebobbybrown: CONGRATULATIONS 😭❤️
sadiesink: so so happy for you both 🤍
gatenmatarazzo: UNCLE GATEN ERA
finnwolfhardofficial: joe as a dad is insane but also makes perfect sense
noahschnapp: CONGRATS GUYS ❤️❤️
calebmclaughlin: congratulations!! so happy for you both
nattyiceofficial: this is beautiful. congratulations 🤍
maya_hawke: crying. love you both so much 🤍
dkharbour: congrats you two ❤️
winonaryderofficial: so much love to you both
charlie.r.heaton: this kid is gonna have the coolest parents
reader: we’ll do our best
steveharringtons: joe’s smile in the last picture 🥹
2023
liked by djotime, joekeerydaily, maya_hawke and 2.891.019 others
reader dads working, we’re just here for cuddles.
comments
djotime: my favourite roommates
reader: oh wow
samuelmjordan: joe has become one of those dads hasn’t he
reader: he showed luke to the entire crew before saying good morning
kalekeemy: LUKE 😭😭😭
lizzykeery: can i come over and visit? 🥹
reader: ofcc, always welcome
joekeerydaily: DAD JOE CONTENT 😭🤍
jakehirshland: had a great time there, definitely going back
weswesp_: can’t wait to see fargo
milliebobbybrown: i miss little luke already 🥹
finnwolfhardofficial: tell joe to answer his phone
someone: ew why did he pose like that
someoneelse: that’s the ugliest baby ever
anotherperson: no wonder the baby is so ugly, look at his parents
other: 🤢🤢🤢
2024
liked by djotime, maya_hawke, stinkyjavi and 3.007.389 others
reader my favorite smile 🤍
Comments unavailable
2025
liked by djotime, mattduffer, maya_hawke and 29.739.387 others
reader Joe’s little show is done 😭. Bye Steve Harrington, we’ll miss you.
comments
reader: Guys the last picture was from a scene, i swear it was not me 🙄🙄
finnwolfhardofficial: thank you for clarifying that
milliebobbybrown: can’t believe we are not going to see our fictional and real babysitters everyday 😭😭
calebmclaughin: mama e papa
reader: what?
calebmclaughin: gen z, you wouldn’t understand
reader: 67
djotime: skibidi toilet
calebmclaughlin: omg stfu
charlie.r.heaton: well… now what
reader: vacation
kainalu.music: yay more time for music
davidkharbour: ❤️❤️❤️
winonaryderofficial: so much love 🤍
samuelmjordan: welcome back to the real world joe
reader: he’s already talking about missing set
joekeerydaily: thank you for sharing this journey with us 🤍
strangerthings: ❤️
sadiesink: my family forever ❤️
nattyiceofficial: i will be so bored now
reader: fr
2026
liked by djotime, emiliamernes, joekeerydaily and 5.328.417 others
reader Argentina we love you. Luke says Vamos Boca, but i’m more of a River fan
comments
djotime: Vamos boca
reader: fuck you
stinkyjavi: vamos boca
kainalu.music: vamos boca
samuelmjordan: vamos boca
emiliamernes: WELCOME 🇦🇷
reader: omg love you icon
Jakehirshland: Vamos boca
gatenmatarazzo: the little jersey 🥹
maya_hawke: we have to go together
reader: we will, trust
argentinadjo: come back to argentina 🇦🇷
sadiesink: sweet family 🤍
weswesp_: gotta love the asado
reader: omg already miss it
Melanie speaking:
hi everyone!!first of all, i’m so sorry for disappearing for a few days 😭 i’ve been really busy with school lately and i’ve been pretty stressed trying to keep up with studying, so writing had to take a little break. i’ve also been completely obsessed with a book these past few days and i’ve spent way too much time reading instead of doing… literally anything else 😭 but i’m finally back!! i missed writing for you guys and i had so much fun making this one. i hope you enjoyed it as much as i enjoyed putting it together. thank you so much for reading, liking, reblogging and always being so sweet. it genuinely means the world to me.
oscar piastri x yn! bellingham | request — here | masterlist
"i like your big sister, she has your same face, and I tried to win her, Over with my cynical humor and yacht rock music taste." despite being the older sister of jude and jobe bellingham, that doesn’t stop them from being protective when it’s revealed who oscar piastri has a crush on…
face claim : zendaya
note — (manips by me as always) thank you for the request, hope you enjoy !!!! likes, reblog's and comments are appreciated ⟡˚౨ৎ⋆
Liked by user1, user2 and 273,825 others
F1Gossip Does Oscar Piastri have a crush...?
In a recent video the McLaren drivers were asked "Who is your favorite football player?" in which Norris replied "Oscar is going to say Bellingham, but not Jude..." upon further inspection the only Bellingham that Piastri follows is Y/n Bellingham the sister of Jude and Jobe Bellingham 👀
view all comments...
user1 oh i'd never go outside again
user2 oscar should've slapped tf out of him
->user3 LIKE?!?? why are you outing my crush man!@!?!?
->user4 i would've exposed him right back 😭
user5 i mean she IS gorgerous so..
user6 he's so messy for saying that bruhh
user7 his reply being to blush
->user8 he was SPEECHLESS
->user9 bro was SO red oh my-
user10 now why the hell would he say that?? 😭
user11 lowkey scared to see bellingham's reaction to this
user12 oscar might need to hire security after this
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♬ Sade ‧ Paradise
Liked by judebellingham, oscarpiastri and 1,318,362 others
ynbellingham ooh what a life
view all comments
user1 vibes are perfect
user2 no selfie :(
->ynbellingham didn't want to embarrass the bros
->judebellingham alright
->jobebellingham that's crazy
->user3 well is she lying..?
user4 oscar still in the likes, he really dgaf
user5 you are such a sade song 💌
user6 TRULY living the life
user7 alright what do y'all think of oscar? judebellingham jobebellingham
->judebellingham no comment
->jobebellingham ⬆
->user8 oscar you might wanna watch out...
->user9 either he doesn't gaf or he REALLY gives a fuck.....
user10 do you need a sister in law..?
user11 come on oscar daon't be shy... leave a comment
user12 why am i nervous for oscar now 😭
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡ -------------------------- ⟡˚౨ৎ⋆
ynbellingham posted a story !
view all story replies
user1 WATCHING F1?!?!??
user2 of all races u picked the one oscar won....
user3 this face card mama
user4 a selfie after your last story is sooooo
user5 heyyyyy jude 🤭
user6 ty for this jude pic queen <3
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oscarpiastri posted a story !
view all story replies
ynbellingham guess i picked a pretty good race to watch
->oscarpiastri if i'd known you were watching i would've invited you to the race
->ynbellingham didn’t want to give you performance anxiety yk 🤕
->oscarpiastri right right right
->oscarpiastri your presence would’ve caused a 20 car pile up
->ynbellingham see! glad you understand
->oscarpiastri also i do want to apologize for my teammate saying all that and having your comments full of people talking about me…
->ynbellingham it’s fine lol
->ynbellingham but you didn’t have to make your teammate say my name to get my attention ☺️
->oscarpiastri if i’d known that then i would’ve messaged you sooner 😉
->ynbellingham mhmm so you free anytime soon…?
->oscarpiastri i can make myself free if need be
->ynbellingham send your number so we can chat some more
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Liked by judebellingham, oscarpiastri and 3,118,262 others
ynbellingham omw 🛫
view all comments
user1 this hair is so so good i can't
judebellingham where???
->ynbellingham do i need to tell you everywhere i go?
->judebellingham YES
->jobebellingham 100%
->ynbellingham you're welcome to tag along
->jobebellingham I HAVE PLANS
->judebellingham IM on my way
->ynbellingham i was joking jude
->ynbellingham JUDE
->ynbellingham i hate you
->user2 THEY ARE SOOOO
->user3 such a little brother i canttt
user4 living my dream life im sick
user5 the face card is always so insane im speechless
user6 the hello kitty keychain... i knew i liked u for a good reason
->ynbellingham im a woman with excellent taste
->user7 TRUST we know mama
user8 wait but WHERE are you going...??
user9 Muse, the legend, the myth x
user10 loving your active era
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Liked by ynbellingham, oscarpiastri and 5,736,518 others
judebellingham recently 🍃
view all comments
user1 IS THAT.....
user2 no way did jude post oscar piastri before y/n
ynbellingham 🥐🏝📽
->user3 THE PASTRY KASURGLIU
->user4 this is conformation 100%
->user5 THEYRE INSANEEEE
user6 he's trying to distract us from how good he looks in the 1st picture
user7 did he just hard launch oscar and not let y/n do it!??? 😭
user8 them three all hanging out is still crazy to me
user9 HE MET THE FAMILY.....
->user10 AND WENT ON VACATION WITH THEM
->user11 oscar knew not to play with it came to y/n
user12 the way we all know that's oscar from his back is sooo-
user13 does this mean that oscar got the brothers stamp of approval
user14 girl the concept of oscar and all the bellingham's having family dinner is KILLING MEE 😭
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Liked by ynbellingham, judebellingham and 4,736,518 others
oscarpiastri Enjoyable one that!
view all comments
judebellingham 🙌😍🔥
->ynbellingham easy with the 😍
->judebellingham damn my bad
->user1 she said "oscar is not a group project"...
->user2 that's HER man
->user3 the heart eyes was a little much 😭
user4 Killing it brother
user5 GO OSCAR🧡✨🏆
ynbellingham so so so proud 💗
->oscarpiastri thank you for coming angel 💗
->judebellingham easy with the "so"
->ynbellingham this is why jobe is my favorite
->user6 jude takes the role of being the middle child very serious
->user7 he somehow always finds new ways to annoy y/n..
user8 MY GOAT OSCARRR
user9 okay ynbellingham be honest did they interrogate him..?
->ynbellingham lot's of threats but it ended with everyone getting ice cream so it was fine lol
->user10 not surprised 😭☠
user11 just tried to sneak in y/n...
user12 audibly gasped when i saw the 5th picture
user13 so deserved!! well done
jobebellingham where was my invite..?
->ynbellingham in the group chat..
->judebellingham i have the messages!!
->user14 the kids are fighting again
->user15 omg they are such siblings i canttt 😭
user16 MY FAV DRIVER IS A WINNNNNER
user17 i can't believe he bagged THE y/n bellingham 😭
user18 he's got all the bellingham's approval how cute 🤭
user19 second to confirm it after jude did LOLLL
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✎…… this was going to be shorter but i just kept adding stuff mb <3
also if there are any jobe and jude names mixed up it's because i swear i have undiagnosed dyslexia
warnings: secret relationship soft-launch energy, accidental pet name on live stream, secondhand embarrassment, nervous laughing and visible flustering, chat going feral with spamming and clipping, irl stream setting!
—
the internet has already been suspicious for weeks.
every stream was just:
“just announce it.”
“we’re not stupid.”
“hard launch when?”
so tonight is supposed to be safe. harmless. you, marlon, and rocket getting ice cream on stream. normal friend content. nothing confirmable.
rocket walks backward with the camera. “chat behave. this is a wholesome stream.”
“they don’t know how,” you say.
marlon just smiles, hands in his hoodie pocket, trying to act natural. there’s a careful distance between you both. not too close. not too far. deliberate.
inside the ice cream shop, you step up to the counter. “okay wait… why does birthday cake look kinda good?”
“birthday cake? that’s not a bad shout,” marlon says, grinning at you instead of the camera for half a second too long.
the worker asks what you want.
you hesitate. “hmmm, i don’t know.”
you glance at him without thinking.
and he suddenly forgets he’s live or just is stupid.
“get whatever you want, baby.”
it slips out soft. automatic. natural.
the kind of tone he uses when it’s just you two.
he freezes. just for half a second.
like his brain finally catches up with his mouth.
rocket lets out a quiet, shocked laugh behind the camera.
chat absolutely detonates.
BABY????
HELLO???
NO WAY
CLIP IT
marlon blinks once.
then he forces a smile.
“anyway,” he says quickly, clapping his hands together once like he’s resetting the universe. “chat what flavor are we thinking?”
he’s convincing himself they didn’t hear it.
maybe the music in the shop covered it.
maybe the mic cut.
maybe—
you don’t react.
not even slightly.
you just nod like nothing happened. “okay. cookies and cream.”
you turn immediately to the toppings. “oh wait, do you have brownie pieces?”
rocket is still quietly laughing to himself, trying to angle the camera toward the menu instead of marlon’s face.
marlon is smiling too much.
too stiff.
he pays, grabs his ice cream, and walks outside like everything is fine.
it is not fine.
you sit at one of the metal tables. space between you. intentional.
“rate it,” you say casually, taking a bite.
“uh, yeah. it’s good. like an eight.”
normal voice. normal tone.
he pulls out his phone.
big mistake.
the second he opens chat, his expression changes.
it’s just:
BABY???
WE HEARD THAT
BRO HARD LAUNCHED
?????
and then the jokes start.
“ur the tuffest marlon.”
“rocket officiating the wedding.”
“mf acting like we didn’t hear him say baby.”
he lets out a nervous laugh.
low at first.
just under his breath.
“they’re so stupid,” he mutters.
the chats just keep coming in.
it gets worse.
“marlon actually a dumbass sob”
“that was NOT friendly.”
“ain’t no way.”
his laugh gets louder.
not confident — just overwhelmed.
the kind of laugh you do when you don’t know what else to do.
rocket is fully grinning behind the camera now. “chat is wild tonight.”
“they’re actually dumb,” marlon says, still laughing. “y’all just hear things.”
everyone heard it.
rocket heard it.
you definitely heard it.
chat absolutely heard it.
and probably clipped it already.
but you keep your eyes on your ice cream like you’re in your own world.
“this is actually good,” you say casually. “you should’ve gotten this flavor.”
you don’t look at him, you don’t acknowledge the word, you don’t even tease.
because the second you react, it confirms it.
and you know that.
so you just keep talking.
about flavors. about how cold it is. about where to go next.
marlon slowly locks his phone and shoves it back into his pocket, still smiling in disbelief.
“anyway,” he says, trying to reset again. “after this we might go to the arcade or something.”
“arcade sounds fun,” you reply easily.
chat is still spamming.
still joking.
still very aware there’s something going on between you and marlon.
but since neither of you address it, there’s nothing concrete to clip besides a single word and a nervous laugh.
and marlon keeps telling himself maybe they’ll forget about it.
chat wont.
—
sorry the request said to include reactions but i honestly dont know how that would go.
: ̗̀➛ 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 :)!
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