Flash: Hey Phantom, Ghosts have a core right? Can I see yours?
Constantine: *facepalm*
Deadman: *winces and shakes his head*
Jason(Blood): *hisses in pity*
Phantom: *pupils turn to slits as he stares down at Flash, and he grins showing off sharp teeth* Sure Flash, but only after I get have a peek of your brain. *pulls a hacksaw out of his chest* Does that sound fair?
Flash: *yelps and darts behind Batman*
Phantom: *huffs, puts the hacksaw away before floating off*
Constantine: For the record, next time just ask him to bare himself to you. That's far less offensive.
Robin: At least all that stupid spell did was give us animal fetures. *glares at the Robin wings now popping out of his back*
Beast Boy: Honestly I don't feel much different.*has a snakes tail, a bats wings, large goat horns, and lion ears* I think I'm a Chimera?
Cyborg: Could be worse.*has two dog ears on his head, one upright and robotic, the other organic and floppy, he also has a tail but it was short and tucked into his suit*
Raven: Starfire seems to be having fun. *looking upwards as two massive raven wings wrap around her in place of her coat.*
Starfire, giggling: I am the cat! Meow! Meow! Meow!*two pink cat ears rest on her head, paired with a long, elegant pink tail* Oh! Phantom is the cat too!
Phantom: *laying in the air with white and black rounded ears, and a long white and black spotted tail, that he is chewing on*
Robin: Why are you eating your tail?
Phantom: *shugs*
Beast Boy: Hes a Snow Leopard, sometimes they just kinda carry their tails around.
Robin, sighing: Nobody's hurt? Good, then let's go catch that weirdo.
Bonus!
Robin: I'm so glad thats over.
Starfire: Awe, I liked being the cat- hey! Phantom is still a leopard!
Robin: What?!
Phantom: *lazily floating and smacking at his own tail* Hmm? Oh I wasn't spelled. *ears and tail vanish before reappearing* See?
Robin: What? Explain!
Raven, groaning as she just remembered: Hes a ghost! That spell had no physical body to latch onto!
Beast Boy: Nice.
Cyborg: So why did you give yourself ears and a tail?
Phantom, deflating: I felt left out.
Starfire: *nods in understanding and pats his back in reassurance*
Bonus #2!
Phantom: Psst! Star!
Starfire: *curiously flys over*
Phantom: I snagged that guy's spell book! *grins as his Snow Leopard ears pops back up* Do you want your ears and tail back?
Jason, rolling his eyes: You're such a wimp, getting a date is not that hard.
Dick: Oh yeah?
Jason: Yeah.
Dick: Okay. Go ask that- *points to a random guy* guy out, if he turns you down for any reason thats not "I'm in a relationship currently", "I'm Aromantic", or "I'm not interested in men", then that will be proof its not "easy", and that you're wrong.
Jason: Fine. *walks up to the man in question* Will you agree to go on a date with me so I can laugh in my brother's face?
Danny: *blinks slowly as he sips on a "green apple" slushie, he looks Jason up and down with consideration* I have to go to my sister's wedding in four weeks and she keeps trying to hook me up with the groom's best friend's sister, who I've met and have no interest in, if you go with me to that, I will tell your brother whatever you want me to.
Danny: Hi, I'm Danny and I'm here to babysit Damian.
Alfred, confused: I beg your pardon?
Danny, hesitating: I was hired by a Mr. Drake? He said his 4 year old brother, Damian, needed a babysitter today at four. *pulls out his phone* You look confused, am I at the wrong house? I-I swear I typed it in right...
Alfred, sighing: No, I can assure you, you are at the right address. However, Master Damian is in fact 15, not 4. If I am to guess, Master Tim was simply trying to pull a prank on his brother. *huffing* I am so sorry for the trouble.
Danny, relaxing: Oh, thats, well not okay because that was terrifying, but at least it wasn't too serious. I'm so sorry for interrupting your evening.
Alfred: And I am sorry you got roped into their idiocy, believe me I will be talking to Master Tim about his future pranks.
Bonus
Danny: Is it really okay to keep what he already gave me? I mean I didn't even do the job.
Duke, his roomate, scowling: Oh you are keeping that money. *typing furiously on his phone* He had you travel across the city, and humiliate yourself in front of a strangers house just to, what, confuse his brother? What an idiot! He should be paying you the full amount!
Danny: We don't have to go that far. I didn't even babysit, keeping the initial amount should be fine.
Duke: It isn't fine. You use your babysitting money to buy groceries, and yeah you don't have to eat as much because of your powers, but still.
Danny: I could always use the trust fund.
Duke: You hate that trust fund.
Danny: I-I know but- *phone dings* Oh snap! He sent me double the amount! I can't- there's no way I can accept this!
Duke: You can, and you will. He's a Wayne, Danny, by tomorrow he won't even remember he spent that amount.
Danny: But I didn't-
Duke: 'Earn it'? Danny he joked around and found out, he probably feels a little guilty and paying you extra probably makes him feel better.
Izuku loved how shy but bossy you were about your affection. He, as your husband knew your way of things,
He knew that you’d never say it out of your mouth that you wanted him to kiss you, you’d just give him a look before you headed out in the mornings and he’d immediately get the message, walking over to you and giving you a soft kiss on the lips and a nice warm hug before you swiftly flew away, your body fazing through the window as you began your day as a pro-hero.
Let’s use now for example,
“Izuku, I’m about to leave now” he heard your voice say from his place in the bathroom, his eyes widened as he hurriedly spat out the foamy water in his mouth, using the nearest towel to wipe his face before immediately rushing outside the bathroom,
“WAIT WAITT WAIT” you heard him say, turning around just in time to see him stop infront of you, your brow rising at his disheveled state, “Hmm?” You said, looking up at him curiously,
“I have something to give you before you go” You stood there for a second your eyes looking up at him, then down at his empty hands, then peeked behind him,
“Wha-” the words never even finished forming in your mouth before he swiftly pulled you in, one of his arms around your waist while the other held the said of your head as he pressed his lips against yours,
Your eyes widened for a beat, then, without thinking, they began to close, a sense of calm rushing over you at the affection of your husband.
The kiss lasted for a few seconds, with his scarred palm caressing the side of your face with each smooth move his his lips, and his gazed out eyes looking down at your closed ones with each passing second,
Boy did you want to stay here right now, but you had a job, yeah…your job,
Your eyes opened slowly as you began to pull away, your hand now finding its way to his chest, ultimately leaving a smile on his face. He knew this wasn’t the end, he’d never allow it.
“I’ll see you tonight baby, I know you have to go” you nodded your head along with his words, the smile on his face causing your heart to beat fast with each passing moment you stood there,
perv!tim drake definitely has a camera installed in his reader's room
(NSFW AHEAD, mdni)
he calls it a safety precaution when it's anything but.
at first, it was barely noticeable, placed in an inconspicuous spot that you'd look over constantly whilst cleaning. the fact that you'd barely paid attention to that specific corner had his mind running. what else could he get away with without you knowing about the camera hiding there?
he's glaring at the computer screen like a hawk, a pair of your underwear in hand -- stolen, obviously, as he'd taken the chance to rob your drawer of a few items. the fabric glides over his erection, shaky moans filling the room, watching you strip down at just the right view. gosh, how he loved the length of your legs and the swell in your breasts, fisting the desperately leaking head of his cock.
pre had formed an embarrassingly large damp spot against your panties from his incessant masturbation whenever you came up on his screen, back arched and bottom lip bit between his teeth hard when he jerked it at merely the thought of you discovering his perverted game. if tim could jump through the screen just to put his dick between your thighs, he'd do it in a heartbeat.
you bend over to grab one of the stray clothing items on the floor, a sharp inhale at his lips at the sight of your cunt. "shit," he whimpers, tears at the corners of his eyes. he really shouldn't be rubbing one out to you when he's supposed to be researching for a term paper. Still, your body was his weakness, and his curiosity for the camera got the best of him.
goosebumps form over the pale skin of his shoulders, imagining what it would feel like to have your heat wrapped around his cock. his sight becomes blurry, and the buildup at his cockhead finally bursts. head thrown back against his desk chair, hot ropes of cum stain the fabric of your missing panties. it felt so filthy, so out of place... too late to think much on it now, though, as his favourite show was on for the night.
Summary:
Tim Drake has spent months trying to tell you that he is in love with you.
Unfortunately, you are too busy developing a crush on Red Robin, forcing Tim to compete with his greatest opponent yet: himself.
Author’s Note:
written for this request
identity shenanigans are always fun to write
this is not the Tim fic i recorded for the rebuttal to AI accusation video
Tim Drake had prepared contingency plans for alien invasions, citywide power failures, biological attacks, hostile takeovers of Wayne Enterprises, and three scenarios in which his brothers were replaced by convincing shapeshifters. He had not prepared for you to lean across the café table and ask, “Do you think Red Robin is single?”
Tim inhaled at precisely the wrong moment, sending coffee into his lungs. He doubled over, coughing into the crook of his elbow while several people turned toward him. One of the baristas took a concerned step in his direction, phone already in hand, presumably preparing to alert emergency services that one of Gotham’s wealthiest citizens was being assassinated by an iced latte.
“Tim?” You reached toward him without quite knowing where to put your hand. When he raised one finger to indicate that he remained alive, you relaxed enough to add, “You’re supposed to drink it, not inhale it.”
By the time Tim managed a complete breath, his eyes were watering, and his chest hurt for reasons that had very little to do with the coffee. He had loved you for eleven months, three weeks, and somewhere in the vicinity of four days. The exact starting point was difficult to establish because his feelings had accumulated gradually through late-night study sessions, shared meals, and the increasingly frequent realization that every interesting thing that happened to him became something he wanted to tell you. Tim had survived nearly a year of being secretly in love with you, but he was no longer confident that he would survive this conversation.
“Red Robin,” he repeated hoarsely. “The vigilante.”
You glanced around before lowering your voice. “There are several vigilantes in Gotham, Tim. I wanted to make sure we were discussing the same person.”
“There’s only one Red Robin.”
“As far as the public knows. This is Gotham. There could be six of them.”
“There aren’t.”
“That was a very confident answer.”
“I read the news.”
“You read classified police reports for fun.”
“They aren’t classified if you know where to look.”
“That sentence is exactly why I’m asking you.”
Tim placed his coffee carefully on the table before another unexpected statement caused him to drown in it. “Why would I know whether Red Robin is single?”
“Because you notice things. You noticed that the woman behind us has been pretending to type while listening to her boyfriend’s phone call, and you knew our waiter last week was planning to propose because he kept checking his jacket pocket.”
The typing behind Tim abruptly stopped. He resisted the urge to turn around. “She isn’t subtle, and the outline of the ring box was visible.”
“To you. That’s my point.”
Tim did notice things, especially when it came to you. He knew how you arranged your books according to a system you insisted was not a system, which drinks you ordered when you were tired, which songs you skipped despite claiming to like the entire album, and how long you would tolerate uncomfortable shoes before removing them beneath a restaurant table. He also knew that you touched the side of your glass when you were nervous and tucked your chin down whenever you were trying to hide a smile. You were doing both now, and something cold and unpleasant settled in his stomach.
“What happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
“You’re blushing.”
“I am not.”
“Your face temperature has noticeably increased.”
“Normal people don’t say things like that.”
“Normal people apparently ask their friends about a vigilante’s relationship status.”
“I was curious.”
“Why?”
You glanced toward the window, but Tim waited until your resistance collapsed beneath the weight of his attention. You lasted seven seconds before admitting, “He saved me last week.”
Tim already knew that. He had replayed the encounter several times, mostly while attempting to determine how three armed men had concluded that robbing the corner pharmacy while you were inside would be a sustainable career decision. Red Robin had entered through the rear delivery door, disabled the first gunman, and disarmed the second before either man understood what was happening. The third had grabbed you and tried to use you as leverage.
Tim’s recollection of the next fourteen seconds remained unusually fragmented. He remembered the gun against your ribs, the sharp sound of your breath catching, and the immediate certainty that he would tear the building apart before allowing the man to hurt you. He remembered throwing a birdarang, crossing the room, and catching the gun before it struck the floor. More clearly than any of that, he remembered the way you had looked directly at him afterward instead of through him the way frightened civilians sometimes looked through masked vigilantes.
“You didn’t mention that.”
“I didn’t want you to worry.”
“I’m worrying now.”
“It was a week ago.”
“That doesn’t make it less dangerous. You could have been hurt, and you still should’ve called me.”
“During the robbery?”
“Or afterward.”
“I was being held at gunpoint, Tim. I’m sorry I failed to observe proper hostage etiquette.”
Tim pressed his lips together, but your expression softened. “I’m okay. Red Robin handled it.”
“I know.”
His answer emerged more sharply than intended. When you asked whether he was angry at Red Robin, Tim insisted he was angry that you had been in danger, not at the person who had helped you. You pointed out that the danger had not lasted very long and then smiled into your drink as you described Red Robin as competent, polite, and unexpectedly considerate.
“He gave me his cape while we waited for the police.”
“You were shaking.”
The words escaped before Tim realized what he had said. Your eyebrows rose, and he scrambled backward. “The article said the witnesses were shaken.”
“I don’t think the article mentioned his cape.”
“It was probably implied.”
“The existence of a cape was implied?”
“Most people know he wears one.”
You watched him for another moment before explaining that Red Robin had stayed until the police arrived and asked whether someone could come get you. When Tim learned that you had refused to call anyone because he was supposedly in a board meeting, he informed you that he would have left.
“You can’t abandon every meeting because something happens to me.”
“I can abandon most of them.”
“And then Lucius will eventually murder me.”
“He would understand.”
“Because I was held hostage?”
“Because most of those meetings could be emails.”
You laughed, easing some of the panic beneath Tim’s ribs. He had spoken to you later that night after confirming through several hacked police systems that the robbers were in custody. You had claimed that your day had been uneventful, and he had believed you because he had not realized you considered an armed robbery unworthy of mention once Red Robin intervened.
“He was funny too,” you added.
“No, he wasn’t.”
“One of the robbers asked who he thought he was, and he said, ‘Statistically, the worst possible person you could have encountered tonight.’”
Tim remembered saying it. The statement had not been intended as a joke. “That isn’t particularly funny.”
“It was the way he said it, like he was disappointed the man had forced him to explain.”
Tim could not dispute that without revealing more than he wanted. You smiled again, and the expression contained a softness that made him feel as though he were watching you look at someone else across the room. Except the someone else was him. This should have been good news, but it did not feel like good news.
“You’re developing a crush because he gave you his cape and threatened a criminal with probability.”
“I didn’t say I had a crush.”
“You asked whether he was single. Those things are directly connected.”
“Maybe I wanted to know for someone else.”
“Who?”
When you hesitated, Tim gestured toward you as though that proved his entire case. You finally conceded that you might have a tiny crush, although your smile suggested it was not nearly as minuscule as you claimed.
“You nearly died when I said his name,” you reminded him.
“That was the coffee.”
“Which entered your lungs because I said his name.”
Tim looked down at the table. “He isn’t available.”
The lie left his mouth before he fully considered it. Your smile faded, and a brief, vicious satisfaction moved through him before guilt replaced it. He quickly amended the statement to an assumption that the vigilante lifestyle was not conducive to relationships.
“Nightwing dates,” you said.
“Nightwing is a statistical anomaly.”
“Batwoman dates.”
“Occasionally.”
“Superman is married.”
“Different city.”
You studied him. “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”
“I haven’t. You provided the examples.”
“And you countered them immediately.”
Tim folded his arms. “You don’t know anything about Red Robin.”
“I know he’s brave and kind. He made sure the pharmacy clerk received medical attention before checking his own injuries.”
“He wasn’t badly hurt.”
Your eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”
“The article.”
“The article that didn’t mention the cape?”
Tim silently cursed Gotham’s declining standards of journalism. He argued that Red Robin would not have stayed if he were seriously hurt, while you pointed out that vigilantes were notoriously bad at taking care of themselves.
“You don’t know that.”
“I’ve met you.”
“I’m not a vigilante.”
“No, but you attended a presentation with a fever of one hundred and three and fainted on Lucius.”
“I sat down abruptly.”
“He caught you.”
“The distinction is irrelevant.”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“You’re attempting to date someone whose face you haven’t seen.”
“I’m not attempting anything.” You paused before adding, “Although I did tell him where I work.”
Tim’s brain stopped. “You what?”
“He asked whether the pharmacy was part of my normal route home, so I told him I usually leave the library around nine.”
“You gave a masked stranger your schedule?”
“He saved my life.”
“That doesn’t mean you give him your place of employment.”
“You just admitted he was brave and kind.”
“You said that. I said he probably possesses adequate qualities.”
“Adequate qualities?”
“He’s tolerable.”
Your mouth twitched. “Are you jealous?”
“I am not jealous of Red Robin.”
“Then why are you reviewing him like a disappointing job applicant?”
“Because you’re basing an infatuation on one stressful encounter.”
“It’s been more than one encounter.”
Tim went still. You reluctantly admitted that Red Robin had checked on you two nights after the robbery and then stayed with you on the library roof the previous evening while your rideshare circled the wrong block. Tim remembered both encounters, including the several minutes he had spent deciding whether the more heavily armored suit would seem unfriendly and the eleven minutes of conversation he had enjoyed far too much.
“That sounds like he’s monitoring the area,” Tim said.
“He spoke to me.”
“He’s monitoring you.”
“That sounds much more romantic.”
“It wasn’t intended to.”
“You really don’t like him.”
“I’m assessing the situation objectively.”
“Objectively, you think he’s tolerable and possesses adequate qualities.”
“That seems fair.”
You leaned back with the expression Tim knew usually preceded trouble. “I’m going to ask him out.”
“No.”
The answer emerged much too quickly. Tim tried to recover by explaining that dating a vigilante could be dangerous because he might have enemies, but you pointed out that Tim also had enemies, even if most of them sat on the Wayne Enterprises board.
“You don’t even know when you’ll see him again.”
“I work late tomorrow.”
Tim knew that, just as he knew he had planned to patrol the library district. He could change routes and avoid the building until your crush faded, but you would be disappointed. That should not have mattered. It mattered immediately.
“What are you going to say?”
“I’m going to offer him coffee, Tim, not my hand in marriage.”
“You don’t know what he drinks.”
“I’ll bring options.”
“He doesn’t need coffee.”
“Everyone needs coffee.”
“He might not like it.”
“You’re being weird.”
Tim was losing an argument against himself, and somehow both sides were making him miserable. He gathered his laptop and jacket before the situation could deteriorate further. “I have to go.”
You checked your phone. “Your routine budget review isn’t for another forty minutes, and you said you could conduct it while unconscious.”
“I’ve revised my opinion.”
“You’re definitely jealous.”
“I’m definitely late.”
“You aren’t.”
“I could become late.”
“That isn’t how time works.”
Tim stood and looked down at you. “Please call me the next time you’re involved in an armed robbery, and don’t wait alone on the roof.”
“It has cameras.”
“Three of them have blind spots.”
You frowned. “How do you know that?”
“The library’s security plans are publicly available.”
“They absolutely are not.”
Tim froze with one arm still in his jacket. You stared at him, and he stared back while every plausible explanation abandoned him.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said before fleeing the café.
Stephanie was already in the cave when Tim returned, sitting in his chair, eating crackers over his keyboard, and smiling with every visible tooth. He knew immediately that she had heard.
“No.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You’re going to.”
“I might not.”
“You’re smiling, and you’re eating over the computer.”
“I’m generally cheerful, and I’m establishing dominance.”
Tim removed the crackers from her hands and set them on a nearby worktable. “Who told you?”
“Dick. You told Barbara that your civilian friend had developed an attachment to Red Robin, Barbara told Dick, and Dick told me because he understood that this was the funniest thing to happen in the family since Damian accidentally joined a school theater production.”
“Damian was conducting surveillance.”
“He played a tree.”
“It provided an unobstructed view of the stage.”
“He had three lines as a tree.”
Tim sat at the computer and opened his patrol reports. He had no intention of discussing you, his feelings, or the humiliating reality that he had spent the afternoon resenting a man who shared his fingerprints.
Stephanie rolled her chair closer. “You’re losing the girl to yourself.”
“I’m not losing anyone, and she isn’t a prize.”
“Fine. The woman you love is choosing to romantically pursue another version of you.”
“She isn’t pursuing anyone.”
“Dick said she’s bringing Red Robin coffee. Oat milk?”
“I don’t know.”
“You always take oat milk.”
“I’m aware.”
“Maybe she’ll bring regular milk and end the relationship before it begins.”
“There is no relationship.”
“Not with that attitude.”
Tim returned his attention to a report concerning stolen electronic components. He should have been interested in whether they indicated an organized operation or an ambitious engineering student with flexible morals. Instead, he wondered whether you would bring sugar.
“You could tell her,” Stephanie said.
“No. Revealing my identity solely to improve my romantic prospects would be irresponsible.”
“You could tell her you like her without revealing it.”
“I’ve tried.”
Stephanie stared at him. “When?”
“I invited her to dinner. At a restaurant. I wore a suit, made a reservation, and told her she looked beautiful.”
“You eat in restaurants, you wear suits for work, and you once described a motherboard as beautiful. Did you call her beautiful while actually looking at her?”
Tim looked away.
“That’s what I thought.”
“I was going to tell her today.”
“Before or after she asked whether you were available?”
“Red Robin.”
“I’m sorry. Are we pretending you aren’t the same person?”
“That distinction is central to the current problem.”
“You don’t have a problem. You have a solution wearing a domino mask.”
Tim rubbed both hands over his face. “She doesn’t like me that way.”
“She already likes Tim Drake enough to spend half her life with him, and now she has a crush on Red Robin. This is an accidental controlled experiment. She was presented with two versions of the same emotionally constipated detective and found both appealing.”
“She has never said she finds me appealing.”
Stephanie’s expression softened. “Have you ever given her a reason to think you find her appealing?”
“I spend time with her.”
“You spend time with Bruce. You also bought her a first edition of her favorite book and flew to Chicago because she mentioned she was nervous about giving a presentation.”
“It was her birthday, and I had business in Chicago.”
“You created the business. You scheduled a meeting twenty-four hours earlier and made Lucius attend it.”
“There were potential expansion opportunities.”
“He called me afterward because he wanted to know whether you were having a breakdown.”
Tim frowned. “Why did he call you?”
“He said I’m the most emotionally perceptive member of the family.”
“He must have called everyone else first.”
“Keep talking like that, and I’ll help her marry Red Robin.”
“She doesn’t want to marry him.”
“Not yet.”
“There is no yet.”
Stephanie laughed and rolled out of reach when Tim tried to take the chair from her. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”
“Patrol.”
“Near the library, while your beloved waits on the roof with coffee?”
“Possibly. She should not wait on rooftops.”
“You could tell her that.”
“I have.”
“As Red Robin?”
“As Tim.”
“And did she listen?”
Tim said nothing.
Stephanie nodded with exaggerated satisfaction. “You’re definitely her type.”
The following night, Tim altered his patrol route. He told himself the changes were strategic because the library district had experienced an increase in robberies, and your encounter at the pharmacy suggested the area required greater attention. The fact that he reached the library roof at exactly nine eighteen, three minutes after your shift ended, was entirely coincidental.
You were sitting on the western wall with a cardboard drink carrier in your lap. Tim landed behind an air-conditioning unit and remained concealed while he assessed the roof. Two cameras covered the entrance, a third faced the neighboring building, and the position beside the west wall remained outside all three fields of view. You had chosen that exact position.
He needed to address your increasing willingness to compromise reasonable safety precautions, but his irritation weakened when he noticed the coffee. He stepped into view, and your face brightened in a way that made his chest ache.
“Hi.”
The voice modulator built into his collar concealed the slight catch in his response. “You shouldn’t be sitting there.”
“Hello to you too.”
“The cameras can’t see this section of the roof.”
“I know. I thought vigilantes preferred avoiding cameras.”
“I’m not worried about being recorded.”
“You’re worried about me?”
Tim should have lied. Instead, he said, “Yes.”
You looked pleased, which was dangerous too. “I brought coffee. There are three options because I didn’t know what you liked: regular, black, and oat milk.”
Tim stared at the carrier. The oat milk cup had a small red bird drawn beneath the name Red Robin.
“The barista asked for names,” you explained.
“And you said Red Robin?”
“I panicked.”
“What did you put on the others?”
“Robin and Red. I had people waiting behind me.”
“You perform poorly under pressure.”
“I am offering coffee to a masked vigilante on a roof. I’m performing magnificently under pressure.”
Tim approached the wall. “You shouldn’t make a habit of waiting here.”
“You’ve appeared every time.”
“That doesn’t make it safe. I wasn’t here when you arrived.”
“You were probably watching from behind something.”
Tim glanced involuntarily toward the air-conditioning unit. You followed the movement and smiled.
“That thing?”
“I was assessing the roof. There are limited concealed positions available.”
Your laughter followed him as he removed his grappling line from his belt. He should leave. Accepting the coffee would encourage you, and the conversation was already drifting away from appropriate vigilante-civilian interaction. He had also been awake for thirty-one hours.
“Which one is the oat milk?”
You handed him the cup with the bird. Tim sat beside you while maintaining what he considered a respectable distance, took a drink, and discovered that it was exactly how he liked it.
“How did you choose this?”
“Lucky guess.”
“You bought three options.”
“And you selected the correct one.”
“You could have brought tea.”
“Coffee felt more appropriate because you look tired.”
“My posture is fine.”
“You’re sitting like your spine is negotiating a surrender.”
“That’s unusually specific.”
“I know someone else who does it.”
Tim looked back toward the street. “Your friend.”
“You remember Tim?”
“You mentioned him.”
“I talk about him a lot.”
His heart changed rhythm, but he kept his altered voice neutral. “Do you?”
“Probably too much. He usually looks like he’s mentally reorganizing a spreadsheet whenever I talk.”
“He might be listening.”
“You don’t know Tim.”
“No.”
“Have you met him? He knows several vigilantes.”
Tim nearly dropped the coffee. You leaned toward him immediately.
“I knew it.”
“You made a strange statement.”
“It isn’t strange. Tim grew up around the Waynes; he’s always disappearing when something dangerous happens, and Nightwing once called him by name.”
Tim remembered the incident. Dick had been concussed, bleeding, and significantly less cautious than usual. Tim had convinced himself that you were too distracted to notice. Apparently, he had been wrong.
“He also identified the model of a grappling hook from a blurry photograph,” you continued. “He knows an alarming amount about vigilante equipment.”
“That information is available online.”
“That’s what he said. You sound like him.”
The modulator should have made that impossible. Tim stared at the street and tried to determine how quickly he could escape without appearing suspicious.
You rested both hands around your cup. “I think he’s worried about me.”
“He is.”
The answer emerged before Tim could stop it. You turned toward him. “How do you know?”
“You said he was upset about the robbery.”
“I didn’t tell you that.”
Tim’s mind moved through several explanations and rejected them all. “You said he knows about vigilantes.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“He seems observant.”
“You’ve never met him.”
“I’ve read interviews. He’s a public figure.”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
“You ask too many questions.”
“You dress like a bird and spend your nights jumping between buildings. You should expect curiosity.”
Tim took another drink to delay his response, but you continued watching him. “Tim doesn’t like you. He thinks you’re tolerable and that you possess adequate qualities.”
“That seems harsh.”
“He was being weirdly judgmental. I think he was jealous.”
The word settled between you. Tim’s fingers tightened around the cup, but his voice sounded almost neutral when he asked, “Why would he be jealous?”
You looked down at your coffee. “I don’t know.”
“Do you want him to be?”
Your silence answered before you did. “It would be nice.”
The traffic below, distant sirens, and the soft mechanical hum of the ventilation system receded until Tim could only feel the narrow space between your shoulder and his.
“You like him.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You want him to be jealous.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”
“You told him those things weren’t necessarily connected.”
You blinked. “How do you know what I told him?”
Tim’s body went cold. He stood before you could examine his reaction too closely. “I should patrol.”
“You were listening at the café.”
“No.”
“Were you sitting nearby?”
“I patrol that area.”
“In daylight?”
“Crime does not observe a schedule.”
“You quoted our conversation.”
“I made a reasonable inference.”
“You used almost the exact words Tim used.”
“Coincidence.”
You stood too, leaving the empty cups on the wall. “Do you know him? Are you following him? Is Tim secretly involved in vigilante activity?”
“No.”
That answer, at least, was mostly true. Tim was publicly involved in several Wayne Foundation initiatives supporting emergency-response teams. His private involvement was another matter.
You stepped closer, and Tim retreated automatically. “Why are you backing away?”
“To establish appropriate boundaries.”
“You sat beside me for twenty minutes.”
“Circumstances have changed.”
“Because I asked about Tim?”
“Because I have work to do.”
“You’re behaving like a cornered animal.”
“I’m standing on the edge of a roof.”
“A cornered bird, then.”
Tim prepared to fire his grappling line, but your quiet request for him to wait stopped him. Your suspicion softened into something more vulnerable.
“For the record, I’m not asking Tim to compete with you. He’s my friend, probably my best friend. He’s kind and brilliant, and he cares about everyone more than he admits, but he doesn’t look at me like that.”
Tim had looked at you like that constantly. Apparently, he had done so with the extreme subtlety of a concealed surveillance operation.
“So the crush on you is easier,” you continued. “You aren’t going to reject me and then have to meet me for lunch every Thursday.”
“I could reject you.”
Your smile was faint and nervous. “Would you?”
Tim had faced men with guns, assassins with swords, and villains capable of leveling entire city blocks. None of them had frightened him as much as that question. He wanted to tell you, but the confession tangled with every secret he had protected and every possible consequence of bringing you closer to his life. He could tell you that Tim Drake loved you without admitting what he wore at night, but he would still be standing in front of you as Red Robin while speaking for someone you believed was elsewhere. It would be unfair, and it would be unbelievably stupid.
“I don’t date civilians.”
Your smile disappeared, and Tim immediately hated himself. “Right. Of course.”
“That isn’t because—”
“You don’t have to explain. I offered coffee to a masked man on a roof. I understood rejection was possible.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“I brought three cups. That was an implied question, and you gave me an explicit answer.”
You picked up the carrier. Tim reached toward you but stopped before touching your arm. “You should still call your friend.”
You laughed quietly, though there was little humor in it. “You don’t know Tim.”
“He would want you to.”
“Maybe.”
“He does.”
You looked at him for a long moment, and Tim wondered whether the domino still concealed enough.
“Good night, Red Robin.”
He watched you leave and briefly considered throwing himself from the building without using the grappling line.
When Tim met you for lunch the following day, you were quiet. You were not openly angry, although anger would have been easier. You smiled when he arrived, asked about his morning, and listened while he described a disagreement with the board’s transportation committee. You responded in the right places and laughed at a remark that was not funny enough to warrant it.
Tim knew you too well to miss the careful distance beneath your normal behavior, just as he knew exactly who had put it there. “You’re upset.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re cutting your sandwich into smaller pieces instead of eating it.”
You looked down at the plate. “Maybe I’ve developed new culinary preferences.”
“You’ve been rearranging the same tomato for three minutes.”
“It knows what it did.”
“Did something happen?”
Tim tried to appear concerned without looking guilty, a skill he had successfully employed during police questioning and had apparently forgotten in your presence.
“I made an idiot of myself last night.”
“You’re not an idiot.”
“You don’t know what happened.”
“I know you.”
“That is disgustingly sincere. When you try to reassure people, you sound like a greeting card written by an algorithm.”
Tim frowned. “That’s inaccurate.”
“Last year, when I was worried about changing jobs, you told me that my capabilities exceeded my current professional environment and that any organization would experience a measurable improvement from my presence.”
“That was true.”
“It was also the least natural reassurance anyone has ever given me.”
“You accepted the job.”
“Because you made a color-coded spreadsheet.”
“The spreadsheet demonstrated the benefits, and you prefer visual organization.”
Your expression finally softened, and Tim felt a small flare of hope. “What happened last night?”
You stabbed the tomato with your fork. “Red Robin turned me down.”
Tim pretended this information was new. “You asked him out?”
“Not in those words. I brought coffee, and he said he doesn’t date civilians.”
Tim had spent most of the night reviewing that sentence and concluded that it was possibly the worst collection of words he had ever assembled. “That doesn’t mean he isn’t interested.”
You gave him a strange look. “Yesterday, you thought he was barely tolerable.”
“I’ve reassessed.”
“Based on what?”
“New information.”
When Tim reached for his water, you groaned. “You’re doing the thing where you drink because you don’t want to answer. You’ve consumed eight glasses of water during conversations about relationships.”
Tim slowly lowered the glass. “You counted?”
“I notice things too.”
That statement carried an alarming implication, and Tim decided not to explore it. Instead, he suggested that Red Robin might have been trying to protect you from the dangers of his life.
“Do you think he has a secret family somewhere?”
“No.”
“You answered very quickly.”
“It’s statistically unlikely, and he probably doesn’t have time for a relationship.”
“Neither do you, but you once maintained an eighteen-day argument with a man in Singapore because you thought his encryption method was insulting.”
“It was insulting, and the argument eventually improved an industry standard.”
“You slept four hours that week. My point is that people find time for the things they want.”
Tim looked down at his plate. You set aside your fork and sighed. “I’m not heartbroken. I barely know him.”
“But you’re disappointed.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
Because he had hurt you. Because he had been too afraid to admit the truth and too jealous to step aside. Because you had offered him something as small and uncomplicated as coffee, and he had responded by making you feel foolish. Tim could not say any of that.
“You deserve someone who’s available.”
You watched him carefully. “Do you know anyone?”
His pulse jumped. “I might.”
“Is he a vigilante?”
“No.”
“Does he sleep?”
“Occasionally.”
“That doesn’t narrow it down in Gotham.”
“He’s intelligent.”
“You think most people are idiots.”
“That isn’t true.”
“You refused to speak to my former landlord because he used ‘reply all’ incorrectly.”
“He used it seven times.”
“Who is this hypothetical person?”
Tim could have said it. He had rehearsed several versions of the confession while pacing the cave between four and six that morning. Some were direct, while others were careful. One included a detailed explanation of the statistical likelihood that your friendship could survive a romantic relationship, which Stephanie had taken from him and deleted. He looked at you, and every prepared sentence disappeared.
“I’ll tell you later.”
Your expression closed. “Of course.”
Before Tim could correct himself, his phone vibrated with a silent alert from the security system. Armed intruders had breached a Wayne Enterprises research facility six blocks away.
“I have to go.”
You laughed once, without amusement. “Naturally.”
“It’s an emergency.”
“You always have an emergency.”
“I’ll call you.”
“You always say that too.”
Tim paused, and regret crossed your face almost immediately. “I’m sorry. Go.”
“I’m going to explain.”
“Later.”
“Tonight.”
“Fine.”
Tim wanted to stay. He wanted to sit back down, silence the alert, and tell you everything despite every rule he had established to protect his identity. Then another notification appeared: multiple armed intruders, employees still inside.
He hated the decision even as he made it. “Tonight.”
Then he left you sitting alone at the table.
By the time Tim reached the lower laboratories, one prototype energy cell had already been removed from its cooling unit. Red Robin entered through the ventilation system, disabled two intruders, and locked the remaining four inside a secure testing chamber. The confrontation lasted less than eight minutes, but security footage revealed that a seventh accomplice had escaped with the cell shortly before he arrived.
The consequences occupied the rest of his afternoon. Tim spoke with the police, secured the remaining prototypes, reviewed the footage, and called Lucius to explain why one laboratory now contained a Red Robin-shaped impression in the wall. He also texted you twice.
The first message received no response. Nearly an hour later, you replied to the second: Can we talk tomorrow? I’m going to the Wayne Foundation gala with Mia tonight.
Tim had forgotten about the gala, despite being expected to attend. You knew he was expected because you had helped him choose a tie two weeks earlier while insisting that all his formalwear looked identical.
Tim typed three possible responses and deleted them before settling on something simple.
Okay. I’ll see you there.
Your answer arrived a minute later.
Don’t leave a board meeting for me.
Tim stared at the message until the words blurred.
The gala began at seven, but Tim arrived at seven forty-three after changing in the back of a car, signing two electronic reports, and listening to Dick explain over the phone that disappearing every time you became emotionally vulnerable was unlikely to improve your relationship.
“I don’t do it intentionally,” Tim said as he entered the hotel through a private corridor.
Tim adjusted his cuff. “Is everyone discussing this?”
“Damian requested that we stop because the situation is, and I quote, ‘an embarrassing indictment of Drake’s already limited courtship abilities.’”
“He’s thirteen.”
“And yet he has identified the problem.”
Tim entered the ballroom beneath crystal chandeliers and Wayne Foundation banners. Hundreds of guests moved around the room while a string quartet performed beside the stage. Security personnel stood at every entrance, supplemented by several plainclothes officers Tim recognized from Gotham’s major crimes unit.
You stood on the far side of the room, and Tim forgot Dick was speaking.
You wore an outfit he had never seen before, though that seemed impossible given how frequently he saw you. The fabric followed the movement of your body as you turned toward Mia, and the light caught along the jewelry at your throat.
Tim walked directly into a waiter. The tray tilted, but he caught it before several glasses of champagne could fall.
The waiter stared at him. “Sorry,” Tim said.
Dick laughed through the phone. “Did you just walk into something?”
“No.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I have to go.”
“Tell her.”
Tim ended the call and crossed the room. You noticed him before he reached you, your gaze moving over his suit and lingering briefly on the tie you had selected. Something warm entered your expression before caution replaced it.
“Hi,” Tim said.
“Hi.”
“You look beautiful.”
The words came naturally this time, and your eyes widened slightly.
“Thank you.” You glanced at his tie. “You followed my advice.”
“I usually do.”
“That’s not true.”
“It’s frequently true.”
“You ignored every restaurant I suggested for your last business dinner.”
“They had inadequate security.”
“They were restaurants.”
“One had an unsecured service entrance.”
“You were having dinner with accountants.”
“Accountants can have enemies.”
You laughed despite yourself, and the pressure in Tim’s chest loosened slightly.
Mia appeared beside you and looked between the two of you with open interest. “I’m getting another drink.”
Her glass was still full. You stared at her, but she ignored you and walked away. Tim resisted the urge to thank her.
“I’m sorry about lunch,” he said.
“You had to work.”
“I still shouldn’t have left like that.”
“It wasn’t the first time.”
The statement contained no accusation, which made it worse.
“No,” Tim said. “It wasn’t.”
You touched the edge of your glass. “What did you want to tell me?”
Tim looked around the ballroom. This was not the setting he had imagined, but every carefully selected opportunity had failed, usually because he had allowed it to. Perhaps he did not need perfect circumstances. Perhaps he only needed to speak before another building was attacked.
“There’s someone I think you should consider.”
Your mouth tightened. “Tim.”
“It isn’t—”
“I don’t need you to arrange a date because you feel sorry for me.”
“I don’t feel sorry for you.”
“You spent lunch explaining why Red Robin might secretly be interested in me.”
“He probably is.”
“That doesn’t matter if he’s unavailable.”
“He might become available.”
“I don’t want to discuss him.”
Tim blinked. “You don’t?”
“No.”
“But you like him.”
“I barely know him.”
“You were asking about his relationship status at the café.”
“At the time, I thought my best friend disliked him because he was jealous.” Before Tim could respond, you added, “Then my best friend started defending him, tried to convince me he might secretly be interested, and offered to introduce me to someone else.”
“I didn’t offer to introduce you.”
“You implied it.”
“I was trying to tell you—”
A sharp crack interrupted him as the ballroom windows exploded inward.
Tim moved before the glass reached the floor. He pulled you against him and turned, shielding your body while shards struck the back of his suit jacket. Guests screamed as the chandeliers flickered, went dark, and returned beneath the red glow of emergency lighting.
Four figures entered through the shattered windows on mechanical lines. Each wore tactical armor and carried a compact energy weapon.
Tim recognized the technology immediately. Modified Wayne Enterprises prototypes. Of course.
One attacker fired into the ceiling and ordered everyone down. Guests dropped behind tables while security personnel reached for their weapons. A second blast destroyed the nearest security station.
Tim lowered you behind a marble column. “Stay here.”
“Mia?” you asked, searching the ballroom.
Tim spotted her moving with the evacuating guests near the south exit. “She’s with security. Stay down.”
Your hand closed around his wrist. “Where are you going?”
“To help.”
“With what? You aren’t security.”
“I know the building. I need to reach the control room.”
“Tim—”
Another blast struck the far wall. Tim could see the fear beneath your determination, but you were not frozen. You were already assessing the nearest exit and checking the positions of the attackers.
He wanted to kiss you. It was an inconvenient time for the realization.
“Trust me,” he said.
Your grip loosened. “I do.”
Tim ran.
He reached the service corridor and triggered an emergency release concealed in his cuff link. A locked maintenance cabinet opened near the kitchen, revealing the compact suit he had stored there in case the gala attracted exactly this sort of attention.
He changed in forty-two seconds.
By the time Red Robin entered the ballroom from an upper balcony, the attackers had gathered several Wayne executives near the stage. Their apparent leader held the missing energy cell.
Tim’s evening was becoming repetitive.
He dropped behind the nearest attacker and drove an elbow into the vulnerable joint beneath the man’s shoulder armor. The weapon fell, but Tim caught it, removed the power source, and kicked the man into a table.
The other attackers turned. When their leader said his name, Tim threw the disabled weapon at his face.
The fight moved quickly. One attacker attempted to use the guests as cover, but Tim forced him toward the stage, swept his legs, and bound his wrists with a restraint cable. Another attacker fired repeatedly from behind a pillar until Tim redirected the hotel’s motorized curtains through his wrist computer, wrapping her in several hundred pounds of velvet. She tore free before the fabric could tighten completely, anticipated his first strike, and caught him across the jaw with one armored fist. Tim twisted beneath her next swing and drove both feet into her chest. She struck the floor, but he landed badly on his left wrist, sending pain along his arm.
He ignored it because the leader was moving toward the ballroom exit with the energy cell.
You were no longer behind the column.
Tim’s heart stopped.
He found you near a fallen member of the hotel staff, helping her crawl toward cover. The leader spotted you at the same moment and seized your arm, hauling you toward him while lifting the energy cell in his other hand.
You drove your heel down onto his foot and struck his throat with the side of your hand. Tim experienced a brief, inappropriate burst of pride.
Then the man swung the energy cell toward your head.
Tim caught his wrist. The unstable device emitted a rising mechanical whine.
“Let go.”
The man smiled and released it.
Tim grabbed the energy cell as it fell, warning lights flashing across the casing. He threw it toward the shattered windows and launched a specialized birdarang after it. The projectile struck the cell in midair, activating a magnetic containment field moments before the device detonated above the street.
The explosion sent a shockwave through the ballroom. Tim turned toward you just as a metal support tore loose from the damaged window frame.
He pushed you down and covered you. The beam struck his shoulder hard enough to drive him against the marble. His domino mask shifted beneath the impact, and an error flashed across his lenses as the voice modulator built into his collar shorted out.
For several seconds, neither of you moved. Tim heard the leader groan nearby while police flooded the ballroom. Guests shouted over one another and emergency alarms continued to sound, but the immediate threat had passed.
You were beneath him, breathing quickly.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
The damaged modulator stuttered halfway through the question, allowing Red Robin’s distorted voice to give way to Tim’s.
Your entire body went still.
When Tim lifted his head, your gaze fixed on the portion of his face exposed by the displaced domino before moving to his dark hair and the familiar shape of his mouth.
“Tim?”
His heart stopped.
A police officer shouted from across the ballroom, and Tim immediately shifted between you and the room while pressing the domino securely back into place. Several guests had already begun raising their phones.
“We need to move,” he said, keeping his natural voice low.
You stared at him. “You’re—”
“Not here.”
He caught your hand and led you through the nearest service door before anyone could reach you. The corridor beyond was empty, shielded from the ballroom and its cameras by two heavy fire doors.
Tim checked both ends of the hall before disabling the damaged voice modulator in his collar. When he turned back, you had not moved.
“Take it off,” you said.
Tim hesitated.
“You knew what I said to Tim at the café. You knew he was worried even though I never told you, and now you sound exactly like him.” Your voice tightened. “Take off the mask.”
There was no explanation left that you would believe. Tim reached up and removed the domino.
Recognition happened all at once. There was no confusion or careful assembly of evidence. You saw his face, and your expression emptied with the speed of a door slamming shut.
“You’re Red Robin.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
Your mouth opened and closed. Tim examined you quickly for blood or visible injuries, though the rapid movement of your chest and the tremor in your hands concerned him almost as much.
“Did anything hit you?”
“You rejected me.”
“That conversation needs more context.”
“You rejected me and then sat across from me at lunch defending yourself.”
“I was attempting to correct the situation.”
“You were jealous of yourself.”
Voices sounded beyond the fire doors. The police were securing the ballroom, and Tim had only a few minutes before someone came looking for Red Robin.
He glanced toward the door. “I need to make sure the attackers are contained.”
“You’re leaving again.”
“I’m coming back.”
“You always say that.”
“I know.” Tim stepped closer and lowered his voice. “But this time you know why I have to go.”
You folded your arms as anger overtook some of the shock. “You have six minutes.”
“Ten.”
“Five.”
“Eight.”
“Six.”
“Agreed.”
Tim replaced the domino mask and pressed it securely into place. The voice modulator remained disabled, but he could keep his natural voice low until he was clear of the ballroom.
He opened the service door a fraction and checked the room beyond. “The medical team is near the south exit. I’m taking you there first.”
“I can walk by myself.”
“I know.”
“That sounded patronizing.”
“It wasn’t intended to.”
“Most things with you aren’t.”
Tim accepted that he deserved the remark.
He kept himself between you and the ballroom as he guided you along the edge of the room, avoiding the guests, officers, and phones clustered around the shattered windows. Once you were safely beside the waiting ambulances, he stopped.
“Six minutes,” you reminded him.
“I’ll be back in five.”
Tim returned in five, still wearing the Red Robin suit. His domino was securely back in place, though the damaged voice modulator in his collar remained disabled.
You were seated on the rear step of an ambulance, wrapped in a silver emergency blanket and arguing with a paramedic who wanted to examine your pupils.
“My pupils are fine.”
“You were near an explosion,” the paramedic replied.
“I’ve been near several. It’s becoming a pattern.”
Tim stopped beside the ambulance and kept his natural voice low. “Let him check.”
You glared up at the domino. “You don’t get to be authoritative right now.”
The paramedic looked between you and Red Robin, evidently decided that whatever was happening had moved beyond his professional responsibilities, and stepped away to retrieve another ice pack.
“The paramedic abandoned me,” you said once he was out of earshot.
“He’s obtaining medical equipment.”
“He sensed danger.”
“He’s working beside a hotel that was just attacked with experimental energy weapons.”
“Less dangerous than this conversation.”
Tim could not disagree.
You pulled the blanket more tightly around your shoulders. “Let me see you.”
“We’re outside.”
“There are no cameras facing this section. Don’t act surprised. You complain about blind spots constantly.”
Several officers moved near the street entrance, but none were looking toward the ambulance. Tim sat beside you within the shelter of the open rear doors and pulled one partly closed before removing the domino.
Your eyes moved across his face with an intensity that made him feel more exposed than the lack of a mask should have allowed. “You’re really him.”
“Yes.”
“How long have you been doing this?”
“Since I was thirteen.”
You stared at him. “You were a child. You were five feet tall.”
“I was highly trained, and height wasn’t a central qualification.”
“I cannot process that right now.”
“That’s understandable.”
“You knew I had a crush on you.”
“I found out at the café.”
“And instead of telling me the truth, you insulted yourself.”
Tim looked down at his gloves. “In retrospect, that was ineffective.”
“You said Red Robin was tolerable.”
“I was jealous.”
“Of yourself.”
“I hadn’t separated the issue logically.”
“You separate everything logically.”
“I was experiencing an unusual amount of emotional interference.”
“Because I liked you.”
“Because you liked him.”
“He is you.”
“I’m aware of that now.”
“You weren’t aware yesterday?”
“Intellectually, yes. Emotionally, it felt more complicated.”
You stared at him until laughter escaped you. Covering your face with both hands, you shook beneath the emergency blanket.
“I’m glad this is amusing.”
“You competed with yourself. You interrogated me about how much I liked Red Robin, told me he probably didn’t have time for relationships, and tried to ruin my crush.”
“I was attempting to manage expectations.”
“You called yourself tolerable.”
“I was trying not to appear biased.”
You lowered your hands. “Tim, you are the most ridiculous person I have ever met.”
“I live with several strong competitors.”
“And then you accepted the oat milk coffee.”
“It was the correct option.”
“You could have taken the black one.”
“I don’t like black coffee.”
“You would rather risk exposing your identity than drink the wrong coffee.”
“I didn’t expose my identity because of the coffee.”
“You quoted our conversation, told me Tim wanted me to call him, insisted Tim was worried about me, and said Tim would want me to know that Red Robin might be interested.”
Tim rubbed the back of his neck. “The pronouns became difficult to manage.”
You laughed again, and the tension in his chest loosened enough for him to breathe. Then your laughter faded.
“You lied to me.”
The words were quiet, and Tim’s relief vanished. “Yes.”
“You’ve been lying for years. Every time you disappeared, you told me you were working.”
“I often was.”
“You came to my apartment with a knife wound and said you caught yourself on a filing cabinet.”
“It was a sharp filing cabinet.”
“Tim.”
“It wasn’t.”
You looked away. Tim wanted to reach for you but kept his hands on his knees. “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you.”
“When?”
“Several times. Before you developed a crush on Red Robin. I’ve wanted to tell you a lot of things, and the identity was only one of them.”
Your expression became cautious. “What else?”
This was not the setting Tim had imagined. Emergency vehicles filled the street, his shoulder ached where the beam had struck him, and his left wrist was beginning to swell beneath the gauntlet. Several members of his family were almost certainly listening through the comm unit he had forgotten to disable.
Tim switched it off and looked at you. “I’m in love with you.”
You did not move. Tim had anticipated several possible responses, including silence, though he had imagined it would contain more visible horror.
“How long?”
“Eleven months and approximately three weeks.”
“You counted.”
“I remember when I realized.”
“When?”
“You fell asleep in my office.”
“That made you fall in love with me?”
“No. I think I already loved you. That was when I understood what it was.”
You watched him, waiting, and Tim explained that it was the night you had stayed late to help him review a community outreach proposal because you knew he would otherwise have worked all night. You had fallen asleep on the couch, and when he finished, he realized he did not want to wake you because then you would leave.
“I sat there for almost an hour without doing anything,” he admitted. “I just wanted you to stay.”
Your expression softened. “You could have told me.”
“I intended to.”
“For eleven months?”
“I encountered obstacles.”
“Criminal syndicates?”
“Some.”
“Alien invasions?”
“One.”
“An inability to communicate like a normal human being?”
“Predominantly.”
You shook your head, and Tim hurried to defend himself. “I tried to ask you to dinner. I wore a suit, made a reservation, and told you that you looked beautiful.”
“We have dinner constantly, you always wear suits, and you make reservations for lunch. You also spent twenty minutes explaining the restaurant’s fire-suppression system.”
“It was unusually advanced.”
“I thought you were nervous about the building.”
“I was nervous about you.”
Your eyes widened slightly.
“I’m not good at this,” Tim admitted.
“You’re good at everything. You defeated four armed people ten minutes ago.”
“They were considerably easier than telling you I like you.”
Your mouth curved, though the smile quickly faded. “Why didn’t you say anything when I told Red Robin I wanted Tim to be jealous?”
“I almost did, but I didn’t want to reveal my identity because it would make dating me easier.”
“That sounds almost noble.”
“It was mostly fear.”
“Less noble.”
“I know.”
“Were you actually going to introduce me to someone else?”
“No.”
“Then who was the mysterious intelligent, emotionally unavailable man you wanted me to consider?”
Tim raised one hand.
You stared at him. “You were recommending yourself.”
“I was attempting to.”
“As Tim or Red Robin?”
“Tim.”
“Why didn’t you simply say that?”
“I lost momentum.”
“You control multinational business negotiations.”
“They involve agendas.”
“I’ll prepare an agenda the next time you need to confess something.”
“That would help.”
You laughed softly, then studied him again. Tim waited because he had offered you the truth, or at least the part of it that mattered most. There was nothing left to calculate.
“I liked you first,” you said.
Tim blinked. “Before Red Robin?”
“About eight months ago.”
He searched backward through his memory, naming the museum and a fundraising dinner before reaching the weekend in Chicago.
You smiled. “It was after you flew to Chicago because I was nervous.”
“I had a meeting.”
“You invented a meeting.”
Tim hesitated. “Lucius told you.”
“He mentioned it when I thanked him for rearranging his schedule.”
“I need to review what Lucius considers confidential.”
“You scheduled a meeting, crossed three states, sat through my entire presentation, and bought me dinner afterward because I looked tired. I thought it meant something.”
“It did.”
“But you never said anything. You spent the rest of the evening discussing quarterly projections, so I decided I had imagined it.”
“You didn’t.”
“So when Red Robin appeared, he felt easier.”
“Because you didn’t know him.”
“Because he reminded me of you.”
Tim stopped breathing.
“He was awkward and kind,” you continued. “He pretended everything he did was logical even when he was obviously worried. He noticed that I was shaking but acted like giving me his cape was a standard procedural decision.”
“It prevented heat loss.”
“Exactly.”
Tim looked at you. “You liked Red Robin because he reminded you of me.”
“Apparently, I have an extremely specific type.”
“That seems statistically unlikely.”
“You are never using that word during a romantic conversation again.”
“I can try.”
“And I didn’t fall in love with Red Robin. I had a crush on him. I was already in love with you.”
Tim felt the world tilt. “You’re in love with me? Present tense?”
“Unfortunately.”
He stared until uncertainty crept into your smile.
“You’re allowed to react.”
“I’m processing.”
“Should I give you a minute?”
“No.”
Tim kissed you. The movement lacked his usual precision: his glove caught in the emergency blanket, his injured wrist protested when he reached for your face, and he nearly collided with your nose because he misjudged the angle. None of it mattered once your hand curled around the front of his suit.
You kissed him back with enough certainty to silence every possibility Tim had spent eleven months calculating. He had imagined slow kisses, careful kisses, and the kind that followed elaborate confessions in perfectly chosen locations. He had never imagined kissing you behind an ambulance while wearing the Red Robin suit and possibly nursing a hairline fracture in his wrist. This was better.
Your fingers slid into his hair, and Tim leaned closer until a horn sounded directly behind the ambulance.
You jumped apart. Nightwing had maneuvered his motorcycle into the narrow space beside the rear doors, where the ambulance shielded him from the officers and guests gathered along the street. He grinned openly while Spoiler, seated behind him, formed a heart with both hands.
Tim considered several crimes.
“They know?” you asked.
“They know everything.”
“Did they know I had a crush on Red Robin?”
“Unfortunately.”
Spoiler raised both thumbs, and you covered your face. Tim gently lowered your hands.
“They’ll stop eventually.”
“No, they won’t.”
“No,” he admitted. “They won’t.”
“You let me tell your entire family that I wanted to ask you out.”
“I did not tell them. Barbara heard part of a conversation.”
“Barbara?”
“Oracle.”
Your eyes widened. “I’ve met Oracle?”
“Yes.”
“Dick is Nightwing?”
“I thought you knew that one.”
“I did. And Stephanie?”
Tim glanced toward the motorcycle as Stephanie waved enthusiastically. “That’s another conversation.”
“How many conversations are we going to need?”
“Several.”
“Do I get a spreadsheet?”
“I can make one.”
“I was joking.”
“I think it would provide useful structure.”
You looked at him for a moment before smiling. “I really am in love with you.”
“I’m choosing to interpret that positively.”
“You should.”
Tim touched your cheek, and your gaze lowered to the emblem across his chest. “I can’t believe you were jealous of yourself.”
“I’d prefer that not become a recurring topic.”
“It’s going to become my favorite topic.”
“I saved your life tonight.”
“You also rejected me last night.”
“I’ve reconsidered the policy.”
“So you date civilians now?”
“One.”
“Very selective.”
“She has unusually strong qualifications.”
“Such as?”
“She’s intelligent, observant, and willing to bring me properly prepared coffee.”
“You nearly had a breakdown when I gave it to you.”
“That was unrelated to the coffee.”
“She’s also apparently attractive to both Tim Drake and Red Robin.”
“They have identical taste.”
Tim leaned forward and kissed you before you could continue. You smiled against his mouth.
His wrist still hurt, his shoulder would require treatment, and the police would expect a complete statement about the stolen technology. Bruce would request a security review, Lucius would ask why another prototype had exploded, and Dick and Stephanie would tell everyone about the ambulance. For once, none of it felt urgent.
You rested your forehead against his. “Does this mean I get to date both of you?”
“There is only one of me.”
“I’ve noticed significant personality differences. Red Robin is more dramatic, and Tim Drake is more jealous.”
“They are contextual adaptations, and your conclusion is based on limited evidence.”
“Tim spent an entire lunch trying to sabotage Red Robin.”
“Red Robin rejected you.”
“Because Tim was jealous.”
Tim kissed you again. It was the most effective method he had found for ending the argument.
Three weeks later, you waited on the library roof with two thermoses of coffee.
Red Robin landed beside you. “You shouldn’t sit in the camera blind spot.”
“You redesigned the security system.”
“It still has limitations.”
“You installed six additional cameras.”
“There are seven.”
“Of course there are.”
Tim removed his domino as he approached. He had learned that you preferred to see his face whenever the roof was secure, though you had also told him the mask was unfairly attractive.
He was still processing that information.
You held out one of the thermoses. “Oat milk.”
“I assumed.”
Tim took it, then noticed the strip of pink tape wrapped around the side. JEALOUS BOYFRIEND had been written across it in Stephanie’s unmistakable handwriting, accompanied by a badly drawn red bird.
He looked at you.
You smiled innocently. “Steph labeled them.”
“You allowed her to.”
“I tried to stop her.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“No,” you admitted. “I didn’t.”
“I told you that topic should not recur.”
“I rejected the request.”
“I rejected the characterization.”
“You sulked for two days because I said Nightwing had nice hair.”
“I did not sulk.”
“You created a list of practical disadvantages associated with long hair during combat.”
“It presents a legitimate vulnerability.”
“You sent me diagrams.”
“The diagrams illustrated the point.”
“You were jealous.”
“Nightwing is my brother.”
“That made it funnier.”
Tim sat beside you, and your shoulder settled against his, warm and familiar. The city moved below, full of emergencies that would eventually demand his attention. For the moment, the streets surrounding the library were quiet, his comm remained silent, and no one was calling for help.
You took a drink and looked at him thoughtfully.
“What?”
“I’m trying to decide which version of you I like better.”
Tim gave you a flat look. “There are not multiple versions.”
“Tim buys me dinner.”
“Red Robin prevents armed robberies.”
“Tim owns several buildings.”
“Red Robin has a motorcycle.”
“Tim lets me choose his ties.”
You took another sip and pretended to consider the matter carefully. “Red Robin wears leather.”
“It’s reinforced polymer,” Tim corrected automatically.
“And Red Robin has thighs.”
Tim stared at you. “Tim has the same thighs.”
You smiled into your coffee, and heat rose along his face.
“You’re doing this deliberately.”
“I am.”
“You know I can leave.”
“You won’t.”
“I have patrol.”
“You changed your route to stop here.”
“This area requires attention.”
“You redesigned the library’s security system, arrested every active criminal within six blocks, and convinced the city to replace the streetlights.”
“The previous lighting was inadequate.”
“You’re here because you love me.”
Tim looked out over Gotham before turning back to you. “Yes, I am.”
You kissed his cheek, and his irritation disappeared immediately.
“You’re my favorite,” you said.
“Between Tim and Red Robin?”
“Between everyone.”
Tim turned fully toward you. “You should have led with that.”
“I thought you preferred accurate comparative analysis.”
“I do.”
“Then you’ll be pleased to know you won by a significant margin.”
“Against myself?”
You smiled. “Apparently you finally defeated the competition.”
Tim kissed you before you could laugh. This time, when you smiled against his mouth, he did too.
Weird, weird, weird pervert who’s got you pinned like in some strange wrestling move. Skirt lifted over your belly with your cunt tipped up to his face.
He’s got his tongue poking into the pillowy part of your panties. Spitting on the pink fabric, making it turn dark. Eyes big and steal-gazing to how it starts to cling to the outline of your cunt—making his cheeks rouge.
He doesn’t peel it to the side, put traces your slit with his fingers, rubbing you through the wet layer, soaking it with more of his tongue until it’s drenched all over and all the way through, making your own self get sticky beneath it.
Finding your hole, he pokes the lace inside it. Fucking it into you, breath shuddering while watching it disappear, getting swallowd and sucked inside.
When he pulls it out again, he puts his mouth back on you—sucking the fabric dry of his spit and your taste.
He keeps it up until you cum.
The crotch of your panties stretched out and thin, looking like a frayed rope, barely covering anything anymore.
That’s when he grips it and pulls it, elastic strings snapping until it rips apart at both your hips.
He then bags them and runs off like a thief in the night.
Summary: I’m genuinely the worst at summaries. Your stressed. Bf izuku help with stress. The end.
word count: 1715
Cw/tw: Explicit sexual activity, oral sex, intimate scenes, adult themes such as academic pressure, stress, burnout, unhealthy sleeping habits, sexual language
Imagine beginning a new semester at uni and being way too stressed over your units and maintaining your gpa
too stressed out to the point that whenever you sleep over at Izuku’s house that you totally ignore his efforts to cuddle at night.
Instead you turn on the little lamp on his nightstand, sit upright against the headboard and set your folder full of books besides you, basically spending hours studying and revising material for your future lectures.
At some point during the 2nd week of this recurring theme you no longer bother joining Izuku on the bed and decide that your new study area (as well as sleeping arrangements )is his bathtub.
And when Izuku protests and expresses his worry for your wellbeing and questions why you have to be so far away from him, you explain how the bathtub weirdly allows to focus on your school content (as well as utilise your whiteboard markers),
Which he doesn’t understand at all.
And by week 3 he gets really sick of being apart from you whenever you sleep over and literally moves some of his pillows, blankets and shit into the bathtub before you come over so that you guys can both spend the night together, noting it would probably be the worst sleep of his life.
Hours later, after you guys finish dinner and clean up for the night, you kiss him goodnight and routinely make your way to the bathtub with your folders and pens only to find the bathtub covered with a slightly faded allmight bed spread, two pillows and blanket cover.
“Izuku..” You call out his name.
“I’ll be there in a sec.” Izuku replies while grabbing more pillows from his storage.
Determined to spend the night with you in his bathtub, he proudly makes his way to you, hiding the growing smirk on his face.
“What is this..” You sighed.
“Thought I’d switch things up.” He shrugged, his smirk all too visible now.
“Izuku why are your pillows in the bathtub?”
“Well..” He hesitated for a second, hoping you wouldn’t be too mad at his idea. “You sleep in the bathtub. So I figured-“ His voice softened slightly. “..we could sleep together tonight.”
You stared at him, all too confused. “Are you serious?”
“I mean,” he said, leaning back slightly on the wall, “You’ve been here all by yourself these past few weeks, I thought I could make it a bit more comfortable.”
His comment almost made you smile, however you knew him better to believe this. “I dont know..you’re a very light sleeper, this would be way too uncomfortable for you.”
“Yeah, probably.” He said it easily, like he didn’t mind the discomfort. Then, a bit lower, “I just wanna be with you.”
“That’s… sweet.” You cupped his jaw within your palms. “But I really need to study. So I really doubt there’s gonna be much sleeping happening.”
He sits on the edge of the tub, glancing at you. “Wow. Ive been rejected for books all week. I must be doing something wrong.”
“Well figure it out in your bedroom please Mr.Deku.” You try to shoo him off, teasingly using his pro name.
“Mr Deku?” He repeats. “Ouch.” he grabs his chest taking offence and pretend falls into the tub.
“Yes Mr Deku.” , in fact if you want to stay, you have to earn my permission.” You join him in the tub, sitting opposite him.
“Oh?” He tilts his head. “Earn your permission to stay in MY bathtub.”
“Talking back only lowers your chances.” You reprimand him
“Really huh?” Izuku chuckles
“Mhm.”
He let out a dramatic sigh, glancing down. “This is what I get for trying to help you deal with stress ”
“I would be wayy less stressed knowing you got a good night of sleep from the comfort of your bed.” You try to persuade him.
“Well who says I even want to go to sleep,” He lies. I could be of real good use to you, if you let me y/n” He shifts forwards and leans his head on top of your thigh.
“Hmm, how so?” You reply trying to hide the way you thigh flinched.
Unfortunately Izuku was very observant and instantly noticed your reaction to his touch, “Well how about.”
He places a kiss to your thighs and slowly spreads them gently to the sides of the tub. “I take care of..”
another kiss, this time on the border of your underwear sending heat straight to through body.
“That pretty pretty pussy of yours,” He says as he kisses the clothed entrance of your cunt and stares directly into your eyes waiting for your call.
“Well..” All of a sudden you were at a loss for words as he had so suddenly gained the upper hand and was breathing down your body, that had betrayed you by reacting to his every word. “Uh.. I mean how would I even get anything done.” You respond, voice slightly cracked as you try to hide your anticipation.
“ Oh that’s well not a problem at all,” He chuckles. “ I know for a fact such a smart pretty thing like yourself can stay focused on your studies while I make you cum.”
You try to think for a moment but the thoughts just don’t come out. Fuck it.
“Fine Izuku.” You sigh quietly.
“Huh.?.I’m so sorry pretty..I just don’t think I heard you properly."
He was such an arrogant winner.
“Yes, you can stay in the bathtub..and you can eat me out too.” You reword your defeat.
“Good girl.” Izuku hands you your book and you take it avoidng eye contact, due to your stubbornness, and he instantly gets to work removing you underwear and taking in your scent.
To your slight embarrassment, he had managed to get you a bit more than slightly wet in the last 2 minutes and he had barely touched you.
“All for me?” He teased, turning your head to face him directly.
You instantly swat his hand away, “ Don’t be a dic-“
You try to scold him but he takes it as the perfect opportunity lick your folds without warning, slowing his tongue down around your clit, drawing slow oval shapes.
“Oh fuck, izu.” You breathe heavily staring up at the ceiling.
He stops for a second.
“Ah ah ah..smart girls don’t take their eyes off their books..now do they?”
“mm..of course not.” You sniff composing yourself and trying to gain refocus on the page.
Izuku just watches you.
You sigh irritated by his taunting, “Izuku. Tongue. Move. Now.”
“Well how am I supposed to know if you’re really studying?” His mouth was now fully of you, sending you into full desperation. “I sure don’t want to be the reason you aren’t focusing anymore.”
“..Would you like me to ..read it to for you?” You sniff.
“That would be be actually just amazing baby. If its no trouble by you.”
“Of course not..I can do that.” You reply instantly desperate for his tongue.
“Ahem, so..let’s see..the nephron is the most structural and functional unit of the kidney.”
“Yes ,continue.” He reattached his tongue to your cunt, changing his pace slightly to match his own desire after being away from you for so long.
He began to move his tongue even faster, licking your wet folds and swirling his tongue around your opening before thrusting his tongue inside completely in and repeating the motion.
“Oh izu..mmm..” You try to make out your words but fail terribly
“Hmm that doesn’t seem to be from the book.” He hums slowing down slightly.
“No no no don’t slow down l, I can take it.” You cry out, begging for a faster pace
“ Well then continue reading for me.” He demands.
You attempt to regulate your breathing and continue reading your paragraph, “Responsible for the regulation of water balance, electrolyte concentrations, and the removal of waste products.”
“Such a good girl for me.” Izuku returns to a faster pace and buries his head deep within your folds, too focused on your slit to worry about his pussy drenched face or the boner aching against his sweat pants from eating you out, at that moment he was only concerned with making you cum, and doing it in the next few minutes.
“Each..sniff..each kidney contains approximately one-fuck..million nephrons” you almost cried out trying your best to please Izuku’s impossible demands and he kept on increasing his pace, leaving you entirely high on his tongue and too out of it to even understand what you were saying.
Despite his cruelty, he really did appreaciate your compliance, he really did want you to have it all, to relief you of your stress and let you study at the same time. He loved it so much that he decided to to reward you and put his fingers to work on your clit, rubbing tight circle, while he simultaneously thrusted his tongue into you in a stroking motion.
At that point it was impossible for you to keep reading and you instantly ditched the book and placed your hands in Izuku’s hair trying to somewhat compose yourself, “I cant read this anymore Izuku snifff, it feels to o good, mm I think gonna cum.”
At those word he rapidly speeds up his tongue, targeting the roof of your walls hitting your g-spot caressing it over and over again until you came all over his mouth, gasping for air and crying his name out gently.
“Sniff..I think,” You stare at him as he cleans your mess up by taking slow licks against your cunt, taking up your slick into his mouth . “I think we should sleep in your bed tonight.”
Izuku takes his mouth of you and stares at you while smiling, “Are you sure?”
“Y-yes! I think I’m way too relaxed to continue this chapter anyways.” You place the book back into your folder laying outside the tub.
Izuku quietly laughs, then helps you with your underwear and carries you outside the tub and into his bedroom.
That night, he slept absolutely amazing knowing you were right there where he could see you.
Even despite the fact that he was still achingly hard, it was the best goddamn sleep he had gotten in the last 3 weeks.
A/n: Sigh…this was supposed to be a short short Drabble.. I need to train myself to stop writing long ass paragraphs and then still calling them drabbles. Anyways this is slightly rushed as I js wanted to be active lol tpday, 100% gurantee of typos (sorry). Hope you enjoy..hopefully 🤞🤞
glasses clink as the flow of champagne echos around tables. damian wayne stands docile between crowds of people. the forefront of wayne enterprises, a standard of seamless elegance.
inky thick cuts of fabric wrapped round carved muscle. hair styled meticulously under the diamond gleam of lights. mudded green eyes narrowed with intelligence. knowing every and all of each.
more show than piece. every fiber of being lain to display. nothing amiss.
"..is that, glitter? on damian?" dammit tim.
jason feels as his brother closes in, whisper loud across the quiet of their table. green eyes tear away from the appease of desserts, looking back to tim.
"glitter? get real dra—" fluttery pink flashes under the fleet of light, twinkling just enough to stop jason. "holy shit." they both stare as damian stands blank, prospects of business deals just a hair away.
he blinks, in a moments notice is he looking at the two of them.
"crap, avert your eyes," tim finds solace in the details of the high colums. jason, ever the instigator, grins behind a pour of wine. raising a brow as he holds heavy eyecontact.
a low exscuse and damian is at their table. looming behind the shadow he casts. "in what manor describes the staring?"
"nothing."
"you feelin' pretty damie?" jason smiles in the slate face of his brother. sharp eyes narrow, studying the two of them.
"pretty is not the word i would utilize, rather intimidating or presentable."
jason snorts. grin widening as he adjusts his hips, slinking further back for comfort. tim smiles at the ignorance of damian, looking back to the speck of shine.
"so, you meant to show with glitter on you?" he questions with a tilted head. damians glare weighs large.
"explain."
tim rolls his eyes. reaching up to carefully stick the gleam onto the tip of his finger. "this. you try dresses before hand?"
jason laughs, loud enough passbyers double take at the small gather of the family. raised brows and hushed words are ignored in favor for damians reaction.
"..that doesnt belong to me."
jason pries. "no shit. who then, whose the poor lady?"
like damian would open his mouth on the whereabouts of the two of you. his family would know absolutely nothing. your involvement was strictly priva— did he just insult you?
"she is not poor." muscles tense as his jaw locks. teeth solid against each other. "repeatedly has she stated she enjoys the company i provide. now drop it." he steps away, large back blending with the tide of the crowd. anger fizzing around the air.
╰┈➤ overview ; "Hey guys," you say cheerfully, leaning into the frame so only your face shows, though the camera dips just enough to capture his twitching dick and torso. "Today I'm trying out different condom flavors to see if they actually taste good! With the help of my boyfriend, of course!"
( ! ) Sub male character (your fav <3) x dom gn! reader , edging , bdsm , condoms , handjob , blowjob , crying and whimpering , teasing , praising , dacryphilia, video
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( ✎ ) ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. Had to post this juicy story before it disappears from my brain 💔💔💔 also pls help me find the source of the header, i forgot to save it ;(
You smirk at the camera, the red light blinking steadily as you adjust the angle one last time.
Your boyfriend sits bound to the sturdy wooden chair in the center of the room, his arms pulled back and secured with thick leather straps around his wrists and the chair's arms. His broad chest heaves with anticipation, those defined abs flexing under the soft lighting. His thick cock already twitches against his thigh, half-hard from the thrill of being exposed to your fans. You've got him stripped naked, legs spread and ankles tied to the chair legs, leaving him completely exposed and at your mercy.
"Hey guys," you say cheerfully, leaning into the frame so only your face shows, though the camera dips just enough to capture his twitching dick and torso. "Today I'm trying out different condom flavors to see if they actually taste good! With the help of my boyfriend, of course!" You grin wickedly, glancing over at him. He shifts in the restraints, his cock jumping visibly as your words sink in.
You kneel between his spread thighs, the cool floor pressing against your knees as you reach for the first condom on the tray beside you—a strawberry one. His eyes lock on yours, dark with need, but you just wink and tear the wrapper open.
"Let's start with strawberry," you announce to the camera, holding it up briefly before rolling it down his hardening shaft. The latex stretches tight over his girth, the faint fruity scent hitting the air as you grip the base and give it a slow pump. He groans low, hips bucking slightly against the bonds.
Leaning in, you wrap your lips around the tip, sucking gently at first. Your tongue swirls over the flavored surface, tasting the artificial sweetness mixed with his salty skin beneath. You take him deeper, bobbing your head steadily, hollowing your cheeks to create that tight suction he loves. His cock throbs in your mouth, growing fully rigid as you work him with wet, slurping sounds that the mic picks up perfectly. You hum around him, the vibration making his abs clench and his thighs tense.
"Mmm, good boy," you murmur against his length, pulling back just enough to praise him before diving down again, taking him to the back of your throat. He whimpers softly, the first sign of his building orgasm. You speed up, hand twisting at the base in rhythm with your mouth, feeling him swell and pulse. His breaths come ragged, breaths turning to pants as he nears the edge.
Just as his hips start to thrust weakly against the restraints, you pull off with a pop, strings of saliva connecting your lips to the glistening condom. "Strawberry's sweet, but a bit too fake," you say casually to the camera, licking your lips. "Not bad, though. What do you think, babe?" He whines, cock bobbing untouched, a bead of pre-cum smearing inside the latex. You ignore his pleading eyes and grab the next one—banana.
"Next up, banana," you declare, carefully sliding the strawberry one off and tossing it aside. His shaft glistens with your spit, twitching harder now from the denial. You roll the new condom on, the yellow tint contrasting his veined length, and waste no time sucking him back in.
This time, you go slower, teasing the underside with flicks of your tongue while your hand strokes lazily. He moans louder, head falling back against the chair as you build him up again, lips sealed tight around him.
You praise him between slurps, "Such a strong man, taking this so well for me." His muscles strain against the straps, abs contracting with each denied orgasm.
When he's thrusting up into your mouth, breaths hitching, you pull away once more. "Banana's smoother, almost creamy," you comment, wiping your mouth. "Tastes better than I expected." He lets out a frustrated groan, cock jerking in the air, but you just pat his thigh and move to the grape flavor.
The pattern repeats, each condom a new torment. Grape's tartness coats your tongue as you deepthroat him, gagging slightly for the camera's benefit while he whimpers your name. "You're doing amazing, love," you coo, fingers digging into his hips to hold him still. He gets closer each time, body trembling, but you deny him relentlessly, pulling off right at the brink, offering your tasting notes like it's a casual review.
By the fourth one—mango—his whimpers turn to full cries. Tears well in his eyes as you suck him hard, your hand pumping the base furiously.
"Please," he begs hoarsely, voice breaking. "Need to cum... fuck—please." You hum around him, ignoring the plea, feeling him throb desperately. When you finally release him, his cock slaps against his abs, the condom slick and shiny. "Mango's sweet, a little tangy," you say to the lens, as if he isn't sobbing softly now.
You switch to cherry, rolling it on while he shakes, pre-cum leaking steadily. Your blowjob is merciless this round, throat relaxing to take every inch, nose brushing his groin. He cries out, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks, body arching as much as the bonds allow.
"Let me cum, baby, please— I-I can't..." His voice cracks into sobs, his frame quivering with both overstimulation and denial.
"Look at you, so perfect and ruined for me," you praise softly, even as you pull off again. "Cherry's my favorite so far! bold and juicy." He's full-on sobbing now, chest heaving with ragged breaths, cock twitching violently without touch.
Begging spills from his lips in broken pleas, "Please, please, I'll do anything! just let me cum... hurts so good..."
Finally, you relent, peeling off the cherry condom and discarding it. His bare cock stands rigid, veins bulging, tip flushed dark. "Alright, you've earned it," you say with a grin, both to him and the camera. Wrapping your hand around his slick length, you stroke firmly from base to tip, thumb circling the head on each upstroke. He bucks into your grip, sobs turning to relieved moans as you pump faster, twisting your wrist to hit every sensitive spot.
"Cum for me, good boy," you urge, leaning in to whisper praises against his thigh. "Show everyone how much you need this." His abs tighten, whole body seizing as he cries out one last time. Hot spurts of cum shoot from his cock, coating your hand and splattering his abs in thick ropes. You milk him through it, slowing your strokes until he's spent, whimpering softly in the aftershocks.
"That's all for today, I hope this video helps!" You sit back on your heels, smiling at the camera as his chest rises and falls. "See you guys on part two! Thanks for watching! <3"
His eyes widened "W-wait! there's a next pa—"
The red light blinks off, ending the video.
175 comments:
@user33550336 — this is soooo hot, when will part 2 come out???
↳ @mynameis[name]— soon...
@49to51commented — men whimpering>>>>
@Ieattrashcans — MORE PLSPLSPLSPLSPLSPL
@user4900051 — Can we see his face?
↳ @mynameis[name] — no sorry <3
See more...
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( ✎ ) guys i actually don't know what condoms tastes like LMAOAOA
