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panel redraw for today!
A Match Made In The Tattoo Parlor
Kinktober Day 26 — Office Sex
Summary: A continuation from You Can Let Go Now.
Pairing: Cameron Cade x Black f!reader
Warnings: smutty smut, explicit language, use of n-word, office sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, praise
Word count: 3.4k
Part one | Part three
Kinktober 2025 Masterlist
The gym was once again quiet, and you only got this type of quiet after midnight. You were halfway through locking the front doors when you heard a faint click sound that paused you as the back door unlocked.
And then came that laugh you knew all too well, the one you always associated with trouble and, more recently, a facial.
“You ever heard of business hours, Cam?” you called over your shoulder, half-smiling as he stepped through the door.
He gave you a grin, his hoodie hanging loosely, his hairline a bit damp as if he had sprinted to the gym.
“Couldn’t wait till mornin’,” he said, breathless. “Had to show you what a nigga got yesterday.”
Before you could ask, he sat down on the stretching bench and pulled his sock off.
Just above his ankle bone was fresh ink that caught the light from overhead—a small jelly-shaped smear, plum in color.
“No fucking way,” you breathed.
“Yup,” he said, proud. “You got peanut butter, and I got jelly. Consider our promise fulfilled.”
You found yourself crouching down, tracing the clean lines with your eyes. It looked tender and a little swollen—he had obviously just gotten it done.
“You really did it.”
“Of course I did,” he replied in a hushed tone. “Can’t let you soak up all the nostalgia.”
You were shocked, to say the least. It had only been a week since you both lost control in the sauna. Neither of you had said a word to each other or asked what happened next. You both were scared to be the person to rename the friendship you both had for over ten years. You texted a few times daily. Nothing too serious just morning check-ins and silly memes. You had a sinking feeling it was a one-time thing—both of you scratching an itch.
This new development was for sure easing your mind.
He extended his leg next to yours. Both tattoos sat level, reflections perfectly mirroring them in the big mirror across the studio—the peanut butter and the jelly next to each other again. He unlocked his phone and snapped a couple of photos of your ankles, angling it sideways to highlight the matching tattoos.
For a moment, neither one of you spoke. The quiet hum of the vents and faint echo of your heartbeats in unison hung in the still air of the sign-in area.
"You’re such a ridiculous ass, nigga,” you remarked, smiling anyway.
“Maybe,” he replied, looking from your ankle to your eyes. “But now, we match."
You tried to laugh, but the laugh choked somewhere in your throat. The mirror made you and Cameron feel closer together; the two of you, the years apart, and all the things that didn't get said after the sauna that night.
“You sure it's healed enough to be in a gym?" you teased with a thin voice.
"Guess you’ll have to check for me," he murmured, and then, almost under his breath, he added, “You know this means you’re my girlfriend now, right?”
You looked up, half-laughing, and your heart kicked so hard it almost hurt.
"That’s funny, 'cause I don’t remember you askin’ me to be your girlfriend."
He swallowed hard, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Alright then." He leaned forward, eyes steady on yours. "Will you be my girlfriend?"
You blinked at him, warmth flooding from your chest to the tips of your fingers.
“Yes,” you said, and it landed softer than you intended.
He grinned like a man who just found his footing after a lifetime of running too fast. You stood, and he did too; before either of you could think, his arms slid around you, and he pressed his mouth to yours in a kiss. It wasn’t rushed or hesitant; it was just right.
He laughed, that deep, infectious sound that you loved so much. You left him to his weights and music, heading towards the back.
The early-2000s hip-hop thumped low and steady in the empty gym. The kind of bass that should've driven the rhythm. Cam tried to run through curls, presses, and squats. Literally anything to keep his mind from roaming, but it didn't work.
With every lift and with every breath, flashes of your smile when you said yes came back in his mind. The way your fingers had felt clutching at his shoulders in the sauna last week when he was deep in it. The way his name had sounded softer coming out of your mouth now that you were officially his.
He racked the dumbbells and stared at his reflection in the wall-length mirror. Same body, same face, same sweat, yet it all felt rewired somehow.
“Focus, nigga," he muttered, shaking his head. "Weights now, Y/N later."
The next set was sloppy; his grip wasn't as strong. He threw in the towel after the third set, set the weights down with a bang, and leaned against the bench, breathing heavily for reasons other than pushing his last set.
Down the hall, light from your lamp spilled out of the cracked doorway.
You sat at your desk, your pencil tapping lazily against the edge of an open ledger with numbers smearing together in front of you. You had been trying to balance the books for twenty minutes and still had not written a line that added up. It wasn't the math. It was the way your chest kept catching when you thought of how Cam asked you to be his girlfriend—simple, honest, and no hesitation once he started.
After a decade of friendship, it felt rejuvenating to finally have the answer spoken out loud.
You glanced at the mirror across from the steel desk, caught your own reflection, and smiled without meaning to.
Cameron stopped right outside your office door. He paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the knob. From your desk, you could hear his sneakers scuffing the floor before he knocked lightly.
"Door's open, Cam," you called, feigning casualness.
He leaned against the frame once he pushed the door open, towel slung around his neck, a sheen of sweat still clinging to him. The look in his eyes was the same one he got before a big game—focused, but nervous underneath.
“Everything okay, baby?” you asked.
"Yeah," he said, his voice low. "Just…god, I missed you so fuckin’ much this week."
That earned him a smile you couldn't hide.
“You fucked me stupid in my sauna five nights ago.”
“I know, baby,” he said, stepping inside. “I just—I kept thinkin’ about you, about us. About how wild it is that it finally happened…after 11 years of repressed feelings and stolen glances.”
You slammed down the ledger, heart racing.
“I’m not ‘gon even lie, Cam,” you sighed deeply. “It feels good as hell to finally admit the truth.”
He stopped beside your chair, close enough that the heat radiating from his body blurred into yours. The two of you stood framed in the amber desk lamp; your reflections were only a breath apart.
“You know,” he said, almost a whisper, “I tried to work out, but it’s kinda hard when all I can think about is you.”
You met his eyes in the glass, your reflection quaking with a smile. "You tryna say that I'm the reason you couldn't finish those godawful elevated goblet squats?"
He reached out and stroked a stray curl from your temple with his thumb.
"Need you," he murmured softly. "I miss those needy sounds you make when I'm deep in that pussy."
You bit your lip, barely suppressing a needy moan when your thighs clenched. "Cam—"
"Since I didn't get to last week, I’m gonna eat that pussy, and then I'm gonna fuck you on this desk. Any questions before we get started?"
"Fuck no."
You gathered the loose paperwork scattered across your desk and placed the stack in a Manila folder. You tucked the folder in a drawer as you stood from your chair, and he quickly moved it out of the way. His hands hooked under your arms and lifted you onto your desk.
He kneeled down and removed your tennis shoes and socks. He kissed your tattooed ankle one, two times, before gripping the hem of your gym shorts and pulling them down along with your panties.
He tossed them aside, eyes glued to your glistening pussy. His hands gripped your thighs and pulled you to the edge, your legs resting against his back. His nose brushed your clit, and you held your breath.
He slowly and deliberately flicked his tongue up your wet slit, tasting you for real this time.
“Mmm,” he hummed, repeating the tongue motion once more before asking. “You know what you taste like?”
“If you say some lame-ass shit like the pink starburst I swear to—”
He chuckled softly, cutting you off before your rant spiraled deeper. “—Mine, Y/N. You taste like mine.”
The way he said it, low, sure, and possessive, had you dripping even more, heart racing towards an invisible finish line.
His tongue flicked up your slit one more time before circling around your clit in tight formations, focusing all his attention on one little spot that made you cry out while your hands gripped the steel desk. His tongue moved back and forth over your hardened nub in such a way that it shot tingles of pleasure down your spine.
“I could spend all day feasting on this pussy.”
A low whine escaped your lips as he slipped not one but two long fingers inside without warning. Your jerk of surprise was pointless because his other hand’s grip on you practically glued you to your desk.
“Cam, fuuuck!”
You tried to take steadying breaths through your nose, but that didn’t help delay the knot in your belly from loosening.
“I’m about to cum,” you moaned in between shorter breaths, looking down at him eating you like he hadn’t tasted a proper meal in months. He didn’t even say anything. He looked up, locking eyes with you as his lips refused to let go of your clit and his fingers were unwilling to uncurl inside of you.
Your eyes fluttered closed and your mouth dropped as you came. The feeling was so intense it rocked you like rough waves during a storm. Your moans and chants of his name bounced off the walls of your office.
“Fuck yes,” he said after removing his fingers and releasing your clit. “Give me that shit.” His mouth trailed down to lap up your new rush of wetness.
He rose up and crushed his lips to yours in a passionate kiss, not giving a damn that you were still trying to catch your breath. You didn’t give a damn either because you kissed him back even harder, tasting yourself as your tongue slipped past his lips.
You raked your fingers up his back, gathering his shirt along the way, the warmth of his skin underneath your nails. He raised his arms, and you bunched it up and off, throwing it to the floor. He stepped back to kick off his sneakers, shorts, and briefs. Both of you were completely naked now, skin to skin. A sensation you were slowly but surely getting obsessed with.
He gripped his erection, stroking the base slowly while the thick tip teased your sensitive clit. You gasped while his hand explored your smooth back, his thumb trailing down your spine until it rested on your hip.
“Please, fuck me,” you whispered against his lips, unable to take the anticipation anymore.
It didn’t sting as much tonight as it did last week. He opened you up more, and you were prepared for it. Still, he groaned at the problematic way your pussy gripped him.
“Oh my fuckin’ g—Cameron,” you gasped softly when you glanced down and watched your walls stretch around his girthy dick as he inched deeper and deeper until he bottomed out.
“Fuuuck,” he exhaled sharply. “Keep moanin’ my name like that, and this ‘gon be over quicker than it started.”
You failed to suppress a giggle. You wrapped your arms around his neck tighter and leaned forward until your lips grazed his ear.
“Cameron,” you moaned again, softer this time, dragging the n out a few seconds longer than necessary
“Oh, you think that’s funny?” The corners of his mouth curved up and into a little smirk as he watched your laugh break off into a sharp gasp as he pulled halfway out and plunged back in, fucking you deep and hard.
“Yes, yes, yes,” your moans came out raspy, breasts bouncing as he continued fucking you deep. “Don’t stop, please.” You were already so close to the edge.
“You like the way I fuck this pussy?” He asked, hips slamming against yours faster now.
You nodded your head.
“Uh-uh,” he tsked. “Use your words, baby.”
“I—oh fuck—I love the way you fuck me.”
“This pussy mine?”
“Yessss! This is your pussy!”
“Good ‘cause I love this pussy.”
“I established that five minutes ago when you were eatin’ my pussy like it was your cheat meal.”
“Well, establish it again while I’m strokin’ this perfect pussy.”
His words of praise and the way he looked down into your eyes sent you over the edge.
You came with a loud moan, eyes fluttering closed as your second orgasm of the night washed over you. He fucked you through it, unable to decide on where to look, bright eyes flickering back and forth between your face and pussy.
“Goddamn,” he groaned deeply, shifting the angle of his hips slightly before setting yet another ruthless pace. “You take this dick so good, baby —fuck— and you look so pretty while doin’ it.”
You couldn’t even respond. The relentless pace he set damn near knocked the air from your lungs and the crown of his dick pushed against your g-spot over and over. Your mouth fell open in a silent scream.
“Ooooh,” he chuckled, smug grin plastered right back on his ridiculous ass pretty ass face. “I’m hittin’ that spot, huh?”
You still were unable to speak; the choked-off sobs and your pussy getting wetter were answer enough.
He continued, “That’s okay, baby. You ain’t gotta answer. I can tell by the way you’re grippin’ me and that look on your face like you about to cry.”
“Cameron.”
“Y/N.”
“Cameron.”
“Y/N.”
“Cam—I —holy fuck— I don’t think I can cum again.”
“That’s okay because I know you can.”
“Cam—“
“—You need some more help?” He asked, slipping a hand between you to pinch your clit, circling it fast with the pads of his pointer and middle finger. “I got you, baby. Stop holdin’ that shit in.” He bit into your bottom lip and tugged your mouth open, driving his tongue into your mouth, hellbent on devouring you just as roughly there as he was ravishing your soaked pussy.
Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.
“Shit, shit, shit,” you cried out, abdominal muscles putting in overtime as you tried to push back another orgasm. Your thighs trembled weakly while hot tears stung the corners of your brown eyes.
What was he trying to prove? To be fair, he fucked you stupid last week, but not like this. It made sense, though, because why would friend dick be the same as boyfriend dick…
“I know you heard me,” he growled into your mouth, swallowing your choked sobs. “Cum on this dick.”
Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.
You yanked away from his lips with a boisterous curse, “Fuck!” The third climax ripped through you so hard your vision became spotty for a few seconds. You had blinked repeatedly, chest heaving and throat burning from the harshness of your scream.
“Good fuckin’ girl,” he praised, letting out a sharp grunt as you contracted and pulsed around him, creaming down his length. “Boa constrictors ain’t got shit on this pussy, and I don’t need no peer-reviewed article to prove it.”
You would have burst into laughter right then and there but you were still trying to push through the aftershocks and gather your scrambled thoughts. When you two were in middle school, he had this unbearable phase where he was obsessed with snakes. It was ridiculous how he wouldn’t shut the fuck up about them, especially the anacondas and pythons.
“Look at that,” he crooned, eyes looking down at the cream coating his dick, a sight that would forever be etched into his memory. “This only the second time we fuckin’ and you already cryin’ and gushin’ on my dick.”
You had to swallow a few times to ease the soreness of your strained laryngeal muscles. “Shut the fuck up, nigga.”
“Oh, I’m never shuttin’ up about this, baby.” He promised, tilting his head back as he chuckled. You knew his smug ass wasn’t going to let you live this down. That’s okay. You were already plotting on all the toe-curling ways you could get him back.
His amusement subsided when he leaned forward and cupped your face, forcing you to lock eyes with him. “Your tears and cum belong to me now. Say it.”
“My tears and come belong to you, Cam.”
“Damn fuckin’ right.” He nodded, letting out a satisfied hum as he circled his hips and rocked into you slowly. “You’re gonna have to get used to cummin’ at least twice before I do, Y/N.”
“Camer—“
“—You tellin’ me you don’t like your new girlfriend perks?”
“Hell nah. I ain’t even say no—nothing.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“You better be the one nuttin’ next, nigga, because I can’t cum again. I will pass smooth the fuck out on this desk.”
“Alright, baby,” he snorted softly. “You want me to nut?”
“Yes, please,” you nodded, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as his thrusts sharpened with each passing second. “I th-think you’ve earned it.”
“I’m about to cum,” he warned through a mix of hisses and grunts. “Where—ah shit—where do you want it this time, baby?”
“It’s your pussy, right?” You replied as you cupped his face and pulled him down into a sloppy kiss, his tongue pushing past your lips and curling against yours. “Cum wherever you want to, baby,” you added, once you broke the kiss.
His thrusts faltered, but only for a second. “My girl got a dangerous mouth and a dangerous ass pussy to go right with it.” He let out a low, guttural groan, nostrils flaring and eyes glazing over with so much lust the shade of green in his irises seemed to darken. “That’s enough to stunt most niggas, but nah, not me. That only makes me want you ever more.”
“Good thing you ain’t like most niggas.”
“You know I’m not pullin’ out, right?” He huffed, launching into a rhythm so merciless you had to suck in a sharp breath. He continued. “I’m gonna cum deep inside this messy ass little pussy.”
“Yes, please,” you begged, letting out a shaky breath. “I —mmm— want to feel it. Cum inside me, Cameron.”
His hands gripped your hips so tightly you could feel his nails digging into your skin. He was without a doubt going to leave thumbprints on your skin.
“Shit—I’m about to cum.” Cameron warned one last time, panting harshly and muttering nonsense as he rutted into you erratically, coming so hard he shouted and jerked until a hump in his back made a guest appearance.
The first rope of come that shot inside of you made you jolt right along with him. You would have let out an ear-piercing scream if your voice hadn't already been shot to hell as another climax ripped through your body, surprising you both. The second rope caused the dam to collapse. Tears of bliss roll down your cheeks. The filthy noises you made were so desperate you’d be a tiny bit embarrassed had you not been so far gone.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” a drawn-out whimper fell from his lips as your walls clamped down hard, milking him of every last drop he had.
He collapsed forward, and you fell back onto the steel, unfazed as he rested his weight on top of you. You clung to each other as your heaving breaths calmed. You could almost hear your heart rate settling as the minutes ticked on by.
“Touchdown!” You blurted, voice hoarse and tired, as you raised a weak fist. He burst into laughter, and soon you joined him, shoulders bouncing as you both cracked up, still glued to each other on top of the desk, snickering like fools.
Linktober 2025 Day 26: Zelda
Print available here!
strength to protect what matters
the pink cat got HANDS
Day 26 : Puzzling
——
Based on the Handplates AU by @zarla-s!
Warmth
Summary: You and Tim are trapped in the Gotham Library when Mr. Freeze takes it hostage. (Tim Drake x reader)
Word Count: 2.3K
Notes: Hi babes~! I've been feeling good enough to post one a day again for a little bit- but it might change coming up to this weekend! Hopefully I won't stretch toooo long into November if I post like I am, I am only a day or two behind after all! I'm hoping to catch up soon. Anyways, here's another Tim fic, Tim needs more love. I love Tim. warning for character death again (sorry).
kisses~!
RiRi
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“Are you sure you’re okay?” Tim murmurs down to you softly, eyebrows pinched in concern. You nod, eyes closed as you press more into his side.
“I’m fine.” You smile back weakly, but Tim doesn’t believe it. He can see the way that your shoulders shake in the cold, goosebumps raised all along your skin. Your breaths are short and raspy, the puffs of air curling in front of your face on each small exhale. Your eyes are closed, and he watches how your expression shifts from pensive to calm, then to uncomfortable, and back to neutral. He does the most that he can, wrapping his arm around your shoulder tighter and tucking you closer to him, head on his chest.
He peeks out from around the overturned table, scanning the rest of the library. He can see other small groups of students huddled together, hidden behind shelves and tables like you both. In the centre is Freeze, roaring demands and monologue that frankly no one in the university campus cares about.
Why he picked this place to attack, Tim had no idea.
It had been a regular study session for the both of you, finishing up notes from the weeks lecture on Gotham’s architectural history. The class had moved to Tuesday nights for the last semester, meaning that Tim was suddenly unable to make his classes and was left scrambling for an excuse that took him away from class (and your skeptical looks). You were thankfully his saviour once again, going over the material with him and sharing your notes.
The manor had gotten used to your weekly revisions with him, Alfred always welcoming you with a smile when you stopped by and putting the kettle on while you two holed up in the manor library. Jason threw you a hand in greeting anytime he passed through, and after enough close calls, Tim and Alfred had managed to get him to check he wasn’t in his Red Hood gear if he was walking the house. Dick had stopped coming through the windows when he felt bored, using the front door or slipping discreetly from the grandfather clock when he wanted to ‘see what you kids were up to’. Damian was well behaved, curt and short, but well behaved nonetheless. Your presence however had become so regular that when you were sick, the younger man asked if you were simply running late or not.
However, your regular Friday night routine had been carelessly interrupted by the suit wearing villain, sealing the students inside while police sirens blared outside. So instead of finishing up your revision and heading back to the manor to grab a pizza and watch a movie (you had insisted the both of you watch The Goonies this week), you were both huddled together as the temperature plummeted.
A weak cough brings his attention back to you, and his heart breaks. A frown pulls at his lips as you try to nestle further into him, and he wraps his second arm around you as you crawl into his lap. His cheeks burn red as you silently curl up into him, but the worry fights it down. You most likely don’t even know what you’re doing, body on the automatic need to survive.
Frost clung to the stained-glass windows of the library, sharp spikes of ice dangling from the ledges. With each pass of his ray, Freeze added more masses of ice along bookshelves and railings, and everyone inside huddled deeper.
He breathed into his hands and tried to press the palms to your trembling skin, the measly heat not enough the quell the tremoring of your body. You cough into his neck, chest rattling with a wheeze.
“That doesn’t sound good.” He tries to joke with you, but you only manage a small hum back. “You cleared up from that cold only recently, didn’t you?”
You nod, sniffling slightly as you try to get comfortable. Even skin to skin, and with both yours and his jacket wrapped around your shoulders, Tim can’t seem to make the heat stick to your body.
“Last weekend, yeah.” You say, making his frown pull deeper. Worry stirred in his fingertips as he ran them soothing over your back, trying to get you to settle. You’d been sick for a fortnight, and Tim wishes that it wasn’t as frequent as it was.
Ever since Tim had known you since starting university, you’d been sick. You’d be the first in the class to catch the flu, and the last to recover. Anything infectious, you’d pick up in an instant, and as a result, your immune system was subpar. The manor kept backups of your medications just in case you needed them, supplied and paid for by Bruce. They helped you pay for specialist appointments and blood tests, treating you like you were an extension of the Wayne family because at this point? You were.
When you cough again, he tilts his chin to look down at you, smoothing hair back from your forehead. He doesn’t care that you’re drooling a bit of his shirt, your lips chapped, and nose blocked from swollen sinuses. Your eyes are weak and rimmed in red, skin ashy. He notices that your trembling has eased, but that only agitates him further.
Raising two of his own trembling fingers, he winces as another blast of cold ice is sent out somewhere into the library, and the madman continues to rage. He presses them to your neck, cursing as he feels the now sluggish thump of your pulse.
“Hey,” he says soft, nudging you in his hold. “You still awake?”
You nod in his grasp, eyes closed and lashes collecting white frost on their ends.
“I need you to stay awake.” He says urgently, voice hushed. “Can you tell me your name? Tell me your birthday.”
He listens tensely as you babble, voice slurred as you process his question and half heartedly respond. He reaches for his phone at his side, that he had been keeping hidden under a small pile of books in case Freeze came to ensure no one had hidden a device from him or his henchmen.
On the home screen read Dick’s last message of, “We’re on our way. Hold tight.”, something that had been sent more than twenty minutes ago. The temperature was plunging dangerously close to the sub zero’s, but it wouldn’t have surprised Tim if it had dipped into them already.
He could feel his heart thumping rapidly, trying to keep him warm and his blood flowing. The trembling was almost impossible to stop, teeth chattering and jaw quivering as you tucked yourself under his chin. His fingers were numb and stiff, clumsy as he tried to type back a secret response.
“Please hurry. They’re not doing well. I need a medic.”
He clicks it off once its sent, cursing whatever was taking Dick and the others that long to arrive. He takes in your bluish tinge, the colour that had begun to seep into your lips. Your breathing that had shortened dramatically, and the way you just rested against him like a living corpse, body no longer even shivering to try and warm yourself up.
“Stay with me, okay?” he croaks out, and he hates the crack in his voice. He grips you tighter, and you don’t complain. He glances around at other groups of students, panic gnawing at him when he sees how quickly you’re going downhill compared to the rest of them.
“I need you to stay awake, I need you to pull through, okay?” he whispers into the top of your head, biting his lip as tears begin to well up. He wished he had his suit, wished that he was on the outside trying to find a way to get to you, because at least he would have the power to do something. Except he wasn’t Red Robin right now, perched on some rooftop and trying to find an access point. He was just Tim Drake, a hostage.
However badly he wants to cry, he bites it all back down. Especially when you hum softly against his neck, movements stiff.
“Tim, ’m cold.” You slur out. He nods, tightening his arms like that would do anything.
“I know, sweetheart. I know.” He soothes. He’s now unsure if the trembling in his hands is because of you, or the cold. Your pulse is unsteady when he checks it again, beating out of time in slow drags, instead of the lively pulses he was searching for.
“I’m so tired.”
Panic shoots through his body, and he feels himself seize up. “No, no, no- you stay awake, okay? You stay awake.” He presses his lips to your forehead, and the temperature difference makes his heart hurt.
“But I’m so tired.” You mumble back, and he can feel the way your breathing slows against his neck. He wants to scream. He wants to cry. He wants to yell at freeze to make him realise that in demanding Batman show up, that people were dying as a result, getting caught in the crossfire. That he was losing you.
He doesn’t know how long he sat there, how many times he pleaded desperately for you to stay with him, to stay awake. His fingers were numb from the cold and the number of texts he had begun to spam both Bruce and Dick with, finishing with, “Please help. Please hurry. Please. I’m scared.”
Because he was.
He was scared of losing his Friday nights with you, curled up watching a movie. He was scared of losing the only person happy to see him in class, the person he felt normal around. He was scared of losing the civilian that had such a bright personality that even the manor felt normal, rather than a front for the Batcave below it. He could only imagine what his life would be like without you, what all of their lives would be like without you. So, he pleaded into your hair, tears held back behind shut eyelids, whispering prayers like he could keep you here by sheer will.
But when you whimpered out again, voice barely a whisper but filled with so much pain and struggle, his heart broke.
“I’m so tired. I want to go to bed.”
He flinches as another jet of ice shoots near the both of you, freezing the table you had been leaning against and sending the temperature further down. He closes his eyes, not wanting to look at you like this, to remember the sunny person he had loved, yet never realised how much until now.
“It’s okay.” He whispers back, throat closing up. “You can go to sleep now. It’s gonna be okay.” He says as he gently runs his hands over your hair in soothing strokes.
“Promise?”
Tim nods. “I promise. I got you, I’m here. I got you.”
“Okay.” You breathe out weakly. “Goodnight.”
He keeps his eyes shut, voice trembling with the force not to cry as he feels the breath against his neck slow till he couldn’t feel it, where you seem to sag just a little extra against him. He didn’t need to feel against your neck to know that your pulse had thudded to a halt.
Yet he didn’t let you go. He kept himself curled around you, your body pulled to his chest and eyes screwed shut as he repeated a mantra to himself. ‘It was going to be okay, it was going to be okay, it was going to be okay- ‘
“Tim?”
His eyes flutter open and he’s aware of someone calling his name, of someone in front of him. Eyelashes prying themselves apart from the frost, he sees the crouched figure of Nightwing in front of him, shielded from view behind the table.
“Dick?” he says in a hushed whimper, not caring if he said his older brother’s real name. “Is it- “
“It’s over. We got him. Everyone else is already out, didn’t you hear the police?”
Tim shook his head, only now registering the empty library around him. “Dick, we need to get help.” He croaks, lips trembling. “I need an ambulance, we need to, I need to, I can’t- I couldn’t- “
Dick watches mournfully as his younger sibling trembles in front of him, your body clutched to him like you’d break away. When Tim meets Dick’s mask, he feels the tears finally slip forth, hot tears blurring his vision as he sees the boots of Batman. He feels the pressure of your body slip away from him as the Batman kneels, hands oddly gentle as he gently pries Tim off.
“No, no- “Tim cries out, but Nightwing intercepts him as Bruce carefully pulls your body out of his arms. He collides with the warmth of Dick’s chest, the warmth he was unable to give to you, and sobs. He cries and cries, ignoring the gentle shushing and gloved hands running circles on his back. He doesn’t even hear the murmured apologies of Dick above him as he tries to calm him down from his hysterics, while Bruce carefully carries you outside to the ambulance, bundled in his arms.
“They went easy. No pain.” Dick tries to assure, keeping his younger brother close as to avoid the swarm of cameras outside that would no doubt love to prey off his grief. Tim doesn’t care, shaking as he gets the pain he’d been too afraid to show you off his chest, flowing like a dam.
“Please help-“Tim still sobs, clutching the smooth surface of the suit, and Dick’s expression breaks in pity. But you had gone to sleep too early for them to have been able to help, and as the gloved hand of the Batman pulls the white sheet up over your head outside, Dick knew it was a sleep you’d never be waking up from.
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