summary: What happens when they get a call that their beloved partner is out drunk?
warnings: mentions of vomiting and drinking, gn!reader (I think?) pet names, a lil angsty in Tim’s part, but overall just fluff and crack lol
a/n: Hellooo I hope everyone’s doing well<33 I’ve been kinda out of it mentally but I’m back!
Starring: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne
Dick Grayson
The phone rung at about 3 am, waking Dick from his slumber.
He grunted as he rolled over to the side of his bed, reaching his arm out to grab the telephone.
“Hello?” Dick said groggily.
His mind snapped out of his sleepy state the minute he heard your voice.
And by the way you were slurring your words, you were definitely drunk.
“Ok baby just tell me where you are and I’ll come pick you up.” He hastily said, already putting his coat and shoes on.
You struggled to get the name of the bar you were at. But when you finally did, Dick wasted no time and immediately drove over to your location.
He got out of the car and immediately spotted you, sitting on the curb and looking up at god knows what.
Dick slowly approached you, trying not to startle you.
You were in your own world, admiring the night sky up above in your intoxicated state.
“[name]? You okay?” He called out to you.
You looked over to him, smile widening immediately.
“Dick!” You squealed.
Of course, jumping from your position so suddenly was a bad idea, especially when you had just inhaled 4 rounds of vodka shots earlier.
You stumbled backward, your balance completely lost.
Dick quickly caught your wrist and pulled you toward him before you could hurt yourself.
“Careful there.” He flashed a grin at you.
“Hello boyfriend.” You giggled hazily as you burrowed your face into his neck.
He chuckled as one of his arms slipped beneath your knees to pick you up.
“What are you doing out so late baby?”
You groaned into his shoulder, sliding one arm behind his neck.
“M’friends left me alone.”
Dick scoffed at that, kissing the top of your head as he began walking off to his car.
“You should’ve called me earlier.”
Dick’s touch was the only familiar thing to you right now. You couldn’t help yourself as you hummed against him and closed your eyes.
When he finally arrived to the car, Dick carefully opened the backseat door with his elbow.
“Cmon hon, we’re here.” He brushed a hair from your face before noticing you had already drifted off to sleep.
Dick smiled softly as he gently lowered you onto the car seats, your body already curling up the moment you touched the smooth leather.
He later drove you back to his apartment, making sure you were okay before tucking you into bed, your soft snores later blending into his as he held you while the both of you slept.
Oh, and he WILL take care of you during your hangover in the morning.
Jason Todd
When you called him suddenly in the middle of the night, drunk, he swears he felt his heart stop beating.
He was always prepared for the worst situation possible, and for some reason he was blaming himself already if anything had happened to you.
You were blabbering on about some random dude at the bar while Jason rushed out of his apartment, holding the phone by his ear tightly.
He quickly revved up his motorcycle and rushed over to the bar you were at, his mind clouded with worry as the cold Gotham wind blew against his skin.
Jason arrived at the location you mention you were at in a hurry, yanking his helmet away immediately.
The door bust wide open, making everyone’s heads bar turn towards the tall muscular man standing at the entrance. He ignored everyone’s stares and immediately marched over to you.
You were giggling hysterically at a joke a guy you met earlier told you when Jason tapped your shoulder and said your name.
As soon as you spotted your boyfriend, your smile grew impossibly wide and you got up to clumsily wrap your arms around his neck.
When he noticed you weren’t hurt or in any real danger, any tension from his shoulders released.
“It’s dangerous to be out so late, doll.” He said, hugging you tightly.
“Stop bossing me around, Jay.” You murmured.
He scoffed and threw you over his shoulder as you yelped at the sudden action.
Jason shot one last dirty look at the man you were talking to before walking out the door.
His boots clanked as he strut to his bike, setting you down on the seat swiftly.
“You’re gonna have to hold on tight yeah?” He said, handing you a helmet.
“Hm.” You huffed.
Jason made sure you were okay before also stepping onto the motorcycle and turning it on.
Your fingers clutched at his jacket before he drove off into the night.
He wakes up in the morning with you clinging onto him like a koala, then has to hold your hair up while you throw up the alcohol from the earlier night.
Tim Drake:
Tim was hunched over at the batcomputer, typing away for a case he was working on for weeks when he finally looked at the clock.
He immediately woke up from his sleepy state, remembering you were supposed to be here ages ago. It was now 3:16 am, way too late for you to still be out.
Tim immediately checked his phone, seeing a couple missed calls from you.
He cursed under his breath, trying to call you back yet getting no response.
Thankfully, he never went anywhere without knowing your location, even if you might not know that he had it yourself.
Tim hastily pulled your location out and made his way to you, scurrying over with one of the cars from the manor.
You were supposed to be at some frat party your friend had invited you to, and knowing you, you probably had one too many drinks.
He slammed the car door shut, immediately walking into the house whose front door was unlocked. In Gotham??
The loud music baring from the stereos and the colourful lights hit him like a bullet to his head, covering his ears and making his only mission finding you.
He searched high and low, upstairs, downstairs, in the basement, before he heard your voice shouting from the kitchen.
You were crawling on the marble countertop, drinking up a couple shots effortlessly.
His eyes widened as he pushed through a crowd of people to get to you, gaze locked on your form the whole time.
“Baby?” He brushed his hand against your arm.
You looked over to see his your boyfriend, your face displaying a shocked expression.
That shocked expression soon turned into an annoyed one.
You slowly got down from the countertop, tripping over to him.
“What’r you doing here Tim?” You slurred.
His brows furrowed, “What do you mean? You called me?”
You groaned, because of him or the alcohol, you don’t know.
“You were supposed to be here 2 hours ago! You promised you’d pick me up! But I guess your stupid work is more important than me.” Your body stumbled backwards before you clutched onto the countertop.
His face changed into something completely different, a guilty look in his eyes.
“Fuck. I forgot about that. Sorry.”
You rolled your eyes, walking away from him and back to the discarded shots.
“Doesn’t matter, I have a new boyfriend now!” You laughed giddily.
Hu huffed, “What?!”
You gestured to the half empty vodka bottle you were holding, fingers already reaching over to pour some in a glass. His brows furrowed.
He swore you lost your mind when you started talking to the bottle.
“-Isn’t that right? You’d never leave me like Tim.” You cooed at the glass bottle, clutching it against your chest like a madwoman.
“Alright. That’s it.” Tim spoke up, prying the bottle away from your hands and picking you up over his shoulder.
“Hey! Put me down!” You yelled.
He ignored your demand, fighting through the crowd of people in an attempt to get through the front door.
When he finally made it, you were slumped over his shoulder, body finally giving in to your tiredness.
He brought his car keys out of his pocket, unlocking the door and placing you into the passenger seat.
“You’re mean.” You murmured.
“I love you too.” He smiled, before driving back to the manor.
Tim tucked you into bed and before he could think about leaving to go deprive himself of more sleep, you pulled at his wrist harshly and he fell into the white sheets next to you.
“You owe me an apology tomorrow. And breakfast.” You whispered drunkenly against his raven hair.
He gave into your touch, arms engulfing your body.
“Whatever you say, baby.”
Bruce Wayne
Bruce had finally made it home from patrol, ready to fall asleep in his bed.
Though when he saw your contact ringing on his phone, he immediately snapped out of his tired trance.
It was one of your colleagues who called him, saying that you might have had a little bit too much to drink at the company gala tonight.
Bruce wasted no time before getting dressed, heading out of the manor doors.
He declined Alfred’s offer to drive him and immediately got into his car, speeding off in a second.
Bruce pulled into the parking lot ten minutes later. Hastily getting out of the vehicle, he straightened his posture and headed into the tall fancy building.
He immediately spotted you, loud warm laugh vibrating against the walls of the ballroom. You slammed a hand down onto your table, making it shake a little.
Your trusted colleague, on the other hand, made all efforts to try to keep you from knocking over anything and also to keep you from drinking any more champagne.
She let out the biggest exhale ever when she saw Bruce standing in the middle of the room, helping you get up immediately and leading you toward him.
“Please take them home.”
She gave you a small smile before letting you stumble forward to his chest.
You looked up, eyes widening in shock as he slid a hand around your waist.
“What’s wrong honey, had a little too much to drink?” He smiled.
“Huh-wha? Honey?” You blushed.
“Hm?” He chuckled in confusion.
“Who… who are you?” You tilted your head as you slurred your words.
“Your husband.” He gave you an honest look.
Your eyes widened even wider when the word “husband” left his mouth.
You gasped softly, “I have… a husband?”
Bruce laughed as he took your hand into his, bringing it up to your face.
“See?” He gestured to your wedding ring.
“Oh my god.” You ogled the shiny piece of metal.
You looked back at him, scanning his face intently.
“If you’re my husband, what’s your name?”
His hand brought yours up to place a small kiss upon your knuckles, grinning at your question.
“It’s Bruce, darling. You really don’t remember me?”
You shook your head, oblivious as ever.
He sighed, leading you out the building slowly.
When you got to his car. You stopped him before he could usher you into the backseat.
“Bruce?” You whispered.
“Yes?” He curiously said.
“Can I give you a kiss?” You pleaded with your eyes.
He laughed softly as he lowered his head to make it easier for you to access his lips.
You laughed giddily as you placed a small peck on his cheek, then immediately crawled into the backseat.
“I think I like having a husband.” You muttered to yourself, loud enough for Bruce to hear it.
He will definitely make fun of you for this in the morning.
Tysm for reading! Reblogs & comments are appreciated <3
When you woke up this morning, your body had been sore. Like you had been through the meat grinder kind of sore but in a good way.
You had looked over at Dick sleeping soundlessly. Half his body on top of you and half on the bed with his messy raven hair falling over his eyes, his long lashes almost brushing his sharp cheekbones.
Yeah, a very good way.
But when you got out of bed and basically limped around the apartment, he gave you the smuggest look ever. Seriously no one had ever looked as proud of themselves as he had.
You wanted to slap him. Or kiss him. You were still deciding.
That didn’t stop you for asking him for help though, since he had been the one to carry you around the apartment and draw you a warm bath. The shoulder massage he gave you in the bathtub wasn’t too bad either. Plus the pancakes he had prepared with a little smiley face on top with chocolate syrup.
But that didn’t take away from the fact that he was an unserious man.
He had known you were supposed to have lunch with your friends today so he had been an exceptional tease last night in bed. Not just a tease, he was also apparently under the impression that you were made of rubber and could bend you however he pleased.
Just because he worked out eight hours a day didn’t mean you did too. You’d be lucky to even squeeze in a workout once a week and he knew that and yet he chose to manhandle you.
Not that you were against it. He was very skilled in the bedroom and the nights where you had to just lay there for him to do all the work were your favourites.
But damn now you were limping on your way to meet your friends. You and Dick walked out of the car, hand in hand towards where your friends were sitting outside the cafe.
And he had the audacity to snicker.
“It isn’t funny!” You huffed out, hands clutching his arm to hold for balance since your legs were way too sore to even walk.
“You weren’t complaining last night,” he replied and pushed his sunglasses up on his nose, looking way too amused.
“Shut up,” you scoffed instead of replying since thats all you could do. He wasn’t wrong.
Once you reached the table, Donna, Wally and Roy immediately greeted you with hugs.
“You okay?” Donna was the first one to speak, noticing your limp.
“Yeah,” you swallowed and sat down on the chair next to Dick’s, shifting a little. “Just walked into a chair.”
“Uh huh,” Roy narrowed his eyes at Dick’s smug face.
“And was the chair named Dick Grayson?” Wally added.
“Wally!” You gasped and looked at Dick for help but he just laughed and draped his arm over the back of your chair.
The rest of the lunch went by with way too many jokes about Dick’s dick and you’d think he’d be offended by it but he was the one initiating most of them.
Like you said, unserious.
✶ JASON TODD
Jason was out running when you woke up. It was your usual morning routine –he woke up before you, gave you a small kiss on your forehead and left for a run then returned an hour later with coffee and sometimes pastries.
This time however, you had told him you were making pancakes so he wasn’t surprised to find you standing in the kitchen wearing his shirt that he discarded last night.
He walked over to you, black tank top clinging to his body due to the sweat like a second skin and if you weren’t sore from last night you would have done something about it.
The minimal clothing you were wearing –Jason’s t-shirt and panties– didn’t do a lot to hide the marks he had left on you last night. Your thighs looked like a crime scene with how many hickeys he had left there.
You waddled over to the fridge to grab the eggs when Jason noticed you.
“What’s up?” He frowned and came up behind you.
“Hmm?” You asked and cracked an egg in the bowl.
“You’re waddling like a penguin,” he pointed out.
“Oh,” you blushed and immediately looked away from him. “You know,” you shrugged.
“Babe what?” He asked and turned you around to steal all your attention.
“Last night,” you said. “You’re not exactly small.”
“Well thanks,” he gave you a confused smile. “Is that why you’re limping?”
“That and my legs being folded like a lawn chair over your shoulders for over an hour yes,” you quipped.
Jason in response let out a cackle.
“Great, hope you’re proud of yourself,” you scrunched your nose and turned back to prepare the pancake batter.
“I mean it does wonders to a guy’s ego,” Jason let out a dramatic breath. “Seven orgasms in one night is my new record.”
“Jason!” You huffed and pushed him away. “You cannot count my orgasms you freak.”
He laughed again and came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle before nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck.
“Seriously though, I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He asked, pressing fluttering kisses to the hickeys he had left on your neck.
“No,” you hummed and craned your head back.
“You liked it?”
“Yes,” you breathed as his kisses made their way down to your shoulders.
His fingers busied themselves with massaging your hips, causing you to close your eyes in relief and rest your head back on his shoulders. Which gave him even more room to kiss on your neck.
“Let me make you feel better,” he murmured and turned you around before getting down on his knees.
“Jason,” you said through a shaky breath.
“Yeah?” He looked up at you through dark eyelashes and hooked your thigh over his shoulder. “Is this okay?”
You nodded your head which was all the permission he needed.
It was going to be a long morning.
✶ TIM DRAKE
In hindsight, waiting for your boyfriend to return from his week long mission at the manor probably wasn’t your brightest idea.
He had texted you that he would be back today and would just crash at the manor instead of coming back to your shared penthouse.
But you hadn’t seen him in a week! So it was only fair you drove to the manor and let yourself into the batcave to wait for him.
It had almost been an hour since you made yourself at home on the little beanbag chair with a book in your hands in the Batcave along with Barbara who was perched at the Batcomputer, doing whatever it is that Oracle did.
Tim returned soon along with the rest of the Bats on his Batcycle (Batman wasn’t a very creative person you were beginning to realise).
Damian made a ‘TT’ sound at you before making his way towards the shower area.
Tim on the other hand broke out in a grin the second he looked at you. He didn’t even bother taking off his mask or the suit before he was launching himself at you on the beanbag.
“Tim!” You grunted when his armoured chest collided with yours. “You’re crushing me.”
“Don’t care,” he muttered and pushed his head in the crook of your neck.
“Take a shower you stink!” You said and pushed him off.
“I see how it is,” he raised his head to look at you and if you could see his eyes behind his domino mask, you knew he would be narrowing his eyes at you. “I come back a week later after saving the world and my girlfriend says I stink.”
“You do,” Jason mumbled somewhere behind him.
“Ignore him he’s jealous,” Tim said to you before leaning down to give you a fleeting kiss. “I’ll be back,” he murmured and finally got off the beanbag to go take a shower.
That had been enough of your loving and sweet boyfriend for the night.
Because he was soon coming out of the shower without a shirt and in only a pair of sweatpants. He didn’t even bothering talking to anyone or even debriefing the case like he usually did, he just made his way towards you and picked you up and threw you over his shoulder.
Thankfully everyone else was busy cleaning themselves and only Barbara was present in the Batcave. She shook her head at you like she knew exactly what was happening but didn’t want to be a part of it.
It had been a very long night.
The night for which you were paying now.
Tim’s heavy arm was thrown over your stomach in a tight grip like he never wanted to let you go.
Squinting open an eye, you flicked the bedside lamp on –having no clue what time it was outside due to the blackout curtains being drawn.
You turned over in Tim’s iron grip and looked around the room which looked like it had gotten robbed last night.
Your shirt was thrown on the floor along with your shorts, your bra dangling down the knob of the door –no clue how it got there. And your panties were probably torn in half somewhere. Even the pillows were thrown haphazardly, the covers weren’t even covering you.
Half the reason you woke up was the chill in the room causing goosebumps to rise on your naked body. The only source of heat you had was Tim’s equally as naked body wrapped around you like a koala.
You rubbed your eyes and tried to look at him. The first thing you saw were the red scratches on his chest, glowing against his pale skin and you were sure if he turned around his back would look the same.
“Tim?” You whispered and brushed his hair away from his face.
He only groaned in response and tugged you closer but his grip on your back was beginning to hurt.
“Hey,” you tried again and pushed at his shoulder –which you now saw had a bite mark on it.
Images of Tim’s bicep wrapped around your neck came to your mind but you quickly shook them off. Not the time.
“Tim come on, you’re hurting me,” you winced, which finally caught his attention.
“What?” He asked, voice laced with sleep and somehow deeper like you’ve never heard before. “Where are you hurt?”
“It just feels sore.”
“Fuck I’m so sorry,” he sat up straight in bed and leaned down to pull the covers up.
“It’s okay, you didn’t do anything I didn’t like,” you giggled when he turned around and yep his back looked every bit like his chest. Red scratches all over.
“Your back,” you whispered and reached out to lightly brush your hand over the marks. “What the fuck did we do last night?”
“I think I just missed you too much,” he chuckled. “Turn around let me give you a massage.”
“Yes please,” you moaned and turned around on your stomach to let Tim rub the soreness out of your muscles with his nimble fingers.
The knots in your muscles immediately came loose with each movement of his warm hands on your much colder body. Maybe they taught massaging the pain away at vigilante school or wherever Bruce took all the kids of his he seems to adopt.
His hands went lower to gently rest your calf over his shoulder –much gentler than last night. He pressed soft kisses to your leg as his fingers rubbed all the way to your ankles.
Later when you two went down for breakfast (it was around lunchtime), Cass and Damian gave you a disgusted look. Jason raised an eyebrow at the bite marks on Tim’s forearm while Dick only laughed in amusement. Even Barbara was staring at the hickey on your jaw since apparently Tim had forgotten he was human.
✶ BRUCE WAYNE
You were sitting on the chair in the little breakfast nook when Bruce entered the kitchen. A crossword puzzle was sat on the table next to a plate of toast and orange juice in front of you as you mindlessly scribbled on the puzzle.
Bruce came up behind you and gave you a little kiss on the back of your head before walking over to the cabinets to pull out a mug.
“Oh wait! I made you a yogurt bowl,” you said and hopped off the chair.
Bruce raised an eyebrow and watched you limping towards the fridge in nothing but his old uni sweatshirt. Your hair was falling over your shoulders, messy from a good night’s sleep. And other activities.
His eyes wandered lower to the backs of your knees where he was gripping your legs last night and sure enough there were marks to show it. For a second he was worried but when you turned around and gave him your million dollar smile, he forgot what he was thinking about.
“It has raspberries, nuts, pumpkin seeds, chia seeds. It’s good for your health,” you beamed and set it down in front of your own breakfast on the table.
Bruce joined you in a beat and eyed you as you grimaced a little while sitting down.
“Everything okay?” He asked.
“Yeah,” you said, voice a bit sarcastic which he didn’t miss.
“That’s not convincing,” he frowned.
“You rearranged my guts last night. I think that has something to do with me having trouble sitting down,” you smirked and he immediately blushed.
You heard a sudden noise from behind you and when you turned around to look, Tim was standing there, looking nauseated. “I’ll uh… have breakfast in my room…” he said.
“I didn’t know you stayed here last night,” you said to him.
“I wish I hadn’t,” he gagged and grabbed a cup of coffee before leaving the two of you alone.
Bruce scrunched his nose and turned his face towards his breakfast.
“Oh don’t go all shy now! You were very vocal last night,” you teased and nudged his foot with yours just to watch his ears turn even redder.
“I think we should take a warm bath together to you know, let our bodies heal,” he suggested.
“Uh huh,” you narrowed your eyes. “And no other reason at all.”
“Of course my darling,” Bruce smiled and tugged you out of your chair before picking you up in his arms.
“No other reason at all.”
my first multi part fic ever feeling nervous
didn’t know which photos to use so…
if you couldn’t tell i’ve been extremely tim drake pilled lately thanks to all the requests ive received for him 😭
likes comments and reblogs appreciated, hope you guys enjoy <3
Characters: Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne.
Synopsis: They are having a heated argument.
DICK GRAYSON
When his parents died, he grieved for a while, but eventually, he just... kept going. No regrets, no looking back.
He always managed to move on from bad things.
Or at least, that’s what he told himself while stuffing the candy you’d bought together onto the highest shelves — shoved all the way to the back where you wouldn’t notice them, even if you tried to reach.
That way, you’d have no choice but to talk to him.
He’d already lost count of how long you’d been ignoring him. The only thing he knew for sure was that he couldn’t stand sleeping alone.
Not again.
After the fight, he’d said maybe the two of you should take a breather. Cool off before things got worse.
So when he came back later, apology already rehearsed in his head, breakfast tray balanced carefully in his hands, he walked into the bedroom almost excited.
What Dick hadn’t expected was for you to take his words that seriously.
When he said take a breather, he meant maybe thirty minutes. An hour, tops. Just enough time to calm down before saying something unforgivable.
Not... whatever this was.
Not you refusing to talk to him altogether. Not sleeping on opposite sides of the bed. Not acting like the two of you were suddenly strangers trying to rethink your entire relationship.
The breakfast went untouched.
So did the small pout on his face.
You didn’t even let him sit beside you when he tried to talk.
He ended up sleeping on the couch.
The next day was fucking miserable. His mood was awful, and everyone in the manor could feel it hanging in the air.
Grayson didn’t act like this. Even with his half-assed “I’m fine,” it was obvious he was anything but.
And when he finally got back to the apartment that night, exhausted and emotionally wrung out, he went straight for the bed, practically collapsing on top of you like he needed the contact to survive.
You pushed at him weakly, nowhere near as firmly as you had the past few days.
He let out this quiet, bitter little laugh but still refused to let go.
“Baby, stop,” he mumbled softly.
Even when you tried to shove him off again, he just held you tighter, burying his face against your neck like he was starving for you.
“Please,” he whispered, completely drained.
JASON TODD
Jason could be such a fucking asshole sometimes — selfish, cold, always running his mouth before thinking twice. It was easier for him to let people hate him than let them get close enough to actually understand him.
Not that he acted that way around kids or women. Around them, he kept himself restrained. Distant. But the second he felt cornered — exposed in any way — those sharp looks and cruel words came out like second nature.
A defense mechanism. The only one he’d ever really had.
You knew that.
You knew about his mother leaving him behind like he was nothing. Knew how, for one brief moment, Bruce Wayne had made him feel wanted — safe — only for Jason to end up feeling abandoned all over again.
Trust didn’t come easy to him. Neither did vulnerability. Loving you probably scared the hell out of him.
So instead of fighting back, you swallowed the hurt along with your pride. You waved your hand dismissively, avoiding his eyes as you muttered a quiet, “Forget it,” before turning around and walking away.
And somehow, that felt worse.
Jason swallowed thickly as he watched you leave.
You didn’t yell at him.
Didn’t demand an apology.
Didn’t ask him to take back a single thing he’d said.
You just… left.
Like you were tired.
After everything he’d thrown at you, all you wanted was for him to forget it.
But he couldn’t.
Because after that, something changed.
You still talked to him. Still answered when he spoke. But there was distance in you now — something careful, almost detached — and Jason noticed every second of it.
It made his chest ache.
And, if he was being honest, it scared him enough to make him paranoid.
TIM DRAKE
This time, the fight started over something stupid.
You’d turned off Tim’s alarm so he could finally rest on his day off. In your head, it was a small act of care — something gentle.
Tim didn’t see it that way.
He had deadlines, reports, a million things waiting for him, and when he woke up hours later, disoriented and exhausted, the soft good morning kisses you pressed against his face quickly turned into frustration.
“No, because this isn’t about whether I should rest or not,” he snapped, shoving himself out of bed. “It’s about the fact that you don’t get to interfere with my work. You don’t get to decide when I stop.”
You frowned, trying not to react to the sharpness in his voice. “Tim, you hadn’t slept in two days.”
“Yeah? And just because you don’t have the same responsibilities I do doesn’t mean you get to make choices for me.”
The words hit harder than he intended.
Your expression changed immediately. Hurt. Shocked.
“Tim.”
But he was already too angry, too exhausted, too worked up to stop himself.
“Mind your own business, and I’ll mind mine.”
And after that, neither of you were exactly kind to each other.
The argument ended with Tim slamming the front door hard enough to shake the walls.
The second he got into the car, regret settled heavy in his chest.
Because Tim overthought everything.
Every failed relationship. Every mistake. Every moment where he’d been too distant, too busy, too emotionally unavailable. The thought looped endlessly in his head until he felt sick with it.
You’re ruining this too.
You’re going to lose them too.
By the time he sat down in front of his computer, he couldn’t focus on a single thing. His leg bounced anxiously under the desk while his mind tortured him with scenario after scenario of you getting tired of him. Leaving him. Finding someone softer. Easier to love.
Someone better.
The anger faded quickly, leaving behind only exhaustion and this horrible, crushing sadness.
So when he finally came home hours later, all that was left of his pride was exhaustion.
Quietly, almost nervously, Tim slipped into bed beside you.
He turned toward you carefully, watching your face in the dim light for a second with this small, hopeful look in his eyes. Like maybe if he stayed close enough, you’d roll over and pull him into your arms. Maybe you could both pretend the fight never happened until morning.
But you didn’t move.
You just turned your back to him.
And suddenly the room felt unbearably cold.
Tim bit down hard on his lip the second he felt tears gathering in his eyes, embarrassed by how fast they came. Still, he couldn’t stop them. They slid silently down his cheeks while he stared at your back, trying not to make a sound.
When you still didn’t turn around, the quiet sniffles eventually broke into shaky, uneven crying.
Because that was the moment it really hit him.
You weren’t going to comfort him this time.
Please.
Please kiss his swollen eyes and tell him you’re still here.
DAMIAN WAYNE
To everyone’s surprise, Damian Wayne was actually a good boyfriend.
It sounded absurd to anyone who only knew him from a distance. With the way he carried himself — sharp tongue, permanent scowl, an attitude that pushed people away before they could even try getting close — nobody expected him to be soft with someone he loved.
But he was.
Painfully so.
Damian was romantic in a way that caught you off guard. Quietly sentimental. The kind who noticed insignificant details you'd mentioned months before.
There was something unbearably delicate hidden beneath all that hostility.
And little by little, you had managed to reach it.
You peeled back every layer he tried so desperately to hide behind until you finally touched the vulnerable parts of him nobody else got to see.
At first, it felt like a victory.
Like warmth blooming inside your chest.
Being trusted by Damian Wayne felt sacred. Intimate. You thought you understood him now — the things he feared, the things he buried, the things he struggled to say out loud.
You were wrong.
Because somehow, Damian always found a way to shut you back out again.
One wrong moment, one careless outburst, and suddenly every wall you thought you’d broken down was standing taller than before.
You pressed your lips together tightly, forcing yourself not to say something impulsive.
The silence in his bedroom felt horrible.
Cold.
Suffocating.
“What’s wrong, Damian?”
He didn’t answer.
“Damian,” you tried again, irritation slipping into your voice this time.
The entire day had been fine. More than fine, actually. He’d left his classes early just to spend time with you. You’d gone out to eat together, watched a movie back at the manor, stayed curled up against each other for hours.
And then suddenly he changed.
Short answers.
Dismissive looks.
Ignoring you whenever you spoke.
The worst part was that he’d done it in front of your friends.
Having your boyfriend act cold and irritated toward you in front of your classmates was humiliating.
“I already told you. Nothing.”
“Then why are you talking to me like this?” you asked, frustration finally bubbling over. “If something upset you, how am I supposed to fix it if you won’t talk to me? We’re together, Damian. We’re supposed to work things out.”
He laughed quietly under his breath, but there was nothing amused about it.
“God, you’re irritating.”
You stared at him silently.
And there it was again.
That look.
Distant. Closed off. Like he’d shoved you outside the walls all over again.
“Do you genuinely believe something is wrong with me?” he asked mockingly. “I have far more important matters to deal with.”
Your chest tightened painfully.
“Fine.”
The second the word left your mouth, Damian hesitated.
Barely.
But you noticed it.
“What?” you asked flatly.
You grabbed your backpack from the floor and walked toward the door of his room.
Damian watched you the entire time without speaking.
Because what was he supposed to say?
That he hated how your friends interrupted the date the second things started feeling intimate? That it bothered him watching you laugh with them while he sat there feeling invisible? That he’d wanted your attention to himself for once?
It was supposed to be his time with you.
His moment.
The bedroom door shut softly behind you.
And suddenly the room felt unbearably empty.
Damian sat down at the edge of the bed slowly, his chest tightening with every passing second until it became difficult to breathe. His eyes burned.
You hadn’t even tried to stop him from pushing you away this time.
You just left.
Eventually, he collapsed face-first onto the mattress, burying himself beneath the blankets like hiding would somehow make the ache in his chest disappear.
He didn’t know how long he stayed there.
Minutes.
Maybe hours.
At some point, he grabbed his phone.
Your chat was still open.
Damian stared at your contact silently while his thumb hovered over the call button. His stomach twisted painfully with nerves.
Call them.
Don’t call them.
Call them.
Before he could think too hard about it, he pressed the button.
The ringing nearly made him sick.
Once.
Twice.
By the third ring, you answered.
“Hello?”
Damian froze.
Your voice was soft. Careful.
And suddenly, all at once, the anger drained out of him, leaving behind nothing but this awful ache in his chest.
He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Because right then, curled up alone in his bed with tears stinging his eyes, Damian could only think one thing:
Who was he without you?
BRUCE WAYNE
Why are you arguing with this man? Leave the old man alone; he has enough problems already.
• I admit it, I just wanted to write about Tim being a whiny crybaby. oc tim (?
Also, as you know, I don't speak English and it's translated thanks to technology :) I've had this in drafts for months ()
: ̗̀➛ Summary: The chances of befriending a Wayne online are low, but never zero. You honestly thought somebody was trying to catfish you, you don't just believe anybody who tells you that they're Tim Drake online.
When you actually meet him, you realize that somehow you beat that impossibly low statistic and actually befriended Tim Drake. However, there is something strange going on with the Wayne family. You weren’t sure what it was.
Until Red Robin saved you.
: ̗̀➛ Word Count: 14.5k
Warnings/Tags: Online friends to friends to lovers, texting, LOTS of texting, they're literally online friends idk what you'd expect, Tim does photography as a hobby, reader is a uni student, reader and Tim deserve each other <3, secret identity reveal, very fluffy fic
: ̗̀➛ A/N: First Tim Drake fic! Hope you guys enjoy :)! Thank you @r-4-y-v-3-n for this request! This prompt was a lot of fun <3! I hope I delivered :D!
Masterlist
“Yes, I'll have the files emailed as soon as possible.” You place your phone onto your desk, pulling up your drive on your laptop. The moment you place your phone down, it buzzes. The vibration echoes loudly on your wooden table.
“Thank you,” your boss responds on speaker. “Could you have them sent to IT as well?” He asks, and you hear some rustling on his side of the call.
You nod, forgetting that he can't see you. “Of course.” Buzz. “I am sending them right now.” Buzz. “Did you want it sent to your assistant as well?” Buzz.
“If you could.” Buzz. “I'd appreciate it.” Buzz.
You grit your teeth, “Great.” Buzz.
You glare at your phone, hoping the intensity of your stare will compel him to stop texting you.
Buzz.
You sigh, rubbing your temples as you click send. “Alright, I just sent them.”
“Thank you,” your boss says your name. “I'll be in touch.”
You nod, “Let me know if anything else is needed.” Your boss hangs up. The display on your phone changing back to your home screen. Buzz. You are going to kill this man.
Tim: at this point i feel like you're just ignoring me 😔
Tim: i KNOW you're home right now
Tim: gotta admit you're dedicated tho
You glare at your phone, quickly typing out a response.
hey sorry to disappoint but i can be at home AND still work, some of us are actually employed
He instantly responds.
Tim: tf you talking about?? I am literally the ceo of wayne enterprises bro 🥀
I thought that was Lucius??? and even if you are employed you sure act unemployed bro 🥀
Tim: are you calling me chronically online?
Tim: how do you think we met???
Tim: it's a two way street 😭
yeah but like
Tim: 🤨🤨
ok fair enough, but I was working 😭 what was so important that you had to spam me while I was talking to my BOSS
Tim: mb gang i didn't know :(((
Tim: I figured if you didn't respond the first time you'd respond by the 15th time
Tim: and it worked soooo….
get to the point
Tim: so consider
Tim: dinner
You feel your heart skip a beat, your thumbs freezing as any comments you had evaporate from your head.
Tim: at the manor
Oh… That makes more sense. Why would you assume he was asking you out? You scoff, feeling a low surge of disappointment run through your chest.
again??
Tim: yeah i don't wanna be alone 💔
won't there be like 10 people there??? how would you be alone?
Tim: can you just be there pls
no
Tim: please?
i'm busy
Tim: doing what
i shouldn't tell people online what i'm doing, that's creepy of you to ask there buddy 🤨
Tim: you've literally been in my ROOM before hello??
You chuckle, leaning back in your chair as you type. Any prior work you were doing is entirely forgotten.
that's an issue, what if I stole something? clearly SOMEBODY forgot to tell you never to tell strangers online your address 😔
Tim: fyi i can handle myself PERFECTLY fine
yeah huh
Tim: and are you implying you stole something from me???
no but i could've, you wouldn't have even noticed
Tim: no I would've
then why'd you ask me if I did?
Tim: to see if you'd admit guilt
I didn't steal anything though??
Tim: that's what a LIAR would say
oh my goodness
you're on your own for dinner
Tim: WAIT PLEASE
Tim: IM SORRY PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME WITH THEM
Tim: WE CAN HANG OUT AFTER MAKE IT A WHOLE THING
Tim: ACTUALLY WE CAN JUST DITCH LIKE HALFWAY THROUGH AND HEAD UP TO MY ROOM
damn you're acting as if they burn you at the stake each time there is dinner 😭
Tim: please be there i beg of you 🙏
mmmm i dunno you don't sound desperate enough
Tim: now I KNOW you're lying cause there's no WAY you just said that
Tim: I'd literally get on my knees and beg if I could
lmao what's stopping you?
Tim: my dignity
😔
Tim: u being fr rn?
the mental image is very funny
Tim: i'm sure it is, now can we get back on track? could you PLEASE show up to dinner Sunday I'm LITERALLY begging you
THIS SUNDAY???? I THOUGHT IT'D BE LIKE NEXT WEEK OR SOMETHING
Tim: PLEASE I KNOW IT'S SHORT NOTICE I WILL MAKE IT WORTH YOUR TIME 🙏
Tim: I'LL EVEN ASK ALFRED TO MAKE YOUR FAVORITE FOOD AND DESSERT
That makes you pause.
you will? 🤨
Tim: YES JUST PLEASE SHOW UP
mmm okay
gotta ask, why do you need me there that bad??? don't just say your lonely or smth stupid
Tim: if you're there, it forces everybody to act normal
You furrow your eyebrows, pondering what “abnormal” would look like for the Wayne family. They seemed kind of normal when you met them. Maybe it's some Wayne thing you just don't understand.
what does that even mean??
Tim: just trust me, you being there makes my life 1000x easier
oh so I'm bait 💀
Tim: nononono not like that
Tim: it's nothing actually bad I promise
relax Tim I'm joking lmao, I'll gladly be bait to make your family behave normally 🫡 (as long as you hold up with your deal with Alfred of course)
Tim: you're literally my favorite person in the world right now
Smiling, you chuckle at the message, leaning back into your chair. You are not going to read too much into that.
after this I better be, I'll see you later then
Tim: I can pick you up Sunday around five
perfect, see you then
Tim: see you
You place your phone down. Dinner, huh? It's not like you haven't been to the Wayne's for dinner. This shouldn't be any different. The only other time Tim invited you to dinner was when you were starting to get to know him in person. To be fair, he didn't exactly “invite” you. His family actually insisted that they had to meet Tim's new friend. Tim had quickly informed you that you could decline the “offer,” but you had went anyway. It's not like you could just decline an invitation from Bruce Wayne himself.
The difference between now and then is that Tim is not only inviting you, but practically begging you to show up. Sure, he had snuck you in a few times, but formal invitations were not something that either of you did, not anymore.
What changed?
It's not something you should read into. However, your mind keeps going back to that one line. You open your phone again, scrolling to look at the messages. Your thumb hovers over the message: “if you're there, it forces everybody to act normal.”
Now, it should not be something you should read into. However, the strange thing is, you know exactly what Tim is talking about. When you met the Wayne's everything was seemingly normal, but the issue was that it was too normal. It set off some alarm in your brain, but you couldn't figure out what they did that set it off.
Normal.
What defines normalcy?
Is it the standards that you are accustomed to? Is it expectations one expects a well-adjusted person to have? Either way, it set off some alarms because while you didn't know how to describe their usual behavior, Tim does.
They act normal when you're there. This implies that there is a time where they don't act normal.
Your finger lightly traces the edge of your phone as you stare at the messages. Now, you're definitely reading into this, but the fact of the matter is something is up.
You're going to figure it out.
Meeting Tim had been, potentially, the most unexpected event in your entire life. Now, since both of you live in Gotham, one might presume that perhaps you met somewhere in the city. Perhaps you went to the same university or bumped into each other on the street. Perhaps you had met him at one of the dozens of events hosted by the Waynes every year. The possibilities were endless.
Instead, you met him on a thread online.
You didn't even know it was him.
It had been an online forum. You don't even remember what the exact topic was. It was something photography related. One of the users— TimTam— had been discussing something about how to balance one's subject with the environment around them. They had gone on and on about the rule of thirds, and how the the environment was meant to enhance the subject. Curiously, you had checked out their profile. After all, you'd expect somebody who talked the talk to be able to walk the walk. You'd found a link to a blog he had.
Apparently, you should've never doubted TimTam because the photos he took were absolutely breathtaking. You've lived in Gotham for decades, and yet the photos that TimTam took exhibited an unconventional beauty of the otherwise deplorable city. For a moment, you wondered if this was his job. Some of the photos looked too perfect to just be a mere hobby. He had shots next to the gargoyles on Wayne Tower with angles that looked unfeasible for any sane person to achieve.
Who was this guy?
Curiosity got the better of you. You had attempted to look him up for any other social media accounts, but your efforts were fruitless. A conclusion that only made you more curious.
You wanted to find more about this mysterious individual, so you sent him a quick message. Polite and inquisitive.
Hello! I stumbled onto your page, and I adore your photography! I was wondering if you had any other social media accounts. I would love to follow some of your other socials.
Checking the original forum, you noticed that the timestamp was from over a week ago. Hopefully he'd respond. You didn't really keep up with online photography forums much. Stumbling onto this had been an accident, but a happy accident nevertheless. You were about to get up from your chair, when you saw a little bubble signifying a notification.
Your mouth parted in surprise. That was quick.
TimTam: Hello. I don't have any other socials at the moment for photography. I only really post it occasionally on my main.
You nod, understandable. It's a shame, but you weren't about to ask a random stranger for what may be their potentially personal account. You were about to type your response, when TimTam sends another message.
TimTam: You think I should make a photography accoutn?
TimTam: account*
You slowly blink at the message followed by the typo correction. Somehow this person seems a lot less intimidating than they did five seconds ago.
Absolutely! It's rare that I can find somebody capture Gotham in the perspective you do. I would definitely follow you if you make any other socials.
There's a pause for a moment. The bubble appears, disappears, and reappears again. You tap the space bar of your laptop idly, curious what TimTam has to say.
TimTam: Like right now?
You can't help the surprised snort that escapes you.
I mean if you want? I meant more generally, but now works.
TimTam: Right, right, of course
You like their message, unsure how to respond to that. You think that's the end of your adventures with TimTam, but about ten minutes later you get another message. You open the chat back up. It's an Instagram link.
TimTam: Thanks for the advice. I made the social.
You nod as if they can see your physical response. Tapping onto the link.
For sure! Honored to be the first official follower :)
You actually are their first follower. The account's user is Tim_Tam with a profile picture sitting on the ledge of a building overlooking the sunset. Zero posts, one follower, zero following. It was brand new. Not even a bio present.
Satisfied with how the interaction went, you had presumed that your conversations with TimTam had ended. You didn't exactly give them a reason to keep contacting you.
A few days went by, and slowly TimTam began to post on social media. His first posts garnered thousands of likes, which you found impressive for such a fresh account. You did tell him that he'd do well on other platforms. It didn't take long for him to build up a following. Nothing insane, but definitely a good start.
You had been keeping up with TimTam. You weren't sure what drew you to him, but you found yourself liking each post of his. You found a smile appear on your face each time he posted.
Perhaps you were a tad bit proud that your suggestion led to such fruition.
Judging by the way he had immediately asked you if he should make a photography account, you assumed that he had previously considered the idea. Either that or he was a very spontaneous person.
Either way, you took some satisfaction out of it.
Days had gone by and you watched as his followers trickled up. You found yourself living vicariously through TimTam, silently celebrating ten thousand followers with him.
Then you saw it.
You had been about to go to bed. It was nearly midnight, and it was freezing. The comforters weighed heavily onto you, shrouding you in warmth. On top of that, you had pulled the Batman throw blanket up to your neck, nearly suffocating yourself with the soft material. The blanket had the different symbols of all the Bats plastered onto it against a light gray backdrop. You'd gotten it years ago, and to this day it was still one of your favorite blankets.
You squinted your eyes as the bright light of your phone shone through the otherwise dark room. Your eyes started to feel the strain as you continued to fight the urge to sleep.
Then you saw the notification.
The first thing you registered wasn't the message, but the sender of the message.
TimTam (or is it Tim_Tam now?) had sent you a message.
Sitting up, you read the notification, not wanting him to know you're reading his message.
Tim_Tam
[Image attached]
Sent now
Tim_Tam
[Image attached]
Sent now
Tim_Tam
Which one do you think looks better?
Sent now
You paused, thumb hovering over the Instagram notifications. You couldn't see the photos if you didn't click the message. However, if you clicked the messages, he'd know you're awake.
Would it be weird to respond? It's nearly midnight. What if he judges your poor sleeping schedule?
Then again… He texted you first. If anything he should be worried about how he comes across. Also, why should you care? It's just a stranger on the internet.
Before you could reconsider your actions, you clicked on the messages.
Nothing could have prepared you for what you saw.
The two photos looked practically identical. Upon closer inspection, you noticed a few discrepancies, but they were so insignificant that they were practically the same photo.
It was taken on a rooftop. Nightwing and Robin were shown to be conversing with one another. It was, quite possibly, the clearest photos of the vigilantes you had ever seen.
Of course, you've seen the blurry images and videos of the vigilantes captured by the news or even by Gothamites themselves, but none of them were this sharp. It was evident that the photo was taken from a distance (likely due to TimTam not wanting to be spotted), but that didn't change the fact that this was potentially the best photo you'd seen of the vigilantes before.
Sure, you've seen a whispered shadow pass over your head, or even heard the roar of the Batmobile echo across the city, but you had never gotten a clear look at their faces. It's blurry enough where specific identifiable facial features may not be evident, but it's clear enough that you can actually deduce their facial expressions.
Nightwing appears to be smiling, a wide grin plastered onto his face. Robin doesn't share the same expression. It's more difficult to tell what he's thinking, but it's evident that he does not share Nightwing's apparent amusement.
You swipe between the two photos TimTam sent. You were only able to make out five differences total. In the first photo, Robin's shoulders were more tense, Nightwing's mouth was slightly open (though still grinning) as if caught mid-speech, and the lights of the city shined down a low red lighting onto their costumes, bathing them in the ominous color.
The second photo had Nightwing simply offering an amused grin, smiling with his teeth on display. He wasn't saying anything. Robin's shoulders were more relaxed, but the unamused expression was a constant in both photos. The low red lighting from the first photo turned into a slightly more vibrant scarlet that enveloped the subjects. If you looked closely, you'd notice that Nightwing had a couple strands of hair out of place. The change making him look slightly more unkempt. The only other noticeable change was the direction Robin faced. In the second photo, he is angled just ever so slightly more towards Nightwing.
The second one for sure. It makes them both look cooler with the lighting and it feels slightly more personal.
Tim_Tam: Okay, thanks.
You stare at the photos for a moment longer, waiting for something else. No other response came. You furrow your brows, typing another message. Before TimTam was interesting. But now?
Wait that's it?
Now he's borderline unreal.
Tim_Tam: Yeah, I couldn't really decide
Tim_Tam: It's not like I could ask Nightwing and Robin their opinions. I doubt they even know the photo was taken.
Who even is this guy?
You're telling me that you snuck up on NIGHTWING and ROBIN
and you can't choose which photo looks better???
Tim_Tam: In all fairness, their vibes are VERY different. I couldn't tell which one to go for.
He's right. Despite capturing the same moment, the minute differences change the interpretation of the photos immensely.
That's fair.
Should I even ask how you got these photos?
Tim_Tam: It sounds like you are asking
Tim_Tam: Let's just say I have my ways
You frown. That was entirely expected, but still disappointing.
Are you planning on selling them?
There's a pause for a moment. The bubbles appear, then disappear, then reappear.
Tim_Tam: What?
Like the photos. You could probably sell them to the Gotham Gazette and get a quick buck or something.
I don't think I've ever seen any news agency with photos THIS clear. I'm sure they'd eat it up.
Tim_Tam: Maybe? I hadn't really considered that
Wait wait you're telling me you stalked after vigilantes for love of the game??
Tim_Tam: yeah pretty much
At this point, you're wide awake. All sleepiness that clouded your brain fanned away long ago.
Are those the only ones you have?
There's a long pause.
Tim_Tam: At the moment.
I'm not saying you should follow the Bats again but like…
These photos are actually phenomenal, you could get famous for this.
There's another long pause.
Tim_Tam: You think?
100%. I've NEVER seen such prisitine photos of Nightwing and Robin. It's genuinely impressive.
Tim_Tam: Hm
Tim_Tam: I'll see what I can do.
That was the start of your friendship with TimTam. Vigilante photos. Two nights after the Nightwing and Robin photo situation, you received another text.
Tim_Tam
[Image attached]
Sent now
You nearly dropped your phone upon opening the message.
If you thought the Nightwing and Robin photo was clear? This was night and day. It was single handled the best photo of Red Robin you've ever seen. The image pictured Red Robin kicking some criminal. The dynamic pose combined with the sheer clarity of the photo made for an actual masterpiece. You could see the way that his suit fit his form. The way he clenched his jaw as he struck the criminal. It was so close. It almost looks like TimTam had taken security camera footage, zoomed in, and somehow enhanced it.
???
Tim_Tam: Is that a good or bad ???
GOOD DEFINITELY GOOD
HOW IS IT SOMEHOW BETTER THAN THE NIGHTWING AND ROBIN ONE
Tim_Tam: I'm good at photography I guess
Tim_Tam: you're a Red Robin fan?
Were you imagining the smug tone behind that? Was Red Robin even your favorite? You liked Red Robin, but your favorite?
I suppose
Tim_Tam: You suppose?? Damnnnn okay
My bad 😭 didn't realize you were a big Red Robin fan
Tim_Tam: No no it's fine
Tim_Tam: Perhaps I'll have to get more to convince you
At that point just interview him. You're already stalking the poor guy.
Tim_Tam: He's finr
Tim_Tam: fine*
He paused.
Tim_Tam: For the record though, I probably could
You chuckled. Whoever this was seemed very confident they could get an interview with Red Robin. Have you even seen vigilante interviews? Maybe a statement or two here and there, but never full on interviews.
Maybe stick to your day job
Tim_Tam: I feel like you're challenging me 🤨
Nonono
Just like
I'd hate to read in the paper that Red Robin beat you up
There was a long moment of silence, Tim_Tam wasn't even typing.
Tim_Tam: Nah I can handle him
You were full on laughing at your phone by this point.
Tim_Tam: He didn't even notice me taking the photos or anything
And that translates to his fighting ability??
Tim_Tam: I mean all you got to do is get one really good hit in and he's out
Tim_Tam: he's only human
you sure of that? 🤨🤨
Tim_Tam: Positive, I think I have a shot
Well then, I await the day I see the headline
“photographer takes out Red Robin with a single hit”
Tim_Tam: Oh yeah that'll for sure be the headline
Tim_Tam: I'll personally get the photo for that story. Send a photo of it just to you to prove myself
Do you always look for validation from strangers on the internet??
Tim_Tam: Do you always judge the photos of photographers on the internet??
do NOT pin this on me, you asked me to pick between the two :(
Tim_Tam: mhm
I wasn't even being critical of them, all I said was that I liked the second one better
Tim_Tam: I believe your exact words were that they looked “cooler” and “felt more personal”
I didn't say the other ones were bad though!! I'm pretty sure I said they were the BEST photos of Nightwing and Robin I've seen so far
also
Tim_Tam: ?
You hesitated. Was this being too casual with TimTam? The two of you seem to be getting along fine, but you hadn't asked him any truly heavy questions.
I was just curious— feel free to not answer— but are you planning on posting the Nightwing and Robin photos?
Somehow, you felt as if the tension rose at your question. TimTam diidn't immediately respond. There was no indication that he's even read your message. Then you saw the bubble. Typing. Not typing. Typing.
Tim_Tam: No
Tim_Tam: I can't
Absentmindedly you tapped the side of your phone, eyebrows furrowing.
Ah okay
The response was lame, and both of you knew it. You silently berated yourself for ruining the atmosphere. TimTam didn't respond after that. He didn't react to the message, but you still saw that he was online. Resigned, you slowly put your phone back on the nightstand. Shutting your eyes, you twist your body in the opposite direction of the device. Out of sight, out of mind—
Bzzt!
Your phone's vibration caused you to freeze. No, no. You needed to sleep. It might not even be TimTam. It could've been a random email that you'll never look at. Even if it was TimTam, it was completely understandable if you didn't respond, given how late it is.
However, curiosity did kill the cat.
You turned over, slowly grabbing you phone. You had zero expectations (at least that's what you told yourself). TimTam was probably asleep too. It's not like you two were close enough to be chatting casually this late.
Tim_Tam: It's not that I don't want to don't get me wrong
Tim_Tam: It's just that something happened, and I can't do it
Without thinking, you opened the message. Damn it, he's going to think you're a loser, immediately coming online the moment he messages you.
No need to justify yourself, I get it
I'm glad that you decided to share the photos you've taken with me though
TimTam paused, but his next reply had you reeling.
Tim_Tam: Robin paid me a visit
You felt your heart start to pound as if it was you who Robin visited. You could only imagine how TimTam handled the situation. How did he neglect to mention that?!
Are you serious??? Thought you said that he and Nightwing weren't aware you were photographing them?
Tim_Tam: So
Tim_Tam: How do I say this
The responses were rapid, you could feel TimTam's unease through the screen.
Shoudl I be concerned??
should*
Tim_Tam: Would you believe me if I hypothetically said I sought out Robin
like you took more photos of him??
Tim_Tam: No like I talked with him
He did what?
Tim_Tam: And hypothetically he said that the photos must never be seen by the public
hypothetically did you agree??
Tim_Tam: kinda??
oh my gosh are you going to be on a vigilante hit list?
Tim_Tam: I don't think that's a thing 💀
you THINK? the same guy who THOUGHT Nightwing and Robin weren't aware of you??
Tim_Tam: TECHNICALLY they weren't, I just wanted to show them the photos get their thoughts
…my guy this is on you why would you TELL them??
praying for you 🙏
Tim_Tam: Are you still implying that Robin is going to off me??
I'm JUST saying, now they know who you are
if they see any photos like the ones you took they'll know it was you
probably dox you or something idk
Tim_Tam: You make an excellent point
Tim_Tam: eh It'll be fine though
Did you get Nightwing or Red Robin's opinion too?
It felt stupid to ask. You imagine he would've said something if he met another vigilante. TimTam took a minute to respond.
Tim_Tam: Nightwing no, Red Robin yes
Or not… What kind of guy just casually forgets to mention he met not one but two vigilantes?
What'd he say?
Tim_Tam: He thought it was cool
You stared at the message for a long moment, waiting to see if he'd elaborate.
He thought it was cool??
Tim_Tam: Yep
and that's it..?
Tim_Tam: Uhh I can't really remember
did he knock you out or something??? you conversed with RED ROBIN and can't even bother to remember what he said??
Tim_Tam: to be fair he didn't say much
You're telling me he SERIOUSLY just said “cool” and then left??
Tim_Tam: yeah pretty much
You let out a puff of amusement. What a weird world you live in. This random internet photographer you found has somehow met two of Gotham's vigilante's, been threatened by one of them, and is still acting like this isn't a big deal.
Tim_Tam: Oh and he said he didn't mind the photos
Finally, something.
Are you going to try and catch him again?
I feel obligated to preface this by saying this is NOT me encouraging you to go track down vigilantes
Tim_Tam: uhhhh
???
Tim_Tam: [Image Attached]
Tim_Tam: You're a bit too late, already caught him again
You stare blankly at the new image. It's another image of Red Robin. This time it's not an action shot. Instead, it capture the vigilante sitting casually on the edge of the building. His knee is propped up in front of him, his arm casually resting on it. The angle of this photo is different. It isn't taken from above, nor from the streets below. Instead, it's taken from the very rooftop Red Robin is sitting on. If you had to hazard a guess, TimTam took this photo from the ground of the rooftop with his camera at a low angle.
Dude did you CRAWL to get this photo???
Tim_Tam: …why would you ask that??
Cause how else did you get a get that specific angle of Red Robin?? Did you share a rooftop with him??
You pause, scrutinizing the photograph. There's a figure in the back, and upon further examination, you realize who it is.
IS THAT NIGHTWING IN THE DISTANCE???? YOU CAUGHT HIM AGAIN???
Tim_Tam: What???
There is a pause for a moment.
Tim_Tam: Huh didn't even see him lol
“Didn't even see him lol.” You weren't even sure if you're surprised anymore. All you can do is stare at the photograph with Red Robin (and Nightwing pictured in the back) in awe. For a moment, you considered whether TimTam truly asked Red Robin to pose for it. It certainly looked like it.
you ACCIDENTALLY got a picture of Red Robin posing with Nightwing in the distance???
Tim_Tam: Red Robin isn't posing what??
dude he is LITERALLY posing for the photo
There was a momentary pause.
Tim_Tam: idk it looks pretty natural to me
sure we'll go with that
You sighed, rubbing you temples. This guys has to be playing you.
Tim_Tam: damn okay fine doubt me
Tim_Tam: I'll try again
You almost felt your blood pressure spike seeing the message. What kind of person gets threatened by Robin and decides to pursue the guy? Determined, you pick up your phone, fingers flying over the keyboard.
You are not going to be a bystander in this guy's inevitable demise.
Was it an unconventional way to befriend somebody? Perhaps, but it was Gotham. TimTam seemed relatively nice, a trait found few and far between in a city like this. It helped that he enjoyed your company as well. There were many nights where neither of you could fall asleep, and the only thing keeping you up was the quiet vibration of your phone going off, signaling that he was still there.
Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, months dragged on for a year.
After a year, you’d think that you’d know a bit more about who TimTam really was. Perhaps a small slip up that leads to a meet up? Did you even want to meet up with TimTam? What if he’s been playing the long game, waiting to get your trust before inevitably killing you in a back alley, your name never to be mentioned again outside of a True Crime Story podcast in a few years. You shuddered at the thought.
Dramatic? Yes. Paranoid? Absolutely.
Still doesn’t stop the growing desire to know who he is.
Have you walked past him on the street? Maybe you went to school together? Perhaps you both frequent a place with no idea the other is there. The possibilities were endless. They were killing you, and yet neither of you brought up the topic.
The closest you got to hints was talking about the latest news.
did you see hear about those buildings that Firefly lit up?
Tim_Tam: “see” would be an understatement, closer to felt
Your eyebrows raised into your hairline.
oh shit, are you okay??
Tim_Tam: i’m fineeee
Tim_Tam: tis but a scratch
Tim_Tam: or burn
You back straightened as you sat up from the curb. Police sirens still rang out, the blaring noise causing your eardrums to vibrate in an unpleasant manner. You frantically looked over the crowd of people: officers, paramedics, examiners, victims, detectives.
Is he one of them?
You weren’t sure what he looked like. He’d been (frustratingly) vague about who he is, but, to be fair, you weren’t any more explicit.
you’re here?
The message is sent and read almost immediately. You watch as the bubble of him typing appears. On. Off. On. Off. You stare at the screen, squinting, attempting to block out the noise of your environment. For a moment, you wonder if something happened. Does he not want to answer that question?
Tim_Tam: wait you're here??
Tim_Tam: shit what are you doing here?
Against your will, your heart started pumping. The accelerating rhythm causing your hands to shake as you typed out your next message, even if— at the time— you insisted it was just the cold, damp, air of Gotham.
Tim_Tam: are you okay?
Tim_Tam: did anything happen to you?
Tim_Tam: are you still here?
You didn't get a chance to respond. Tim manages to send three messages in the time it takes your freezing hands to type half of one. You ran your finger slowly against the screen of your phone, your hands leaving imprints on the device.
not for much longer, I’m planning on leaving soon
“I’m free to go, right?” You confirmed with the paramedic on your right, looking over a young boy. The kid was unharmed, but apparently did not appreciate the examination. The paramedic turned to you, looking you up and down.
“You were already checked for other injuries? Concussions? Anything?” They slowly turned away from you back to the kid. You nodded, “Yeah, I feel fine.” You weren’t lying either. If anything, you were more shaken up then injured.
The paramedic sighed, “Alright, just make sure to rest. It’s been a long night. Take it easy for the next few days. If you notice anything, I’d go to any of the Wayne sponsored health facilities.” They pasued for a moment. “If anything, I’d recommend the clinic near Crime Alley if you want to avoid wait times.” They shined a light into the boy’s eye, “Sketchy area, but the General Hospital tends to get overcrowded fast.”
You blinked, surprised by the helpful advice. “Thanks,” you nodded slowly, “I’ll keep that in mind.” You waited there for an extra beat to see if they’d respond, but it seemed as if that was all they had to say. Slowly, you made your way around the scene, ducking under the caution tape as you attempted to find a way out of the area. Reporters and police officers appeared to be stationed at every corner of the scene, and you didn't particularly want to look at the burned down section of the Upper West Side mere blocks away from the university.
Braving the crowds of cameras it is.
Slowly, you made your way over to the least crowded corner of the scene, nodding at the officer. He returned the nod and watched you raise the caution tape and walk past the dozens of journalists and reporters.
Then you felt it.
You’re no stranger to the sensation of having eyes on you. In fact, it’s a universal experience for every Gothamite. You’d heard stories from friends who committed crimes, albeit petty ones, that even if they got away with a crime or two, they always felt like he was watching. Despite avoiding crime as much as possible (a challenge on its own), you somehow understood them.
The sensation of somebody always there.
Somebody always in the shadows.
Somebody watching.
Usually, you’d describe that sensation as heavy, looming. It was akin to a shadow being cast over you, blocking out any source of light, essentially leaving you in the darkness with nothing but your own doubts and fears. It's part of how Batman was able to have some semblance of control of crime.
However, contrary to that fear, it also provided a sense of safety. You knew you weren’t a target, you’d never be a target. That fear that’s instilled by Batman wasn’t meant for you, it was meant to help people like you.
This, though, is different.
There is no doubt in your mind somebody is watching you. Your skin prickles at the thought, yet the longer you wait for that sharp spike of fear…
It doesn’t come.
Now, you’ve lived in Gotham for a long time. Perhaps your instincts aren’t perfect, but you’d say they’re pretty damn good.
So the fact that somebody is singling you out and watching you? Your brain screamed at you that there was everything wrong with that, which made sense. It’s an assertion most people would agree with.
However.
With an almost dramatic turn, you slowly lifted your gaze up to the buildings across the street. Far enough to be safe from the fire, but close enough to have the perfect view.
You huffed, a small smile on your face.
In the distance, you saw two figures on the rooftop. While it’s hard to deduce the exact builds of the tem, what you could see were the colors.
You could also tell that one of them is looking directly at you. After seeing who knows how many Red Robin photos in the past year (courtesy of Tim), you concluded that Red Robin was most definitely watching you from across the street.
Yep, this is normal. Perhaps Red Robin knows that Tim sends you the photos he takes of him.
You slowly raised a hand up, hesitantly waving at him.
For a moment, nothing happened, and you felt a tad bit stupid for waving at a vigilante and expecting him to wave back. Awkwardly, you lowered your arm, grabbing your phone out of your pocket to check the time. Shutting your phone back off, you shifted your eyes up, expecting the vigilantes to have vanished (something you’ve heard they’re notorious for).
Instead, your mouth parted in surprise as Red Robin slowly waved back at you.
You blinked slowly at the vigilante in the distance in sheer disbelief, not physically reacting otherwise. Almost as if he’s embarrassed, Red Robin slowly lowered his arm back down. The two of you stared at each other for a moment longer before, inevitably, something else caught his attention. His head tilted away from you, and you watched as he turned to face Spoiler and Black Bat (when did Black Bat get there?).
You used the opportunity to slowly raise your phone up, zooming your camera in on the small group of vigilantes before snapping a photo.
Tim won’t believe this.
Tim did, in fact, believe you.
Truthfully, he was… not as impressed with you as you were with yourself.
Tim_Tam: lowkey?? why is the quality pixilated 💀
I’m sorry I don’t walk around with a professional camera around my neck???
Also what happened to “man that was really scary” and “I hope you’re okay”
Tim_Tam: man that was really scary
Tim_Tam: I hope you’re okay
Tim_Tam: quality could be better tho (genuinely glad you're okay though)
damn I’m sorry not all of us have vigilantes on call to do photo shoots with
I tried my best and I was lucky I even got that shot
you know he WAVED at me
thought he’d ignore me
Tim_Tam: Why would he ignore you??
idk maybe he’s like “eugh look at the civilian waving at me like a loser”
Tim paused for a moment.
Tim_Tam: why does he sound so mean in your head??
oh right mb, forgot you're the #1 RR apologist
Tim_Tam: okay now THATS an exaggeration
is it though??
Tim_Tam: very much so yes
if you say so
You snorted, putting your phone on the nightstand and turning the lights off before you nestled yourself into bed. Gotham's freezing weath showed no mercy tonight, and the warm blankets made you brain leap with joy, sending tingles throughout your body. Your phone was charging, the night was young, you’d actually sleep well tonight, and—
The light of your phone flashed, blinding you temporarily. The accompanying vibration didn’t help because now you knew it was Tim. Huffing, you turn your body away from the device that attempts to lure you in.
You needed to go to sleep early, you had an eight AM the next day. You couldn't afford to lose sleep talking to—
The light from your phone manages to light up the whole room, even if you’re not facing the source.
Okay, you will check the phone once to turn the brightness down. You would not read the messages. Tim would understand. You have to sleep, being a responsible adult and all that. With a slow, deep sigh, you reached over to grab your phone, squinting when you realize just how bright it was. That’s when you saw the messages:
Tim_Tam
Would you want to meet in person?
Sent 3m ago
Tim_Tam
Sorry that was really abrupt
Sent 1m ago
Tim_Tam
Just ignore that lol
Sent now
You had never sat up so fast from your bed, and that’s including the times he sent you those photos of the Bats the first few times.
Tim wants to what?
You haven’t even called the guy before.
Wait you can’t just drop that on me and leave
Tim_Tam: sorry?
Where would you want to meet?
Tim_Tam: Wait you’re saying yes?
Tim_Tam: What if I’m like a creepy serial killer who befriends people on the internet and then takes them to their house to kill them?
You paused.
Are you?
Tim_Tam: No but like
Tim_Tam: how would you know I’m NOT?
I can’t tell if you’re trying to defend yourself
I’m like 99% sure you’re not a killer though?
Tim_Tam: Okay but like
Tim_Tam: 99% isn’t 100%
Tim_Tam: chances are not 0
Tim
Tim_Tam: yeah?
If you want to meet, where would it be?
Tim_Tam: uhh
Tim_Tam: Robinson Park work?
Yeah I can probably head there after my classes
I’ll be done around 11
Tim_Tam: Alright cool
Was it you, or did this feel a little anticlimactic? Perhaps it just hadn't hit you yet? You waited for another message, yet the bubbles of forming messages continued to taunt you.
Tim_Tam: Sorry I gtg, we can work out more details later?
Yeah sure, have fun photographing your fav
Tim_Tam: haha you’re SO funny
I know :)
The next day came all too soon yet not quick enough. The second you opened your eyes, a singular thought implanted itself in your head:
Today was the day you were going to meet Tim.
Despite the quiz you had during your early morning discussion, and the midterm prep went over during your following lecture. Neither of the them made you as anxious as meeting Tim. As the final minutes of your lecture passed, you felt a nervous excitement run through your body.
Okay done with my classes, omw
You sent the quick text, giving him a heads up. It’d probably take you a bit to walk there, but it gave you enough time to plan this out.
Like… Do you need to worry about first impressions?
Is this a first impression?
You're technically meeting him for the first time, but it’s not like he’s a stranger.
It's... First-impression-adjacent. Yeah, something like that. You still weren't sure, but you didn't get a chance to dwell on it because you felt your phone vibrate. You didn't stop walking as you check the screen.
Tim_Tam: Hey there is something I should tell you before we meet
Tim_Tam: It’s a little important
uh oh, you’re not actually a killer right?
Tim_Tam: no, no, no
Tim_Tam: Nothing like that
Tim_Tam: but uh
Tim_Tam: My name
Tim_Tam: it’s Tim Drake
You halted. Staring at the words laid plainly on your phone. Tim Drake?
That Tim Drake? The one Bruce Wayne took in? You weren't well versed in the intricate details of the Wayne family lore, but you know about as much as any other Gotham citizen. Bruce Wayne’s parents were murdered in front of him when he was a kid, and now he’s a billionaire playboy with a known habit of adopting kids. Tim Drake is one of them. You didn't actually know much about him, but you’ve seen him on TV or on the news every now and then talking about Wayne Enterprises or something.
woah that’s crazy
I didn’t wan tot tell you but I’m actually Bruce Wayne
want to*
Tim_Tam: I’m not joking I swear
nor am I
Tim_Tam: You don’t believe me
I believe you when you say you aren’t a killer
idk about the Tim Drake thing though
Tim_Tam: should I be concerned that you somehow find me being myself is less probable than me being a killer?
Probably
Is this like a new catfishing tactic
There was a long pause.
Tim_Tam: I’m sorry what??
You could almost hear the bewilderment, and you chuckle at the thought.
oh you know
Tim_Tam: I don’t actually? Is this a common occurrence for you??
no
hence why I ask what’s with the Tim Drake catfishing tactic
Tim_Tam: I really hope it’s NOT a thing? How would it even work??
idk probably something like “Hey baby my name is Tim Drake, I have lots of money do you want to meet at the park to get to know each other better?”
Tim_Tam: I have never ONCE in my LIFE said that
Tim_Tam: I swear I am Tim Drake, we’re literally meeting in like five minutes
Tim_Tam: I promise I’m here, just meet me around the gardens
Now, was it stupid to potentially walk into such an obviously fake trap?
Absolutely.
Did you do it anyway?
Absolutely.
It wasn’t long before you had found a bench not too far from the gardens. You sent Tim-Maybe-Drake a quick update on your location. In spite of how ill-prepared you may seem to the naked eye, you did ask one of your friends to check your location and check in to make sure you don’t die.
Oh and pepper spray. Better safe than sorry.
Tim-Maybe-Drake reacted to your message with a quick thumbs up, and you fidgeted on the bench. You loosely kicked a rock with your foot, taking note of old footprints on the dirt path. As the minutes passed by, the anxiety began to creep back in. What if this was just a joke? What if you were dead-on with the catfishing Tim Drake idea? It was a strange idea, but it got you to come meet in person, didn’t it?
Somebody cleared their throat from the left side of the path, and you turn to look up.
Holy shit.
You blinked rapidly as if Tim Drake will vanish from your eyesight. He looks both the same and different from what you’ve seen in photos. Physically, he mostly looks the same, perhaps a bit leaner than you expected. He must workout, you idly note. His hair looks the same as it does in the photos, perhaps a bit more messy? It also seems too perfect in every photo you see of him.
However, the way he carries himself?
When you searching up information about a billionaire and his children, you saw what you expected online. Articles written on the Wayne children weren’t nearly as ever present as ones about Bruce himself, but every now and then there would be something.
In the few minutes before Tim arrived (you may have looked him up mere seconds before his arrival), you noticed that he looked confident, composed. He had that air about him that only comes from growing up in such a high-end environment.
On one hand, you see the Tim Drake that the media portrays. The adopted son of Bruce Wayne. A man who has clearly grown up in an environment so unlike your own it’s a miracle you even crossed paths with him.
However, you also see the hint of uncertainty that bleeds through his fleeting glances to you. The way his eyes rest on you anxiously, as if waiting for your judgment. For a moment, you consider that he was just as anxious about meeting you than you were meeting him. The prospect seems absurd, but looking at him now, you believe it.
“Oh…” You commented eloquently.
He furrowed his eyebrows, “That’s— That’s it? Just ‘oh?’”
You nodded slowly, “I mean— I… You know I had like zero faith in you.” That’s a lie, you had at least a sprinkle of faith that he was telling the truth. Not that you’ll tell him that.
“That’s reassuring. Thank you for that.” Tim replied dryly.
“You know the whole photographing vigilante’s thing makes so much sense now.” You stood up, hesitantly approaching him.
He tilted his head, “How so?”
“Only rich people would have such an insane hobby. The adrenaline rush or something I assume.” You shrugged casually, and Tim had the gall to to look offended.
“Okay, but my main thing isn’t even photographing vigilantes. I don’t even post those, and you know that.” He raised a finger indignantly. “And they aren’t even intentional anyway! I’m just lucky.”
“Luckiest guy I’ve ever met then.” You smirked, “Save some for the rest of us.”
He chuckled, “Of course, it’s my fault whenever somebody has bad luck.”
“At least you acknowledge it.” You huffed, a grin plastered on your face.
He laughs, and it hits you that this is Tim, as in the Tim you’ve been talking to day and night. That Tim also happens to be the billionaire Tim Drake, and you are having a normal conversation with him in a park in Gotham. You watch as his eyes crinkle in amusement, and you feel yourself mirroring his expression involuntarily.
You stifled your laughter, clearing your throat, “You know, I was actually worried you were catfishing me.”
He groaned, rolling his eyes. “If I wanted to catfish you, I’d have gone about this way different.” He pauses, "For the record, I do not want to catfish you."
“That’s reassuring.” You threw his own words back at him, and he sighed.
“It should be.” He paused for a moment, and the two of you continue to walk down a path. “Did you really not suspect anything?”
You blink, “About you being…” you gestured to him, and he nodded. You shook your head, “Not until you said anything, no. You don’t give ‘Tim Drake vibes’ when we text.” You did air quotes.
He let out a surprised laugh, “What— What are ‘Tim Drake vibes?’” He looked amused at the prospect.
You shrugged, “I don’t know. It’s just, when I text you, I don’t think ‘wow this guy seems like Tim Drake.’”
He nodded as if that made sense, “I’m going to take that as a good thing?”
You shrugged, “I mean it’s certainly a thing. Your call about whether it’s good or bad.”
He sighed, and you laughed at his exasperated expression. “Y’know now that I actually know you’re you, I’m surprised you actually showed up.”
His eyebrows raised in surprise, “Why would I not? I asked you?”
“You had no idea who I was up to like five minutes ago, what if I had planned this and planned on using you for ransom?” You teased, and the two of you exit the park. You weren't sure where Tim is taking you, but you’re heading back in the direction of Gotham University.
“Been there.” By his tone alone, you believed him. “And trust me I can handle myself perfectly fine if you tried kidnapping me.”
You raised an eyebrow, “If you can handle yourself so well, how come people were able to kidnap you for ransom in the past?”
He opened his mouth, glaring at you, ready to defend himself, but no words came out.
“I… Those were extenuating circumstances.” He scoffed.
“Mhm, real extenuating.” Your voice contained the utmost sympathy for him.
“And I feel like you’re mocking me.” He tutted, shaking his head disapprovingly.
“It’s okay, I probably wouldn’t have been able to escape the thugs too.” You winced, patting his shoulder sympathetically.
“That’s not—” At your laughter he stops talking, and instead stares dumbly at you, slowly blinking, as you continue to laugh at him. He released a half-amused exhale while you snickered at him for the next few minutes.
The rest of the meeting went well, very well. The two of you had instantly fell back into your familiar banter, except it was a thousand times more exciting in person. After that meeting, Tim had started asking if you wanted to hang out regularly. It was a safe distance for both of you. Neither of you got too close.
Then he invited you to one of Bruce Wayne’s charity events. It was a casual invite, it meant nothing, and you knew that. He wasn’t inviting you as a partner, but as a friend. It was a completely normal invite that had no other implications. Why would you stress over that?
It certainly didn’t help your stress levels when you realized that if you accepted you’d have to meet Bruce Wayne himself.
You had— not subtly— asked Tim if this meant that you would be subjected to the judgment of his family. He had told you that you “Don’t need to worry about that” and that “They should be the last people judging.” Both of his “reassurances” did little to truly ease your worries.
Eventually, you had accepted, attempting to dress your best. The actual event itself was as you expected. Long and filled with lots of meaningless chatter. The main joy found was snickering with Tim off to the side. You had teased him for the sheer switch in personality he would make every time one of Gotham’s elites approached you both. It was kind of jarring, the phoniness of everything here. It made you feel better every time would side eye you with a look reading “Get a load of this guy.”
It reminded you that somehow you had worked into one of the highest circle’s in Gotham without even knowing. Seeing him turn to you, relieved to have somebody who knows him?
It may sound silly, but it made you feel good, like your friendship actually means something.
Your gratification at the prospect was short lived. Quickly replaced with the familiar stress of meeting Bruce Wayne. Tim reassured you that it would not be as bad as you were imagining, and that he’ll like you. You didn’t share his confidence, but you appreciated his optimism. You ignored the idea in your head that this could be interpreted as you both dating.
Cause that’d be stupid.
It turns out that Tim was right though. Bruce was actually not as bad as you expected. He was a bit brash and you definitely forced some laughs in the conversation, but he seemed to approve of you the second that Tim introduced you. You didn’t miss the look that he gave Tim when first introducing you. Tim never mentioned it afterwards, and while you were curious about it, you didn’t feel the need to bring it up.
By the end of the night, he had introduced you to most of his family, and— like Bruce— they all seemed to like you. The consensus seemed to be positive, which was what you were hoping for. After leaving your final introduction with Duke, Tim had placed his hand on your shoulder with a grin as if saying “See? You lived!”
After that event, you had assumed that meetings with his family would be few and far between. Perhaps for a social event every now and then, but you didn’t expect to start seeing them regularly.
It felt strange at first, like visiting someone’s house for the first time and always having to go through the unavoidable phase where you practically tip-toe everywhere, not wanting their family to hate you.
It was that but tenfold.
Tim had welcomed you in, soon followed by Steph and Duke. You felt more at ease the longer the four of you spent time together. By the time it was time for you to return home, you had practically forgotten your earlier worries.
It quickly became routine. At least once a week, you’d come over to hang out at the Manor. Sometimes Steph would be there, sometimes some of his brothers would be, and sometimes it’d be just you and Tim. As time went on, you started to hang out with his family without him, and you quickly found yourself recounting stories about Tim over girl’s night with Steph, Cass, and occasionally Barbara. You had told them how the two of you met, and somebody must have talked because you had received texts from Tim the next day saying that everybody was making fun of him. You felt a tad bit bad for him, but both of you seemed more amused than genuinely angry.
You were happy.
It seemed like everything was going right for once. You were doing well in university, your job was paying the bills, and you had a group of friends you truly liked being around. Your life felt normal, and that felt good.
Obviously, that normalcy didn't last for long.
You got out of the taxi, walking up the stone steps as you put your phone away. Unfortunately, registration this semester was not kind to you, and you ended up with a lecture at seven in the evening on a Friday.
Not ideal.
You had debated skipping this class, but you told yourself that you’re going to do the responsible thing and show up to class. After all, with finals coming up, you didn’t want to make any risks that could lead to failure.
The lecture itself was the same as always. You had definitely spaced out a few times, and the dim lighting of the room combined with the slow tone of the professor was not helping one bit. By the end of the lecture, it seemed like everybody was eager to go home, and the professor had even let the lecture end ten minutes earlier.
Instantly packing up all your notes, you had promptly left the building. The chilling breeze of Gotham immediately hit you, and you sighed realizing it had begun raining. Typical Gotham weather strikes again.
You had attempted to stay under any roofs you could, but eventually you were forced to venture out into the pouring rain. Before reaching the main streets, you had taken a shortcut. A shortcut you had taken hundreds of times in the past. It was a lot less crowded, and did a better job of shielding you from the rain.
Weaving around puddles on the ground, you attempted to get out of the path as fast as possible. All you could think of is that warm taxi that would be awaiting you at the end of this alley. The end was in sight, but that vision crumbled before your eyes when the resounding blow of gunfire echoed in your enclose space. It caused you to flinch, and you immediately spun around, attempting to determine the source of the sound. You didn’t see anybody behind you, so you came to the dreadful conclusion that it came from your intended destination.
You slow to a stop, is it worth just pushing forward and attempting to run for the first taxi you see? You already made it this far, and you’d have to retrace your steps just to take the alternative path. Sighing, you move to turn around when four men in balaclavas entered the alley, running like their life depended on it. Fuck.
“You think we lost em?” One of them, still looking back, asks. He turns to face you, and you stare at each other awkwardly.
“Scream and we put a bullet through you.” Another one hisses, raising his gun to point at you. Your heart thumps against your chest as you silently raise your hands, nodding.
They don’t separate as they each point their gun at you, slowly moving around you. They keep their eyes trained on you, and you aren't entirely sure which one to look at. They eventually made their way around you, and you were stuck in this awkward stalemate. They don't move to lower their guns.
“We can’t just let her go! She’s gonna run out and yell for someone!” One of them whispers to his friend.
“So what're we gonna do?” He whispers back.
“We can kill her?” Another one suggests. Please no. You bite your tongue to keep from saying something stupid.
“No, no, bad idea. The Bat will be on our ass if we leave a body behind.” A different one responds.
“So what? We just knock her out?” One of them gestures to you with his gun.
“Probably the best idea. We’re taking too long to debate this, somebody knock her out.” The one next to him points to you. You let out a sigh of relief, at least they won’t kill you. Maybe you can get away with just pretending to get knocked out and waiting for them to leave?
“Alright, I can do it.” One of them approaches you and raises the butt of his gun. He’s about to strike down, when he is flung against the wall, startling all of you.
“Who the hell?!” A thug cries out, raising his gun, finger twitching on the trigger. You instinctively cover your head and hunch over as he swings his gun to point to you. Once you realize he’s not aiming for you, you turn your gaze from the ground up to your savior.
Red Robin? Huh, what are the chances?
You watch as he effortlessly disarms the goons before sweeping two of them off their feet. Red Robin rushes to pin them back down, but one of them uses the opportunity to strike the vigilante just above the eye with the butt of his gun. You wince, hissing in sympathy. Red Robin barely reacts, instead giving them a quick strike to the head, silencing their yells.
You feel yourself relax as you watch Red Robin turn his head to the remaining thug. He’s attempting to run away, and Red Robin pulls out a grappling hook before launching it and yanking the guy back. “Please man! Let me go!”
“Not a chance.” Red Robin replies dryly before knocking him out, similar to the guys before. With all the threats neutralized, he turns to face you for the first time. Instinctively, you stand up straighter.
“Are you okay?” He asks, shifting on his feet under your gaze.
Huh, you didn’t expect him to sound like that. You weren’t sure what you expected, the voice modulation wasn't a surprise, but his tone is somewhat discernable. You had expected something similar to the grittiness of Batman or even the charismatic confidence of Nightwing.
If anything, you’d say Red Robin sounds just as awkward as you feel right now.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” You nod, “Thanks.” You smile at him.
He returns the nod, “Yeah, of course.” He nods at you, and you smile at him. For a beat, neither of you say anything.
Well, this is going great.
“He didn't hit you too hard, right?” You break the silence, and Red Robin gives you a questioning frown. You gesture up to your own forehead, around the area you saw him get hit.
“Oh, that,” he mirrors your action, offering a small smile. “Nothing I can't handle, barely even noticed it.” He waves off your concern.
You nod, accepting that answer. “Were you the one who was chasing those guys?” You ask, and you want to smack yourself for the stupid question. Obviously he was the one chasing them.
“Hm? Oh,” he blinks down at the unconscious thugs, “yeah that was me.” He confirms. “They mention me?”
“Not by name. They just said they were being chased.” You watch as he grabs a bag off one of the thugs.
“Ah,” he clicks his tongue, “yeah that was me.” He’s not really facing you, but you can tell he’s smiling.
You purse your lips, unsure how to proceed with the conversation. Do you just leave? As you look over the scene, you notice something glint out of the corner of your eyes. You turn to Red Robin, but he isn’t looking at you. Hesitantly you approach the object, and you crouch down to look at it. It’s one of those Bat-shaped objects that the Bats carry on them.
Carefully, as if it's fragile, you pick it up. You’re surprised at first. It’s heavier than you expected, but you suppose that makes sense. To be able to do damage, it’d have to have some weight for something so small.
“You want to keep it?”
You jump as Red Robin’s voice suddenly appears right next to you. He raises his hands up, and gives an apologetic smile. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No worries.” You offer him a small smile before returning your gaze to the object. “Don’t you guys need these things?” You wave it up.
He shrugs, and the action is so normal that you want to laugh. “Batarangs?” Huh, that’s what they’re called. He waves a casual hand at you, “We have plenty. Plus, we lose them all the time. You can keep it.”
Your mouth parts, and you’re about to open your mouth when he adds on. “Consider it a souvenir.” He grins looking down for a second before reaching to rub his back, meeting your eyes again as he massages himself. You watch as his eyes flicker over your form, looking up and down.
You freeze.
Not because of the Batarang, but because of the actions.
He chuckles at your appalled expression. “I mean you don’t—” he abruptly stops speaking before letting out a deep sigh.
His sigh only causes your jaw to drop even more, yet he doesn’t notice. He mouths a quiet “Sorry” before turning away from you, speaking to whoever is calling him.
You aren’t sure what he is talking about or even who he is talking to, but you’re hit with what may be the most insane conclusion you’ve ever reached (even more insane than Tim attempting to catfish you).
You steel yourself before turning your full attention to Red Robin. He’s restless, shifting on his feet in a way that tells you that he’d rather be pacing at the moment.
There’s no way your hypothesis is correct.
Red Robin sighs again, and you see him place his hands over his mask. You narrow your eyes at the action.
It’d make sense though.
You’re willing to chalk up a few shared mannerisms to just basic human traits. A couple makes sense, that’s normal. Now if you add the fact that Tim has been the best photographer for the vigilantes you’ve ever seen?
That’s a little more suspicious.
Then if you add on the fact that he has confirmed that he’s conversed with Robin in the past?
Your eyes are locked onto Red Robin, and he must feel your piercing gaze because he turns towards you. He seems to be taken aback by your blatant staring, but you can’t even help yourself because how else do you process this? He tilts his head, and you offer a strained smile in apology before averting your gaze.
The reason he couldn’t post the photos was because the vigilantes asked him not to.
The reason he could take the photos wasn’t because he had insane luck.
You watch as Red Robin shifts on his feet once again, before tilting his head up to the sky in an exasperated motion. The action uncannily familiar.
Holy shit.
You don’t a chance to process the revelation because the reason Red Robin was looking up quickly becomes evident. You jump back as Nightwing lands casually behind Red Robin and in front of you.
He turns to face you and for a moment he looks startled by your presence before he smirks. “Ahhh, I get it now.” Nightwing grins as Red Robin slowly turns to face him. “Real important stuff to handle, huh?”
“Can you not—” You watch as Red Robin furtively glances between you and Nightwing. “I did handle stuff.” He gestures down to the unconscious bodies below, "As you can see.”
Nightwing nods, “Yuh-huh,” he places his hands on his hips as he turns around to look at the entire scene. “I’m sorry, Miss. Is this guy bothering you?” Nightwing gives you a shit-eating grin, and yup.
If you didn’t know that Red Robin is Tim before, you certainly know now. Dick looks nearly the exact same, and for a moment you ponder how people have never connected him with Nightwing, especially with the devious grin he is giving you now.
“I am not bothering her! I just sav—”
“Ah, ah, ah,” Nightwing raises his finger and shushes him softly, and you have to look away in order to avoid laughing. “Let her speak for herself.” Nightwing gestures to you in a slight bow.
Yeah, Tim. You snort as Red Robin takes a deep breath in order to calm himself. You offer a small grin to Red Robin, and he keeps his gaze trained on you, “He wasn’t a bother. He saved me from these guys. In fact—” you raise the Batarang up, “—he gave me a souvenir.” You grin at Dick.
He lets out a surprised bark of laughter before turning to Tim, who refuses to look at either of you. You think you can hear Tim mutter “Oh my God.”
“Aw, givin' out gifts to civilians now?” Dick teases Tim.
Tim groans, and you think you can see him turning red. You feel a little bad for embarrassing him in front of his brothers, but this reaction makes it all worth it. “I’m leaving.” He declares before launching his grappling hook up to the railing at the roof above you. He gives you one last look, a minuscule nod, before leaving.
You and Dick watch as he leaves before he turns back to you. “You are actually okay though, right?” He reaches out to put his hands on your shoulders before stopping and awkwardly putting them down.
You smile at Dick, nodding. “Yeah, I’m alright.”
He nods, “Well, get home safely. I’ll handle these guys.” He gestures his thumb down to the thugs on the ground. As if on cue, one of them begins to groan as they wake up. “You might wanna stay down, bud.” He gives you one last glance before winking and turning back to the thugs on the ground.
You watch him for a moment before walking out of the alley and waving down a taxi. You tell him your apartment complex, and look out the window. You rest your head on the window as you watch Gotham pass by you. You feel yourself truly relax for the first time in an hour before immediately stiffening.
How the hell are you going to tell Tim?
The day of the dinner arrives sooner than you’d like.
You are no closer to figuring out how to tell Tim that you know. You debated just texting him, but quickly threw that suggestion in the trash. Bad idea, terrible idea.
You pace your living room back and forth, trying to calm yourself. It’s not even dinner you’re worried about. What if you act oddly? Tim will definitely figure it out if you are fidgeting every five seconds. You must act normally, that can’t be too difficult? Just don’t think about it. It’s not like Red Robin or even Nightwing will come up in conversation with his family, right? That’s not really a dinner table topic.
Yeah.
You’ll be fine.
Just act normal—
Tim: I’m here
You swallow as you grab your items, giving your apartment one last look over, before exiting. You find Tim waiting in the parking lot, and you make eye contact through the windshield. He raises a hand, giving you a small smile, his other hand is lazily tapping the steering wheel.
“Thank you again for doing this.” Tim smiles gratefully at you as you step into the passenger seat. You attempt to smile back at him. You observe the interior of his car.
Hm. Red. Interesting. Almost like Red Robin—
You chuckle, more out of nerves than any actual amusement, “Yeah, no problem."
He pauses, giving you a long look before laughing softly. “Don’t be nervous. It’s relatively painless, and Alfred is making your favorite.”
You smile at the thought, “How’d you convince him to do that?”
Tim smacks his lips, “Let’s just say that my dignity isn’t in tact anymore.”
You raise an eyebrow, “I thought you didn’t have much of that?” He takes his eyes off the road for a second to give you a decidedly unimpressed expression. You return it with a smile, “I mean you practically had to beg me to show up with you—”
“Woah, okay.” His eyebrows shoot up, “First off, that wasn’t begging—”
You pull out your phone, “— ‘I'd literally get on my knees and beg if I could’” You recite his words to him, reading the text directly. When you look up, his face is a light red. You try and catch his eyes, but he is stubbornly refusing to meet your own, instead focusing on the road. “Sound familiar to you?”
He remains silent for a bit. “I— Uh— Well, no. I never heard that before.”
“Mhm, sure.” You lean your elbow against the side of the car, propping your face up. His eyes flicker over to you, and he somehow gets more red. He looks you up and down for a brief moment, and while Tim usually does that, you did notice that Red Robin also—
Nope. Do not think about your best friend’s alternate vigilante identity while in the car with him. Stay focused.
The remainder of the ride is filled with light banter, your teasing provides a reprieve from your thoughts. It’s not long before you both pull up. “Master Tim.” Alfred greets Tim before turning to you and greeting you in similar fashion. “A little birdie told me to put your favorite on the menu for tonight.” Alfred offers a small smile, and both you and Tim stiffen.
Oh. Bird puns.
Yeah, Alfred definitely knows.
“Aw, thank you, Alfred. I think the little birdie knew I wouldn’t have come otherwise.” You nudge Tim teasingly. For a moment, he doesn’t react and you wonder if he’s even breathing. “Right, birdie?” You lightly nudge Tim again.
“Yeah, uh— mhm?” You frown at the reaction. Tim shifts on his feet, and waves you off casually. “Sorry, just uh— dinner, you know? Got me stressed?”
You nod, narrowing your eyes at him slightly, “Right,” you turn back to Alfred, “Thanks again, Alfred.” You grin at him.
“My pleasure, Miss.” He inclines his head to you, “Now, if you’re ready to greet the others.” He turns around, tossing a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure you and Tim are following.
“Look who finally showed his face— Oh,” Steph abruptly cuts herself off.
“Hello to you too.” You respond dryly, taking a seat at the table.
Steph grins at you, “Hello!” She greet you before glaring at Tim. “You know what you’re doing.”
“Yep.” Tim replies dryly. He takes the seat across you, he offers you a small smirk.
“And you know we can’t do anything about it.” She huffs, shaking her head disapprovingly.
You nod solemnly, “I was informed that I was bait.”
Dick chokes on his water, “You told her that?”
“I did not tell her that.” Tim furrows his eyebrows at you, raising his hands in surrender. “She reached that conclusion on her own.”
“Is that all you told her?” Duke asks, raising an eyebrow. He looks between you both.
“Yes.” Tim nearly hisses, eyes wide as if saying “Not one more word.” He clears his throat, sparing you a quick glance, and releases a long sigh, “Is Bruce here, yet?”
“You’re attempts to change the topic at hand are futile.” Damian looks between you and Tim, evidently bored.
Dick frowns at Tim before sighing, “No… He had some last minute business to take care of. He’ll be a little late.”
“Perfect.” Tim abruptly stands up, and your mouth parts, taken aback. “It’s getting kind of hot in here. I think I need a minute. I— Uh— Do you wanna head up for a bit until Bruce shows up?” Tim turns to you.
You furrow your eyebrows, if he needs a minute, why is he asking you to come with him?
“Sure?” Tim is already walking around the long dining table, he raises his hand to gently guide you away from everybody before you get a chance to say anything else. “Isn’t this rude?” You whisper to him, his hand is still guiding your back.
“Not with them. That kind of rude doesn’t count.” Tim huffs, and you two begin the familiar trek to his room.
You release an amused huff, “For you. What if they think I’m rude or something?”
Tim spares a glance at you, as if the idea you presented is absurd. “They’ll just blame it on me.” He shrugs. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’ll deal with it later.” He rubs your shoulder casually, offering you a smile that tells you he’s used to this.
You furrow your eyebrows in concern, “If you say so…” You trail off, hesitant. He gestures for you to enter his room. The space is familiar. You’ve been here many times in the past. However, never had you known that Tim is Red Robin during those times. Your eyes survey the room in front of you. Nothing is different about it (why did you expect there to be anything different?). You slowly make your way over to his desk, a few pieces of scrap paper lay on it. Nothing incriminating. You frown looking over the contents of the paper.
Tim appears at your side, “You okay?” He asks, following your gaze to the paper.
You nod, turning to him, “Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?” You pace the room for a beat before planting yourself onto his bed, something you’ve done a million times before.
He looks you up and down, and you resist stiffening under his scrutiny. He must’ve found something because he frowns. He opens his mouth to say something, closes it, then slowly walks over to you. “I… Sorry, was asking you to come for dinner too much?” He sits down next to you, and his gaze falls down to your hand on his comforter.
You blink, looking off to the side before returning your attention to him. “No, no, it’s fine.” You shake your head, “It’s not something I haven’t done before.” You shrug, attempting to offer him a reassuring smile.
Tim’s frown doesn’t change. “You don’t actually have to do this if you don’t want to… I know I was kinda joking about needing you here, but if there’s something—”
“Tim, there’s nothing wrong. What gave you that impression?” You feel your heart race. Does he know that you know?
He meets your eyes, your heartbeat pounds in your ears, and his eyes trail down to your shoulders. “I… You just seem—” his eyes look off at something off to the side, “—distracted, is all.” Your lips part, and his gaze returns to you. “You don’t have to say anything. This isn’t me trying to pressure you into telling me if something is up.” He rambles, shaking his head.
You heave a sigh, “It’s— I don’t think you want to know, Tim.”
Perhaps that’s the wrong thing to say to a detective because Tim— despite his attempts to be sympathetic— also has that spark of curiosity in his eyes. He trains his eyes on you, as if expecting to you to continue. When you don’t, he hesitantly responds: “If— and again, this is not me pressuring you— If it helps you get something off your chest, then I will always be here to listen.”
You swallow, looking toward Tim, “That’s… Thanks, Tim. I really appreciate that.” He nods, offering you a smile, and slowly inching his hand closer to yours. You pretend not to notice. “Are you sure you want to hear what I want to say?” You whisper softly to him, smiling nervously.
He blinks, “If that’s what you wish,” he changes his focus from your hand to your face, “then yes.” He gives you a disarming smile.
Your smile grows, “This is your last chance, Tim.”
His eyes lighten up, “Well,” he chuckles, “I’m not planning on changing my mind.”
You smile, leaning closer, and Tim mirrors the action whether he knows it or not. His chest rises and falls, slow, and you look into his eyes. The blue diminishing by the second as its replaced by the growing size of his pupil.
“Do you remember the other night?” You keep the same quiet tone, the words are meant for him— and him alone.
Tim’s eyebrows raise, evidently not expecting that, “What?” His words are breathless, but still ring of confusion.
“I just… I appreciate you helping me out.” You smile at him, watching as he processes the information.
“Yeah…” He slowly nods, eyebrows furrowed. “Yeah, that… It’s no issue it all. I…” He runs a hand through his hair, his eyes are turned away from you. His eyes gloss over the ground. He must remember that you’re watching because he suddenly turns to look at you tight-lipped smile. “Yeah...” he trails off, “Could you remind me exactly what I helped you with?”
You chuckle at his attempts to play it off— and failing. “Oh, come on, Tim.” You tilt your head at him, “You remember. You gave me the souvenir.”
You can see the exact moment his soul leaves his body.
He doesn’t instantly react. Instead he stares at you (or, more accurately, through you) unblinking. At his lack of a functioning reaction, you worry that maybe this wasn’t the best idea to go about this. After all you still have to sit through dinner after this. You aren’t even sure if he’s breathing when his smile strains in a way that almost looks painful.
“What?” His voice is quiet, as if incapable of mustering up any more volume.
Your purse your lips, taking a deep breath. You don’t get a chance to respond because he continues. “I… I haven’t given you anything— I think I’d remember if I gave you a souvenir.” He laughs, slightly hysterical. “You might be thinking of somebody else?”
You sigh, slowly reaching your hand up to his chin. Tim immediately stiffens at the contact, as if afraid him moving would deter you. A small smirk grows on your face when you realize how red Tim is at your touch. Gently, you move a few strands of hair out of his face, and he doesn’t stop you. They were covering up a specific spot, and while it appears Tim did try to cover up the bruise he received from the other night, he did not do a clean enough job.
“That’s,” he swallows, “That’s uh— I fell off my skateboard.” He doesn’t attempt to move your hands away from his face.
“Mhm,” you hum disbelievingly, “in the same spot Red Robin got hit, right? You two skateboard together?” You tease lightly.
“Well, I—” he clears his throat, leaning away from you, and you don’t try to stop him. “I… think?” He presses his hands onto his face, shielding his face from your view.
You frown, amusement evident in your tone. “You don’t know?”
He shifts his hands slightly, peaking through his fingers to look at you on his side. “I… You know, maybe you were right that I didn’t want to know.”
You let out an startled puff of air, “Oh,” you begin slowly, “now you heed my warnings?”
He avoids your eyes, smacking his lips. “Okay, fine, but how did you figure it out?” He asks, resting elbow on his knee. He props his head up, rubbing his forehead as if to remove tension.
“You share mannerisms with Red Robin.” He squeezes his eyes shut at the mention of his alter ego.
His jaw drops. “There’s no way you figured me out just because I acted kinda similar. I had a voice modulator!” He whisper-yells.
You nod, “Well, yeah, initially it was just suspicion. Then Dick showed up.” You watch as Tim mouths the words “Oh my God.” You smile sympathetically at Tim, “Yeah, I don’t know how anybody who looks at Nightwing for longer than a minute doesn’t put two and two together.”
“So what you’re saying is that it’s Dick’s fault.” Tim furrows his eyebrows at you. His hands aren’t covering his face anymore.
You frown, “You sent me photos of yourself.” Tim instantly gives you a look of horror, and you watch as he begins to turn red again. “Uh— I mean you were posing for the camera as Red Robin.” You elaborate, and Tim looks no less embarrassed.
“Okay,” he holds a finger up, adjusting his position on the bed next to you. “I did not pose for the camera. I just took a photo of whatever I was doing at the moment.” He grumbles.
You nod, “Modeling, apparently.” You quietly respond, at his glare you smile back at him. “I kept the Batarang by the way. It’s sitting in my room.” His glare softens at that, and he looks at you for a beat before flopping onto his back. The action causes the bed to jostle a little bit. You follow suit, turning to face him. “I wasn’t gonna tell anybody, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He turns to face you, and the two of you are inches apart, “That wasn’t my worry. It never was.” He whispers back.
You use your arm as a pillow as he continues to stare at you, “Then what is?”
He doesn’t immediately respond, but when he does his words are soft. “I didn’t want you involved in this.” He begins. “I… I don’t want you getting hurt because you know me.”
You let out a long exhale, “Tim,” you start, reaching for his hand, “if I didn’t want to be involved, I would’ve stopped the moment you started ‘chasing after vigilantes’ for photos.” You chuckle as he sheepishly looks away at the mention of his escapades. “I like being around you, Tim. That doesn’t change just because you go out as Red Robin every night.”
He swallows, squeezing your hand, “I… I like you—” He hastily cuts himself off, “—I like being around you too.” He smiles at you, and you feel better seeing that familiar spark in his eyes. “I… You’re not mad or anything right?”
You furrow your eyebrows, “That you like me?”
Instantly, that spark is replaced by pure unadulterated horror. He sits, startling you, “No! I meant the—” at your laughter, the tension leaves his body, and he releases a soft puff of air before slowly settling next to you again. “You know what I meant.” He scoffs, but it appears more endearing than anything.
You chuckle, smiling at him, “I’m not upset, Tim. If anything it makes sense. I was wondering how you always had such clear photos of the vigilantes. Oh— Terrible way to hide your identity by the way, going around and taking selfies of yourself.” You watch as he lightly glares at you before settling down closer than he was before. “And your terrible sleeping schedule makes sense now.”
He smacks his lips, “Okay, but I have an excuse. You—” he lightly points an accusing finger at you, “— do not.”
You grin, grabbing his hand, pressing it against the soft mattress of his bed. You adjust your position, ready to defend yourself, “Oh, really—”
“Father is here. He requests your presence—” Both you and Tim jolt as if caught doing something illegal before turning to look at Damian. To nobody’s surprise, he looks wildly unimpressed (and perhaps a little disgusted) by you both.
“Damian, can’t you knock?” Tim groans, brushing off imaginary dust off himself.
Damian’s eyes linger on your hand laid casually over Tim’s. Slowly, you remove it, and Tim frowns down at his lone hand. “I did knock. I took your lack of response as permission for entry.”
“I don’t think that’s how that works… like at all.” Tim stands up, and you follow suit.
Damian eyes you both accusingly then huffs. He whips around before shutting the door behind him, leaving you and Tim there standing awkwardly.
“We… We better get down there. He’s going to tell everybody.” Tim looks over to you, eyebrows creased in worry imagining what might be conversed at the dinner table. You nod solemnly, that would not be ideal.
“Lead the way, Birdie.” You walk up to his side, and Tim freezes at the nickname. You release a loud laugh at the reaction.
“You’re lucky I don’t have time to address that.” He narrows his eyes at you, but there’s a smirk on his face.
“Aw, I knew you like me.” You grin, nudging your hand against his own.
He lets out a long sigh, and his smile turns soft. “Yeah,” he swallows, “I do.” He clasps your arm, and you give him a blinding grin.
A/N: Maybe I should just start up a collection of “civilian reader scaring the shit out of her boyfriend after figuring out he’s a vigilante but being unsure how to tell him so she goes about it in the most stressful way possible for him.” We’re going 2 for 2 and I absolutely LOVE this trope.
Anyway, sorry this took a while! I have one more final then I’m FREE! I absolutely LOVED this idea, and I really hope I did it justice. Online friend!Tim Drake has so much potential and it’s definitely an idea I wouldn’t mind revisiting in the future. As always, feel free to let me know about any major errors :)!
Funny thing, I actually had to write some small headcannons for myself of some random traits I think Tim would have so that Reader could inevitably realize Tim = Red Robin. If you guys wanna see that let me know, they aren’t very long, but you might notice a few things if you go back and reread it :)!
Tim Drake Taglist: @sebstancevanss @gaychaosgremlin @koibleufish
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You grab Tim by his tie, dragging him behind you as your high heels click against the floor and god help him he’s into it.
“Wait-“
“I said follow me. You didn’t listen.”
And you’re still dragging him. Don’t help that man he’s exactly where he wants to be. You shove him in an empty meeting room.
“You. You lied.” You back him to the wall.
“You let me handle them alone, you said you’d show up to the meeting, you did not.” You continue, a finger poking his chest accusingly. The tips of his ears go bright red.
“I wanted you to have your moment- it’s your project.” And he also wanted you at his throat but he won’t really say that.
“So you play me?”
“That’s not-“
You shush him with your index on his lips.
“Don’t cut me off, Drake.” He flushes further, letting out a little ‘mm’.
“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. You try not to smile.
“What was that? Didn’t hear you.”
He drops to his knees, arms wrapped around your body, his chin on your stomach.
“I’m sorry. Won’t do it again. I love you, baby. I’m sorry.. Forgive me..” He murmurs, half lidded blue eyes staring up at you, so freaking desperate it has you biting your lip.
You grab his face, squishing his cheeks in the process, staring down at him before laughing, leaning down and kissing him despite the awkward angle.
He’s on cloud nine.
—————————————————————————
inspired by a clip i saw of a kdrama where the fmc drags a guy by his tie,, i thought it was so tim heh..
You’ve spent the entire afternoon holed up in Tim’s bedroom, tossing and turning on his bed whilst mindlessly scrolling on your phone as he got some work done, occasionally exchanging some words.
Time’s passed uneventfully. The comfortable kind that’s only silently felt by being in each other’s presence. It was uneventful until Stephanie sent you the article that almost made you holler.
The incessant—you say incessant, though it’s really quite satisfying—clickling of the keyboard stilled at your words, then came the sound of the rolling of the chair against the floorboards. “What?” He faced you then. “With who?”
“Red Robin.”
He let out a snicker, shoulders bobbing with quiet laughter. “Oh,”
You simply held out your phone, which he took. And you saw the moment he read the title of the said article.
TIM DRAKE’S PARTNER SPOTTED KISSING WITH ONE OF GOTHAM’S MOST MYSTERIOUS VIGILANTE, RED ROBIN.
A pair of blurry, yet unmistakable pictures of you and Tim—as Red Robin— followed the juicy headline below it. You weren’t explicitly kissing in the pictures, just what looked like the aftermath of it. His hands were on your waist, your lips had a visible grin on, your foreheads were nearly touching.
Your eyes sought for his every reaction with anticipation as his eyes swept along the paragraph. Your smile grew wide with his own, amused chortles falling off your lips.
When he handed the phone back to you, his expressions playfully dimmed, looking exaggeratedly hurt, though his stare gleamed with mirth. “You’ve been cheating on me with Red Robin?” He put a hand on his chest, shaking his head with feigned disbelief. “And discard all the years we’ve been together? I’m heartbroken. Beyond inconsolable.”
“I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” You played along seamlessly, acting guilty. Even though neither of you bothered to hide your smiles. “He’s just... so much better than you are, Tim.”
His mouth turned up, leaning back in his chair, arms folding across his chest. (You had absolutely no control of the way your eyes followed and your gaze stuck onto those flexed biceps like magnet to metal.) “Yeah? What does he have that I don’t?”
You got off the bed and approached him, still sat on his chair, blue eyes following your movement as you climbed onto his lap. His hands falling to rest on your hips.
“Well, for one, he always has a mask on, that’s hot and mysterious. And he has a cool staff, and also, he seems like the type of guy who’d give his lonely partner more attention than his work,” You sighed a long, dramatic breath. “But I guess I wouldn’t know.”
Tim shook his head at your antics, huffing out a chuckle. “You’re so dramatic. I love you.” You felt lips connect to your temple, his hand drawing little stars across your spine, and you were done for.
Melting in his arms like a puddle, you sighed once more, your head falling to the crook of his neck.
“I love you, too.” you mumbled against his skin, cheek smushed against his broad shoulder.
He smiled, pulling back to meet your eyes. “Well, that's how you know not to listen to random articles,” He took the the phone again, eyes squinting at the texts. “They didn't even write your name!”
You turned, too, scowling at the phone like it was your enemy. “Right? That's so rude.”
“Seriously, put some respect on my girl’s name.” He gave your hips a small squeeze, looking considerably offended on your behalf.
You pulled back, a sheepish, yet smug and giddy smirk slowly forming on your lips.“Your girl, huh?” you asked, sweeping back his bangs.
“Yeah,” he said factually, shrugging. “My girl.”
“... I told you not to kiss me when you're Red Robin." you mumbled after a bit, your head leaning on his chest.
He winced, “Yeah, that's my bad.”
Yeah, your PR team was not going to have fun with that one.
author's note : this is so half-assed im so sorry. but the tim fic is coming up really soon, i just need to add a few more things, proofread and edit it before i post it. so in the meantime i give u this🫶🏻
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 — whereas Tim Drake had his eyes on you from the very first week of the semester, he never expected his college best friend to start dating you— the person he’d wanted all along. So now he’s praying for your (ex) boyfriend’s downfall, because God forbid a man openly plots to have you for himself instead.
cw: yearning, strangers to lovers, one-sided love, requited love, slight manipulation, mr. steal your girl(?), Tim wants reader so badly, HAPPY ENDING, fluff, irrelevant OCs, slowburn, reader is in a relationship, NO CHEATING INVOLVED, tim respectfully plays the waiting game, he is more of a plotter than a messy person.
lwk listened to girlfriend by avril lavigne & boyfriend by justin bieber on loop. wc: 16k
The first time Tim had met you, it was not anything special.
There was no dramatic collision in the hallway, no moment where time seemed to slow and the world sharpened around your face.
You were simply there, seated a few rows ahead of him in a lecture hall that smelled faintly of dry erase markers and iridescent lights, flipping through your notebook with absentminded focus and a laptop that had an open tab of a clothing brand, another piece of shirt that would compliment you.
Tim knew you both had taken a class together in the first semester, one of those general education requirements that pulled students from every major into the same crowded room.
It had been easy not to notice you then, easy to let you blend into the background of rustling backpacks and low conversation before the professor began to speak while he completely zones out.
What registered first was familiarity.
When he walked into the classroom and spotted you again in the second semester, a quiet recognition settled in his chest, the subtle surprise of realizing someone else had survived the same academic gauntlet and ended up here too.
It was rare to see a familiar face that was not tied to his major, rarer still for it to be someone he vaguely remembered for reasons he could not immediately place.
He remembered your handwriting from group work signs in sheets, the way you always underlined titles twice, the fact that you asked questions that were thoughtful without trying to impress anyone.
Someone who arrived a few minutes early and claimed the same seat near the aisle. Someone who sighed softly when the professor went off on a tangent, who laughed under your breath at jokes that barely landed. Tim noticed these things without meaning to, the same way he noticed patterns everywhere else in his life. None of it felt important at the time.
You were just another student, another name on the roster, another presence in a room full of them.
If anyone had asked him then, he would have said meeting you meant nothing at all.
Just a coincidence.
Just shared schedules and overlapping paths.
But it kind of changed when he started to interact with you.
It was never anything important, never anything that felt like the start of something. Small comments exchanged before class, a quiet complaint about an upcoming exam, a brief conversation about how unbearable the assigned readings were. Mundane things. Things he would not have remembered on any other day.
And yet, he found himself listening.
He listened when you talked about how you always forgot to bring a charger and lived in a constant state of low battery panic. He listened when you mentioned grabbing coffee after class, not as an invitation, just as information offered into the air. He listened to the way your voice softened when you spoke about things you liked, even when the topic was painfully ordinary compared to.. well, Tim’s night life.
Somehow, you had decided to sit next to him through these lectures.
You went on about your weekend plans, part time jobs, a professor you could not stand.
Tim told himself it was nothing.
He was just being polite.
Just filling the silence like everyone else did.
But somewhere along the way, he realized he was paying attention in a way he did not with anyone else.
He remembered details he did not need to remember.
The brand of pens you preferred, the way you tapped your fingers against the desk when you were thinking and the way you slightly lift your shoulders when you laughed, like you were surprised by your own amusement.
The conversations never lingered long.
They ended when class began, when one of you packed up your things, when life naturally pulled you in separate directions.
Still, he caught himself replaying them afterward, cataloging your words as if they held weight simply because they had come from you.
It unsettled him, a little.
How something so ordinary could start to feel significant.
That was when it started, when he began to have this small, itsy bitsy, nothing serious kind of crush on you.
“It was just proximity,” he told himself, over and over, as if repeating it enough times would make it true. As if that alone explained why he started waking up earlier than he ever had before, setting alarms he did not need, just so he could take his time.
Why he stood in front of his closet longer than usual, choosing something awfully comfortable yet still deliberate, still stylish in a way that looked effortless if no one thought too hard about it.
He paid attention to things he normally did not.
Made sure his hair did not resemble a bird’s nest, fingers combing through it until it sat just right. He actually showered in the morning now, instead of the night before, letting the hot water wake him fully as he went through the motions with more care than necessary.
He chose a scent that lingered without being overwhelming, something clean, something he thought you might notice if you were close enough.
And then there was the mirror.
He’d lowkey snap outfit flicks.
Sometimes, it would be little videos or photos perfectly timed to show off how his clothes fit just right, and the fact he could fit your aesthetic, or match your outfits like what couples usually do (you guys barely interacted more than 15 minutes and he doesn’t even have your instagram, because he’s a wimp to ask, even though he had found you on Instagram easily).
Everyone likes a guy that could dress and match them, right? Right.
He’d pick a song that matched the vibe as well, something cool but casual, and post it to his Instagram story, followed by hundreds of thousands of people since he’s famously one of Bruce’s adopted sons, which comes with perks and downsides (this was one of the downsides), but without making a big deal out of it.
Then, of course, he’d save those stories to his highlights, making it easy for you to stumble across them whenever you felt like it. All so you could—whether you wanted to or not— notice just how cool and awesome his fits were.
Yeah, he was a total D1-plotter, and he wasn’t even the slightest bit ashamed of it.
Because, really— if girls could do it, why couldn’t guys?
He has a second account as well, only followed by his close friends, his annoying older brothers and Damian too, but he absolutely could not wait for you to eventually be added to his spam account.
One that had more outfit flicks saved neatly in his highlights. Another filled with his friends getting up to shenanigans he would never post publicly on the main, the kind of moments meant only for people he trusted.
Mixed in between were appearances from his brothers, candid shots and blink and you miss it videos that felt oddly domestic for someone like him, and then there were the miscellaneous things. Late night thoughts typed in tiny text, blurry city lights, half eaten food, dumb memes, moments that did not need context to matter.
And because Tim is a show-off, he’s definitely bringing his skateboard to ride around campus today, so he could catch your attention, most likely talk to you, compliment your outfit of the day, ask for your Instagram, and uh, talk about how long he’s been skateboarding and if he could do a kickflip, which he abso-flipping-lutely could do one.
Not only that, he also had a highlight of videos of skateboard tricks too on his spam account, clean landings, a few near wipes, proof that he actually knew what he was doing and was not just carrying it around for show.
And boom.
There ya’ go.
Simple as that.
A small plan with a big hope: to get a little closer, one casual skate session and maybe even one date with you.
Before he knew it, Tim was out of his apartment, cruising down the sidewalks with the breeze tugging at his jacket, the familiar hum of wheels against concrete keeping his mind sharp. Up ahead, something, or rather, someone— caught his eye. A familiar figure, moving at their own pace, completely unaware of him approaching.
“Yo, Miro!”
Tim called out, his voice cutting through the morning air with an easy confidence.
He stopped smoothly, catching his skateboard with one hand and tilting it casually within his hold, like it was no effort at all.
“Hey, man!”
Miro greeted him with a laugh, already extending his hand.
Tim understood immediately, muscle memory kicking in as they went through the usual handshake without missing a beat.
Their knuckles met first, fingers bumping, followed by their fingers interlocking for a brief second, It ended with a solid dap up before Tim tugged Miro in for a quick side hug, shoulders knocking together in an easy, comfortable way that spoke of routine and familiarity rather than anything forced.
“You freshened up today, bro, tryna impress someone?”
Miro pulls away with a raised brow, clearly noticing the way Tim’s hair sat a little too neat to be accidental, the whole look pulled together in that effortlessly intentional way. And then there was the scent— something clean, subtle, and lingering just enough to be noticed when he stepped closer.
Tim scoffed, rolling his eyes as he shifted his grip on the skateboard. “What? Nah,” he said a little too quickly, which absolutely did not help his case.
He shrugged like it was nothing, like he always looked this put together, like the extra effort not been deliberate at all.
But the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying him.
“Can’t a guy look good for himself?” He added, tone light, defensive in that way that meant Miro had hit a nerve that made Miro whistled a teasing tune, nudging his shoulder against Tim’s own.
He leaned back on his heel, pretending the conversation was amusing rather than mildly exposing, even as the smell of his cologne hung in the air, undeniable proof that, yeah— he had definitely freshened up for a reason.
“You’re such a liar, Tim. Is it that girl you’ve been tellin’ me about in your class?”
Tim’s shoulders deflated.
“Yeah,” he admitted, voice dropping just a notch, “she’s the pretty girl I’ve been telling you about.” He confirms, glancing away for half a second, jaw tightening like he was bracing himself. “I wanna ask her out, but I’m flippin’ nervous.”
Miro immediately cooed in mock sympathy, dragging it out just to be annoying. “Aww,” he teased, pressing a hand to his chest. “Look at you. Tim Drake, nervous over a girl.”
Tim shot him a look, equal parts warning and embarrassment. “Don’t,” he muttered, shifting his weight, skateboard tapping lightly against the pavement. “This is serious.”
Miro just grinned wider, clearly enjoying this far too much. “Nah, I get it,” he said, still not letting go of the teasing tone. “She’s got you down bad.”
Tim huffed, rubbing the back of his neck.
Miro was more than just some random guy he talked to in passing that happened to be going in the same direction, but he was an actual friend.
They had shared a computer science class in their first semester, ended up sitting next to each other by chance, and somehow never stopped talking after that. What started as borrowing a charger and comparing notes had turned into easy conversations, inside jokes, and a familiar presence that made long lectures more bearable.
Miro is also the kind of friend who notices things.
And if anyone was going to call him out for putting in extra effort, for being nervous in a way he rarely was, it was Miro and most likely Steph.
Which made admitting it out loud both easier and infinitely more embarrassing.
“Are we still going out for drinks with Steph, Zinnia, and Ezra?” Tim asked, a little too quickly, very obviously changing the topic before Miro could dig any deeper into his small crush.
“Mhm,” Miro hummed, an entertained smile tugging at his lips at the sudden change of topic as he nodded along. “Though Ezra said he’s bringing his girl to meet us, even though he doesn’t want to.” He shook his head, a small frown settling in. “Don’t get why Ezra’s ashamed of her. It’s cool if he brings her along, y’know?”
Tim frowned at that, brows knitting together. “Ashamed?” he repeated, tone sharper than he intended. He shifted his skateboard under his arm once more, jaw tightening.
“That’s… weird, I didn’t know he had a girl.”
“Right?” Miro pitched his voice, pulling a drink from the side of his bag. “Like, either you’re with someone or you’re not, hiding her just makes it worse and yah’ I didn’t know either.”
Tim nodded slowly, the thought sticking with him longer than he expected. The idea of being embarrassed by someone you chose to be with rubbed him the wrong way.
He exhaled, forcing his expression back to neutral.
“Ya’ think it’s like a situationship? I thought he was still hung up with ya’know who.”
Miro snorts at that.
“Nah,” Miro said immediately, waving it off. “Even though Ezra keeps talkin’ about how many people he’s getting and all that, he’s been telling me she’s a keeper and that he’s moved on from that big ol’ crush.”
Tim hummed at that, thoughtful, eyes briefly dropping to the pavement, letting Miro run his mouth to fill the silence between them as he took a swig of his bottled water. “Man, how does Ezra do it?” Miro muttered, kicking a pebble. “Dude has the charisma that could probably rival Nightwing.”
Miro scoffs, but Tim raised a brow at his own words, the comparison landing heavier than he expected.
His older brother’s vigilante name had a way of doing that, slipping into conversations uninvited and lingering longer than necessary, becoming a symbol to Gotham and his charm that had women posting forums about how they bet he looks good underneath that mask.
Dick had always been like that, though.
Effortless charm, easy smiles, and the kind of presence that pulled people in without trying.
“I would pay to see Nightwing and Ezra going toe to toe,” Tim mused, lips quirking up as the image formed in his head.
He already knew how it would end.
Ezra would lose.
Badly.
Even with a pretty face, it did not come close to Dick Grayson, which he could honestly admit— it was a fact that everyone and their mama knew.
That was just an unfair comparison.
Dick’s face is literally a public service at this point, plastered across magazines and billboards, the undisputed #1 lethal face card of the Wayne family, according to Reddit, Twitter, and an article that had statistics, polls, and the golden ratio of their face displayed on Gotham Gazette’s ranking on the Wayne family.
It was the kind of face that launched headlines, sponsorships, and unnecessary levels of public adoration.
Tim shook his head, half amused, and half resigned.
It was wild growing up next to that kind of genetic overachievement that did things to a person. Still, he could not deny it. If charisma were a competition, Nightwing would win without even realizing he was playing.
Tim was fine with that.
He was perfectly content sitting at number three on Gotham’s Gazette ranking, unofficially crowned “pretty boy” by the internet and whatever unhinged ranking system people had cooked up that week.
A pretty boy should be with a pretty girl.
And you’re a pretty girl.
“Hey, don’t bail on us again,” Miro nudges his shoulder into Tim’s.
Tim stumbled half a step, scoffing as he steadied himself. “I don’t bail,” he protested automatically, even though they both knew that was a lie.
“You and Steph bail way too much,” Miro continued, pointing at him. “You guys gotta stop studying for once and live a little.”
Tim sighed, eyes flicking away as he adjusted his grip on the skateboard. “Alright, alright,” he conceded. “We’ll live a little.” He paused, then added more quietly, “No promises, though.”
Miro grinned, clearly taking that as a win anyway.
Even if he did not know the exact reason why Tim and Stephanie were always the first to cancel, always the ones juggling too much, there was a reason for it.
One neither of them could ever say out loud.
The weight of responsibility sat heavy on their shoulders, the unspoken duty of protecting the city of Gotham shaping their choices long before plans with friends ever could.
“Hey, after classes wanna go grab lunch?” Miro offered, grinning like he already knew the answer.
And he did.
“Yeah,” he accepts, like it was the simplest decision in the world. “I’m down.”
Obvious, really.
If you thought Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne would obtain your phone number, then you were dead wrong.
He was far too much of a wimp to ask.
Instead, he stuck with the casual approach, offering a compliment on your outfit as he watched you walk in dressed cutely. You always tended to dress up a bit more on Fridays, he had noticed that over time. A little extra effort, a little more intention, like you already had plans waiting for you once the day was over.
Most likely going out with your friends, since your Instagram did not show any highlight of a significant other. No tag in your bio, no initials tucked beside your name, no subtle hints hidden in your profile picture.
Tim had noticed all of it, cataloged it without meaning to, filed it away like evidence he was not supposed to be collecting.
“Hey, Tim.” You greet, “you look nice today.”
“Hey, UH, um,” he started, the words tripping over each other as soon as you sat down beside him. He froze for half a second, watching you turn toward him, grinning with clear amusement at how flustered he suddenly was.
He cleared his throat. “Thanks, your outfit looks really nice too,” he managed, finally meeting your eyes. “Going somewhere?”
The question hung there, casual on the surface, but his heart was already racing ahead of it, waiting to see what you would say.
““Thank you— cat got your tongue?” you teased playfully, your smile only widening as you spoke. “But yeah, I’m gonna be with a few of my friends at the shopping center.”
The way your mouth curved when you smiled did something to him, a quiet rush of satisfaction settling in his chest. Tim felt his chest loosened as he nodded along, listening closely, like every word mattered. “That’s nice,” he softly replied. “Anything particular you’re getting?”
You perked up at that, launching into a small tangent about something you had been eyeing for a while, hands moving as you spoke and pulled out your phone to show an image of models wearing the products you’ve been looking for. Tim listened, really listened, mentally noting every detail even though he did not need to.
“A red scarf?” he repeated, brows lifting slightly.
He paused, eyes flicking over you for half a second longer than necessary. “That would… look good on you,” he added, softer now. “Compliments you a lot.”
Tim had a red scarf in his closet, it’s the exact same brand and color of a burgundy red from the picture you’ve shown.
He got it last year from Kon.
Perhaps, he could wear that scarf when he goes out for drinks with the others later tonight?
Yeah.
“Really, you think so?” you asked, and Tim could have sworn your eyes twinkled as you fiddled with your necklace, fingers brushing the chain in a way that felt unintentionally devastating and he could tell that you’re imagining the red scarf on you.
“Yeah,” he repeated, a little more certain this time. His voice softened, earnest without trying to be. “I do.”
He shifted slightly in his seat, forcing himself to hold your gaze even as his heart picked up speed.
“Thank you.” You were grinning brightly, flustered from the way you stopped fiddling on your necklace and decided to prop your hand against your chin, glancing away from Tim’s gaze to his skateboard that’s settled beside the space you’re in, settled on the nose and tail of the board, displaying the deck that only had stickers filled every corner of the space, leaving no room.
“You skate?”
Tim’s face lit up immediately, the nerves easing just a bit. “Yeah,” he admits, almost too quick, shifting the board with his foot so it leaned closer into view. “For a while now, actually.” He glanced at you, catching the interest in your eyes on the stickers.
“Most of these are from places I’ve been or people I’ve met,” he explained, a little sheepish. “I keep telling myself I’ll stop adding them since it’s already filled, but I never do.”
He straightened when he realized he was rambling, clearing his throat. “Uh— do you skate too? Or just appreciating the aesthetic?” There was a hint of a smile there, something softer, hopeful.
Your eyes flicked back up to his, amused, and the way you leaned in just a bit made his chest tighten.
“Kind of, but it never stuck around.” You shrugged, “it’s definitely fun, I enjoy longboards to cruise, but nothing crazy.” Tim positively hummed at that, a plan forming within his mind.
“Well, if you don’t mind, you should definitely ride along with—”
The door swung open.
The professor walked in with an announcement that cut straight through the low hum of conversation, immediately pulling everyone’s attention forward and shutting Tim’s offer down mid sentence. He froze, mouth closing just as quickly as it had opened.
You glanced at him, lips tugging into a small, pitying smile that made his chest ache a little. You leaned closer, whispering, “tell me after?”
Tim nodded, just once, trying not to smile too hard as he turned back toward the front. “Yeah,” he murmured.
“After.”
The lecture dragged on in a blur of slides and half-heard explanations, Tim’s focus slipping every time his mind circled back to you.
He replayed the moment over and over, the way you’d leaned in, the quiet promise in your voice. Tell me after.
He told himself he wouldn’t forget.
That he’d wait, that he’d bring it up when the second class ended.
Except class ended too fast.
People stood, bags zipped, chairs scraped against the floor. Someone asked him a question about notes and someone pointed out his skateboard asking where’d he got it from. And by the time Tim looked up again, you were already halfway out the door, glancing back once with a small wave before disappearing into the hallway.
He lifted his hand too late.
And just like that, the moment was gone.
Hours later, he was sitting at the bar with Miro and Steph at a circular booth table, nursing a drink he hadn’t touched much, wearing that red scarf you mentioned, to fight the cold outside but a reminder he served himself of his failure today.
The place was loud enough to blur the edges of the day, music humming low, glasses clinking around them.
“I literally had the perfect opening,” Tim was saying, frustration leaking into his voice despite how casually he tried to sound. “She told me to tell her after. After. And then I just— didn’t.”
Steph stared at him, unimpressed, twirling around a lock of her blonde hair. “You didn’t… what? Ask her to ride with you?”
For half a second, a wildly inappropriate image flashed through Tim’s mind.
He immediately shut it down.
“No,” he groaned, dropping his head back against the booth. “I forgot. It just completely flew over my head. By the time I realized, she was gone.”
Miro blinked at him. Once. Twice. “Tim,” he said slowly, “you’re telling me you fumbled a clean invite because you got distracted and didn’t even ask for her socials?”
“Yes,” Tim snapped, then sighed, rubbing his face. “Yes. That is exactly what I’m saying.”
Steph shook her head, already laughing. “That’s actually tragic.”
“I’m actually mad at myself,” Tim muttered, staring into his glass like it had personally betrayed him. “I had a plan…”
Miro snorted, not even trying to hide it.
“Congrats, dimwit.”
Tim shot him a look, but the bite wasn’t there. He exhaled instead, shoulders slumping as the frustration finally settled in. “Next time,” he wished quietly, more to himself than to them.
Steph raised her glass, eyebrow arching as she clinked it lightly against the table.
“You say that every time.”
Tim winced, glaring at her at the comment, but before he could utter a word in his own defense, someone finally joined them.
“Heyy!”
Zinnia slid into the booth next to Steph, grinning like she hadn’t just shown up late. “Sorry, it took me a bit of time to get here— I just saw Ezra and his girl outside talkin’ bout something. They should be coming in any moment now.”
Miro waved a hand dismissively over the thrum of the music. “Nah, you’re good!” he called back, already shifting to make room.
Tim leaned back against the booth, the tension easing just a bit as the table filled out again, though his thoughts stubbornly lingered on everything he hadn’t said earlier that day.
Yeah, he won’t mess up next time.
“Yo!”
A familiar male voice grabbed Tim’s attention, pulling his focus toward the entrance. His head turned automatically— only for his eyes to widen, just briefly, at the figure standing beside Ezra.
“Sorry we were late,” Ezra started, a hand lifting in apology. “My girl was fixing her— ow!”
You nudged his side hard, sharp enough to shut him up. Your lips dipped into a brief frown before a smile slid into place, easy and practiced, like nothing had happened at all.
“Sorry, sorry, I was joking! There was traffic.”
Tim’s brain short circuited.
You.
Here.
With Ezra.
The room felt a little louder all of a sudden, the music pressing in as he stared a second too long before catching himself.
His grip tightened around his glass, disappointment settling heavy in his chest, quiet and unwelcome, as the realization hit him all at once.
Fucking hell.
“Yeah, traffic has been bad, but I’m glad to meet Ezra’s friends!” You smiled before introducing yourself easily, shaking Miro’s hand when he offered it, your smile warm and polite. Then you slid into the circular booth, settling in beside Zinnia like you belonged there, like this was natural, adjusting your blue scarf.
Wait, blue scarf?
“I like your nails, they’re cute!” You complimented Zinnia, seeing the cute charms on them as she flashes them to you for a closer look.
“Thank you! I got them done at—”
You nodded along, laughing at something funny with Zinnia when Steph mentioned something.
And then your gaze lifted.
It locked onto Tim.
For half a second, everything stalled.
The disappointment didn’t disappear, but it shifted, tangled with something sharper— surprise, maybe, or hope he didn’t want to name. Your expression softened when you recognized him, brows lifting just slightly, a smile tugging at your lips like you were pleasantly caught off guard.
Tim swallowed, forcing himself to straighten, to look normal, to look unfazed. His mouth curved into something that resembled a smile, even as his thoughts scrambled.
Of all places.
And of all people.
You had to date fucking Ezra.
“Tim, I didn’t know you’re friends with Ezra!” You exclaimed, eyes bright with genuine surprise as you glanced between him and Ezra.
Ezra hummed thoughtfully, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as he glanced between you and Tim. “You know Tim?” he asked you, watching you nod your head, explaining you have a class with him.
“Ezra and I have been friends for a while,” Tim replied to your unanswered question. “Miro was the one who introduced us.”
Miro grinned, clearly proud to have brought them together.
“Yeah, small world, isn’t it?”
Tim thinned his lips, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.
“Yeah,” he mumbled. “A small world.”
Steph leaned in, curiosity bright in her eyes. “So how long have y’all been together? We didn’t even know Ezra was talkin’ to someone,” she said lightly, like it was just friendly banter.
Tim took a slow sip of his drink, gaze dropping to the glass. He wondered, distantly, if you’d take that to heart, if it stung even a little to realize his friends hadn’t known about you.
“Oh, we just recently made things official,” you answered easily. “Two weeks ago, maybe? We’ve been dating for like a month and a half, but we’ve known each other for a while as friends.”
“That’s cool,” Miro comments, leaning back. “Congrats on the new development.”
“Yeah,” Steph added, smiling at you. “Happy for you guys.”
Tim forced himself to follow suit, lips curving into something polite. “Yeah. That’s— nice.” His voice came out quieter than he meant, so he cleared his throat and took another sip, mostly to give himself something to do.
Ezra draped an arm along the back of the booth behind you, casual, like it was second nature.
Tim noticed the way you didn’t lean into it immediately, just a half second pause before settling.
He hated that he noticed.
Hated more that it gave him hope.
“So,” you dragged the ‘o’, turning slightly, eyes landing on Tim again. “You come here often?”
The question caught him off guard.
He blinked once, then nodded. “Uh. Yeah. With them,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the table. “It’s kind of our usual spot.”
You smiled, warm and familiar, the same one from earlier that day, like nothing had changed.
Tim’s chest tightened.
He told himself to get it together.
You were taken.
Ezra was his friend.
This was a dangerous territory.
Still, as the conversation carried on and the night settled in, Tim couldn’t shake the quiet, persistent thought that kept circling back.
A mischievous, devious glint sparked in his heart.
He was late.
But not too late.
Don’t get him wrong— Tim wasn’t about to earn the label homewrecker, and he wasn’t about to turn you into a cheater or make Ezra one either.
He wasn’t like that.
He wouldn’t let Ezra cross that line, wouldn’t let things unravel in a way that hurt people for the sake of his own feelings.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be patient.
He would keep things clean.
Honest.
If anything were to happen, it would be because feelings shifted on their own, because choices were made freely, not because he forced them into the wrong shape. He’d wait, pick apart a relationship piece by piece.
Be there in the spaces where Ezra wasn’t paying attention.
If the door ever opened, even just a crack, Tim would step through only when it was right.
Until then, he’d play the long game.
“Hey,” he called, saying your name just loudly enough to catch your attention.
You turned toward him, brows lifting in question.
“You don’t mind tutoring me, do you?” he asked, tone easy, almost sheepish as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I know the current subject— you’re better at it than I am. Would you be okay with that?”
It was harmless on the surface. Academics, it was reasonable. He wasn’t asking for anything that crossed a line, wasn’t pushing for something personal.
He only requested help.
Even though his grade was perfectly fine and he understood the subject well.
You nodded.
“Sure! I don’t mind. We can probably do it over the weekend, does tomorrow work?”
Tim hummed in response, already running through his schedule in his head. Tomorrow he had things to take care of— leads Dick had asked him to follow up on, work that mattered, work that usually came first.
Normally, he wouldn’t hesitate.
This time, he did.
“Yeah,” he said after a beat, decision made. “The weekend works.”
Dick would understand, he always did.
“You’re not getting turnt?” Miro asked you, tilting his head with a grin, clearly assuming your plans lined up with the rest of the group.
Tim stayed quiet, lifting his glass, listening a little too closely to your answer. It was honestly a good thing he’d never mentioned your name around Steph or Miro— not yet, anyway. He knew it was only a matter of time before they caught on.
You can’t really hide anything from the bats’.
“I’ll still drink!” You laughed, shaking your head with a smile. “Not too much, though, since I do know—” you nudged your head gently against Ezra’s side, “this guy’s going to get blackout drunk, and someone has to drive us home.”
Ezra laughed, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “Yeah, yeah, don’t remind me. Someone’s gotta keep me in check.”
Tim watched the exchange quietly, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips.
Zinnia frowned playfully. “Girl, don’t even worry— I rarely drink, so if you need a ride, I’ve got you. Same with Tim.” She points at him. “He’s not lightweight, so he can handle his shit.”
Tim glanced at her, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he nodded slightly.
It wasn’t just about handling his drink; he’d be there to make sure you got home safe, no matter what.
“Yeah, I know Ezra can be a handful,” Tim smirks, voice steady but quiet. “So I don’t mind taking you home— if he doesn’t mind, of course.”
Tim looked over at Ezra, eyes steady as he waited for his response.
Ezra just shrugged, flashing that easygoing grin.
“Whatever works. As long as you don’t make me miss out on all the fun.” Ezra begins to lift himself out of the booth, ready to hit the bar.
Tim smirked slightly, already knowing this was his way of giving a reluctant okay.
You caught Tim’s glance and smiled softly, a subtle acknowledgment passing between you both.
Steph nudged him sharply on the elbow, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “Come on, Tim, pool’s waiting,” she teased, tugging him toward the center of the bar.
Tim sighed, rolling his eyes, but the smile tugging at his lips said otherwise— he wasn’t really complaining.
The night blurred after that.
Tim didn’t remember much.
Actually, that was a lie.
He remembered a lot.
Every laugh, every glance, and every quiet moment tucked between the noise.
He watched you from the edge of the group, eyes quietly tracking as you went head-to-head against Ezra, Miro, Steph, and Zinnia at the pool table. You had the confidence, cockiness, and a tongue that had sharpness when you landed another ball within the hole effortlessly.
Your fingers absentmindedly fiddled with the little stick of your too many cocktails, a subtle sign of nerves or excitement— Tim couldn’t tell which.
When Zinnia fired off a sharp remark at Ezra that made you laugh, you bit down on your bottom lip, and Tim caught the small, almost shy gesture.
Then, after a few more drinks, it was clear you’d taken Zinnia’s offer to heart, leaning a little too heavily on the idea that either she or Tim would be willing to give you a ride home.
You got along with everyone easily.
“She’s cute— hic— isn’t she?” Ezra slurred slightly, clearly well into his drinks, following Tim’s gaze toward you with Zinnia. He watches you nudge Zinnia’s arm playfully, teasing you with a wide, mischievous grin.
“Yeah, she’s getting pretty close to Zinnia easily, and everyone else.” Tim plainly comments, still looking at them without a glance to Ezra, his voice calm and steady. There wasn’t an ounce of jealousy in his tone— just quiet admiration, watching you from the circular booth, fully aware that Ezra was the one lucky enough to be in a relationship with you.
A sharp thud echoed against the table, but Tim barely flinched. It was most likely just Ezra slapping another drink down with a bit too much enthusiasm.
“Make sure you treat her—“ Tim started, his words trailing off into a loud snore that cut through the noise.
He furrowed his brow and finally looked over, only to see Ezra face-planting straight onto the table, completely out cold.
“You’re kidding,” Tim muttered under his breath.
It was to be expected.
And that usually meant it was time to wrap things up.
The night finally caught up to everyone all at once.
Zinnia was the first to react, leaning forward to check on Ezra, pressing two fingers to his neck like she was taking a pulse.
“He’s alive,” she announced. “Barely.”
Steph laughed, grabbing her purse. “Alright, that’s our cue. Someone grab his keys before he wakes up and tries to prove he’s invincible.”
Miro slid Ezra’s drink out of reach to make sure it doesn’t spill and shook his head.
“Told him to pace himself, which he never listens to.”
Tim stood, slipping his jacket on as his eyes searched for you without thinking. You were still by the pool table, gathering all of the numbered balls and organizing things back to its place.
He approached calmly, not making it a big deal. “Hey,” he said gently, catching your attention. “Looks like your boyfriend’s officially done for the night.”
You blinked, glancing past him to where Ezra was being carefully propped upright by Miro and Steph, his head tilted down. “Oh… wow,” you laughed softly, a little dazed.
“Yeah, that tracks.”
Tim smiled, easy and reassuring. “Zinnia said she could give you a ride, or—” he paused, just enough to make it sound casual, “—I can, if you want. Whatever you’re more comfortable with.”
No pressure.
“Hm, it just depends which way you guys are going,” Tim nodded, offering a simple explanation without overthinking it. “Well, if it helps— I’m heading toward the school. My apartment’s pretty close to it, so I’m willing to give you a ride over there.”
You straightened a bit, visibly perking up. “Sweet, my apartment is around the school too!”
Tim internally screams.
“Oh—nice,” he replies. “That works out then.”
Zinnia shot him a look, one that spoke of an understanding, before turning her attention back to Ezra, who was already half-asleep again. “Alright, that settles it,” she declared. “You’re with Tim.”
Steph hummed approvingly.
“Responsibility buddy system. Love to see it.”
Tim shrugged like it was nothing, beginning to walk towards the exit with you.
“I’ll make sure she gets back safe.”
“Alright, bye Tim! And it was nice meeting you—” Zinnia called out, already half-turned as she wrangled Ezra on her shoulder with Miro that also offered their farewells.
“Yes, I hope to see you guys soon!” You chuckled.
“Text us when you’re home!” Steph added, waving.
Tim lifted a hand in a brief wave, an easy smile in place.
“Night.”
It was just the two of you now.
“You good?” he asked gently. “Not too dizzy?”
Outside, the cool air hit sharper, the night quieter than the bar had been. You walked side by side toward the lot, steps a little unsteady but determined. Tim matched your pace without comment, subtly positioning himself closer to the curb, like it was instinct.
“Yeah, I’m good,” you said with a small laugh. “I didn’t drink too much, but definitely don’t put me behind the wheel.”
Tim huffed softly, amused. “Yeah, that’s probably for the best.”
He unlocked his car and held the door open for you without making a big show of it, waiting until you were settled before closing it gently. Once he slid into the driver’s seat, he adjusted the mirrors out of habit, movements easy and familiar.
“Seatbelt,” he reminded lightly, already pulling out of the lot once you were ready. “I would hate taking my midterms just to get taken out by bad decisions.”
You chuckled, shaking your head before buckling in and taking his phone when he offered it to you, the screen still warm in your hands as you typed in your address. Tim glanced over just long enough to confirm the route, nodding once before his attention returned to the road.
“Alright,” he said easily. “Got it.”
The car filled with a comfortable quiet, the city lights slipping past the windows. Tim kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the console, occasionally tapping along to the low music playing through the speakers.
Every so often, he’d glance over, just to make sure you were alright, that you hadn’t drifted off.
“I couldn’t help but notice you’re wearing a blue scarf instead of red,” Tim remarked, eyes flicking to the fabric with a curious tilt.
You blinked, a small ‘oh’ slipping out as your expression shifted. “Yeah, they were sold out of red,” you admitted with a slight frown. “There were only a few colors left, so I went with blue— it’s a safe, neutral choice.”
Tim glanced over at you, then at the scarf, a soft smile tugging at his lips.
“Blue works,” he said easily. “Looks good on you. Kinda brings everything together.”
He paused, eyes flicking back to the road before adding, a little quieter, “But honestly? Red would definitely look better.”
He lifted a hand briefly, tugging at the edge of his own scarf. “So if you want,” he offered, tone casual like it wasn’t a big deal at all, “I’m willing to trade with you.”
You glanced at him, a small, surprised smile tugging at your lips. “Trade scarves?” you asked, amusement shining in your eyes.
“It’s the same brand and everything?”
“Yep,” Tim popped the ‘p’ with a playful grin, clearly enjoying the way you practically lit up in your seat.
“Well, if it’s the same brand, I guess that makes it official,” you grinned, reaching out to tug lightly at the end of your blue scarf.
Tim chuckled, the sound easy and warm.
“Guess it does.”
Then, you unfold the blue scarf, leaving it on your lap while Tim lends you the red scarf, his gaze still forward.
“I just realized— I don’t have your number, or your socials. And since we’re supposed to study together…”
You smiled, holding out your phone expectantly.
Tim’s eyes flicked up, a small spark of surprise and something else, shining through.
He quickly pulled out his own phone, unlocking it as he met your gaze before focusing it back on the road, conveniently the light turning red.
“Guess I’m going to have to fix that.”
You grinned, tapping your screen as you handed Tim your phone.
Tim took it, fingers moving swiftly but deliberately, the soft glow of the screen illuminating his focused expression.
Once he was done, he handed it back with a small smile.
“There. Now you’ve got me on speed dial.”
You laughed softly, slipping your phone back into your pocket.
“If you already follow Ezra on Instagram, you’ll find me pretty easily,” Tim added with a sly grin, his voice casual but carrying a hint of something more.
You raised an eyebrow, amused.
“Is that your way of making sure I can’t avoid you?”
He shrugged, still smiling.
“Maybe, or I’m making it easier for us to actually hang out.”
You chuckled, shaking your head but clearly entertained.
“Clever move, I’ll hold you to that.”
When Tim finally reached your apartment, (10 minutes away from his own) he waited until you were safely within before pulling away, but the night lingered in the air— a promise of what could come next.
Especially when he’s finally lying in his bed, staring up at the ceiling with a dazed look, his fingers tracing the soft fabric of the blue scarf you’d exchanged.
His phone buzzes suddenly, breaking the quiet.
He glances down to see a new notification—
You have a new follower!
Tim’s lips twitched into a small, knowing smile as he unlocked his phone, the familiar username lighting up the screen.
Months.
It took months to get to where Tim was now.
Tim had grown bolder— maybe even too bold.
What had started as small gestures and subtle attentions had slowly shifted into something more confident, more intentional.
His friends began to notice.
The way he lingered a little longer in conversations with you, how his smiles held a different kind of warmth, how his presence seemed to quietly claim space beside you.
Ezra, distracted and careless, unwittingly gave too many openings, moments where his attention drifted, words left unfinished, or promises forgotten, leaving cracks wide enough for Tim to slip through with ease.
He started painting himself in a better light— not because he wanted to manipulate, but because he genuinely believed you deserved someone better.
Tim wasn’t one for games or deception; he was honest, sometimes brutally so.
He just couldn’t stand the idea of you falling for Ezra’s careless promises and half-truths.
“Strange, you say he’s doing homework? We were playing a game for a couple of hours with Miro,” Tim remarked one afternoon, a hint of frustration slipping into his voice.
When you were in the library together, you often found yourself venting to him— about Ezra being late, canceling plans, or how you had to keep asking to meet his other friends, always feeling a little on the outside quite disappointed after being friends for a long time.
Tim listened quietly, letting you speak without interruption, his expression softening.
“You’re really patient, I don’t know how you put up with that,” Tim commented, leaning casually against his chair.
Inside, he was quietly cheering for every one of Ezra’s slip-ups, each missed call, every forgotten promise, because it made this whole thing disgustingly easy.
An unspoken opening formed, clearing the path for a clean break.
Tim’s voice softened, almost careful.
“You deserve better than that, you know.”
Him.
Give him a chance.
You are on his spam account, a secret corner of Instagram where he quietly follows you and posts things meant just for you to notice. He shares Instagram stories that catch your eye, knowing you’ll like them. Each post is carefully chosen, like a subtle message only you can understand.
He often checks your Instagram Notes, the little snippets where you share song lyrics. When he sees a song from a particular artist you like, he posts a track from the same artist onto his notes as well. It’s his way of connecting without saying a word, hoping you’ll see it and send that tiny heart reaction that means everything to him.
When he uploads videos of himself skating, you don’t hesitate to comment or message him, teasing him to do a kick-flip. After a few tries, he finally nails it and sends you a video just to show off. It feels like a private celebration, something between the two of you.
Every time you spend time together, no matter how casual the hangout, he posts a photo or a story of the both of you, or how you always show up in his spam posts.
Steph caught on pretty quickly to how much time Tim had been spending with you.
Her brow raised the moment she noticed his hand brushing against yours and how you didn’t pull away.
Later, during patrol, she didn’t hold back.
“Hey, Tim,” her voice crackled through the comms, sharp and teasing. “You’ve been awfully cozy with someone lately. What’s going on?”
Tim hesitated for a moment, then grinned.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied, though the tone didn’t quite convince.
Steph’s laughter came through, warm and knowing.
“You’re lying, isn’t she still with Ezra?”
Tim shrugged, a small smirk tugging at his lips.
“It’s not like she’s married, Spoiler.”
Spoiler gasps.
“Red Robin, you dirty dog! You better not cause any drama in the friend group, or become a homewrecker!”
“Oh trust, I won’t.”
There’s a pause, just long enough to make it sting, before Tim snickers softly into the comm. “But she wouldn’t say no to seeing her favorite band, would she?”
Another sharp, scandalized gasp crackles through the line.
“Tim!”
He can practically hear the glare through the static. He grins anyway, fingers tapping idly against the console as if he hasn’t already crossed several invisible lines.
“What,” he says, faux-innocent. “It’s just a concert, friends do nice things for each other.”
If Tim were your boyfriend, he would never let you go— always keeping you close, his arm draped around yours like you belonged there.
He’d notice when you’re cold, slipping his jacket over your shoulders without a word, making sure you stayed warm.
He’d never leave you alone in a crowd, always by your side, a quiet but constant presence.
And sometimes, he’d act like he already was, like the time he absentmindedly picked lint off your sweater, his fingers brushing your skin with a tenderness that felt surprisingly intimate and the look you gave him absolutely melted him.
The way you looked at him, the softness in your eyes, it was enough to make him forget everything he told himself about waiting.
He nearly wanted to break his own morals, screw the friendship he had with Ezra, to kiss you right then and there.
But he held back, swallowing the urge, knowing some lines shouldn’t be crossed— at least not yet.
After a few months, Miro finally caught on.
They were sitting across from each other in a quiet café, just the two of them, talking about life and whatever else came up. The conversation drifted, as it often did, until Miro brought up something he’d been meaning to ask.
“So,” Miro said, smirking as he nudged Tim’s shoulder lightly, “you’re not trying to steal Ezra’s girl, are you?”
Tim’s lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes flicking away quickly, avoiding Miro’s gaze.
He didn’t answer right away.
The silence between them spoke volumes.
“You’re kidding.”
And eventually, it leads to Tim explaining himself. Not all at once, not cleanly, but enough for Miro to understand what’s really been going on.
Miro goes quiet as it sinks in.
Too quiet and blocking everything out.
He pushes his chair back, standing abruptly, muttering that he needs to go before he says something he can’t take back.
Tim barely has time to react before Miro is already heading for the door. The last thing Tim catches is a sharp glare thrown over his shoulder, disbelief written plainly across his face.
It wasn’t until two days later, they were on call together.
“You’re respecting her boundaries though, right? She doesn’t know you like her?” Miro asked through FaceTime, sprawled across his bed, reading glasses perched low on his nose as he watched Tim demolish his food after the debrief once he’s fully explained the entirety with Miro opening his ears once again.
Tim didn’t look up right away.
He chewed, swallowed, then shrugged like it was obvious.
“Of course I am.”
He finally glanced at the screen, expression calm in a way that felt rehearsed. “She doesn’t know. I’m not… crossing anything.”
A beat. Then, quieter, more certain, “I’m just being there.”
He took another bite, unfazed, like he hadn’t just admitted to hovering in the margins of your life, waiting for the moment you’d realize he fit better than the person you were already with.
“Yo, that’s genuinely the most insane thing you’ve ever done, Timothy Jackson Drake.”
Miro snorts, laughter bubbling out of him as Tim rolls his eyes, completely unbothered.
“It’s not insane,” Tim says, tone flat, defensive in the way only he can be. “I’m not doing anything wrong.”
Miro lifts a brow behind his glasses. “You are actively emotionally investing in your best friend’s girlfriend, if that doesn’t say anything wrong then I don’t know what does and you’re lucky you explained yourself before I would’ve had Ezra blasted you.”
Tim scoffs, reaching for his drink. “I’m being supportive.”
Another laugh from Miro, sharper this time. “You’re being strategic.”
Tim doesn’t correct him.
“Fuck’s sake, bro, how long have you been plottin’ on her?” Miro exclaims, shifting to sit straighter on the bed.
Tim huffs, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’m not plotting.”
Miro just stares at him through the screen, unimpressed.
“…Okay,” Tim concedes after a second, quieter. “I don’t know. Longer than I should have.”
He picks at the edge of his bowl, jaw tightening. “Long enough to know she deserves better. Long enough to know I could be that, if I was given the chance.” Tim huffs, stabbing his fork through his food. “Ezra has the most unbelievable girlfriend in the world and he doesn’t even know it.”
“That’s not an answer, Tim.”
Tim looks away.
“Since the bar.”
A beat.
“THE FUCKIN’ BAR?”
Miro yells, nearly dropping his phone as he jolts upright.
Tim winces.
“Lower your voice.”
“You met her at a bar,” Miro hisses, eyes wide, “and instead of doing the normal thing, like moving on or being a decent human being, you decided to emotionally annex your best friend’s girlfriend?”
Tim’s jaw tightens. “I didn’t know she’d end up with him.”
“That makes it worse!”
Tim finally looks back at the screen, expression serious, almost stubborn.
“To be fair, I knew her before the bar,” Tim says, pointing at the screen with his fork. “She was the girl I told you about, from my class. The one I wanted to ask out.” He picks his food and eats it.
Miro just stares, disbelief spilling out in half-formed sounds. “I— I genuinely— what— how could you— is that why you stopped talking about ‘pretty girl’?” His eyes widened, everything clicking to him.
“That was her!?”
Tim doesn’t answer right away.
He drops his gaze to his plate, letting go of his fork into his bowl.
“Well,” he mutters, almost to himself, folding his arm to lean closer to his propped up phone. “She’s going to be mine eventually...”
Miro goes dead silent.
“…Tim,” he says carefully, “you sound clinically insane.”
Miro exhales slowly, scrubbing a hand down his face like he’s trying to reset reality, carefully not breaking his glasses. “You cannot say shit like that and then act normal,” he mutters. “That’s not confidence, that’s a manifesto.”
Tim shrugs, too casual for someone who just admitted to mentally claiming his best friend’s girlfriend. “I’m not acting on it, not directly.”
“Timothy.”
“I’m waiting,” Tim corrects, voice steady. “There’s a difference.”
Miro lets out a sharp laugh once more. “You’re waiting for what? Him to screw up?”
Ideally, yes. It would make things quicker, but no.
It was more of you making comparisons, how you should be treated versus asking how you should be treated.
“For her to realize,” Tim says finally. “I’m not forcing anything.”
Miro watches him for a long second, expression shifting from disbelief to something more serious. “And if she doesn’t.”
Tim looks back at the screen, eyes calm, unsettlingly sure.
“She will.”
Then Miro’s eyes flick to the top of his screen, his brow knitting together as confusion twists into disbelief, watching him immediately shoot up from his bed and readjusting his glasses.
“…No FUCKING way,” he murmurs.
Tim frowns.
“What.”
Miro doesn’t answer right away.
He just stares, scrolling once, then twice, like he’s hoping the information will change if he looks again.
“Zinnia just texted me that Ezra broke up with—”
“YES! FUCK YES!”
The shout explodes out of Tim before Miro can even finish the sentence. Tim’s chair screeches back as he shoots to his feet, fist clenched, grin sharp and unguarded in a way Miro has never seen before.
Tim drags a hand through his hair, pacing now, adrenaline buzzing under his skin. “I mean—” He stops himself, forces a breath, tries to reel it back in.
“I mean, that sucks, for him. Send my condolences.”
Miro blinks at the screen. “I’ve never seen you happier than that time when Taco Bell put the Quesarito back on the menu.”
Tim scoffs, trying and failing to wipe the grin off his face.
“That was a big deal.”
“This is bigger,” Miro says flatly.
Tim exhales, finally sinking back into his chair, fingers drumming against the table like he’s trying to ground himself. “I shouldn’t be happy,” he admits, quieter now. “I know that.”
Miro tilts his head.
“But you are.”
Tim doesn’t deny it.
“I am.” He grins, sharp and a little reckless, like he’s daring the universe to stop him now.
“Wait, you gotta ask Zinnia why they broke up,” Tim points out, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Or, like, why Ezra broke up with her instead of the other way around?”
He ran a hand through his hair, frowning slightly. Tim had always assumed his plan would play out the other way that eventually you’d be the one to walk away.
So hearing that Ezra was the one to end it caught him off guard more than he expected.
Miro shook his head, amusement flickering across his face. “You make it sound like you’re some kind of relationship expert or something.”
Tim smirked, leaning back in his chair.
“Well, I’ve been watching this mess long enough to know where it’s headed.” He glanced at his phone, eyes sharp. “But still— gotta know if he knew, or if he just gave up.”
Miro sighed, shaking his head again.
“Man, you’re way too invested.”
Tim’s grin didn’t falter. “Maybe. But when you know what you want, you don’t just wait around forever.”
Tim could see Miro’s face up close, the way his fingers jabbed at his phone with a mix of urgency and hesitation. He was most likely texting Zinnia right now, trying to get the details Tim needed.
“Said ‘they were better off as friends,’ ended it mutually, but I think that reason is bullshit.”
Tim glanced up as his phone buzzed, a familiar caller ID.
“Steph’s calling— I’m gonna add her to the call.”
Miro didn’t look away from his screen.
“Fine by me,” he muttered, fingers still flying over his phone’s keyboard.
Within seconds, Steph’s face popped up on the screen, her eyes sharp and curious.
“Alright, spill. Zinnia is texting me that Ezra broke up with his… ex girlfriend now! Congratulations to Tim, condolences to Ezra. What’s happening?”
Miro filled Steph in, catching her up on the last bit of the conversation.
“Zinnia’s saying Ezra broke up with her to stay ‘friends.’ Do you buy that?”
Steph made a disgusted face, pressing her phone against the mirror as she swiped through her makeup wipes.
“That’s absolute bullshit.”
Miro paused.
“Do you know the actual reason, Steph?”
Tim watched as Steph hesitated, her brow furrowing in thought.
“No, I’m not really sure,” Steph replied thoughtfully. “Usually when people say that, it means one of three things:
1. They’ve lost feelings but don’t want to hurt the other person,
2. They’re scared of commitment, or
3. They’re interested in someone else.” She raises each of her fingers, going through the reasons.
“Are you asking Zinnia right now?” Tim asked, eyes fixed on Miro’s screen.
Miro nodded, then his screen froze for a moment, the lag dragging out the tension.
“When I pressed her, she said it’s ‘nunya’ business,” he explained after the lag had passed, “but honestly, she admitted she doesn’t really know.”
Tim let out a slow breath, his eyes never leaving the screen.
“Hm’ okay.”
The next time Tim sees you, he’d ask about what happened between the both of you.
Which was a few days later, when he finally found a quiet moment to ask. You were in his apartment, sprawled at opposite ends of the couch, a new season of a rom-com playing on the screen. You had mentioned wanting to watch it weeks ago but never had the time until now.
How did that happen?
Well.
Tim: Hey, is it alright if we study at my place?
Tim: the library’s is too noisy
Girlfriend (soon): ???
Girlfriend (soon): it’s a library?? How can it be noisy??
Girlfriend (soon): aren’t we on spring break right now??
Tim: cmon
Tim: don’t make me say it
Tim: fuck, could you pretty please come over to my apartment?
Tim: and hangout?
Tim: I miss our weekly study sessions
Tim: I’ll even beg on my knees?
Girlfriend (soon): alright alright
Girlfriend (soon): I’ll come over, no need to beg on your knees
You were already five episodes in, curled into the corner of his couch, while Tim sat at the other end with his laptop balanced on his knees. His eyes stayed fixed on the screen, a case file pulled up and neatly organized, which he excused as getting ahead on work for his criminal justice class.
He looked focused, intent, the soft glow of the laptop lighting his face.
Too focused, maybe.
Every now and then his fingers paused over the keyboard, attention drifting back to the sound of your laughter or the way you shifted closer without realizing it.
The episode’s credits rolled and automatically skipped to the next one.
You stretched, shifting on the couch, eyes still on the screen.
“I’m kind of surprised,” you spoke casually, breaking the comfortable quiet. “You haven’t asked me why we broke up.”
Tim’s fingers stilled on the keyboard.
For a split second, his gaze stayed on the laptop, jaw tightening just enough to give him away.
Then he looked over at you, expression carefully neutral.
“I didn’t want to pry,” he slowly dragged, making it sound reasonable, which it honestly did— he didn’t want to pry it out of you.
But his laptop screen had long stopped updating, the case file forgotten as his full attention settled on you now, waiting to hear what you’d say next.
“Do you want to know?” You asked, raising a brow towards him.
Tim shrugged.
“Only if you’re okay with sharing it.”
Please do.
“He broke up with me because he couldn’t give me what I deserved.”
Oh.
“He realized he was unintentionally hurting me,” you explained, voice drifting as you stared up at the ceiling. “Missing things, forgetting dates, always prioritizing other parts of his life. He’s overwhelmed right now, so he decided to break it off and just be friends. Instead of trying to work through it.”
You let out a dramatic sigh, sinking further into the couch, the weight of it settling in now that you’d said it out loud.
“Really…?” Tim murmurs, brow furrowing.
He doesn’t quite connect the dots yet, doesn’t realize just how hectic Ezra’s life must be right now.
Geez.
“And,” you add, almost as an afterthought, “he also lost feelings for me. Apparently he’s been falling for one of my guy volleyball friends.”
What.
“Excuse me—” Tim chokes, coughing as he straightens up on the couch, suddenly very alert.
You laugh, gazing at Tim with a glint in your eyes.
“Yeah,” you said with a small shrug. “I actually set them up on a date two weeks from now. We’re happily just friends since the dating scene with each other wasn’t working. We only tried dating because he had this big, obvious crush on my friend, and I guess it turns out he never really got over it.”
You glanced back at the screen like it was no big deal, but Tim stayed frozen beside you, thoughts spiraling too fast to catch. The breakup had not been about distance or effort or timing.
It had been about someone else.
He did not need to calculate, wait, or maneuver at all.
Are you fucking serious.
You kept talking, unaware, filling the space with idle rambling about schedules and volleyball practice and how awkward it all felt in hindsight.
Tim barely heard you.
He shifted the laptop onto the coffee table before he could stop himself, and the couch dipped under his weight as he moved closer.
Too close.
You cut off mid-sentence when his presence suddenly crowded yours. Your eyes widened as Tim leaned in, bracing his hands on either side of your head, caging you in without quite touching. You pressed back instinctively against the cushions, heat rushing to your face, heart kicking hard against your ribs.
Tim froze too, just as startled by the proximity as you were, breath shallow, eyes locked on yours.
You were frozen there, Tim hovering above you, caught between your legs, his arms braced on either side of your head as if he’d accidentally cornered himself. The air felt thick, charged with the kind of tension neither of you dared to acknowledge out loud.
Then you broke it.
You grinned up at him, slow and mischievous.
“Did you get a haircut?” You hummed, lifting a shy hand to gently brush a lock of his hair back behind his ear, but it didn’t last long because of his position.
“Your face-framing pieces are shorter than the last time I saw you.” Your fingers lingered for just a second too long.
Tim forgot how to breathe.
His hands stayed planted on the couch, but every muscle in his body went rigid, pulse thundering loud enough he was sure you could hear it. Of all the things he had planned for, all the conversations he’d rehearsed, this was not one of them.
He swallowed hard, gaze dropping to your mouth before snapping back to your eyes, completely undone by how easily you’d closed the distance.
Tim was a wimp though, and slowly pulled away from you, sliding back to sit upright.
He ran a hand through his hair, cheeks flushing hotter by the second.
“Yeah, I got a haircut… yesterday,” he mumbled, avoiding your gaze. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”
He could practically feel the heat pooling at the back of his neck, spreading in a way that made him painfully aware of every second that had just passed.
You grinned, swinging yourself upright and sliding your knees to sit right in front of him with a playful bounce on the cushion, you gave his shoulder a gentle shove.
“Aww, are you flustered?” you teased, voice light and full of mischief.
Tim’s eyes flickered up to meet yours, a mix of surprise and something softer lurking beneath the surface. He rubbed his shoulder where you’d nudged him, trying to play it cool but clearly caught off guard.
“Maybe a little,” he admitted, voice low and a bit shaky.
You leaned in just enough to close the space between you, your smile widening.
“I knew it.”
Tim swallows, his breath hitching in a way he definitely does not mean for you to notice. His gaze drops for half a second, then lifts again, steadier this time, like he’s forcing himself to stay present.
“You’re enjoying this,” he says, not accusing, just stating it softly.
You hum in response, eyes flicking between his, unbothered by how close you are now. The rom-com keeps playing in the background, the laugh track distant and ironic, like it belongs to another room entirely.
“Maybe,” you reply, just as quietly. “Though, I just like looking at your shirt ‘Big Dick Back in Town’? Really?” Tim grins, shrugging with a slight raise of a brow.
”What’s wrong with that?”
You could only shake your head.
His shoulders relax a fraction, his hands easing against the couch instead of gripping it so tightly.
“You aren’t sad about the breakup?” he asks, studying your face.
“Nope.” You pop the p, grinning wide.
“We’re grown adults. We had a whole four-hour conversation about everything. About what it meant, what issues were there, about our friendship. So we’re fine and it was three and a half months anyway,” you shrug, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.
Three and a half months was way too long by Tim’s definition.
“Well, three and a half months is a pretty long time.” Tim commented, watching you nod, understanding where Tim is coming from. “That’s true, but I don’t regret being with Ezra. There were good moments in that short-lived relationship, and honestly, half the time it just felt like we were friends more than anything romantic. So it doesn’t really feel like a waste, you know?” Tim hummed, quietly understanding with a so-so motion with his hand.
“Then, it must’ve been… not a serious relationship?”
You snapped your fingers, then a grim expression took over your face. “Yeah! Or… well, I think so. It definitely hurt when he didn’t show up for a lot of things a boyfriend should’ve— but honestly, he wasn’t as invested in it as I was.”
You sighed softly, shaking your head a little as if trying to shake off the lingering disappointment.
Tim hesitated, biting the inside of his cheek, debating whether he should say what was on his mind.
Fuck it.
“Does that mean… you’re officially available?”
You raised an eyebrow at the question, a teasing smile tugging at your lips, making Tim suddenly self-conscious.
“You’re making me sound like I’m some kind of product you can pre-order.” You snort, waving your hand. “Go ahead— someone can preorder me, I’m the only item on the shelf, limited availability, guaranteed to arrive before Valentine’s Day.” You shake your head in disbelief.
Tim chuckles, a little breathless.
And he doesn’t know what came over for him to say this—
“Well, lucky me, then. I guess I’d better place my order before someone else beats me to it.”
He winks, trying to sound casual but failing spectacularly as his smile widens.
You grin, nudging him lightly.
“Oh, sure, you’re joking… right?”
Tim raises an eyebrow.
“You wanna kiss me and find out?”
He watches as the room falls into a heavy silence.
He can almost feel the air holding its breath between them besides the Netflix series.
Time seems to stretch endlessly as he waits, watching your mouth open slightly but no words come out.
Your face completely blue-screens, and Tim can’t help but smile at how utterly caught you are.
Tim burst into laughter, clearly amused by the shock on your face.
He noticed the telltale signs of your flustered reaction: how you suddenly went quiet, how both your hands flew up to hide half of your face, even if he could see it in your eyes of your uncontrollable smile that you’re trying to get it under control, and the clear way that you’ve scoot back.
He reached over to nudge your shoulder too but you slap it away playfully, hearing him laugh harder.
“Don’t get any closer to me!”
“Relax, I’m just messing with you.”
But the way you couldn’t quite meet his eyes told him you weren’t entirely sure if he was joking or not and that made the moment even better.
He watched you struggle to keep your composure, the way you would try to hide your facial reaction from him every time he nudged you or threw out a cheeky comment.
The quick, sharp shove to his shoulder made him laugh quietly, but he could see the way your eyes sparkled with a mix of irritation and something softer— something that told him you secretly enjoyed the attention just as much as he did.
In fact, there’s an entire day where the two of you just “hung out.” And though it started off as just the two of you, you eventually ended up meeting the rest of the group later that night, a couple of weeks after the breakup, like it was the most natural progression in the world.
Though, obviously, Tim had already labeled it as a date in his head.
I mean, you two had unintentionally matched outfits, he picked you up from your apartment, and even stopped by that one café to grab your favorite drink along with the menu item you always order without fail.
The rest of the day melted into wandering downtown, poking around trinket shops you always insisted on visiting before any hangout. You had mentioned it back at his place while you were on Episode 10, and he had gone along without hesitation.
At some point, you kept bumping into him, drifting a little too close to the curb every time you laughed or got distracted by a shop window.
Tim caught it after the third time, lips twitching as he reached out to steady you.
“Do you always walk like this,” he teased, lightly tugging you back toward the sidewalk, “or is this a special performance just for me?”
You scoffed, swatting at his arm. “I walk perfectly fine. You’re just standing in my way.”
“Uh-huh,” he murmured, clearly unconvinced.
The next time you veered off course, he didn’t even bother commenting. He simply draped his arm around your shoulders, easy and natural, guiding you away from the curb like it was instinct.
His hand rested warm and secure against your upper arm, like it had always belonged there.
You glanced up at him, putting on your most innocent look. “Wow, so now you’re supervising how I walk?”
“Someone has to,” Tim said easily, a crooked grin pulling at his mouth. “You keep drifting like you’re aiming for traffic, starting to think you planned this just to get my arm around you.”
That wiped the smug look right off your face.
You went quiet, lips parting like you had a comeback ready, only for nothing to come out at all.
Tim noticed, of course, and his grin widened just a touch as he kept you tucked safely at his side.
You were still very much in control of where you wanted to go, which was not surprising at all. Somehow, that freedom led you straight into another store and Tim barely had time to read the sign before realizing where you were.
PopMart.
He slowed to a stop, glancing around at the walls lined with blind boxes and glossy displays. “Of course,” he muttered under his breath. “I should’ve known.” You were very much who you’re expected to be, one to feed capitalism and spend money on these lil’ guys.
You, meanwhile, had already zeroed in on a display, eyes lighting up as you leaned closer as if you’ve been waiting for this day.
Tiny figurines were lined up behind the glass, all sharp details and dramatic poses.
The Gotham City Series.
“Oh my god,” you breathed, pointing. “Look at them.”
Tim stepped closer, folding his arms as he followed your gaze. Vigilantes in miniature, capes frozen mid-swoop, masks carved with ridiculous precision, in a display box with all twelve figures.
Then he saw it.
Red Robin.
You stared a second longer, squinting thoughtfully.
“This one’s kinda cute.”
Tim coughed.
“Kinda?”
You glanced back at him, grin turning mischievous.
“What? You seem defensive.”
“I’m not,” he said too quickly, shifting his weight. “Just saying. If you’re ranking them, that one’s objectively… fine.”
You hummed, clearly unconvinced, eyes drifting back to the figure.
“Wait, Red Hood might be cuter.”
Oh hell no.
“Absolutely not.”
You blinked at him, amused.
“What do you mean absolutely not?”
“He’s wearing a helmet,” Tim shot back, gesturing vaguely at the tiny figure. “You can’t even see his face. That’s not cute, that’s… just anonymous and ugly.” You laughed, clearly enjoying this.
“Mysterious can be cute and you don’t even know he’s ugly!”
Tim scoffed.
“Well, he for sure doesn’t look like Prince Charming, that’s a traffic cone with trauma.”
You burst out laughing, and Tim tried very hard not to look too pleased with himself as he watched you reach for a blind box, silently hoping you’d pick the right one.
Not even a minute later, you were already drifting toward another section of the store.
This one was… different.
Rows of small figurines stared back at you, each one wearing the same expression of pure misery. Angry little side-eyes and sad, hollow looks.
Not a single smile among them.
Tim slowed beside you, taking them in. “…Why do all of these look like they’re judging me?” You crouched slightly to get a better look, eyes lighting up.
“Oh my god, Tim! They’re all so cute!”
He glanced at you, then back at the figures.
“They all look the same.”
You read a little note they have on the figures, glued to the glass and the artist of them. “They’re called Hironos, they’re supposed to look like that. And look at that one!”
Tim leaned in despite himself, following where you pointed. In the back of the display box sat one figure giving a particularly nasty side-eye, a tiny castle perched on its black hair. It was crouched low, bound in rope, dressed in a black-and-white uniform that was unmistakably prison-striped and bandages on its knee.
“Really?” Tim asked flatly.
You nodded without hesitation.
“He looks like you.”
Tim stared at it.
Then at you.
“He’s literally wearing a prison outfit.”
“Yeah,” you said easily. “Exactly, you belong in prison with the way you’ve been treating me.”
Tim snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. Then, without missing a beat, he swung his arm back around your shoulders, pulling you close until your noses were almost touching. The warmth of his breath brushed against your skin as he leaned in just slightly, voice low and amused.
“Unbelievable,” he murmured. “I took you out this morning, with your favorite drink in hand and your food too, and now I’m already getting sentenced?”
You smirked, feeling the subtle heat of the moment settle between you, both of you caught somewhere between playful and something much more electric.
Without hesitation, you slipped under his arm, catching him off guard as you picked up a box, turned toward the register with the two boxes in hand.
Tim blinked in surprise, a slow, impressed grin spreading across his face as he watched your smooth escape.
“Will that be all for today?” the cashier asked, glancing between you and Tim, pulling up the total and placing them in a bag.
Tim mouthed ‘don’t let her pay,’ making the cashier smile knowingly.
“Yes, that’ll be all,” you replied with a smile, already reaching for your card— only to see Tim’s phone beat you to the card reader, the screen glowing as he swiftly completed the payment and your head snapped back towards him, eyes wide with shock.
He just grinned, completely unfazed.
“Tim, what the—!”
He, of course, wasn’t about to let you pay.
The cashier chuckled, handing over the bag, while you were too busy scolding Tim to reach for it yourself. Tim just laughed and grabbed the bag, dodging your playful slap on his shoulder.
“You guys are cute, have a nice day!” The cashier called after you, still smiling.
You completely ignored the cashier’s playful comment, but Tim caught it and that knowing smile didn’t escape him.
It was clear someone had already picked up on the way you two fit together, especially with the subtle, unplanned ways you matched, whether it was your similar jacket colors or the way you moved in sync like a practiced duo.
“You absolutely didn’t need to do that!” You exclaimed, narrowing your eyes and pointing at him with mock exasperation.
Your brow furrowed as you crossed your arms, the frustration genuine but softened by the teasing edge in your voice.
“I have my own money, you know. I don’t need you to pay for me every time.”
Tim just shrugged, that familiar, cocky grin tugging at his lips, clearly enjoying the moment and you.
“I know, I know. Just return the favor later tonight, or when we grab something to eat,” he mentions with a teasing glint in his eyes.
He handed you the branded bag, watching as you rolled your eyes in exasperation at his good deed.
“So,” he added, voice playful, “are you going to open up those blind boxes, or are you just going to stare at the bag all day?” You huffed, nodding reluctantly. “I’ll open them, but maybe we should find somewhere to eat first. It’s way more fun to do it with food.”
Tim grinned, clearly pleased with the suggestion, and didn’t hesitate to drag you toward a nearby restaurant he’d heard good things about. As you walked, you could already feel the excitement building, blind boxes, a good meal, and friends later on— the perfect combo for a day like this.
After about twenty minutes of scanning the menu and deciding on your orders, you caught the waiter’s attention and placed them with a few quick questions about the specials. Drinks arrived shortly after, glasses clinking softly as you both settled into the cozy booth, the warm buzz of the restaurant wrapping around you like a comfortable blanket.
The conversation flowed easily— small laughs, shared stories, and that quiet, familiar rhythm you both fell into when no words were wasted.
Finally, when the plates were still moments away, you reached into the bag and pulled out the first box: the Gotham City Series. The crisp packaging caught the low light, hinting at the tiny surprise waiting inside. Tim’s eyes flicked up to yours, curiosity and anticipation mirrored in his expression.
With a quick breath, you tore open the box and reached inside, your fingers brushing over the tiny figure waiting to be revealed. You pulled it out slowly, turning it over to admire the fine details: the sharp mask, the cape, the laptop, and carefully sculpted utility belt.
“He’s so cute!”
Tim’s grin widened as he watched you, feeling a sense of warmth and a tad-but of jealousy from that compliment, clearly impressed. “Nice one,” he compliments, voice low. “Red Robin suits you.”
You shot him a playful glance, pretending to mull it over seriously before setting the figure down on the table. “Please, you wish you were Red Robin.”
He is Red Robin.
“Better than Red Hood,” Tim shot back with a smirk.
You laughed, shaking your head, then reached into the bag for the next box— the Mime Hirono series.
“Which one do you want?”
You hummed, pointing at a few figures you found adorable, “but I would be fine with any of them.” You smiled, peeling the tab.
The anticipation between you only grew as you peeled back the packaging and the plastic, ready to see what surprise awaited inside.
You gasped softly as you pulled out the next figure, a tiny Hirono with a delicate feather perched on his head, wearing a makeshift newspaper kite strapped like a backpack. A thin rope was tied to his leg, the other end secured to a small bolt embedded in the ground beneath him.
The little guy looked calm and relaxed.
“I changed my mind, this one looks like you.”
Tim watched as you flipped the tiny figure toward him, slowly turning it a full 360 degrees to show off every detail.
“Is it because I have black hair and pale skin?” Tim teased, raising an eyebrow.
You shrugged casually, a sly smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, and blue eyes too,” you added, pointing to the Hirono’s faintly dark blue eyes, contrasting with Tim’s lighter shade.
“Wait, he has a lil’ card and it says Patience!” You cooed, taking a picture of your new ‘baby’, talking about your collection of them on your shelves, making this one your 17th Hirono.
Or your 17th ‘child.’
Tim will never admit this, but he honestly found your love for blind boxes, specifically Hironos’ or the trinkets, veryenduring.
Later that evening, once the sun had dipped below the horizon and the city lights began to flicker on, you found yourselves back at the bar with the usual group.
The familiar buzz of conversation and clinking glasses filled the air, but surprisingly, there was no awkwardness between you and Tim.
There was no awkwardness with Ezra either— in fact, when you saw him, you greeted him with a warm, genuine hug that felt natural and unforced.
Still, Ezra wasn’t blind to what was unfolding around him.
His eyes caught the subtle details, the way Tim’s arm casually settled around your shoulders, the slight protective tilt as if claiming his space beside you. He noticed how you leaned in without hesitation, your body relaxing against Tim as though it had always belonged there.
Ezra caught the quick, knowing looks shared between you two: the brief smiles exchanged over inside jokes, the gentle teasing that seemed to flow effortlessly, and how you would slap Tim’s shoulder playfully.
Even Zinnia noticed, her raised eyebrow and subtle side glance betraying her surprise at this sudden shift.
Then, when it was just Ezra and Tim left at the table, the tension thickened— both of them knowing what was coming next. Ezra let out a low, bitter sigh, raising his glass to take a shot. This time, it was noticeably less than last time, his movements sharper, more controlled.
“It doesn’t matter to me anymore,” he begins, voice rough but steady, “since we’re no longer together. But don’t lie to me.”
His eyes locked onto Tim’s, piercing and unyielding, searching for any trace of dishonesty beneath the surface.
Tim felt the weight of that gaze like a physical pressure, the room shrinking around them. The air buzzed with unspoken accusations and simmering resentment, the calm before the storm.
“You’re going to have to be honest, Tim,” Ezra continued, voice low but edged with anger. “Because if you think I’m just going to let this slide, you’re wrong.”
Tim’s jaw tightened, eyes narrowing as he met Ezra’s intense gaze without flinching. The weight of the moment pressed down on him, but he wasn’t about to back down or give in to the silent demands.
“Honest?” Tim’s voice was steady, edged with a controlled fire. “I’m not here to stir things up or hurt anyone, but yeah, I like her. I have for a while.”
Ezra’s eyes darkened, hurt and anger flashing through them like lightning. “You decided to not tell me anything about it whatsoever? What the fuck, Tim? Don’t tell me—“
His gaze was sharp, filled with a mix of hurt and a desperate need for honesty. It wasn’t just about the breakup anymore.
This was about trust, respect, and everything tangled in between.
Tim swallowed, feeling the weight of Ezra’s stare like a physical force. “I will tell you,” he replies, voice quieter than usual but unwavering. “I like her, I have for a while before you two got together. But this wasn’t some calculated move to take advantage of what was between you two.”
“So you’re saying you didn’t break us apart?”
Tim shook his head firmly, his words deliberate and honest. “No. Absolutely not. You did that yourself,” he gestures toward Ezra with a pointed look. “I cared about both of you too much to ever create some stupid cheating situation. That’s not who I am, and I never wanted to be the reason you two ended.”
Ezra’s voice tightened, the anger barely held in check. “So you were just… there for her? The fuck, waiting for your chance?”
Tim met the accusation head-on, his jaw clenched but his eyes sincere. “Yes and no, I didn’t plan for this to happen. I hated watching her hurt, hated seeing you both drift apart. I tried to stay out of it because I respected you, but eventually, it became clear things weren’t going to work due to your own personal reasons, but yeah.”
Ezra’s jaw tightened as he studied Tim, the tension thickening the air between them. After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice quieter but still edged with frustration. “I messed up our relationship. I got overwhelmed and missed things I shouldn’t have not only in a relationship, but as friends. I had leftover feelings for… and new feelings.” He hesitated, letting the words hang, making Tim furrow his brow. “But this… waiting in the shadows— it doesn’t make it any easier to accept, even if it wasn’t a serious type of relationship.”
Tim nodded slowly, his expression softening just a bit. “I get that, which you’re valid to feel that way. I’m not trying to make this easier or pretend I’m some hero, but I was there because I care about her and about both of you. I never wanted to be the cause of your breakup.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of everything settling between them.
“Just to clarify, we never did things romantically while you were both together. We hung out a lot, yes, I will admit. There’s some things I’ve done that could be interpreted as a move, but I knew to be patient and respect your relationship.”
Ezra finally let out a slow breath and shook his head, a reluctant acceptance in his eyes.
“Well, I’m just glad you explained yourself,” Ezra speaks, his voice rough but sincere, “and that you’re giving her what I couldn’t. I wasn’t the person she needed, and maybe I never really was.” He ran a hand through his hair, eyes searching Tim’s. “And yeah, we were truly better off as friends.”
Tim softened, nodding slowly.
“I’m glad. You two already talked about it, right?” Tim asked, though he already knew the answer— it was more about hearing it from Ezra.
Ezra gave a slow, firm nod.
Ezra smirked, a teasing glint in his eyes as he raised his glass. “Yeah, treat her better than I did, you two already look good together.” He downed the shot in one smooth motion. “You’re matching with her, but not dating her yet? You gotta get on that, Timothy.”
Tim rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at his lips. “I will,” he promised, taking the shot Ezra poured for him without hesitation.
“I already thought you had plotted for this moment.”
Tim snorts, “man, I didn’t plot shit.” Yeah, he absolutely did.
As the night wore on, the crowd inside the bar began to thin.
Zinnia and Steph were the ones supporting Ezra this time.
The guy really knew how to relax once the drinks kicked in, but he was definitely a lightweight. He leaned heavily on them, laughing more loudly than usual, his steps unsteady as they guided him through the cool night air.
Tim and Miro watched them, snorting before they see each other off.
“Well, it was nice seeing the both of you,” Miro warmly told, glancing between you and Tim with a relaxed smile.
You agreed, nodding your head with excitement on your grin.
Tim also nodded, but instead he extended his hand.
Miro laughed, understanding immediately. His muscle memory kicked in as they went through the usual handshake without missing a beat while you watched.
Their knuckles met first, fingers bumping, followed by their fingers interlocking for a brief second, It ended with a solid dap up before Tim tugged Miro in for a quick side hug, shoulders knocking together in an easy, comfortable way that spoke of routine and familiarity rather than anything forced.
“Alright, see ya’ man, drive safe.”
“Will do,” Miro replied with a wave as he turned and walked away.
You both started walking toward Tim’s car, the night air cool around you.
“That was cool,” you commented, glancing over at him. “I never realized you only do that handshake with Miro, not the others.” Tim smiled, eyes on the path ahead. “Yeah, it’s kind of our thing. Something that just stuck between us.”
You hummed in affirmation.
“Why? You want us to have our own handshake?”
You immediately shook your head. “No, no, I’m okay. I was just thinking it was cool, that’s all.” Tim glanced over with a playful smirk. “Come on, don’t act like you don’t want one. We can have our own handshake— something small, nothing crazy.”
You hesitated, pretending to consider it but clearly curious.
“Just a little one,” Tim added with a grin. “Nothing complicated. What do you say?”
After a moment, you finally smiled and nodded.
“Alright, fine. But just a small one.”
Tim’s grin widened.
“Deal.”
You both paused right in front of his car, determined to get this handshake just right. Even though it was a small, simple one, the timing and coordination still mattered.
You stumbled a bit, struggling to remember the steps, and Tim couldn’t help but laugh softly at your concentration.
“It’s okay,” he said, patient. “We’ll get it down eventually.”
Tim noticed the way your hand slightly shook when he reached out to hold your hand during one of the handshake steps. Your hand felt soft and smooth in his grasp— delicate in a way that made him instinctively careful.
His own hands were rougher, marked with calluses from everything he’d been through, but he wrapped his fingers around yours gently, mindful of the contrast.
His thumb brushed lightly over your skin, and when his eyes met yours, there was a quiet spark between you— an unspoken connection that caught him by surprise.
Even as you stumbled over the handshake, fumbling to remember the steps, Tim realized it wasn’t about the routine anymore. It was about the moment, the warmth of your hand in his and the closeness you shared.
He knew the handshake would take practice, but he didn’t mind at all.
After about fifteen minutes, you finally got it down.
The first couple of tries came with one or two small mistakes, but you were confident enough to try again.
“Okay, okay, one more time and then we go home,” you laughed, a determined smile lighting up your face.
“Alright, one more,” Tim agreed easily, but there was a flicker of mischief in his eyes you didn’t notice.
You focused intently on the handshake, your fingers carefully following his as you moved through the steps again.
The rhythm was growing familiar, the motions less awkward.
Just as you reached the moment where your hands were supposed to part, Tim’s grip shifted without warning.
Both of his hands slid from your fingers down to your waist, wrapping around you with a steady, firm hold.
Before you could react, he pulled you closer in one smooth, deliberate motion.
You stumbled slightly, your breath catching as your body pressed against his.
The sudden closeness sent a warm rush flooding through you, your heart quickening in surprise.
You could feel the solid strength of his arms holding you, his fingertips gently pressing against your back, grounding you. Your skin tingled where he touched you, and the soft scent of his cologne filled your senses.
Tim’s eyes locked onto yours, the usual teasing glint replaced by something softer but still filled with that playful spark.
His grin widened into that little shit smirk he wore when he knew exactly the effect he was having— when he knew he had you a little off balance in more ways than one.
For a moment, the handshake was forgotten.
The world around you blurred as you both stood there, caught in the electric tension and unexpected intimacy. You felt the steady beat of his heart against yours, the subtle rise and fall of his chest so close to yours.
Tim watched you freeze, your eyes wide as you stared up at him— disbelief, surprise, and a flicker of irritation crossing your face as you tried to process how he had completely messed up the handshake by pulling you in so suddenly.
You stumbled against him, caught off guard, and he couldn’t help but notice the way you struggled to hold back a mix of shock and mild frustration.
But then his mischievous grin grew wider, that confident smirk that he knew always managed to catch you off guard in the best way. You found your gaze flickering from confusion to something softer, as if despite yourself, you were charmed by him.
He held you close for just a moment longer, feeling the warmth of your body pressed against his, the electric charge in the air thickening.
Tim knew exactly what he was doing, pushing your buttons, teasing you, and drawing you in closer, and he loved every second of watching you fall, even if just a little bit, under his spell.
His voice dropped to a low murmur, almost too quiet to hear but impossible to ignore.
“I like the way you’re looking at me right now.”
You lean in slightly, your voice soft but teasing, though your eyes betray you completely.
“Oh yeah? And how exactly am I looking at you?”
Tim’s grin deepens, amused by how effortlessly you fell into his trap and the way he falls for your doe eyes, hypnotizing him.
“Like you’re waiting to find out what it’s like to kiss me.”
You freeze for a moment, the weight of his words settling between you like a spark ready to ignite.
Your breath catches, and you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks. You try to steady yourself, but your heart is pounding loud enough that you’re sure he can hear it.
With a half-smile, half-challenge, you meet his gaze again and whisper—
“Maybe I am… but you’re the one who has to make the first move.”
Tim’s eyes gleam with that mischievous light, and without breaking eye contact, he inches just a little closer, the space between you shrinking.
The playful tension hangs thick as the moment stretches, charged and electric.
“I guess… I will have to make the first move.”
Without a word, he closes the space between you.
His lips meet yours with a softness that takes your breath away, like the gentlest brush of a feather. The kiss deepens, warming and steady, spreading a quiet fire through your chest.
His hand left from your waist to lift to cup your jaw while you wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers light but sure, tilting your face just enough to hold you still in this suspended moment. You feel the subtle press of his body, the heat from him seeping into your skin, blending with the rapid beat of your heart.
Time seems to slow, the world narrowing to just the two of you. That kiss speaks volumes— unspoken feelings, careful restraint, and raw, tender promise all wrapped in the softness and intensity of this perfect, unforgettable moment.
He does not pull away.
If anything, he leans in closer, like the space between you is unbearable now that he knows what it feels like to close it.
The kiss deepens with a quiet urgency, not rushed but full of need and patience. His hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, fingers curling there as if he is afraid you might disappear if he lets go. There is a faint hitch in his breath against your lips, something almost desperate slipping through the careful control he usually keeps wrapped tight around himself.
He kisses you again, slower but heavier, like he is trying to tell you everything he has been holding back for months. Every near moment and every time he stopped himself. You can feel it in the way he lingers, the way his thumb presses softly at your skin, grounding himself while still wanting more.
For a second, his forehead rests against yours, breaths mingling, his eyes closed like he is steadying himself. Then he goes back in, softer now but no less intense, like he is savoring this instead of rushing it. Like he knows this is something precious and he refuses to waste it.
There is yearning in every movement, his pupils that are enlarged, a heat that consumes his own being, a quiet desperation that says he has waited, that he has earned this, and that now that he finally has you here, he is not letting the moment go.
“I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmurs quietly, like admitting a secret he has been carrying far too long. “For longer than I should’ve.”
His thumb brushes along your jaw again, pausing for just a beat, like he is silently checking that you are still here with him. When you do not pull away, his voice drops, softer and more intimate than before.
“Tim’s girlfriend,” he murmurs, the words careful, almost reverent. “It kind of has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
You hum thoughtfully, lips curving as if you are genuinely considering it, a teasing lightness in your voice even though your eyes give you away.
“Really?”
“Yes. Really.” His voice is steady, sincere, even as he leans closer again, like the distance between you is already too much. “You should give me a chance, you’re all I need.” His breath brushes your lips as he adds, quieter, more certain, “I’d never let you go from me.”
Your lips graze his as you speak, the words barely a whisper.
“Are you begging me?”
Tim’s eyes lock onto yours instantly, something intense and unguarded flashing through them. Your hand comes up to his cheek, warm and sure, pulling him back in before he can answer.
If anything, he leans into your touch, like your hand on his cheek is permission he has been waiting for. His breath stutters, warm against your lips, and when he finally speaks, his voice is low, honest, completely stripped of teasing.
“Yes,” he says quietly. “I am.”
His forehead rests against yours, eyes still locked on you, searching your face like he is afraid this moment might slip through his fingers. His hand comes up to cover yours where it cups his cheek, holding it there, grounding himself.
“I don’t care how it sounds,” he admits, voice rough with feeling. “I want you, I’ve wanted you, and I’m asking now.”
He leans in just enough that your noses brush, his words spilling softly against your lips.
“Let me be completely yours, please.”
Your breath catches, heart pounding as you meet his intense gaze.
Then, you answered him without words, pulling him closer and capturing his lips once more.
Your fingers tangled in the strands at the nape of his neck, gently tugging him forward as he melted into the pull, falling deeper into the irresistible pull of your own magnetic kiss.
Beneath the shadowed skyline of Gotham, a shooting star streaked across the night, briefly igniting the darkness with its fleeting, brilliant light.
And Timothy Jackson Drake is completely yours.
a/n: HEHEHEHEEHE. now how we like thattttt, I lwk wished…. I had the balls to make Tim messier in this fic, but my boy is just a D-1 plotter and just nudging like “oh, how could you be so patient with him…” “you deserve better…” “that was all on you, not me.” (To Ezra) type of thing, which he wasn’t lying!! It was literally the matter of time before they cut that relationship off!! AND I made him such a lil’ shit truly. I hope you guys caught that Hirono moment!!! I decided to use ‘Patience’ because it truly fitted Tim, a man that yearns is a man that EARNS.
THIS TOOK FOREEVERRRR to finish, please interact with this fic since that would mean a lot to me!! Happy holidays everyone!!
Summary & CW: fluff, slice of life, best friends brother, tim takes a nap, he’s also a recovering touch starved man, conversation about suggestive behavior, second person, no use of y/n
Pairing: Tim Drake x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 1.0k
A/N: Another piece out the Kiln! Thank you to @bat2nsignia for requesting (ily dada). This was supposed to be 400 words but here we are LMAO, I hope you all enjoy <3
“Aw man c’mon,” a voice that is all too familiar whines behind you. “I don’t want to see this.”
Tilting your head all the way back on the arm rest, you see Duke Thomas and Stephanie Brown walking into the room. It was shocking, truly, how there seemed to be a thousand rooms in this manor, and you still managed to get found.
Tim had dragged you to the east wing for a nice relaxing afternoon a little over an hour ago.
He compromised by sleeping four hours last night when you woke up for your midnight pee and called him. When he answered the phone, you promptly told him to go to bed or you wouldn’t be coming over today.
Safe to say he was under his sheets shortly after you hung up.
This part of the manor tended to be quieter, there were more libraries and offices that weren’t inhabited often.
On the second floor study, there was the most comfortable couch you’d ever sat on. One thing led to another and now, Tim was draped across you like a blanket, snoring quietly as he settled into your neck. His arms were locked around your waist with an iron grip, despite being asleep, and he hadn’t moved in forty five minutes.
“Shhh,” you moved the fingers that were carding through is hair to your mouth. “He’s sleeping.”
Thankfully, the whisper yell didn’t wake him. The absence of your fingers did cause him to bury his face further into your neck, missing your soothing touch even in his dreams.
Stephanie’s signature smirk grew on her lips, which had your stomach sinking. Seeing as you were currently trapped under your boyfriend, you were just going to have to sit and suffer whatever terror she felt like inflicting. When she took her phone out of her back pocket, you only managed to bite back a groan for Tim’s sake. You knew where this was going.
She came around the couch and snapped the photo while you frowned, fingers returning to his hair. Duke followed right behind her with his arms crossed and a faux expression of disgust on his face.
“I’m never going to get used to seeing you two together.” He muttered while Stephanie looked way too proud of herself for the blackmail she just acquired.
Rolling your eyes, your head shifts to side landing on the plush arm rest. Raising an eyebrow, you decide to give him a little reminder. “I don’t know why you’re whining, you introduced us.”
“Yeah because I thought you guys would get along, not because I wanted you to suck face.”
Your jaw drops at the tease. “For the record,” you raise a hand to point at him. “I wouldn’t dare to suck face in a shared space of this house. There’s too many cameras in here, and the last thing I need is another uncomfortable conversation with Mr. Wayne.”
Duke bites his lip to hold back a laugh while Stephanie’s hand flies to her mouth, a small action showing that they do genuinely care for Tim’s rare rest breaks. The horrific memory that you tried to burn out of your mind was sure at the front of theirs.
Getting caught by Bruce was in the top ten most humiliating moments of your life. You didn’t return to the manor for a month, and didn’t look Bruce in the eye for three.
Tim and the rest of his family found it funny. You did not.
Then, the air in the room depletes as Tim started shifting around, burying himself deeper into your neck. It was as if someone hit the mute button, even the random noises that occasionally echoed through the manor stopped. The only sound was the small groan Tim let out while moving, probably from shifting the weight onto the shoulder that’s been bothering him for a few weeks.
When he settled back into place and a solid thirty seconds passed without him moving, you looked back at Stephanie and Duke. They unfreeze at your movement and mouth, “we’re going to go” while pointing at the door.
Sparing them a small wave and nod, they practically float out the room. The second the door clicks behind them, you move your head back slightly to look at Tim. He looked so peaceful like this, almost like he was taken out of an oil painting.
Dropping a quick kiss to the beauty mark next to his eyebrow, he hums quietly. You should’ve known that he woke up.
“That’s why you won’t kiss me in the manor anymore?” His voice is groggy and muffled from being pressed against you, but you couldn’t hold back the small laugh you attempted tp mask with a scoff.
“Go back to sleep,” you drop another kiss to his cheek. Hoping to distract him from his initial question, your free hand slips under his shirt and starts scratching his back.
He hums again, his eyes still shut but unrelenting. “I told you, Bruce doesn’t care. He’s caught Dick and Jason doing far worse.”
If it wasn’t for this being a topic of conversation you really didn’t care for, this would’ve been the cutest thing ever.
Your favorite version of Tim was always when he woke up. His eyes were half-lidded from sleep and he was still mumbling all his words. It was a little secret you kept for yourself, but he was also more physical when he was freshly conscious. He pulled you closer to him in bed, kissed you slower, whispered praises into your skin while cataloguing every part of you to his brain.
Not wanting to feed the conversation anymore, you merely hummed again.
That didn’t seem to satisfy him.
“Baby c’mo-”
“If I kiss you, will you go back to sleep?”
You felt the grin against your neck and sighed.
Propping himself up over you, he has the smile that he wore on the night you met. The smile that made you fall in love with him. And all of the sudden, any reason you had for not wanting to kiss him in shared spaces disappeared.
