Archive of Our Own

You and Tim now go back to school like normal after that eventful weekend. After the shock and absolute affinity rush that came over the both of you faded, Tim could not stop texting you over the next few days. 

Going back to school was the same for the both of you, Tim still drove to school in one of his dad’s less flashy luxury cars and you still took the bus, but the tension in the air is different; much different . You didn’t have to pretend to not notice the sneaky glances Tim threw at you or the tall shadow that curled around corners of nearby doors. To your pleasure, the pale boy had also finally picked himself up from the background and grown a pair of balls, a nice and plump pair if you might add, and now talks to you first at school.

Even if it’s just the little things like, “Can I borrow your pen?” or “Did you finish the homework?” or “Do you want to sit with me at lunch?”, every little moment is important between the two of you; every little rise and fall of Tim’s voice, every little moment you guys accidentally make unbreaking eye contact,.

Despite the air being much more publicly ‘calm’ in the following few weeks, you two can’t help but find yourselves in a stalemate with others at school. While you are both tracking the way your arms brush together when you walk past one another and the way your outer thighs touch when you sit next to each other, so have other students in the school. The proclaimed loner Wayne Enterprise heir and a normal boy that lives near Robinson Park seemingly being a little more than just friends? Like any new relationship in high school, many people have already begun to whisper rumors around the hallways, across lunch tables, and behind their phones. Some of what they say is even wilder than the truth, but nothing has yet to have an impact on you and Tim’s happiness. 

You have freshly abandoned your old group of ‘friends’, following the reasoning that Tim was all you ever wanted and now that you had him, no one else was really important. Even with the new development of availability for you, Tim has still been on edge recently. Without realizing it himself, he’s been much more protective and a little bit more demanding of your time in and outside of school. The blue eyed boy has been hovering around you more often, never quite letting you just stand next to him without his arm draped across your shoulders. 

Whenever someone would sit a normal, friendly distance near you during lunch or geography class, it was like you could hear the tightening of Tim’s jaw and the muscles under his shirt’s sleeve flex. Each time this has happened, you’ve just slowly raised your head from whatever you were doing and turned to give Tim a questioning eyebrow lift, to which the boy would sheepishly smile back at. It’s not like you hate the extra attention from Tim, quite the opposite actually! You love when his mean possessive streak shows through whenever you are around, it just proves how much he loves you; you tell yourself. 

In the brief moments you guys are apart, it continues to shine in the ever growing number of discord calls that you two share. While you are more than comfortable not talking on call and just listening to the metallic breathing coming from your phone’s speaker, a lot of the time, Tim surprisingly loves to talk about the recent mysteries of Gotham. The way he picks apart crime scenes and provides gruesome details to you whenever you are confused almost scares you. But it's as if he has an emotional radar for you, as Tim will catch himself on a disturbing rant and change to a different subject. The new subject is almost always about sharing updates of his closet’s shrine with you. 

He meticulously goes through every picture he has ever taken of you, some you know he was there for and others you had no idea. Nonetheless, you giggle every time Tim tells you how he would have to get very creative to find hiding spots. Your current favorite story is when the slender boy had to climb up into a tree and keep his legs wrapped around a thick branch while he hung upside down to take a picture of you through your bedroom window once. Tim grimaces when he remembers that night, but fakes a cocky voice as he says, “Well, what can I say? I’m a badass.” Which you would guffaw and respond with, “That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

It was like an inside joke whenever you saw a tree outside of your window, always sending Tim a teasing picture of it. Although his shrine’s picture collection has grown, the elegantly wrapped boxes that would sit solemn on his shelves are now gone. Like the dam had broken between the exchange of affection between you two, Tim now doesn’t shy away from giving you all the gifts he imagined you’d love. With enough money in his own pocket to practically buy your home and seven more, Tim did not disappoint in not only the quality, but also the meaning in his gifts. 

As a result, you are three gold bracelets, a new gaming PC, and two constantly streaming 360° surveillance cameras richer. Now, expensive jewelry and Gotham City do not mix, but you can’t help but always have at least one bracelet on. Any previous robbing attempts have luckily ended quickly as the vigilantes of your city come to your rescue. After a thank you or two to the brave individuals, you go home and hop onto a game with Tim and wait for sleepiness to catch you in later hours. 

It was a comfortable pattern that you both had settled into and nothing would break it. Except itself. Realistically, it was going to get boring at some moment, but Tim doesn’t seem to mind pulling a few strings here and there to keep up the refreshing tension. 

As a result, in your boring walk to the bathroom from math class, you were suddenly grabbed by two strong arms and pulled into a spare storage room from the empty hallway before a squeak could even come out of your mouth. Stumbling to find your balance again, you look around, recognizing the small room as where the school kept their respirators in case of Fear Toxin; aka the room where you and Tim could… de-stress a bit during long school hours. 

Speaking of that super cute genius, Tim stands in front of you with his arms still holding your biceps. His cornflower blue eyes hold so much love, the faint grin on his lips growing as he looks down at you. After recovering from the initial scare, you meet Tim’s eyes and stand still for a few moments, both of you content in just observing the other. However, you had just seen Tim in your geography class last period, something else had to be up than just missing one another. 

“Timmmmmmmmyyyyyyyyyy~ I told you, this room is only for kissing and maybe heavy petting. I don’t want to go all the way here… the people at this school are weird, well– weirder than us. Who knows who else uses this room!” You chided while carefully removing Tim’s hands from where they grasped you and instead held them in your own. 

“I know, I know~” Tim whined while pouting and looking up at the ceiling, a childish expression of wanting what he can’t have, “but I missed you… I can’t go too long without you, y'know.” Rolling your own eyes, you’re interrupted by the taller teen stepping forward, closing the distance between the two of you until he has to breathe in the same breath you exhale. His chin tilts down to give you pouty puppy dog eyes, “Just let me kiss you a little bit more, then I’ll let you go… please?.. ”

You still hold his hands in between the two of you, their combined warmth starting to draw sweat from your fingers. His eyes look more soft than his smirk would let on. He’s not really trying to push anything, he just… missed you, basically. 

“Aw~ Was Mr. Johnson being that hard on you?” You jokingly whimpered, one of your hands untangling with the others and resting across Tim’s unbelievably toned chest, not pushing him away, but just pretending to be some kind of appropriate barrier. As soon as the ‘poor’ boy hears that name escape your mouth, his smirk drops and his blue eyes darken with annoyance. 

“Ughhhh, don’t even speak his name to me. It’s like my teacher has it personally out for me, at this point. It’s just photography! Nothing hard to even pass!!! He just always wants to dumb things down or make us take pictures of flowers for the millionth time,” Tim huffs, the ongoing rivalry between Tim and his photography teacher being the latest hot show for you. The boy continues on ranting, moving away from you and beginning to pace the room as he tells you every single detail of how unqualified and annoying Mr. Johnson is. Personally, you had only ever made small talk with the man and didn’t find anything quite annoying, but then again, if he means any negative amount to Tim, he means the same to you. 

Walking over to sit down on a nearby wooden box of … you actually don’t really know what’s inside, but it’s probably nothing important, your dark pupils track the distracted white boy walking in circles. He looks so cute when frustrated… maybe I’ll have to see that face more , you can’t help but think to yourself, softly nibbling on your bottom lip.

Oh look, now you’re the one getting distracted. 

As your eyes and ears begin to stray from your lover’s voice, he quickly draws you back in where he stands still, “Oh! Darling, I almost forgot…” Tim remarks, raising his pointer finger in the air and swirling it around as he turns towards where his backpack lays on the ground near the far corner. “Uhh… H-here it is!” Tim turns back around to you to show you yet another gift wrapped box about the size of a pizza box, much bigger than what he usually gives you. Your eyes widen in curiosity, gazing at it, not recognizing it as any of the gifts that used to adorn Tim’s shrine. 

After a breath of silence, the edge of your mouth turns up in a soft, appreciative smile, as you carefully take the box from the black haired boy’s steady hands. “I- I hope you like it…” Tim says, scratching the back of his neck uncharacteristically. In response, you settle Tim with an unimpressed look, one of your eyebrows raising. You loved every single gift Tim has ever given you, no matter what it was. 

Nevertheless, you make sure to rip the wrapping paper delicately and carefully open the lid of the cardstock box. Inside, nestled with red crepe paper, a freshly ironed black suit jacket meets your widening eyes, drawing a gasp from your lips. Setting down the box on your thighs, you raise the jacket out of the box and find a matching pair of pants lying below it. Moving your fingertips along the fabric in your hands, it feels soft and sleek, and when looking closer to the style of stitching around the waist area, it looks spectacularly tailored. 

Tim's expression is both proud and nervous, almost as if he was afraid you wouldn't like it, but he was trying to hold back the emotions. He watches you carefully take the box and open it. He had gotten the suit specially made for you, having you in mind every step of the way. He had it tailored exactly to the size of your waist and other plentiful proportions. Your boyfriend had also even included a few special details to feed his obsession, such as compact trackers in multiple locations, metallic fiber weaving that contributes to a bulletproof fabric, and a special red embroidered signature of yours truly, Tim Drake-Wayne, on the inner lining. 

"Do you like it? I uh... I had Alfred make it specifically for you..." 

Tim steps forward, crossing the gap between you two in a few quick strides. He takes a spot on your left side, reaching one hand to the suit, his fingertips skimming the fabric of the jacket. "I had it designed so that it would look good on you-” Before the boy could finish his sentence, your arms wrap around his neck and tug him down to press his face against your collarbone in a hug. 

“Thank you so much, Tim! I love it! Although, I think you’re just redesigning my wardrobe~” You tease the taller man, the fuchsia tips of his ears giving away how hard he is blushing. As your words filter through his mind, Tim exhales in relief and relaxes his head against your chest. You can feel the puff of warm air fan out against your skin through the layers of your shirt and jacket. Content to keep your lover close for a couple more minutes, your own head relaxes to rest against the top of his. 

An unaccounted amount of time passes before, reluctantly, Tim stirs from the wholesome moment and opens distance between the two of you, bringing you back to the moment as well. “...That’s good. Also, I can think of the perfect place to wear it; you should check the pocket,” Tim chimed, nodding slightly to the breast pocket. Following his gaze, you pick up the jacket again and reach a hand into the pocket, your fingers running into a thick piece of cardstock, your eyes flicker to Tim’s expectant look. 

Grabbing the paper, you bring it out and flip it over from a blank side, a bubbly emotion filling your veins as you appreciate the foil stamped gold borders around the edges and the swoopy Wayne family crest that sits at the top center of the card. In an equally elegant handwriting, it states an invitation of solely the reader to the next Wayne family gala advocating towards repairing Gotham’s botanical garden, which had been overgrown and destroyed in the latest feud between Poison Ivy and Joker. 

Tim’s heavy gaze has been drilling into you as you pulled out and read the invitation. He noted the way your eyes widened and your expression turned from suspicion to happiness. He can’t help but feel proud again at the effect his gift had given you; it was the most extravagant gala of the year, one that all of Gotham’s finest attended. Its reputation was mostly due to various wealthy officials wanting to appear like they care about the environment, but Bruce did put some extra effort into this gala due to Damian’s enthusiasm for nature. 

Tim shifts closer next to you, running his hand down your free arm to hold your hand in his own. “I was hoping I could bring you as my date…”

His date? Going on a date with someone somewhere is normal for highschoolers. A usual romantic activity between two people. But being Tim Drake’s date? That was totally unusual; something that has actually never happened before, you’ve checked. With startling breath, you snap your head towards Tim, a serious expression on your face while you analyze his own face. The usual nervousness and pride that comes along with his gifts is present, but an underlying intelligently anxious gleam is present. 

“Tim… Y-you know what this means, right? This gala, it’s- it’s beautiful! And it’s exclusive! And it would make everything official b-between us– Not that we aren’t exclusive though! I hope so at least, or I’ll be in the headlines like Sada Abe… Uh, but it would make everything public to basically the entire world..!” Recognizing your increasing heartbeat, you take a breath and close your eyes to calm down for a moment. A few seconds pass and after steeling your nerves, you open your eyes to gaze straight into the clearest blue eyes you have ever loved. His hopeful, but observation expression is egging you on. It’s almost like he has a superpower to dig up all your roots and find some kind of message from the tangle strings. 

In almost a whisper, you speak, “...Timmy, this would be opening both of us up to the world, not just our high school. Could you handle the world knowing who I am? That I’m yours and that you’re mine regardless of whatever political or social hierarchy shit there is? Forever, until our souls crumble?”

Tim is subconsciously holding his breath as he listens to you. His heart has stopped, he's been dreaming of this moment for so long, and to be sitting here, looking into your eyes as you ask those questions, is too much for him to bear normally. In a crazed voice that you’ve only ever heard since that one weekend, Tim promises, "Darling, I'd go to hell and back for you. I don't care if Gotham knows, I don't care if everyone knows, I just..."

Tim swallows, his words stuck in his throat, his heartbeat loud in his ears. He looks at you, his expression holding so much love and loyalty. He takes a deep breath before continuing, "I just want you. I've wanted you for so long, and now I want to show the world that you're mine, because god, I'm so in love with you. I'm.... You're all I think about, I dream about, and I care about.”

Just like Tim’s, your breath is swept away from your lungs and your vision starts to blur from the welling of tears clouding your eyes’ waterline. The edges of your lips begin to quiver and the smile that your mouth is trying to form shakes into more of a grimace. Seeing your teary eyes and crumbling demeanor, the taller boy flinches back a millimeter in panic. Recovering in a split second, his cold hands quickly cup your cheeks and his callous thumbs begin to swipe through the salty tear run lines under your eyes. 

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no- wha- Darling, what’s wrong?!” Tim frets over you with panic leaking into his voice. Chuckling at your boy’s confusion, you lean into one of his hands and your smile finally steadies out. “Hehehe, i-it’s ok Sweetheart, heh, these are happy tears! …It’s just- s-so nice to be loved.. by you,” you affirm.

Your sweetheart lets out a sigh in relief and the wetness of your face has started to dry just as soon as the tears meet your skin. Exhaling in a calming manner, Tim’s hands have retracted from your face and a rosy color has covered your face in timid embarrassment. Looking at the other boy, he doesn’t seem to mind though; his sharp face is a slate of deep understanding. 

Leaning to put more of your weight into Tim’s side, as your hands distract themselves by putting away the suit and invitation in the box it came in, you think over the words that had been exchanged and find your answer. Responding quietly, but not in a whisper, “...I accept! I’ll go with you, Timothy Drake-Wayne, to the gala.” Hearing the exact words that he had been looking forward to the whole day, Tim’s face lights up like the moon. 

He squeezes you against him in a tight hug, his back curving so he can lean down and bury his face into your neck. He’s whispering, “thank you” over and over against your pulse, like he can’t believe that you actually said yes. Silly boy. The wisps of his thin lips moving against your throat is tickling and you can’t help but laugh, exposing more open skin to the depraved man. It’s when a jolt of electricity strikes through your spine, from where your lover’s playfully bitten you on the neck, you push Tim away and create space between the two of you. Before you can reprimand the taller boy, the school bell rings from the hallway outside and now it feels like a bucket of cold water was poured on the both of you. 

“Shit!” “Ah, fuck.” You tuck the suit box underneath your arm and scramble to grab the bathroom pass you abandoned on a shelf. My teacher’s never going to let me go to the bathroom again , you think to yourself as you start rushing out of the room and into the crowded hallways. Tim follows you close behind, but in the opposite direction with his backpack already on. That fox!

After getting chewed out by your math teacher for a good few minutes, long enough for the tardy bell to ring, she finally sends you out of her classroom with a pass and a hung head. On the way to your next class, your phone vibrates from your back pocket. Taking it out and looking at the new notification, your once leisure shoulders were now tense. 

♡𝓶𝔂 𝓻𝓲𝓭𝓮 (𝓸𝓻 𝓭𝓲𝓮)♡

hi beautifulllll

i’ll pick you up at 17:30 tonight?

bruce said no to you sleeping over 

😢💔

You

first off, just say 5:30 😑

second off,

 IT’S TONIGHT?!?!

WHY WOULD YOU WAIT SO LATE TO INVITE ME

Getting to the door of your physics class, you close your phone as it continues vibrating with more texts from Tim. Successfully scooching past your happiness-deprived teacher without anything more than the note and an offering of a stick of gum. Settling into your seat, you begin to focus on the lesson and making it through the rest of the school day, silent excitement thrumming through your veins. 

Time Skip: School has ended hours ago and you now stand in your bedroom, attempting to knot your tie for the fifth time. 

With the collar of your dress shirt puffed up, you fiddle with your ruby red tie, courtesy of Tim, of course. You were on your best try so far of tying the tie, but with one tug, the knot tilts sideways and it looks hideous again. Exhaling in a whine of frustration as you close your eyes and look up at the ceiling. 

Grabbing the offensive fabric, you tug and it falls undone, again, as you trudge out of your room. Calling in defeat while you step downstairs, “Aunt April, I need help! Aprilllllllllllllllllll!” Once you step into the living room, you spot your aunt and she rolls her eyes before approaching you, “Yes, yes, I’m here. C’mon, let’s get you ready for this… date,” she coos as you absolutely, no way, impossibly, can not, pout. By the end of her sentence, her hands work like magic and she finishes tying the tie into a perfect knot, in Aunt April style.

“Thank yo-,” your pout lifting into a smile as the doorbell rings throughout the apartment, “He’s here!” you exclaim excitedly. While you quickly move to grab your wallet and suit jacket, Aunt April beats you to the door. “Well, hello there! I’m April–” you hear your aunt abruptly stop talking in shock as you finally get all your stuff together with a few sprits of jasmine cologne. 

Man, maybe I should have told her who exactly my date was… oh, well, it’s not like she wasn’t going to find out later , you grimace to yourself, still hearing only silence from the front door. Skidding across the wooden floors in your dress shoes, you move beside Aunt April and open the door wider to show one dashingly handsome and formally dressed Tim Drake. 

“Hi! Tim, this is Aunt April. Aunt April, this is Tim. My date.” You can’t help but smile brightly as you introduce the two most important people in your life to one another. While Aunt April’s previously shocked face quickly changes to her usual, even if still just a little bit surprised, friendly face after your introduction, Tim still smiles awkwardly. Knowing your boy, he was probably just very nervous to make a good first impression to your family. 

Tim stands in the doorway, dressed in a ruby red dress shirt that matches your tie and a black suit that hugs his frame in all the right places. His normally unruly black hair has been combed back with a little bit of rose scented styling product, making him look  and smell extra put together. Although the teenager had been trained for masking public appearances, the nervousness is noticeable. 

Still, while anxious, Tim glances at the older woman as he gives her a polite smile, “Hello Ms. April, it’s a pleasure to meet you!” At his greeting, Aunt April takes a hard look at the boy in front of her, her eyes narrowing behind her rectangular glasses as she sizes up the boy. She knows who he is, of course, she just wasn’t expecting or prepared for Tim Drake-Wayne to be the boy that had stolen her nephew’s heart. 

While Aunt April seems to be studying the handsome boy, you feel an inkling of panic rise up within you. However, before you can start to freak out, she is quick to ease your concerns as her eyes dart to you and with a subtle nod of approval and lets a genuine smirk grace her face. Sensing the shift of approval in the air, Tim finally relaxes his fidgeting hands and remembers the gifts that he had brought along with him. “Oh! If I may…” You watch curiously as Tim reaches behind himself to reveal a thin plastic container of two white flower boutonnieres. Looking at them in surprise, which then quickly changes to impress, Aunt April elbows you with raised eyebrows as Tim carefully takes the bundled flowers out and finds the crystal pins. 

With an expectant look, Tim leans down to pin the boutonniere to your suit jacket’s fold with surgeon precision, making sure not to prick you. A calm grin grows on his face as his hands leave your suit and the flowers stay perfectly in place, to which you drag his matching boutonniere and pin it in the same place as yours. After a few moments of unconsciously adoring one another in silence, Aunt April coughs to break the tension and begins shooing you out of the door before slamming it close, the locks audibly sliding into place. 

Turning to face each other, you and Tim look at the door before you turn back and mutter, “Well, I guess she won’t be giving you the shovel talk yet.” Hearing you, Tim laughs and grabs your hand, leading you to his sleek black Maserati GranTurismo, which stands out like a sore thumb in your dusty neighborhood. Moving to the passenger side, Tim opens the door for you and bows akin to a butler, “After you, my lady~”

You guffaw, sitting inside the luxury car regardless as Tim closes your door and rounds the car, getting into the driver’s seat. While buckling in, your left arm crosses over the console to rest your hand on his thigh. “If anyone is a lady here, it would be you with the amount of makeup you have on to cover your eye bags,” you tease as the blue eyed boy jumps at your touch and a furious blush travels up his face. Just as the corner of his mouth hints at turning down at your comment, you are swift to lean over and kiss Tim’s cheek in reassurance, “But don’t worry, you know I love your eye bags, Timmy.”

Just as you expected, your boy’s face lights up with the assurance of how wholeheartedly you love all of him. A playful grin spreads onto his face as your hand settles more securely on his thigh and the usual gloomy dimness of Gotham grows even darker. “Well, without any more complaints Darling, we will be blowing this popsicle stand,” he cheers, turning on the car with a turn of his key. The beast of an automobile purrs loudly in the street, echoing through the valley of apartments, but the quiet interior of the car provides a comfortable atmosphere. 

Tim’s nerves and embarrassment from before fade away almost completely as he drives out of your neighborhood and onto the busy main road. A small grin remains on his face as he feels your hand resting on his thigh, a feeling that makes his own heart flutter back into action. Relaxing into the familiar setting of the driver’s seat, Tim keeps one of his hands on the wheel while he speeds and the other travels down to rest on top of your own. 

The streets outside the car windows pass by like shooting stars, the lights of Gotham City seeming to blur. While you’re occupied with your phone, your boyfriend’s attention wavers from the road frequently. He glances over at you every now and again, admiring how the outside lights that pass by accentuate your features with shadows, making you look like a dream.

In what seems like no time has passed since leaving your neighborhood, Tim’s sleek car has pulled up to a special entrance of wired fencing and moves easily past stationed security guards with a single look at his face. Sensing the building tension in the air from the workers, you put your phone away and get ready to make your entrance. Looking ahead in line, you watch in terrified awe as multiple cars are bathed in explosive lights from various event photographers and paparazzi. 

Unconsciously, your hand on Tim’s thigh starts to tighten and your fingertips dig into his skin through the fabric of his pants from your own muscles tensing. Switching his attention from the bumper of the car in front of you, down to your hand, and then to your face, Tim looks at you curiously in concern. ‘Hey, hey, it’ll be alright,” Tim calmly reassures, one of his hands moving on top of yours to gently pry your fingers from his thigh. He intertwines your open hand with his, giving you a comforting squeeze. “I’m going to be right beside you the entire time, don’t worry. It’s just like school… if it contained about a hundred security cameras and a thousand dollars worth of decoration,” the blue eyed boy rambled, trying to somehow make you feel better. The increased stress and otherworldly feeling of the situation somehow draws a laugh from you. 

A few deep breaths and the rubbing of Tim’s thumb over the back of your hand later, you have now moved up in line and the A list celebrity from the car in front of you has now gotten out and posed past all the paparazzi. Putting the sports car into drive, Tim slowly inches forward with his own itchy nervousness. Entertainment news reporters have all quickly turned their cameras towards the car and flashes of bright white pierce through the, thankfully heavily tinted, windows. 

Without a further ado and a singular squeeze of your hand, Tim gets out of the car and confidently tosses the keys to the valet while walking around towards the passenger side door. As a historically loner Wayne Enterprise CEO, the cameras immediately pick up on this and waves of excited chatter burst through to your ears as he opens your door. The taller boy is quick to shadow your eyes from the onslaught of bright light with his own body. After a few moments of gathering your wits, you take his extended hand and clumsily get out of the car.

The chaos of the paparazzi is almost overwhelming, cameras and reporters shouting to get Tim’s attention. They begin to jostle and call out to you both, asking about the identity of his date and what the night has in store, wanting the latest gossip. Despite the chaos and commotion of your arrival, Tim still holds your hand tightly as if you were his only lifeline in a sea of sharks. 

Although you stumble the first few steps down the red carpet with Tim guiding you, a sort of spatial bubble has been created around you both. Everyone attending the gala along the red carpet moves to give you two space, observing you both from a distance with everyone else. Your boyfriend’s expression is cool and collected, his typical Tim Wayne-Drake persona, but you know that it is likely a stark contrast to his internal turmoil. 

Cameras keep flashing and the questions keep coming as reporters all try their damndest to get a word from Gotham’s billionaire playboy’s adopted son. Nevertheless, the blue eyed boy remains the epitome of composed, a polite smile gracing his face as he gently tugs you along the carpet towards Gotham’s Grand Hall. His hand guides you to interlock elbows together as he murmurs, “Come on, love, let’s go,” under his breath.

While being practically escorted to the inside, one reporter manages to cut through the noise, “Timothy Drake! Who is that with you tonight?”

Together, you stop in your tracks and pause at the question of the hour. The polite smile on Tim’s face does falter for a second as he turns to the reporter who had spoken from The Daily Planet, tilting his head with an air of nonchalance and bringing his arm to wrap possessively around your waist. “My one and only date, of course,” he replies, keeping his words short and sweet as he keeps you close.

The crowds’ attention turns to you as soon as Tim’s words leave his lips, the reporters and paparazzi suddenly switching their cameras to capture any and every angle of you. Tim’s blatant statement earns what he would consider murmurs, but what you would consider chaotic shouting. Some of the reporters quickly start to clamor, asking louder more questions about just who you are and how long you both have been together.

Despite the sudden attention, Tim keeps his cool, keeping his grip tight on your hand and his body positioned slightly in front of you, shielding you from the majority of the prying cameras’ flashes. While you can’t help but squint your eyes from all the remaining violent light and overstimulating entrance, your boyfriend chuckles at the reporters’ frenzy, his eyes flicking back at you, checking to gauge your reaction. He does not find one of comfortability and happiness, which the tall young man can’t even blame you for. 

Decidedly having enough of all their nonsense bothering you, he addresses the journalists politely, but firmly, “Now if you’ll excuse us,” Tim continues, trying to keep any aggression he feels from his voice, “we have a party to attend.”

Finally walking up the unnecessarily long driveway, past the heavy iron gates that separate the public from the private mass, you and Tim both keep your hands interlocked. As you get farther and farther away from the paparazzi, your heartbeat gradually slows down from its rapid anxious rhythm and your shoulders un-tense. Gazing around the impeccably trimmed lawn of the Wayne Manor, a soft smile exposing the gums of your teeth finally graces your face as you spot tiny fireflies in the leaves of spherical shaped bushes. 

Soft classical music begins to float into your ears, loud enough to carry from the nearing mansion’s open windows, but not loud enough to drown out the posh voices from inside. With a few more paces, your fancy dress shoes clacking on the stone ground turns into softened pitter-patters on freshly waxed grand oak flooring. You take a couple moments to breathe in the exquisitely decorated gala hall, appreciating the hard work of, without a doubt, the beloved Alfred. Then, Tim subtly shakes your hand out of his grasp, gaining your confused and nearly hurt attention before he instead guides your arm to possessively hook onto his raised elbow. 

Regaining your composure, your dazzling eyes glance at similarly zinging blue eyes. While you both stand on the edge of the mingling party, your silhouettes face each other with mirroring giddy smiles. A unique emotion of attraction combined with unhealthy obsession and means to keep such a relationship forms between the distance of your noses; an emotion you can only describe as True Love. 

The first to look away is, surprisingly, Tim. His gaze turns away from your own and back to the wealthy party insession. Of course, this is only because of the fact that he had analyzed plenty of photos to know every detail of your face. So now if he ever wishes, he can simply think of you and your incapacitating beauty will perfectly appear in his mind. 

Throughout the next hour or so, you two slowly immerse yourselves in some friendly conversation with other guests. They too were curious of this seemingly new relationship, but knew how to elegantly breach the topic. Their sly remarks of how expensive your suit looked on you did not go unnoticed by your partner, but a pinch against his bicep was enough to ignore the comments. 

Finally, after talking to what could very much likely be the fifth kickstart vigilante insurance businessman of the night, a slower romantic song begins to be played on the piano by the hired live band. Tim breaks you away from any boring conversations you were having with a tug on the arm as he pulls you to the middle of the crowded floor. Turning towards you, one of his arms wraps itself around your waist and the other raises your connected hands to the height of your shoulders. A few giggles bubble out of your throat as you both begin a slow waltz alongside everyone else. The taller boy attempted to make up for his stutter steps with confidence in leading. 

Looking at your love, it’s as though, in this momentary period of time, Tim is an exasperated rose bud that has finally bloomed from the return of the dusk’s moonlight. A few people push against the curves of your suit and you both contract to a close embrace on the crowded floor. Resting the side of your head against his chest, you calmly inhale the smell of his rose cologne and draw an outline of his white lily boutonniere with your lidded eyes. 

The back and forth rocking of your dancing combined with the steady beating of Tim’s heart underneath his corded muscle, flesh, and bones lulls you to a kind of dissociating relaxation. It’s almost as if it was only you and your sweetheart on the dance floor. Almost.

Enveloped in the feeling of safety, you slowly let the heavy lids of your eyes fall over them for a single moment. However, at the instance you open your eyes a second later, a sharp POP! rings through the gala hall and shakes the surrounding walls. At the same time, the overhead lights turn off and the live musicians clumsily stop their playing at different increments. Surprised gasps and worried frantic murmuring fills the space as cellphone flashlights begin to illuminate said darkness. 

“Look! Over there!”, “Oh my!”, “Well, I suppose this is quite some entertainment!”, are all shared statements of gala ongoers as through one of the grand manor windows the private mass can clearly see a scene of Gotham chaos happening nearby in the city. The resounding pop heard by everyone had been the sound of pressurized air coming from an exploding building. Out from the clouds of smoke and layers of fire is one Harley Quinn facing off against an opposing bat vigilante. 

The scene is too far away for you to truly make out which vigilante it is, as the only color you remarkably see is black and their outline flickers with the catching fire. Harley, confirmed by the polar red and blue of her pigtails, begins to sprint past crumbling walls of brick and begins an interesting fight with an unexpectedly sluggish vigilante. The sight of their fatigue concerns you. Maybe the explosion hurt them more than it hurt her, you think in your mind, your free hand subconsciously rising to brush against your bottom lip in worry. 

However tantalizing the scene is for you and everyone else attending, the tense flinch of Tim’s arm trying to pull away from your unwilling grasp draws your immediate focus. His eyes had found the source of the popping sound just before anyone could point to the window and now you follow his eyes to be connecting with a stern-faced Bruce Wayne across the hall. Looking in between the family members, you’re still confused as to what their expressions mean. While their faces stay blank with sealed lips, their eyes tell a much different story with determination and calculated focus beaming through their shades of blue.

Neither of them have addressed you trying to butt in on their silent conversation, but a prompt nod of his head from Mr. Wayne sends Tim turning to look down at you. Tim’s eyes meet yours with furrowed eyebrows and a look of guilt crossing his pale face, “Look Darling… I need to talk to you about something and right now is probably a really inconvenient time to.” The words filter out of your boyfriend’s mouth with a tinge of nervousness and impatience. 

Taking your hand, Tim gently pulls you aside to a quieter area of the hall, away from the prying eyes and ears of the party guests. Once he's satisfied that no one is listening, he sighs, raking a hand through his hair. His expression turns apologetic as he speaks, his voice soft but firm, "I hate to do this to you out of all people, but... uh, an emergency's come up and I need to attend to it…"

Still helplessly confused by what he is alluding to, your face is scrunched up in judgy sass as a few dots connect in your head. If it were a less time demanding situation, Tim totally would have ogled how cute you looked. Nevertheless, you speak with hushed concern and frustration, “W-what do you mean, Sweetheart? Is it from that building fucking exploding? You can’t possibly ‘attend’ to that!? You’ll get hurt, dumbass!”

Tim hesitates for a moment hearing the concern and acknowledges absurdity in your voice while your hands clench harder onto his arms. The usually confident and exact boy grapples with the rising difficult decision. He wants to be honest, wants to tell you the truth about who he is and explain everything to you, but the urgency of the citation and the possible consequences make him hesitate. 

“Darling, I know you’re worried, but… there’s just something I… I just need to do something. It’s important,” His words come out low and quiet, his eyes fixed on yours with a mix of determination and anxiety. “Please, just trust me on this. I’ll explain everything later. Just– Just not right now, okay?”

The black haired boy takes your silence as good as an answer he will get at this moment. With a single departing kiss on your left cheek, Tim effortlessly twists out of your grasp and hastily navigates through the gala crowd to somewhere you do not know. You’re frozen in place with your jaw hanging like a centimeter open and your eyes so wide they’re almost popping out of your head. This BITCH is crazy! is the only thought that circulates in your mind. 

You had just been having a mediocre fucking day and shitty ass highschool, where your handsome bitch boyfriend invited you to an expensive fucking party to basically shout to the world “This is who I fucking love!” And what happens about half way through the bullshit party???? YOUR HANDSOME BITCH ASS BOYFRIEND ABANDONS YOU!!!!! Oh, he is dead. Like not even 6 feet under ground dead, but cremated dead. He will never get that hot slice of ass again.

Feeling like the real life incarnation of Angry from Inside Out, you finally snap out of your frozen state and decide, Screw This Party. In a minute flat, you have made it to the entrance you came in from by stomping your way through the needless crowd still bawking over the rogue fight. As you’re about to cross the threshold of the doorway, a prim looking Englishman stands next to the adjacent outdoor lights. The familiarity of his face supplies you with him being Alfred, the Wayne's beloved butler and the tailor of your current suit. Having been raised with manners and taught to show it regardless of your mood, you sharply face the blank man and speak to him choppingly, “Thank you for the invitation and the suit, Mr. Alfred. I enjoyed what you set up. Good night”

Without even a raise in his eyebrow or a look of curiosity at your spoiled mood, he responds in kind, “You are very much welcome and thank you. I do wish you have a good night as well. And, if I may, I advise that you take a relaxing bath at home, but still keep your steel backbone. Figuratively speaking.” 

His odd choice of words and manner hinting that he knows more than he will tell you momentarily blooms curiosity and suspicion in you. Nevertheless, a warm bath sounds nice enough to whisk you away from any more exhaustion. Stepping through the doorway with a curt nod of your head and a frustrated crease of your eyebrows, you wish the gala away and start on your long trek home. The anger of being ghosted so suddenly and also the anger of your impatience from his explanation fuels you plenty with energy to walk though. 

{ Time Skip: Several days after the gala, on the weekend }

Guarded by the old brick and drywall of your aunt’s apartment, you take refuge in your room like it’s your own mental asylum. You lay over your plush bed with your limbs spread out like a starfish, just staring up at the ceiling. The memorization of every crack decorating the outside of your ceiling light titty, as you have dubbed it, is spent in either silence or patterns of electronic humming. Deep under your bedframe, is a shoe box that you had padded the inside with Tim’s gifted suit and also your phone. The fabric and cardstock structure is slightly able to muffle the sound of many text messages and ringing calls from the one person you do not want to talk to. 

The two live surveillance cameras that are posted in opposite corners of your room are not obscured by opaque white paper taped to them. You had tried to use scissors to cut the electricity wires that allow the camera to function, but had found that they were securely drilled to your walls and designed with protective frames. That night after walking too many miles home in the chum bucket of Gotham City, you had gone on a rampage of your room and everything that had to do with communicating with Tim. But, as much as you questioned ruining everything he had given you, you still couldn’t part with most of the stuff. Now, instead, everything is packed up into shoe boxes under your bed and only a chibi style raccoon plushy has earned its right to stay on your bed. 

Aunt April fortunately stayed clear and didn’t press for an explanation even as irritated scoffs were heard from your room. Sure, in hindsight it seems like you are being overdramatic about how Tim had left you at the gala, but… the only way you can describe it is that it just doesn’t feel that way to you, whether he deserves all your anger or not. Turning onto your side, you hug the soft raccoon plushy close tucked underneath your chin and curl the rest of your body up around it. Small tears threaten the edges of your eyes, pulled to the side by gravity as you stare off into nothing again. 

You felt hurt. And more importantly, you felt dumb because you were hurt. All your life, Aunt April has told you that your heart was too big for your ribcage. You felt things so extremely and had a lot of love, but very picky standards. For Tim to have been practically shouting from the rooftops that he loves you and worshipping the touch of your skin, his cold and abrupt departure in the middle of the gala hit you harder than a car could. The mysterious conditions surrounding it all only heightened your already high anxiety in that moment. 

He left you. Left you in a room full of people who could afford spending their time at lavish gatherings and charities while people like you had to always count your pennies. It was impersonal, it was throwing you in the deep end, and it was making you feel immature. You didn’t know if that was right or wrong. As warm tears spill down across the bridge of your nose to the soft sheets of your bed, you still don’t know. 

And outside in the same smog of Gotham that you breathe in, Tim had paced above a rooftop while police lights flashed over his cowl that unfateful night. It’s the same air, but something about it just seems unequal between you two. His gut is twisting with guilt and worry. He had been torn between staying with you at the gala and fulfilling his heroic duty, caught between what looked like two equally important responsibilities at the time. As you ignore his desperate calls and frantic text messages, Tim’s worry that night had turned into pure panic. 

Even days after the event had happened, Tim had not slept much and alternatively spends his time sitting in the darkness of his room. His several computer monitors displayed the blurry white recordings that were supposed to be your room and he watches the time tick by. One of his legs is perched up on his gamer chair as he stares at the unhealthy light of his phone; the numerous texts and unanswered calls lining vertically on the screen.

The echoes of your silence sitting among him like an unwanted friend. His fingers are wrapped tightly around his phone as he brings it up to rest against his forehead and close his eyes in despair. Suddenly, the sound of a soft knock on his bedroom door interrupts his thoughtless mind. He glances at the door, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Yeah?” he calls. 

The door creaks open and Bruce Wayne, dressed in a night robe, steps into the dark room. It only takes a second for him to adjust to the dimness and his gaze scans Tim’s disheveled state. His expression softened in concern as he took in the sight of his ward, so visibly troubled. “Tim, can we talk?” Bruce’s voice is unusually gentle, his usual stern and stoic demeanor softening slightly with plenty of awkwardness blended into it. 

Not seeing how much help his dad can be, but not low enough to discourage this emotional growth in him, Tim just lets out a long sigh as he rests his head once again against the edge of his phone. He responds, tone akin to boredom, “About?” 

Bruce takes a few more steps into the room, shutting the door behind him as not to disturb anyone else. He leans against the closed door, crossing his arms over his chest. It’s like a fucking Cousin Eddie, Tim scoffs in his brain, somehow. 

“It’s about earlier this week,” he starts, treading carefully, “about what happened at the gala. It uh– it didn’t look good; for both of you.”

As soon as he had mentioned the gala , the blue eyed teenager’s joints had gone slack and his head fell to smack into the keyboard on his desk. He doesn’t attempt to raise his head, only groans from physical and mental pain. Regardless, Bruce continues on in a manner where he himself also seems wildly uncomfortable, “Look Chum… we all have a responsibility; to the people of Gotham, to the people we care about, to the mission. This double life we lead, it’s a heavy burden to bear, Tim” He robotically lifts off the door and steps closer to where his son sits in his chair, “and finding love in this life… is a risk. The life of a hero is often a lonely one. Secrets have a way of poisoning relationships, of building walls between the ones we care about. Hell, I’ve learned that enough from all of you…”

He takes a step closer and Tim finally lifts his face up to watch his gaze as a warm hand is placed on his shoulder, “and the more you keep your identity hidden, the harder it becomes to let someone in. Trust erodes and the weight of the secret only gets heavier.” Bruce stops speaking and both vigilante billionaires are left in silence. Tim looks at Bruce with a blank facial expression, thinking through what exactly The Batman , the ultimate grudge and distrust mascot, was conveying to him, and Bruce just looks like he needs to take a shit.  

Time takes a deep breath, his gaze meeting Bruce’s with a newfound glimmer of resolve, “Bruce, I’ve thought about everything you said, and… I know what I have to do, thanks,” he says, his voice firm and unwavering. Bruce raises his eyebrows in seemingly surprise that he led to an epiphany for Tim. His son exhales deeply, feeling a rain cloud disappear over his head and a moveable weight landing on his shoulders now that he’s made up his mind. “I need to show him how much I love him,” he states firmly. Bruce nods, not truly understanding but still with a smile playing at the corners of his lips. 

He turns to leave, but before he exits the room, Tim calls out to him, “Hey! Make sure to tell Alfred his little motivational speech actually worked!” To which, his adoptive dad jolts and walks out of his room feeling a little less happy with himself. Waiting in the hallway, a passing by Alfred just simply takes a look at the disappointed Bruce and offers an unsurprised nod of thanks inside to the young master. Alfred guides his own ward away from the scheming boy, leaving Tim alone once again, but with his usual racing thoughts. He has to make it up to you, even if it means draining himself of his pride and money. 

Leaving no time to waste, Tim quickly saves all his tabs and powers down his computer as he leaves his room behind. He practically flies down the stairs of the Manor, resembling somewhat of a young Dick Grayson. His socks allow him to slide across the tile and wood floors of his home as he makes various pit stops at the kitchen, dry pantry, and various closets before he begins trudging towards the front door with full arms. He puts on a pair of shoes and a red flannel coat sparingly just as he grabs a random set of car keys and hastily embarks on his mission. Possibly the most important mission he will have in his life. 

He walks with so much purpose that the air whips into Duke’s face as they move past each other. His greeting to his brother is accidentally ignored and just leaves him slightly suspicious. “Where’s he off to?” he asks, watching as the blue eyed boy continued walking in the other direction. Alas, no one can answer him. His only company in the front living room is a passed out Steph splayed across a nearby couch. Whom, he happily distracts himself with taking funny pictures of.

Besides, Tim’s mind is a whirlwind of anticipation and determination as he hastily leaves the manor, keys clutched tightly in his hand and his arms heavy with various items in a basket.His heart pounds against his chest like a war drum, adrenaline coursing through his veins like a drug. He loves hard and anything associated with his love is not to be neglected either.

He jumps into the key’s corresponding car, not even looking at the model or color before he starts the engine, the powerful purr of the engine mirroring the rhythm of his heartbeat. With a deep exhale, he grips the steering wheel and peels out of the driveway, leaving nothing but rubber tire marks on the road behind him. He can pay for the traffic fines.

Eventually, he makes it to your street and parks on the side about a block away from your apartment. The tall boy quickly gets out from the driver’s side, but doesn’t take anything he had gathered from the manor with him over to a familiar alleyway. Walking a distance into it, he stops and stands staring up at the wall of your apartment building. Thank Wonder Woman you didn’t live on a high floor; your window is in perfect view to him from below. He sighs in relief seeing a warm glow of light shine through partially open white curtains. Looking around sharply, Tim picks up a pile of pebbles from crumbling brick and begins lightly throwing small pieces against the glass.

He stands in the darkened and unsafe alley, the faint glow of streetlights illuminating his face and the pieces of brick in his hands. His cornflower blue gaze stays fixed on your window. The pebbles he hurls against the window create a piercing thud as it makes contact. He waits impatiently, silently praying that you will hear the subtle disturbance and care to investigate. 

Low and behold, the unsettling silence that had taken over your secured room beforehand was broken by a shrill pinging noise. It was different from your phone’s notifications and close enough that it was mildly alarming. Staying curled around your plush raccoon, you shut your eyes and hoped for the noise to have just been a single incident. Unfortunately for you, identical pinging sounds ringed out through your room just seconds later, the source seemingly coming from the window. 

You get up from your bed with a long groan and slowly trudge over, moving the fabric of your curtains aside to look out into the night sky. With narrowing eyes, you see nothing in front of you, so you look down and what a mistake that is. Your eyes immediately widen as you make eye contact with Tim, who was holding small rocks in his hands. In a fight or flight response, you duck down below the view of your window, crouching on the floor and muttering, “Shit”. 

Bro he totally saw me. Wait, first off, why the fuck is he at my house? Timmy is making it impossible for me to maintain my cold shoulder, you think to yourself. In the next few moments, you expect to hear more pinging noises from rocks thrown against your window, but bizarrely enough, notes of muffled music reach your ears. Moving your hands up to grip the edge of the windowsill, you slowly push yourself up just enough to see down into the alley. The sight that greets you almost makes you chuckle, just like you used to constantly at school. 

There, in the darkness of Gotham and griminess of any alley ever, Timothy Drake-Wayne stands plank straight with his hands holding his phone above his head. Mystical Magical by Benson Boone plays from his phone at full volume as your boyfriend pouts at your hiding. 

After a minute of standing there, feeling more and more ridiculous by the second, Tim begins to doubt his whole ‘grand gesture’ idea. Seeing as you haven’t moved from where you barely peek over your windowsill, he glances around the alley, wondering if anyone will stumble upon him and catch him in the act of being that desperate. He turns his attention back to your window, but there is no sign of you. Panicked, and truly that desperate, Tim quickly pauses the music and stuffs his phone in his pocket before aimlessly aligning himself with grooves in the brick wall. Finding good enough ledges to put his feet and hands, he climbs unfairly well up the side of your apartment building. 

Shortly after, from sitting on the edge of your bed, you see a shaky pale hand reach up from below your window and knock repetitively on the glass. With even wider eyes than before, you rush over to pry your window open completely and stick your head out to look down at a muttering Tim. Barely any sweat clings to his forehead as his eyes glimmer from the moonlight, gazing up at you in reverent wonder. Instead of reciprocating the same relief after isolation, you shrieked, “WHAT THE HELL, TIM?! You’re gonna get fucking crippled if you fall! This is the fifth floor, for Superman’s sake!”

With an accusatory gasp, Tim grunts lightly as he moves both of his hands to be clutching the frame of your window. Resting his chin on the excerpt, he looks up at you with the largest puppy dog eyes you have ever seen him hold. “Would you still love me if I was paralyzed from the neck down, like a worm?” he asked in a lithe voice. 

Now the pout is on your face as you stay leaning out of your window, but not entirely sold on helping Tim yet. However, before you can stop your two’s usual flow of banter get to you, words start flowing out of your mouth in response, “Love you? I'd carry you around in my pocket like an emotional support caterpillar, so you could never leave me… B-but don't push it! I'm still mad at you.”

Tim can’t help the wide smile that spreads across his face as he hears your words, his eyes still holding that slightly pleasing puppy dog look, but practically sparkling like stars. He knows that you’re still upset with him, cite your last sentence, but the fact that you still care enough to reply to his stupid question when he’s hanging about seven eighths out of your window makes his heart flutter in his chest. The pale and lanky boy’s grip on the window ledge tightened and his shoulders finally seemed to begin straining from holding up his weight as he looked at you. His sharp blue gaze locks onto yours as his voice takes a more serious tone, “I know you’re mad at me,” he began, “and trust me, I know I deserve it… but, can I come in? Just for a second, please?” he asks politely, but sincerely. 

Not trusting whatever you might say in response or how your heart has been skipping beats, the only warning Tim gets before your hands dig under his armpits and throw him into your room is the narrowing of your pouting eyes. Shutting the window with a little bit too much power, inciting a noise, you turn around and lean against it while drawing your arms to lay folded across your chest. Sitting on the carpet in front of you, your relieved boyfriend hesitantly brushes off his dirty hands on his flannel before also standing up. His earlier piercing eyes now seem to be observing everything around except from you, probably intimidated by the visible clenching in your jaw. 

Clutching and rubbing his hands together nervously, Tim begins to croak out from where he stands, “Hey, uhhh pretty boy! Soooooo, ok, now that we’re inside and I’m not hanging to my death um… it’d actually be better to talk outside. Or, more precisely, let me show you something outside..?” One of his calloused hands is outstretched in your direction with the other one scratching the back of his neck. Seeing no other possible thing that could fill your time better than following the guy, albeit you really didn’t want to admit that you had missed him, you throw one of your hands into his waiting one with a sigh. “Should I grab some money?” you ask, wondering if this is like a nostalgic run to the local convenience store; probably getting robbed too.

Perking up once again to your surprising cooperation, Tim is quick to reply in a sultry fashion, “No worries, pretty boy~ I can handle anything you desire… But you will want some shoes tho– Ah forget it, I’ll give you mine,” the tall boy is bent down and just about to wrestle off one of his own Converse before you rush towards him. “Wait, no, no, no, no, Tim stop! I can just get my shoes from downstairs. Chill, I’m not going to slap you for being asked to get my shoes on,” you insisted to the young man fully ready to walk with only socks in Gotham. Talk about ballsy!

Retying his shoelaces, Tim follows behind you as you walk through your house down towards the front door. Sitting on the living room sofa, watching soap opera, is Aunt April who only gives you two a mildly curious raised eyebrow before turning her focus somewhere else. Once you’ve slipped your shoes on and locked up the apartment as you left, Tim then weaves one of his own hands into yours and begins guiding you away towards his parked car. Although you feel like you should pull your hand out of his and walk independently, the whole reason you were mad at him was because he left you, but now, the comfort of him being there does something to you. 

Standing out like a camel in a herd of horses, a shimmery purple BMW X5 sits parked on the side of your street without a single scratch or dent done to it. Regardless if there was, Tim quickly opens the passenger side door for you and waits until you hesitantly settle in before getting into the driver’s. The ride to wherever Tim was taking you was full with awkward silence the entire way. You had nothing to say as you had just spent days laying in your room spiraling over the same boy that you can see is currently pressing his lips together so as to not speak. He was always a  natural yapper. 

Tim drives through the quiet, semi-deserted streets of Gotham and you watch as more and more trees line the outside of your window. Every now and then, scheming blue eyes steal a quick glance at you from the corner of his eyes. The pale boy can feel the awkwardness hanging in the air like a thick fog and it’s killing him to stay silent; but he prevails in biting his tongue for your sake. Finally, as the car has completely driven away from the concrete jungle of Gotham and now drives on a winding road in a forest, Tim begins to calm himself. The calm before the storm. 

Gradually slowing down and then steering off of the main road, Tim parks the car in a small clearing of grass. With a mix of nervousness and subconscious anticipation, he finally speaks, his voice low, “Darling…?” At the call of your pet name, you meet his eyes and tilt your head in ‘ Go on’ . Tim takes a deep breath before turning to face you completely in his seat. The tension between you two now palpable as the car interior is illuminated by the city lights barely shining through the trees outside. His gaze turns serious and his voice quiet, “I have something important to tell you. Something I should have probably told you a while ago…”

Your heart skips a beat as you hear the serious tone in Tim’s voice dripping in an emotion you can’t quite understand. You turn to him completely as well, your eyebrows furrowing in concern. You wanted the truth and this seemed like it was going to be it. “What is it?” you ask softly, your gaze fixed on his handsome face as his eyes once again look elsewhere nervously.

Tim’s heart is racing, his whole body feeling tense as he stumbles over his words, trying to tell the truth. For the first time ever, he’s scared of you. How you might react, how you might leave him. Which, ironically, makes him want to kick himself more cause that’s what he did to you; he left. The tall boy takes a deep breath, gathering the courage to finally reveal what had been on his mind. 

“I-I am…” he starts, his voice trembling slightly,” I’m Red Robin.”

After a few moments of only outside cricket noises, you were about to open your mouth to say something, but Tim interrupts you in nervous rambling. He takes another shaky breath, his eyes now averted to the front window, looking out at the Gotham skyline. “I’ve been fighting crime for a while, since my parents died and Bruce took me in… I guess, I found a new purpose for myself and gave my all to building our day and night business. But… but when I met you, I realized there was something else I could fight for; for our future together in a safe Gotham.”

He turns to look at you, his expression a mixture of fear and hope, “That’s why I had to leave the other night… I had to make sure that Nightwing was taking care of Harley. Thinking back to it all, it was super shitty on my part,” the pale boy’s hands reach across the car and grab your own hands, his grip tight but shaking with nerves. “Please, please, please understand… I never wanted to keep this from you. I love you. I want a future with you, truly. But… I also have to uphold my responsibility to Gotham; and believe me, you’re always on my mind while we’re apart. I– I’m sorry. This is the truth."

The words hang heavily in the air, the weight of the revelation sinking in. You’re taken aback by Tim’s confession, struggling to process the information that your boyfriend, who you thought was just an oddly jacked loser billionaire, was actually one of the infamous masked vigilante fighting crime around the city. Ok, thinking about my own description of Tim, the dots do connect frustratingly easily, you think to yourself. 

“You’re…” you manage to stutter out, your eyes already incredibly wide, “You’re really Red Robin?”

Tim swallows hard, his eyes searching your face for any sign of anger or disgust. He nods absolutely, “Yes,” he whispers, “I’m Red Robin.” He can practically see you processing the truth behind your eyes. In preparation, he braced himself, waiting for your reaction. The silence in the car was deafening, filled with anticipation and tension. 

“Wow.”

“This is a lot to take in… but I trust you, Timmy.”

A violence puff of air flows out of your boyfriend, as he hangs his head in victory and his grasp turns loose on your hands. You continue in a spacey, but genuine voice, “I can tell you’re doing uh that because you care about people, specific people, and want to make a difference. J-just promise me you’ll be careful, and that you’ll let me in next time, Sweetheart!” You say your affectionate pet name for your boyfriend like it was a curse word. Shaking his hands a little bit in yours, they tighten up again before Tim’s head quickly shoots up. 

In less than a blink of an eye, Tim tugs you closer as he lays a passionate kiss onto your lips. Your eyelids flicker in surprise and you can’t help but want to melt into the soft thin lips the slot perfectly against your own. Your lips stay interlocked for what could be hours, your glossy eyes falling shut and the moonlight framing your lover’s return to you. 

However, once you two barely break apart with a soft pop, the hours of time together is not enough to sedate either of you. Days of separation, with nothing to fill the void in your hearts, has left you parched in a desert. Until… you brought your oasis to Tim. Letting go of his hands, you attach to the sides of his jaw like magnets and you dive back in. Your sweetheart closes his eyes before your lips even reach his and his heartbeat quickens as you lean forward to take all of him for yourself. 

Moving his lips against yours, opening and closing around their pillowly volume, a light noise arises from the back of his throat at the taste of your vanilla chapstick. Although you had only been days apart, the feeling of this kiss is infinitely more sensitive than your first ever. Endless hours of madness show themselves through Tim’s own hands grabbing you across the waist and hauling you to straddle his lap. The kiss does not stop. Unfortunate thoughts of jealousy appear as you ravish his mouth, rubbing your tastebuds against his gums and pleasingly only finding hints of coffee. Meeting your tongue where it forces his mouth open, Tim’s thin lips conform around the slick appendage and softly suck. In shock at the unusual form of control, your eyes open to find his own already staring right back. 

The teal vulnerability remains, but it’s only speckles compared to the ice blue of lust storming in his eyes. Letting go of the pressure, Tim pulls his head back away from your tongue, a string of saliva glows in the moonlight and you can see your heavy exhales in the cool air. The car’s inside lights had turned off, but you didn’t need them to feel just how much your boyfriend missed you. Pushing against the cleft of your perk butt, an old friend positively screams to be let out. Or, in. 

Wrapping your arms around his neck and finding the back of his headrest, you shamelessly arch your body forward to align with his own. Hips to hips, you begin rolling your ass down and back, giggling out loud as Tim’s hands fly to grab your cheeks. Feeling the effect of your behavior, causing the air to thicken between you two, his right hand lifts off of your butt and you feel a delicious sting following, accompanied by a sharp Smack ! “A-ah!” you shriek in surprise, pushing forward off his lap instinctually to get away from the pain. However, looking down at the black haired boy now level with your chest, you see a smug grin on his face before his hands find your waist again and pull you back down onto his lap. 

“Darling, you gotta stay in your seat~ You chose it after all,” he teases you, his offending hand rubbing circles into where your skin tingles underneath your jeans. You’re not necessarily mad at him, quite the opposite, but you weren’t going to let one move deter you from control. Glaring down at him, you wipe the grin off his face and put it on yours. 

You dramatically gasp, “Oh, of course! I’ll stay… Just let me get comfortably seated, yeah Timmy?” you offered, a pure tone to your voice boldly contrasting the situation. Your head dips again to rejoin with his lips, the slobber between you warming up again. The rhythm of your hips against his continues, but you’re extra punishing in your grinding down, engraving the outline of his third leg into your head via ass feeling. From behind his head, your left hand travels to rest along his clavicle, enjoying the subtle tensing of his impressive muscles. The right hand sneakily travels past his chest and down the side of the driver’s seat, once you find what you’re looking for, you quickly yank on the seat’s lever while pushing into the kiss more. 

From once sitting at 100 degrees, Tim is now laying almost horizontally at 180 degrees. Unclicking the seatbelt to move it from your prize, “That’s more like it,” you remark. Tim’s soft chuckles reach your ears from your seat, “Whatever works for you, Darling. We have the whole night…” his palms pressing against the curves of your hips as they move to start peeling the pants off your skin. 

“That better be a promise, Timmy. I hope you saved up all your cum for me,” you bend down, just a breath away from the happy young man. A little bit of jealousy bleeds into your undertone and Tim almost looked offended if it weren’t for remembering his own jealous thoughts. “Pretty boy, I’m close to going blue at this point,” he snarls, a twitch of his crotch up against yours attesting.  

Tim’s breathing is so quick, his fingers breaching the seams of your clothes and roughly throwing your shirt off, landing across in the passenger seat. His fingers dig into the skin of your hips above the line of your pants, his eyes hypnotized by the sight of your blushing and soft nipples. His long hands squeeze as if to restrain himself, not wanting to let his impatience overpower him but there are too many clothes. “Darling, pleaseeee,” his voice deep and husky, tinged with familiar sounding desperation, “I’ve been going crazy without you… I need you now.”

Not having to be told twice, you roughly begin snapping the buttons of your jeans open, lifting your hips up momentarily to get the fabric off of you. Reaching to remove your embarrassing King Julian briefs off, Tim beats you to it as his hands grab the fabric and literally rip them off of your body, throwing them to the passenger seat. Relaxing back, his blue eyes darken as his gaze roams over your form more, taking in every inch of you. “Every night alone has been torture,” he whispers, reverant. 

His thumbs find the indents of your hip dips, his go-to place to rest his hands, and lovingly rubs against the sprinkles of cute moles. While you stay motionless on top, your breathing has picked up and the feeling of his luxury sweatpants underneath your rear feels a little weird. Tim’s hands slowly slide down to your thighs, his fingers leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake as they explore your body once again. He looks up at you with hooded eyes, the heat between you growing more intense with each passing moment.

While Tim continues to just lay back and oggle you some more, you return back to the task at hand. Your hands quickly tug his flannel and shirt off before raking your hands down, in even more appreciation than usual, his squishy pecs and solid abs. The Adonic belt  on this boy framing the sparse black happy trail made you salivate. Since you were a little boy, you never had the common urge to pick or bite at your nails, resulting in you now having longer than most, almond shaped, natural nails. As you bring your nails down against his skin, the dull points of your nails leave little white trails of pressure. Resting your hands against his hip bones, you press a sweet kiss against his happy trail resting just above the waistband of his pants. 

Keeping your lips there, your eyes look up and lock onto his hazy ones. Satisfied with how much you are affecting him, pointedly ignoring your own cock dribbling at the sight, you ever so slowly, teasingly, pull his pants and underwear down. Yet, you only pull them far enough down to uncover the entirety of his bulge, keeping the hem of his sweatpants only halfway down his toned thighs. 

Your boyfriend’s breath hitches as the cool air hits his steaming parts, his eyes never leaving your face as you reveal his hardness. He has to resist the urge to buck his hips up as your hands move to frame around the base. ‘You’re killing me,” he breathes out, his voice ragged with need. “You look so good, so perfect. I need you, baby~” Your touch is teasing and tantalizing as you begin to trail your nails up his shaft and circling the edge of his foreskin, the sleeve covering up the cherry red tip. Tim’s breath comes in sharp gasps at the feeling, “Please” he whispers with a hint of roughness, his hands gripping the leather of the seat.

“Oh~ Of course Sweetheart, I can’t deny you anything, can I?” your hands grip his dick securely before giving tiny pumps up and down, slowly rolling back the foreskin to rest below the tip’s edge. Like unsheathing a rose from its bud, the aggravated tip of his dick expels beads of precum. You’re quick to smear the wetness around, but take your hand off just as you were rubbing around his urethral. In response, Tim lets out a loud and frustrated groan at the lost friction, the veins in his neck popping out some. 

Pressing the same pointer finger against your lips you shush the boy, “Shhhh, I’ve got something much better for you, Babe,” you press your knees onto the corner of the seat, lifting your hips up to hover above the dripping dick. Spitting on the palm, your hand gently guides it to your entrance, unprepped, but you’re ready for the burn. “Just remember if we get caught, you don’t know English and I’m deaf,” you breathe out, slamming your body down just as you finish talking.

“GOTT! ICH LIEBE DICH!” Tim growls out, his head falling back against the headrest and willing himself not to cum on the spot. 

“FUCK!” you cry out, your thighs shaking and your insides tightly wrapped around his long dick. 

“Holy… fuuuuck,” Tim chokes out, gasping for breath as the veins all across his body now pop out. “You… feel so good, Pretty Boy. So… tight,” his hands come up to rest on your hips again, the need to touch you overpowering. Feeling the twitching of your leg muscles, Tim comes back to the moment and calms himself enough to look at you clearly. Your eyes are screwed closed and your back is curved to slump over just a little bit, the stretching sensation pulsing through your blood. 

“Are you o-ok?” he manages to ask, concerned before horny, “We can wait here, baby, just relax… you’ve taken me before, ok, relax~” 

“Y-yeah, I’m alright, Sweetheart,” you say through your panting exhale, the fire in your stomach clouding your mind, “I want… to feel you. Just… hold still for me, I gotta make it up to you.” He grunts in response, nodding his head in half agreement. “Whatever you need, Darling,” he replies, his voice already back to being hoarse with need. His hands rest the small of your back, his pinky fingers stretching to feel some of your buns. You take a deep breath and begin to rise up, feeling his body tense beneath you as your quads tighten in effort. His eyes are fixed on your face, his expression a mix of desire and temporary submission. Excited for what’s coming next, he whispers out suddenly, “I’m yours,” voice low. 

It’s just the words that send you back down with the help of gravity. You started off slow, but deep riding him, his hands obediently staying in place and you got to watch his delicious expressions as you pump from the inside. A string of curses, your name, and encouragement flows from Tim’s mouth like a water fountain, contributing to your own slicking cock. Suddenly, as you increased the pace and Tim’s hips began to meet you halfway down, the tip of his dick hits just the right spot. It sends you moaning and failing to raise your hips up again, leaving Tim to bounce you happily. “F-f-fuck babyyy~ That’s it, g– ngh, give it to me!”

“Goddamnit, Ima bounce you on my meat until you split! Fuck a baby in you, huh?! Want me to fucking b-baby trap you, Darling!” he growls out, determined to keep spearing that spot while you whimper. None of you had ever discussed that kind of kink before, but it just felt right to Tim. Mental images of you full of cum and stuck in Tim’s house show up in your mind. Coupled with the tightening spring in your core, your sanity suddenly… explodes. 

Thick spurts of seed shoot out of your bobbing dick as you climax, landing on Tim’s chest and impressively, even his chin. Your eyes roll back in your head as your jaw tenses shut from the whining in your throat. “Goooood fucking Boy,” Tim praises you. Fueled by the sound of your orgasm, the black haired teen continues to fuck you through it, the sound of his balls slapping your ass filling the car. A particular thrust against your overstimulated prostrate sends you reeling back, the pleasure almost painful. Unluckily, your arched back hits the steering wheel with enough force to honk the horn. The blaring noise startling both of you. Your walls tighten up around the hard dick in your ass, milking it as it suddenly erupts with cum.

Eyes wide in two different kinds of surprise, Tim grits his teeth and curses to himself while his fingers dig into the fat of your thighs, surely leaving ten bruises. Chest heaving and sweat clinging to your skins, you both take a second to calm down from the electric buzz crackling through your bodies. Yet, it’s not over as Tim’s the first to recover, chubbing up from inside of you. However, before you can think to start again, his hands gently rub against your tired hips and keep you in his lap. “Hey wait a moment, wanna get in the back? Let’s get in the back, I’ll help,” your boyfriend coaxed you. Guiding you over the center console, Tim follows shortly behind you and lays you comfortably over the seats. Naturally, your legs scrunch up to accommodate for the unfairly toned body to settle in between them. 

Watching up as his cupid eyes peer over you, a smile grows on his face as he covers your cock with his own. Brushing his calloused hands from the skin of your hips to the bend of your knees and then settling around your calves, “So soft…” he worships to which you blush at. Tim’s skin was soft too, but the almost invisible scars of his work were notable on your fingertips. Once again, you wonder how you didn’t think they were suspicious on a rich boy. Must have been lovesick, you conclude, pushing the topic away for a better, bigger topic.

With one calf, he guides your leg to extend fully and pushes it back towards your head. Mesmerized by how flexible you are, the heel of your foot catches on the clothing hook on the car roof, keeping your leg stretched and your boypussy shamefully open. The stretched sight gets Tim to fully harden and you to cover your cherry red face in record time as opaque cum runs out. Simultaneously bending down and raising you, Tim’s tongue peaks out of his mouth to clean up the spent. One hand wrapping around your rosy balls. “Once again, baby, God, I love you” your boyfriend keens, the vibration going straight to your cocklet. 

“N–! Ngh, no prob-lem, Timmy~ Enjoy hehehe, ah fuckkkkk…” your voice wobbles and draws out as the man begins eating you out with his entire being. The warmth of his saliva mixes with the heat from your core and it’s cum, but the tongue is a completely new experience. It’s teasing of your puffy rim feels like heaven, soothing the small pains. One of your hands navigates to his hair, grabbing it, scratching your nails against his scalp. The moan that gushes from Tim’s mouth is muffled by his slurping and kisses, but the hum gets you close. His warm hand twisting as he pumps you, paying extra attention to the edging ring of sensitive meat. 

“Mmmmmmh, yess~ Feels so– So good! Please, Tim-mmy, let me cum… I gotta cummM~ ngh, please, please, ple,” you babble, words coming from your mouth in no order, “Ah, ah, aH! I’m cumming, I’m cumming, god, please, let me cummmmm” suddenly rushes out in a high-pitched voice, almost as if your balls went up back into you. Maybe they did, they were tight and angry.

Unfortunately, the vixen he is, Tim pulls his tongue from your ass and stops his hand just when you were almost there. Your mind short circuits at the built up pleasure denied. Heaving and wincing, you glare up into cornflower blue eyes, making a noise of bratty confusion. Not even pretending to not enjoy this, Tim doesn’t address you, but he blows a stream of warm air against your sack. The feeling is weird, not enough to stir anything, but it doesn’t feel bad. 

“Don’t worry, Darling. You’ll get there… sometime,” he trilled, replacing his hands on your calves, “I’m making sure it feels really really good, baby, so good, no one else can compete” Tim softly scoffs. Arching your back to peel off the leather from the humid and hot car, you groan in annoyance, “Timmyyy~ I’m only yours, Sweetheart… Now Puh-Lease! Let me cummm” you wiggle your hips, jostling your cocklet and bubble butt in persuasion. Apparently, your ass is enough persuasion for almost everything Tim related, he drops your ass onto the seat before covering your dick with his again. The length weighing yours down from where it was standing at attention, begging for friction with pearls of precum. 

Feeling as though you were the cat that caught the canary, a smug grin spreads on your face as the black haired boy leaned down to engulf your lips in another kiss. His hand braces against the window above your head, leaving a clear handprint on the foggy glass. The taste of your vanilla chapstick is gone now, all licked up by your boyfriend, but Tim takes even more joy in nibbling at them. Breaking apart ever so often to breathe, the wet sounds of your mouths convince you both to lazily rub your members against each other. 

Purring against each other's open mouths, your eyes open to make eye contact with Tim’s, flickering back and forth between each eye. The color of them is so different at night compared to during the day, or maybe that was because of you. The repetitive push and pull of your members together was creating a heated tension in the air, the precum mixing and acting as lube, dripping down onto your pressing sacks. 

Tim stops swallowing your moans as his lips drift down past your jaw, collarbones, and are just a hair away from your soft nipples. Your boyfriend doesn’t look up at you, entirely focused on the pink mounds in front of him as he breathes out, “Aw~ Darling, I thought having you cum would make you more excited. They’re not even hard and perky.” Letting go a fake sigh, he dramatically assured you, “Don’t worry, I’ll help them along~” Leaning down that hairs width distance, his devious tongue circles around the left bud of nerves before gently clamping his lips around it. Only teasingly grazing his teeth against the delicate skin, the other bud is not neglected, his fingers and nails providing faux suction. As you begin to fully melt into the seats below you, engulfed in the new mindbreaking sensations, Tim takes it upon himself to further care for you. 

Whereas one hand is entertaining your right nipple, his other pale hand travels the opposite direction, down to your cores. He doesn’t jump as the warmth of his fingertips graze around his, in comparison, boiling bulge. You, however, almost slink back when his lithe fingers not only wrap around his own, but also your member. Adding a new component of intimate squish, a shiver travels up your spine all the way to the base of your skull. The ridges of his calloused hands become more tolerable as they slick up from presently stroking the two of you. 

Your hips try to push up into his palm, chasing your building release. To your surprise, your attempts aren’t shut down. You quickly learn why as you breach the gate of your long awaited orgasm. Just as your voice reaches a higher octave again, Tim’s hand that you’re rutting into lets go of his own dick to fully encompass your base. Letting go of your now perky and wet nipples with bite marks framing them, his other hand takes off the extra hairband on his wrist. It’s spread down your length and under your balls, twisted and retied to constrict your valves. 

Brutally stopped from cumming, you let out a loud groan combined with a scream in anger. The tingling in your stretched out leg also frustrates you even further. Soon, it gets to a point that that red anger turns into needy desperation. Your hips twitch up, begging for something, anything!  “T-timmy..! Please, I need– I-i need to cummmmmmm, so bad~ Let me cummm, babe~ Ngh, I’m y-yours. Only your!” you beg, your face flushed and eyes glazed in lust. 

Tim’s expression is only one of calculated affection, not bending to your will for the opportunity of something much better for the both of you. His hands travel back up to your extended leg, massaging the muscles as he guides it back down from where it was hooked. You’re left in the missionary position with Tim still in between your legs. Grazing down again, swiping through the drying spent on your stomach, his fingers gently rub around your leaking entrance. The ring of muscles easily gives to his digits, taking two in down to the knuckles. 

The overstimulation from earlier has faded, your weeping cock ironically shouting for stimulation. Satisfied at how stretched and warm you are, he removes his fingers and lines up his dick with your asshole once again. This time, he doesn’t give you time to get used to it, he’s roughly drilling in and out at a medium pace. It’s not enough to break you, but it’s more than enough to string you along in hot agony. Losing almost every other motor motion, your ankles find the back of him and each other; they then lock together to keep him close. The subconscious small worry that he might leave flowing through your legs. 

Thankfully, your mind itself knew he wasn’t going to leave this time. He’d been smart in this plan to get you back. Tim drove you two far from the city, leaving all worries and memories behind. He kept you in a controlled setting and finally, absolutely fucked your brains out. As stereotypical for teenagers this might be, the rhythmic thrusting of his hips sounds like classical music to you and you know, from the depth of your heart, that hormones aren’t driving you guys to fuck. The love is so strong that this is just a useful way to show it. 

The beating of your hearts begin to sync together and with the colliding of your hips, the adrenaline and love blossoming in your twisted, but equal souls. Just as Tim’s own voice and moaning reaches a higher tinge, his hand quickly removes the hairband from around your purplish cocklet as you both cum together. Spasming in relief, pleasure, and everything else possible, Tim shifts himself to lay next to you in the small seat space. 

Recovery is long and slow between you, Tim using his own shirt from the front to clean up the semen and sweat. He ensures to look you over and make sure everything is alright, that sweet boy. Helping yourselves into your leftover clothes, there’s not another round that night. Tim is content in just holding you, setting up his second part of the plan. 

Outside, in the wild grass and dark cloudy night sky, your boyfriend lays down a large blanket and other smaller blankets along with his packed basket and phone flashlight turned on. Watching him from sitting upright in the warm car, you’re amazed at the sight of a romantic picnic in front of you. 

As you both later lay together on the picnic blanket, swaddled in each other and other blankets, Tim’s eyes flicker over the stars in the night sky. He takes in both their ethereal beauty and your content heartbeat. The sound of the city’s distant hum and the distant sounds of cars become a quiet background to the silence hanging in the air. But you break it in lighthearted sudden chuckling, “...So that’s what Red Robin’s ‘bo staff’ feels like hehehe” Throwing his head back and scowling in tired disgust, “OH MY– Darling, you did not just call it that. Anything but that puh-lease!” Tim begs. The sound of your combined giggles weaving into the night’s ambiance.