|The D.C Collection | Imagines, One-Shots, Preferences, and More |

Hypocrite | Tim Drake x Reader

Description: You're a hypocrite because you want Tim to start sleeping more, eating more, and living more. Tim is a hypocrite because he wants the same for you. You're both utter disasters.

Request: Hey um could I request something for Tim? His partner is also a lifeless corpse only surviving on coffee, but they both are hypocrites and it's them being fluffy trying to convince each other to go to bed without the other (possibly ending with both of them just going to sleep together?) Sorry if this is complicated or dumb but I love your blog! Your writing is great!

Words: 1226

Notes: From now on, all of my stories labeled "x reader" should have genderless readers. If said otherwise, then they will be labeled as such (x fem!reader, x male!reader, etc.). 

This fic is for all of you who have recently forgotten to take care of yourselves. I hope you drink plenty of water, get enough to eat, and sleep as much as your body needs it. You are a beautiful human being inside and out. I hope that you are very healthy, stress-free, and that you are happy. You deserve the best. I tried to deliver XD

_

It's never really been a big deal. For you, anyway. You had a talent for forgetting the bigger things, as your mind always decided to brush them aside until they were needed, and you would forget. That's just who you were. You forgot. At first it was things like chores you had to do, but then it progressed into your birthday, your and Tim's anniversary. Your work was your everything, and that was the excuse every single time. So of course it made sense that when you became obsessed with it, you'd forget the big things.

Somewhere in your mind there was something nagging, telling you to drink water, to put something in your system other than caffeine or energy drinks. But then your work did as it always did and brushed aside those thoughts. In their place came the wave of consequences of your failure, and you knew you couldn't back away now.

At this moment, you had managed to stay between the thoughts of repercussions and your body's needs in favor of a breath. Just a breath, where thoughts of tomorrow came, and that's usually when another deadline would pop into your mind and you'd be back at whatever machine you'd be working away at.

You stared at the hunk of metal that would be Tim's next Robincycle, a mass of what looked like a paper ball all crushed together, rounded around the invisible space in which the tree Tim had crashed into once was. The remains of the tires and their attachment had come off quickly, and now the thing was elevated and shouting at you to complete it. But it was Tim's bike. The sea of thoughts in which you sat between paused, ever so briefly, so that your thoughts could wander to your boyfriend.

Maybe you were a hypocrite. Correction: you are a hypocrite, because as soon as Tim's face breaches your mind you're wondering if he's eaten, if he's working, if he's gotten enough rest. You know for a damn fact you haven't. You know your tired and that you miss your boyfriend, but you also know that you have work. The waves dive in and you're caught between them. And then you're drowning once more, descending into a darkness of concentration. Or, you're about to, anyway.

"Figured you'd be down here."

Tim enters your nook of the Batcave, and his appearance reminds you of where you are, what you're doing. Suddenly the sounds of the waterfall in the cave return, washing down your shoulders and relaxing the muscles in your back you realize have drawn too taut. His voice, accompanied by the relaxing sounds of the cave, are too tempting.

"Always am," you reminded yourself, working the grease off your fingers. Tossing it behind you, you walk around your workbench and smile at your boyfriend,"Why are you up right now? It's like 4 AM."

Tim pulled a face,"Sunshine, it's breakfast. How long have you been down here?"

You sheepishly cast your gaze to somewhere else, shrugging,"A couple hours."

Tim's expression fixes into a frown. You try and avoid it by meaninglessly fiddly with your tools, beginning to line up your new wrenches as an excuse to avoid his eyes. They remind you of the ocean. But not the ocean of stress threatening to crash over you, and moreso like those of summer days, where the sand is hot and the water is licking at the shore. Tim's irises are a fine teal that drown you in a better way.

"Hey," Tim says. He rounds your workbench and picks up your wrist. When he smiles the rest of his face follows, rounding his cheeks, curving his eyes with that real happiness you don't see on him as much as you should.

You pull your wrist from his touch and turn away from him again, excusing the wounding action by,"I have grease on my fingers. Hold on."

"Doesn't matter right now. N/N, look at me," Tim pleaded. You followed this time, turning off the heavy desk light on one of your workshop shelves. The darkness swallows you immediately. In the distant light of the Batcomputer you could make out Tim's hands, rising to clasp your shoulders and slide down your arms. He sighs, and you feel the breath tickle your skin."This is gonna make me sound like, A: a total hypocrite, and B: a bad boyfriend, because I haven't been paying attention to you. But babe, you need to eat and get some rest."

You're about to open with the classic line,"I'll be fine." but Tim knows what that line really means, he knows that you're going to say it, because you have both claimed that you're fine about a million times. He squeezes your arms and it successfully stops you from continuing.

"I know it's... really bad that I ignore my own habits. But I'm your boyfriend, so it's my job to make sure you're healthy and happy." He almost adds, besides, you're more important than I am, but refrains because he knows adding his depressed thoughts to your cache of issues isn't a good idea. Instead, he scoops you up and begins to stride toward the elevator.

"Tim!" Your squeal is everything, and the way you scramble to wrap your arms around his neck makes his cheeks ache.

"C'mon. We're going upstairs and you're having breakfast, then going to bed. It's going to throw off your entire sleep schedule, but you need it." Tim reasoned, a bounce in his step.

You looked at him with a smile, but it had begun to fade into something mournful as you watched your unfinished project become masked in the cave's shadows. As Tim carried his beloved off into the sunset (or sunrise, rather), Damian looked on from the opposite side of the cave. And, of course, he had to put Tim down the moment he saw his worst enemy. The boy scowled,"Can you two go and romance each other somewhere else? The Batcave is a sanctuary for father's cases and work."

Tim stared Damian down with a stoic expression. You rolled your eyes and laid a hand on Tim's collarbones, about to tell him to ignore Damian, before Tim retaliated. You immediately begin to squirm and laugh. Without restraint, Tim peppered your neck and face and whatever else his lips could reach with loud, wet, open-mouthed kisses that had you trying to worm out of his embrace. Damian gagged and stormed off. Satisfied with his departure but sure Damian would return, Tim ended the parade with a lasting kiss to where you wanted him most.

Tim set you down. You kissed as lazy as lounging panthers, as tired as the day at sunset, as reluctant to pull away as one would expect. His hand fell to guide you forward by the lower back, his voice soft and his smile softer,"C'mon. Hungry?"

Your system almost gave out with the invitation. You were still warring with yourself, one side for collapsing deep into Timothy Jackson Drake and never awakening, the other dedicated to plunging you back into work for the eventual relief of a stress-free environment. But you must remember; Tim Drake is a man who stops wars. When his thumb begins to rub one of the vertebrae of your spine, you give in."Starved."