Tim Drake oneshots

(14) New Persona

Tim Drake groaned as he woke up, the dull throb of a hangover pulsing through his head. He blinked against the morning light streaming through unfamiliar curtains and squinted at the room around him. It wasn’t his apartment, that much was certain.

He sat up, rubbing his temples as last night’s hazy memories began to come into focus. It had been a long patrol, and somehow, after wrapping things up, he’d ended up at one of Gotham’s less-than-reputable bars. That much he remembered. What he didn’t remember was how he had ended up in this room, with his clothes scattered across the floor and the smell of leather and cologne lingering in the air.

He turned slowly, his heart sinking as he saw the figure next to him in the bed. Oh no.

Lying there, with a smug grin on his face, was none other than Edward Nygma, The Riddler.

Tim’s stomach dropped.

The green-suited rogue was sprawled across the bed, clearly as unbothered as ever, his arm lazily draped over the pillow. Tim glanced around, trying to make sense of everything, his mind racing through the fog of his hangover. How had this happened?

“Good morning, boy wonder,” Edward purred, his voice smooth as ever. “Sleep well?”

Tim’s face flushed red as he pulled the sheet up, suddenly very aware of his state of undress. “What—what did I do last night?” he stammered, trying to piece it all together.

Nygma chuckled, propping himself up on his elbow. “Well, I’d say you had quite the night, wouldn’t you agree? One too many drinks, some rather shameless flirting, and then... well, the rest is history.”

Tim’s eyes widened as the reality of the situation hit him like a freight train. “Oh god.”

“I must say,” Nygma continued, clearly enjoying Tim’s mortification, “I had no idea you could be so... bold when you’re tipsy. You practically threw yourself at me.”

Tim groaned, burying his face in his hands. He was never going to live this down. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he muttered under his breath.

Nygma smirked, leaning back with an air of satisfaction. “Oh, but it did, my dear detective. And you were quite enthusiastic, if I recall correctly.”

Tim shot him a look, his embarrassment growing by the second. “Can we just pretend this didn’t happen?”

Nygma raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh, but where’s the fun in that? I’m sure your fellow Bat-family members would love to hear about your little... adventure.”

Tim’s heart raced at the thought of Jason or Dick—or worse, Bruce—finding out about this. He was going to be a laughingstock. “You wouldn’t dare,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

Nygma smiled, an expression full of mischief. “Relax, Timmy. Your secret is safe with me—for now. Besides, I wouldn’t want to ruin the fun we could have in the future.”

Tim groaned again, realizing that this wasn’t just a one-night disaster. He’d accidentally crossed a line with one of Gotham’s most notorious rogues, and now Nygma had leverage over him.

He quickly gathered his clothes, trying to ignore the smug look on the Riddler’s face. “This never happened,” Tim muttered, pulling on his shirt.

“Whatever you say, detective,” Nygma said with a smirk, watching him dress. “But I’ll be waiting for our next encounter.”

Tim couldn’t get out of the room fast enough, his mind reeling from the night’s events. He wasn’t sure how he was going to explain any of this—or if he ever would. One thing was certain, though: he was never drinking on patrol again.

Yeah, he is never flirting again.