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alifeasvivid · 2 years

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this is the new drabble from Alfred’s pov from the student/teacher au which is mostly ukus btw but I’ve referred to it as the student/teacher au and tagged it as such so much now that that’s what it’s called LOL

This ficlet takes place at the beginning of the first semester of Alfred’s junior (3rd) year so it’s basically part of the start of the whole story because after the end of the previous year, Alfred had thought he’d never see Arthur again.

-----

Alfred’s eyes are fixed on Mr. Kirkland, but he’s hardly listening to the lesson being taught. Sometimes he thinks it might be some dream because at the end of last year, when Mr. Kirkland finished his student-teaching semester, he had told all the students that he would probably not be back, but it was such a pleasure to work with all of them and Alfred had only fantasized about the young teacher magically being back at Alfred’s school a million times over the summer.

He’d fantasized about a lot of other things too: like Mr. Kirkland’s piercing green eyes and his sexy English accent and how he smiled when he praised Alfred for being a “smart lad.” Alfred’s brain is tireless and very creative and with not much else to do over the summer, he’d taken all his observations of Mr. Kirkland and spun them into detailed, elaborate, ah... hormonally-charged fantasies of having a very inappropriate relationship with the English teacher.

And now he’s in Mr. Kirkland’s... Arthur’s class. Again. When Alfred had thought he might never see the man again.

The same girls that had been so flustered by Arthur before seem to have settled down... or at least they aren’t giggling and whispering to each other.

But Alfred hasn’t settled down. If anything... oh fuck. He shifts in his seat and tries to tug the hem of his hoodie down over his lap. Yeah, he hasn’t settled down at all. If anything, his feelings have only gotten stronger.

“Alfred.”

He blinks, wondering if he heard Arthur’s voice only in his mind or not.

“Alfred Jones,” it’s more stern.

Alfred snaps out of his reverie only to see Arthur giving him a cross look to match his exasperated tone. “Uh. What? Sorry. What?” Alfred says, smacking himself internally. Great. Now Mr. Kirkland is going to think he’s slacker... or at least isn’t as smart of a lad as he’d given Alfred credit for.

“Would you care to share your inner musings or would you rather join the rest of us in the here and now?” There’s a little bit of humor in his voice.

Alfred still blushes bright red and sinks slightly into his chair. “No. I mean yeah. I’m good. I’m here. Sorry Mr. Kirkland,” he mumbles.

He manages to pay attention to most of the rest of the lecture.

As the bell rings and class is dismissed for lunch, Alfred realizes it’s pretty warm, it is only early September still, and his hoodie could have better use at the moment. He tugs it over his head and grabs his backpack and heads toward the door.

“Alfred.” Arthur’s voice stops him, it’s softer than before. “Stay back a moment please.” He’s standing behind his neatly organized desk. He has unbuttoned his fitted vest, it looks like he’s loosened his tie a little, and he is unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves. “Christ, this room is a sweatbox,” he mutters.

Shit, Alfred really fucked up. He stops in front of the desk, clutching his hoodie and mentally pleading for any kind of divine mercy. “Um, listen. Mr. Kirkland, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to zone out. Swim practice is really early and I didn’t sleep super good last night. I won’t zone out again, I promise.”

Arthur chuckles a little. “You’re sixteen, Alfred. Don’t make promises we both know you can’t keep. It’s alright. It happens, but you were so out of it there that it had me a little concerned.”

Alfred’s heart rate picks up.

Arthur rolls up his sleeves. “I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

Alfred is most definitely not alright. He swallows around a lump in his throat, his gaze latched onto Mr. Kirkland’s forearms--both of which are embellished with extensive black ink. The tattoos, which Alfred’s mind can’t seem to resolve into actual images yet, extend over Arthur’s elbows and up under his sleeves. Fuck. Seriously? Fuck.

Arthur glances down and then winces self-consciously, mercifully misinterpreting Alfred’s stunned reaction. “Ah. Yes I know it’s not exactly typical to see an educator this heavily tattooed,” he says. “I try to keep them covered during school hours, but I didn’t realize this classroom would be so much warmer in the afternoon.”

Alfred manages to shake himself enough to smile. “Nah. I mean, yeah it’s not typical and all, but it’s nice to see some adults are actually cool.”

Arthur looks relieved. He laughs. “You make me sound old. I’m not really that much older than you.”

And Alfred is a hundred percent certain that Mr. Kirkland didn’t mean anything by that. It doesn’t stop his brain from doing what it had been doing all summer.

“Alright, I’ve taken up enough of your lunchtime, go on.”

“Ha. Okay. Thanks, Mr. Kirkland,” Alfred’s mouth is dry. He leaves the room, stopping outside to breathe cooler air. On the one hand, Mr. Kirkland returning to the school to teach now seems like a lesson in being careful what you wish for... but on the other hand, Alfred thinks, there’d been something there... right?

Alfred turns the conversation over and over in his mind as he walks down the hall and by the time he reaches the cafeteria, he’s convinced.

There’s definitely something between him and Arthur.

#ukus #usuk fanfic #student/teacher au #sfw but Alfred is a minor

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batfam-problematic · 2 years

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rosethreeart · 3 years

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Who would be Jack? Also, your Tumblr blog has been blocked for me

"This Tumblr could contain triggering(?) content."

Has Tumblr made some sick update in which minors can't look for sfw content? (I'm a minor)

Also can I congratulate Tumblr with their excellent Dutch setting?

Alfred!

Yeah it’s cause I got put in horny jail lol

Hopefully I shall be released soon

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khazadspoon · 6 years

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In Simple Pairs We Dance As One

it’s done!!! A commision for the wonderful @badatsociallyness who gave me a wonderful prompt. So, without further ado, have 5000 words of Thomas and Miranda loving one another and falling in love with James. I’ve enjoyed writing this immensely and I hope you enjoy reading it just as much. SFW.

They were introduced at a ball in Midwinter of 1694 as Lord Thomas Hamilton, son of the Lord Alfred Hamilton, and the Honourable Miranda Barlow, daughter of the Viscount John Barlow. Thomas fell in love with her almost instantly as he gazed upon her.

The dress was a soft blue hue, cinched tight at the waist and billowing out in wide skirts ending in white ruffles that swept along the floor. The skin of her neck and the tops of her breasts was pale like snow with just a hint of bright flush from wine and laughter. She held her gloved hand out for him to kiss, and he bent low to press his lips to her knuckles. Her smile was knowing as he lifted his eyes to her.

“My lord,” she said in a soft, low voice.

“My lady,” he replied just as softly, a smile playing over his lips.

Arm in arm they walked around the room, her chaperone not far behind, and propriety was soon lost to the sound and bustle of the crowd. Miranda, and she insisted on the familiar, asked him impertinent questions about his time at court and the goings on of young men with too much money and not enough to do. He laughed, bright and honest at her forthrightness.

“Do you think so little of us lordlings?” He asked, looking down at her over a glass of too-sweet wine.

Miranda lifted one dark brown and tittered. “Of course not, dear Thomas,” she said with false sympathy, “never think it. I just wonder what it is you do all day besides drink and hunt.”

Thomas scoffed at the idea. “I assure you, dear lady, I do not hunt. Such things are the pursuits of less civilised folk, are they not?”

“And you consider yourself civilised?” She retorted with a more stern look. He felt admonished, and deservedly so.

“I… I try, but I do not think my civility above any other man’s. Or woman’s.”

They danced and laughed, her dark hair falling in ringlets around her pretty face as they spun around one another. Thomas thought of the volta’s Queen Elizabeth so enjoyed and wondered if Miranda enjoyed them to. Though he had little interest in the physicality of women beyond the aesthetic, he wondered if Miranda was as brazen in her private life as her public one.

In the following weeks their parents secured the match, would have with or without their approval, and Thomas’ mother declared her joy at his wishes to marry the maiden. Her family, though not as well rooted in history as their own, was of honest and well-bred stock. Even his father approved of them, and that was high praise indeed.

They were to be married in the summer of 1695 at St Giles. Just three weeks before the ceremony, during one of the few moments alone they were afforded, Miranda cornered him in a quiet parlour.

“Thomas, my dear Thomas…” She said softly, her hands rising to rest on his chest. “I wish nothing but honesty between us.”

His heart beat wildly in his chest and threatened to burst forth from within. Sweat beaded on his skin, he could feel it on the back of his neck and on his palms. “Of course,” he said shortly.

“You have paid little attention to my more… obvious advances. I have spent many hours trying to learn what it is will attract you to more than just my mind and my hand in marriage, and I have come up short,” she tilted her head and looked up at him, her dark eyes like pools of deep tar, waiting to draw him in and trap him gladly in their depths. “But just this Tuesday I witnessed something truly revealing.”

His throat went dry. Could she mean-?

“The footman is indeed a pretty thing,” she said, lips curving into a smile that wasn’t entirely happy, “I doubt he would say no to your advances, even if he would to mine.”

“Miranda, I’m sure I don’t-”

Her smile fell and her hands became fists. “Don’t insult me by claiming innocence. You are a good and kind man, Thomas, and I want nothing more than to marry you and be your wife. But I know, I have seen how you look at me compared to the men in your life.”

Even as bile rose in his throat, even as tears filled his eyes and threatened to spill down his cheeks, he held her gaze. Her hand reached up and cupped his cheek. “I love you, Thomas, all of you. Society may say otherwise, but I will block their scorn with my love. Do not hide this from me, not when there are precious few people you can reveal this part of yourself to. If I am to be your wife, the only demand I will make is for your honesty.”

The frankness in her tone was outweighed by the kindness and unerring understanding. He wept, face pressed to the slender curve of her neck, like a child reunited with his mother after a sudden and unexpected absence. Miranda held him gently and hushed him, kissed his cheeks even as the tears still flowed. When he was calm and the flush had faded from his skin, she took his hand and led him to the main room for the day to continue.

---

The wedding was as lavish as any that year. London was filled with mutterings of the latest love match and the loss of yet another eligible bachelor to an undeserving woman. Miranda was not seen as worthy of a husband of Thomas’ stature and breeding. Though he said so to any who would listen, still the gossips did their cruel work. And shockingly in the eyes of the law, they did not consummate their marriage that night. Instead, they stayed up early into the next morning and devised a plan - their names and reputations would protect them only so far, and an intellectual conversation would stimulate them only so much. So, with some tense words and uncomfortable truths, they came to an agreement. An accord.

Miranda was free to take lovers as she wished, as long as she was discreet and careful for her own sake. Thomas could visit molly houses and take lovers if and when he found opportunity. If desire took them by surprise, they would be intimate with one another without regret or shame. Miranda kissed him, and he kissed her with joy and happiness.

The next ten years were happy ones. Though as with all relationships there were difficulties and minor scandals to be endured. Miranda was seen with paramours at balls and dinners, though never in any state of undress, and the town began to whisper of her being unfaithful. Thomas protected her and fought against the rumours. They came and went, as all rumours did, and Thomas’ own affairs were never discovered. He had a lifetime of careful secrecy to prepare him, after all.

On occasion, they made love, though haltingly and often unsuccessfully. Miranda would describe a lover’s caresses to him until he was aching and ready, she would take him and be taken until that need had waned.

Miranda’s outspoken mind and clearly intelligent conversation grated at Alfred Hamilton’s nerves and temper. They never got on, despite Thomas’ mother approving heartily of the new lust for life in the family.

Ten years was a long time to not have children, however. When it was stated emphatically by a doctor that Miranda was barren, she wept for days. Thomas’ mother tried to comfort her but her failing health rendered her housebound after some time. Thomas held his wife, kissed her, tried in vain to understand her grief but she loved him nonetheless. She spent time with her friend’s children and cared for them as dutifully as though they were her own, though the ache of it never truly went away. Some wounds are not healed by time but only turned to scars that ached on cold days.

Then, on an overcast day in spring, their world was forever changed.

Miranda saw the change in her husband immediately. There was a spring in his step and a glint in his eye she knew from the particularly intriguing books he would read (some of them not precisely welcome in the country). She kissed his cheek and took him to the study, sat him at his desk and prodded him until he spilt forth the encounter that had put him so oddly at ease.

“The new liaison,” he began, “son of a carpenter’s mate and a Lieutenant in the Navy, from no high-born family and entirely self-made… He is- he is remarkable. I daresay you will enjoy his company even more than I!” He took her hands and kissed the back of each, his lips lingering in a way they rarely did.

She saw the glimmer of something soft in his eyes and felt a pang in her chest. Not jealousy, perhaps, but something akin to sympathy. She, at least, could take lovers with only a little fear - her life was not at stake.

“You already seem rather taken, perhaps I should keep my distance if he is this unbalancing?”

Thomas laughed and shook his head, lifted her hands to his lips again and pressed them to his cheeks like a happy child. “No, my dear, you must be introduced. I can’t keep this one to myself.”

He described the Lieutenant over dinner, the two of them dining in the more comfortable and less formal sitting room towards the back of the house. Thomas’ usually calm and collected way of speaking had become animated and wild. He gestured with his hands, giving details of the new liaison’s height, the breadth of his shoulders and the red of his hair, how his gait was long and sure-footed in the boots he wore.

“They reach his knees, Miranda,” Thomas exclaimed. “I daresay he looks like something from a novel. But there’s something new about him, something unpolished that I can’t put my finger on…”

Miranda laughed and pressed their knees together, her hand on his thigh. “And you’d like to put your finger on it, would you?”

The blush on his cheeks was entirely at odds with the hungry grin on his lips. “You’ll understand when you see him,” he said. The grin fell. “Though I can’t, not this time. Not with so much at stake.”

They finished their dinner and retired to bed. Though they had separate rooms and beds of their own, they often slept in the same bed simply for the comfort of another body. Thomas had nightmares, sometimes woke unable to move and seeing things that weren’t there, and Miranda had tricks to help him cope. He was also constantly warm to the touch and was wonderful to curl around in winter.

James McGraw was everything Thomas had promised and more. Though not exactly tall compared to the gangling limbs of her husband, he cut an impressive silhouette against the backdrop of the docks. The sun caught in his hair and Miranda was struck with the urge to brush the locks and braid them as her mother had done to her when she was younger. When he speaks, her gut tightens. The low and rolling timbre of his voice is like velvet caressing her skin and she wants him, is suddenly aware of how long it has been since she had last took a lover and she wondered how much Thomas must have ached to want and not be able to have.

And oh but he is polite - in his manner and his words, in his reluctance to meet her eye… She wants to pick him apart and see what he is really like when not so well buttoned.

Still, there was something dark and hidden in those clear green-blue eyes of his. He spoke sharply and kept his posture so rigid she thought he might snap if a stiff breeze blew. There were small scars on his hands from either hard work or hard fights - she wondered eagerly which caused them.

Thomas continued to pine over him, though gently and not as ardently as she had feared he would. The issue of Nassau loomed too large in his mind with the shadow of his father just behind it. James, and Thomas had insisted on the familiar in a way that made Miranda proud, was fiercely intelligent. He picked some of Thomas’ more radical ideas apart with brutal ease and directed him along more conventional paths. Miranda thought that was part of what attracted them both to the officer - he was just as smart, just as witty and quick as them, and he refused to be put into a corner even when amongst his “betters”.

“Well?” Thomas asked after a few weeks of meetings and brief lunches with the object of their mutual interest.

She hummed, plucking at a stray stitch and trying to figure out why needlework was so tiresome. Women were supposed to be good at this, with slender and nimble fingers… “Well, what?”

“Will you make an advance, or will I need to invite him to your chambers for you?” He said with a knowing smile.

“I’m going to drop by tomorrow morning and invite him to see the Grey’s collection. If all goes well, I might see something a little more interesting than drab paintings of Jessica’s great uncle.”

She did, at. And it shocked her just how much she enjoyed not only the touch of him but the gentle way he cared for both her reputation and her marriage. When James left, she traced the shape of a bruise on her thigh and sighed. Thomas was delighted for her when he returned, but was quiet at dinner and slept in his own bed. It was rare they ever became interested in the same person, and it hurt her to think Thomas was unhappy. She wanted nothing but the greatest happiness for her husband, she loved him after all. And he loved her.

Her affair with James was a well-kept secret everywhere but in the house. Whenever James was there on business with Thomas, he kept his back straight and his hands clasped behind him, his eyes faced forward as though any stray glance at Miranda would cause Thomas to challenge him to a dual.

Thomas gently admonished him. “You can look at her, James,” he said, touching James’ arm and stroking the thick coat with his thumb. He wanted to linger, wanted to gather James into his arms and have just a taste of what it would be like to be close to him. The blush that rose on James’ freckled cheeks didn’t help with the want, in fact, it only served to stoke the embers glowing hotly in his belly. “My wife is beautiful, and as such deserves admiration from any who lay eyes on her. Especially men who are as kind to her as you are.”

James flushed deeper, his lips curving into a smile so kissable that Thomas found himself staring. Miranda swept forward and forced herself into James’ eyeline. “Thomas, you’re teasing him!” She wound their arms together and pressed to his side. Thomas thought James might faint with all the blood rushing to his cheeks.

“My lord, my lady, I-” He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat oh so distractingly, and flicked his eyes up to Thomas. A calm and decisive air settled over him. “I am out of practice being in amiable company, especially company that catches the eye so.”

Thomas’ own cheeks felt warm. He saw how Miranda’s lips curved and her eyes widened at the remark. It was undoubtedly directed at Thomas, how could it not be? Hope began to unfurl in his chest even as James’ attention moved to Miranda and he lifted her hand to press his lips to it.

In bed later, Miranda’s hair gathered in a braid over her shoulder and a bright red mark on her breast just below the neckline of her shift, Thomas could barely keep himself from laughing.

“Did you see him?” He asked, aghast and amazed. “Did you hear him, Miranda?”

She kissed his temple and drew him to her. “I did, love, and I am beside myself with happiness. Do you think he might-?”

Doubt settled over him. “No,” he said at once. “If circumstances were different, then maybe, but… not now, no.”

They lay quietly, Miranda against her husband’s chest and listening to his steady heartbeat.

“Are you happy?” He asked after a while.

Miranda sat up and met his gaze. “I’m the happiest I think I’ll ever be.”

He touched her cheek with warm fingers. “Good.”

When James stayed the night in Miranda’s chambers, she tried her best to keep their lovemaking discreet. It seemed to her that James found a thrill in the knowledge that Thomas was only yards away in his own bed, and she relished that knowledge and what it might mean for the three of them, even as the idea of it scared her. She would catch James looking at the door or the wall that connected her chambers to the rooms between them and Thomas’ own. He would bite his lip and groan heavily when she did anything less ladylike and more masculine in their bed.

The joy of the affair and the slow thawing of James’ attitude towards them was interrupted by an unexpected and unwanted guest.

Thomas grumbled and muttered to himself as he entered the small antechamber Miranda often secluded herself in for moments alone. Thomas only ever came in when he, too, needed an escape.

“Thomas?” She asked quietly, standing at once to see to why her husband seemed so… unlike himself. “Thomas, love, what is it?”

He looked down at her with bright wet eyes, cheeks flushed red with anger. “My father. He has decided he will be joining us for dinner. I suggest you spend the evening with James to avoid him, seeing as I can’t.”

She shook her head and gripped his hands firmly in her own. “I will take his barbed comments and sit by your side. We are a united front, Thomas; never forget that.”

Dinner was, as expected, an awful event. Miranda loathed every moment and wished she had taken Thomas’ advice - an evening spent alone in James’ bedchamber was a far more attractive concept than being called a whore in all but name by one’s father in law. But there was some business to discuss, and Thomas valued Miranda’s insight on such things.

Thomas’ fury settled when the beast of a man was out of the door and a brandy was put in his hand. The warmth of the liquid soothed his nerves to no end. He hummed in delight as Miranda perched on his knee and kissed his temple.

“You know, our dear Lieutenant will need to hear of this development at once. Should I call for a carriage to be sent?” She asked under her breath, a hand rubbing firmly between his shoulders. James often put a hand there, when he felt brave enough to touch the man he was, in a way, serving.

“Do you think it necessary? Pirates blockading a bay is something for the naval presence there to deal with, not us.”

“He is a tactician, Thomas, let him help. Your father all but said the situation was in dire need of better minds.”

He acquiesced and rang a small bell, telling Thompkins to send for the Lieutenant at once, with orders that he was to be fed when he arrived and no expense to be spared at his comfort.

When James arrived his cheeks were flushed and his eyes bright, questioning, clearly at a loss as to why he had been summoned. “My lord?” He asked, striding forward in those damned boots of his, hat tucked safely under his arm. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Thomas started, “well… Yes, but not disastrously so. But it will wait a moment; I’ve taken the liberty of asking for a meal to be set out for you.”

James followed him obediently to the study where a plate had been set with a glass of deep red wine next to it. Watching James eat was always a confusingly beautiful experience - he ate as though he was restraining himself, as though his own hunger was unnatural and he had to confine himself to the smallest bites of each dish. Thomas combatted this by taking an apple and biting into it with a wide mouth, licking the juice from his lips and fingers with abandon, even as James watched him with a blush rising on his cheeks.

There was something there, something that tugged at Thomas’ heart and groin all at once. It was in the way James watched him at times, with parted lips and a curious glint in his eyes. It was also in the way he responded to the small flirtations Thomas offered; a hand brushing against his, a finger resting just too long on a map so it met his own, looking up at him through long lashes and smiling that half smile… He did all those things with Miranda, how were they different when aimed at Thomas?

For a while, they talked about New Providence Island, about the pirates and their thorny presence in the Bahamas. James set his stunningly sharp mind to the task at once and, with Thomas’ third-hand description of the battlefield, formulated what seemed to be an unbeatable strategy. He wrote it down and a servant took it straight to Admiral Hennessey’s quarters in Whitehall.

Miranda came in and kissed her husband’s cheek while offering a top up of wine which neither man cried off. James watched as Thomas kissed his wife more fully, an act he did seldom but knew she relished. His eyes fixed on their lips and Thomas’ hand at his wife’s neck. When she went to kiss James, a little more forcefully and a little deeper, Thomas took his own time to watch. James’ cheeks went pink and his eyes fluttered shut, he lifted his face to her and leaned into the kiss as best as he could from his seat. Miranda pulled away looking like the cat who had caught the canary.

“Not too late, boys, I may have need of you later,” she said with a rough voice, her lips as red as light filtering through wine.

James choked a little and straightened in his seat even as Thomas laughed and waved his wife from the room. “Begone, temptress! I shan’t leave him too sated to be of use to you,” he responded, his head heavy with wine and brandy and a full belly. He saw James bite his lip just as Miranda shut the door.

“This is all very… unconventional,” James uttered after a moments silence. “I’ve never- that is, I’ve never been the other man before.”

Thomas leaned on one elbow, his chin in his hand, gazing across at James’ perplexed but relaxed expression. “Is that how you see this? As myself and her, then you and her, separately?”

James nodded.

“Did it occur to you that I, too, get something from this arrangement?” He asked. Courage filled his veins like bright amber.

“My lord, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

He smiled and reached forward, took James’ hand and tapped his finger to each of the knuckles. “You help me with my political schemes, yes. And you are in a relationship with my wife, that is also true. Tell me… Has Miranda ever mentioned to you the nature of our marriage?”

James shook his head, his hand warm and his fingers spread beneath Thomas’.

“We love each other very much. I would, if asked, challenge God himself to her hand if necessary. I know she loves you, too, and that you love her. I feel no jealousy for that, only that I don’t have the same net of love encompassing me. Miranda and I are partners above all else, we are not lovers, but you and I are partners too.”

James scoffed and looked away, his eyes darting to the door. He took his hand from the table and put it in his lap to clasp the other. “My lord, I don’t think it compares at all-”

Thomas frowned, his good humour fluttering to the floor. He held his own hand and pressed a finger to his lips. “No… It cannot compare. But that doesn’t make it lesser;” he sighed, pictured Miranda when they were younger and he still harboured his own sense of shame and self-loathing. “You put far too much weight on the comparison of yourself with others, both in work and leisure. Try to see yourself how Miranda sees you, how I see you.”

“How you-?”

The confused look on James’ face ripped into him and icy cold fear flooded him. “But it is late. I can’t keep you if you do not wish to be kept. I’ll retire and let you find comfort upstairs.”

He went to the door, ringing the bell as he went, and spared James one last look. “Goodnight, James. Think about what I said.”

The next he heard, James was with Miranda in her rooms, the rhythmic sound of their lovemaking more noticeable that evening than any other.

And if Thomas spent in his own hand, imagining what he might have had with James? No one would know but him.

---

The next three weeks were a haze of work and dinners, of hasty glances and questioning looks. Miranda tried to keep her thoughts to herself during that time. Her interference would only raise Thomas’ hackles and frighten James into hiding. Instead, she offered an ear to Thomas, a shoulder to cry on as he tried in vain to temper his feelings. He had steadily fallen in love with James, something she could not fault him on given her own feelings for the man. But the fact it was love, not some idle fancy, made it all the more dangerous.

She feared for him, feared what the world would think, what his father might do if he ever knew… If it came to that, she would shoot the man herself.

But it all came to a head without her even realising. The only sign was the dawning need and serenity filling Thomas’ expression even as tears filled James’ eyes and his voice cracked with repressed emotion.

Her heart cracked when they kissed. If Thomas had been able to see anything but James at that moment, he might have mistaken it for jealousy or heartbreak, might have thought he was taking James away from her. But it wasn’t that - she was terrified. Now it was real there were more dangers to face, more pitchforks and torches waiting in the darkness for them to let their guard down.

Her fears lessened as James and Thomas fell deeper in love. Their love and affection for her never waned, and James spent as much time with her as he ever had, sometimes at Thomas’ behest when he felt she was being ignored. They made love in pairs and, on a few startling and memorable occasions, as a threesome. Miranda had never known pleasure like it. The look of love and happiness on her husband and lover’s faces as they came together, as they touched one another and her, as she touched them… It was unparalleled and she never wanted it to end.

A week in the country estate in Derbyshire offered them a glimpse into the life they could lead when the issue of Nassau was dealt with. Privacy, James sleeping peacefully between them and waking them with kisses, late nights spent talking and kissing and laughing followed by mornings spent sharing tea and bread and butter. Thomas spent an afternoon painting as she and James swam in the lake.

The finished piece was clumsy but no less beautiful - bright colours and sharp lines, the muted blue-green of the lake broken only by two frolicking figures, one with dark hair and one with bright red. James looked at it with a fragile wonder before kissing Thomas until they were both breathless.

But London called. It beckoned with a gruesome clarity, breaking through the gentle haze of their new love and crashing into them like the tide. It was inevitable that things would change when Nassau loomed over them again. Thomas grew restless as they got closer, his fingers tapping against his lips and fiddling with his rings more and more with each mile. James tried to comfort him by offering his hand to hold and kissing lightly at Thomas’ jaw. Miranda watched with a strange sense of foreboding as the men across from her in the carriage held onto the fading hues of their affair, both in fear of it being shattered and stained by the wider world.

“James,” she said to him as Thomas directed servants to take their bags into the house. “Promise me something.”

James smiled at her. It didn’t reach his eyes. Perhaps the sense of doom had fallen over them all. “Anything.”

“Don’t for one moment think that this isn’t real, that what we feel for one another isn’t real.”

They went into the house and went to bed earlier than usual, James under the pretence he would be in a separate room but soon finding his way to Thomas’ when the house had gone silent.

He received news a few days later that he was to go to Nassau, to gain intelligence and survey the situation as well as find out if it was possible to subdue the place. Thomas was beside himself at the idea, both out of a need to know and to succeed, but also out of a need to keep James close and love him as fiercely and protectively as he could.

It was only three months, they reminded themselves. What were three months to lovers committed to one another as deeply as they?

#flinthamiltons #flinthamilton #JamesMiranda #Black Sails #Miranda Barlow #Thomas Hamilton #Captain Flint #James McGraw #James Flint #writing in the dark #commissions #badatsociallyness

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ixiethepixiewrites · 6 years

Text

Royally in Love

Rating: G (some minor swears)

Warnings: USUK, nothing much else except this is Omegaverse but it’s sfw

Summary: It is the Queen of Spade’s Birthday, and the King is eager to make it their best memory too.

A/N: Made for @aliciatheanimefreak ‘s birthday!!! HAPPY BIRTH EVEN THO I’M LATE HAHAHAA

The birthday of a royal was always a big deal, no matter which of the Six Kingdoms you lived in. Festivals were set up weeks in advance in every major city, and smaller faires were held in the more remote villages. The biggest of all the celebrations had to be, of course, the ball held within the palace. Nobility and Royalty from all over gathered within the walls of the palace, and out in the courtyard a feast was held for the common folk, so long as there was no ill weather. If the weather happened to be bleak, the feast was held within the palace’s many banquet halls, as the main ballroom would be occupied already.

Joyous citizens paraded around the streets, excited for the games and merriment, as well as being eager to relax for a day. The buzz of excitement was felt within the palace walls as well, all servants in a tizzy over the preparations, but also eager to partake of their own staff feast. No one felt the rush of excitement this day more than the King of Spades himself. His Queen had only recently been found, and this was to be their first birthday celebration together. Alfred kept bouncing on his heels, much to the ire of the tailor who was making last minute adjustments to the young monarchs coat.

“Your Majesty, please hold still!” The tailor chastised as a frustrated sigh escaped his lips.

Alfred's cheeks lit up with embarrassment. “Sorry, sorry, I just can't help it! I have a Queen now! A really beautiful Queen and he's smart and he dances way better than me and-"

As he rambled on, the tailor merely nodded, smiling once more. It had been a long time since the chosen royals had been so in love after first meeting. Most had to take many years to finally be comfortable as more than just King and consort. The change was a welcome one, and the entire Kingdom rejoiced in the hopes for a future of prosperity under their new rulers. The changing of the monarchs had always been a time of nervous anticipation as the crown was passed, either by a simple death of one or more of the previous monarchs or by magical forces choosing the most suited to rule.

Alfred had been chosen, as the previous royals had passed away from old age. His mark appeared almost immediately after the news hit that the King was dead, and a Jack was found soon after. The Queen remained elusive for an entire year, only coming forward after a forced search was enacted. As it had turned out, Arthur was adorably unaware of his mark, the swirling spade design resting on the back of his left shoulder. He had simply never noticed.

Their first meeting was still fresh in his mind, those beautiful emerald eyes staring right at him from beneath the largest eyebrows he'd ever seen. Not that they looked bad, mind you, they suited him very well. His scent was subdued, but Alfred could catch hints of tea and flowering gardens. The look of annoyance was what had caught Alfred off guard. “This is to my King?” Arthur had asked the guards that escorted him. “This King is only a boy!”

Alfred tried not to take offense, reigning himself back to keep his own scent from souring. He got that often, his looks being much younger than he actually was. As delicately as he could, Alfred explained. “Um, actually, my Queen, I'm in my 23rd Summer this year.”

A flush of embarrassment from being corrected spread over Arthur's face, the scent changing accordingly. It smelt like a rose in full bloom mixed with a sour lemon. Alluring but also making him wrinkle his nose at the same time. His Queen sure was a wonder. After an apology for his assumptions, Alfred took his Queen for a tour of their new home. Just like that, some sort of switch flipped in them both. They relaxed, getting to know each other for a few days as their paperwork built up on their desks. It wasn't until the Jack himself dragged them both back to work that they had time to think on their feelings.

It was almost something like love.

The memories made Alfred smile, so many good ones in such a short time. Their first kiss in the gardens at night, the Jack having to pry them apart one day when Arthur's heat had started out of the blue, and the moment they had confessed to each other just how much they were in love. None of it compared to what Alfred had been planning for weeks now.

The tailor finished making adjustments to Alfred's clothes, and if Al knew anything about fashion, he would have said he looked pretty damn good. There were more important things on his mind, however, as he rushed out of the room with a thank you to the hard-working man. Racing down the halls, Alfred eventually came up to a small tea room’s doors. This was it. Arthur always had his afternoon tea in this room at exactly 4:00 pm. Opening the doors, Alfred saw his Queen sitting with a book in one of the plush chairs, a tray of small cakes stacked high and steaming hot tea in front of him.

Taking notice of Alfred, their eyes met and a slight smile came across Arthur's lovely pink lips. Alfred wanted to kiss him so badly in that moment, but he was on a mission. He played it casual, returning the smile and quietly sitting next to his Queen, one arm around his shoulders. “What are you reading today, honey?”

“I told you already, don't use pet names on me.” Arthur scolded, but Al knew that he didn't mean it. “I'm reading a book of poetry from Clubs. It's actually quite nice, if a little depressing. Perhaps it's all the winter themes that give it a cold undertone...”

Alfred could listen to Arthur mutter about books all day. It was one of his many adorable quirks that the King had come to love. “I didn't even know they had poets up in Clubs.”

“Everyone has artists, love, even from Kingdoms you have a childish rivalry with.” The Queen teased him, smirk on his lips.

Cheeks puffing like a child, Alfred crossed his arms. “That has nothing to do with anything! Ah, I'm getting sidetracked again...”

After taking a deep breath, Alfred stood from his seat, taking Arthur's hand. “Artie... you know I love you, yeah? You know that I'll do anything for you?”

He could smell the confusion and suspicion in Arthur's scent, but the Queen merely gave a nod of affirmation. Alfred could feel his palms getting sweaty, the smell of nerves filling his own scent as he fumbled to grab something from his pocket and kneel at the same time. “T-They make this sound so easy in books...”

Once he had the box in his hand, he could see Arthur's face switch from confusion to shock. Alfred couldn't help but smile. “Arthur, My Queen, My Consort, My one and only...” He paused to let it sink in, “Will you marry me? On our terms? I know we were married at our coronation and we had to mate to consummate that but, w-will you marry me again? Just for us?”

Alfred nearly knocked the tray of cakes over when Arthur had jumped on him, just repeating the word ‘yes’ over and over again. The feelings of happiness inside them both were pouring out through both their eyes now, tears streaking their faces. Alfred kissed Arthur's tears away, pressing his lips to his Queen’s forehead, then his cheek, then finally their lips met each other and it was one of the best feelings Alfred had ever experienced. This was truly the memory to top them all.

When that sparkling ring set upon Arthur's finger, Alfred let out a cheer, causing the guards to rush in thinking there was an issue. However, they quickly went back out, letting their monarchs have some privacy in the little tea room. Two royals so in love was certainly an adjustment the Kingdom would have to make, but it was a happy one.

#usuk #APH America #APH England #cardverse au #omegaverse au #ixiewroteathing #oneshot #this was way longer than I intended lmao #hetalia #HAPPY BIRTH #aph china #oops forgot yao is in here

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notepadsandtealeaves · 3 years

Text

Tim Drake x GN!Reader in: Aching Stomachs and Full Hearts

12 Days of Batmas || Day 6—Baking Cookies

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT || 18+ ONLY ||

↞ previous: live petty or die hard || ugly sweaters

|| ao3 version | 12 days m.list | batboys tag | main blog ||

|| dames day 6 | dick day 6 | jay day 6 ||

“…One day I shall make better life decisions, ‘but it is not this day’.”

He may be prone to making questionable life decisions, but loving you is certainly not one of them…

Headcanon || WC: 1.1k~

🌟 Cooking of any sort and Tim… don’t exactly jive.

It’s not necessarily that he’s bad at it per say, just that he doesn’t really have the time to engage in it at a level beyond the basic. And honestly he never really had to.

For a long time there was always somebody else there to cook for him, and once he was on his own he became rather well acquainted with the delivery people that worked in his area—like to the point where he actually consider inviting some of them to his wedding, they’ve seen just that much of each other lmao.

But Alfred’s never been one to let any of his chicks leave the nest without learning the basics, so Tim can actually keep himself fed if need be. He just… doesn’t see the need. Not when Grubhub is a thing that exists.

🌟 Once you come along, however, he starts to get in the kitchen a bit more.

He’s often heard it said that the way to the heart is through the stomach, and while he doesn’t think that’s all the way true there’s definitely something to it. Has to be, given how hard it hit him the first time you treated him to a home cooked meal.

Ngl—you had him all the way fucked up with that one like…

Time is a commodity, yeah? One you cannot readily obtain more of, so for you to devote some of yours to making sure he was well fed—and then you actually went through the trouble of legit making the food when you could have just as easily ordered something?? Like…

Talk about an instant emotional K.O.

🌟 He knows his friends and family care for him, but a lot of the time it feels like they’re just getting at him out of habit more than anything.

He’s well aware of the fact that he has a less than stellar track record when it comes to self-care—he doesn’t need to be constantly reminded of that, no matter the motivation behind the chiding.

And then there are the constant jokes at his expense,

I.e: “Tim would marry a whole ass Starbucks if he could”, coffee for blood, goblincore posterchild, etc.

And again, he knows it isn’t meant to be malicious—most of the time—but honestly there’s only so many times you can laugh that shit off, ya know?

On top of that it can sometimes feel like they only reason they want to keep him functional is for his skillset and little else.

It’s like they only pay attention when they need him for his mind or when he’s fucking up. Again, he knows that isn’t true, but dammit if it doesn’t feel that way sometimes.

🌟 But with you it just hits different because he knows that your motivations are coming purely from a place of concern.

You don’t see the vigilante or the genius or the CEO—you just see him, Timothy Jackson Drake, and fuck if that doesn’t have him shook.

Tbh he isn’t entirely sure what to do with that (or you, for that matter) a good chunk of the time, like… he isn’t exactly used to being perceived.

Out of all his siblings he’s definitely the most understated, and he honestly likes it that way; he’s fine with who and what he is, even if it does leave him slipping through the cracks more often than not. But for you to see him so readily…

Yeah, he really, really doesn’t know how to deal with that, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love you for it.

🌟 But we are so damn off topic now—what was the prompt again?

🌟 Right, baking.

🌟 Looping back a bit, he tries to return the favor by cooking for you whenever he can. As you can probably imagine this doesn’t happen too often given all he has to do, but he will surprise you from time to time with lunch or dinner.

Please note that I didn’t say ‘breakfast’ and that’s for a damn good reason.

Don’t ask me why or how, but this man cannot for the life of him make breakfast foods.

His eggs either come out weirdly hard or undercooked, his pancakes are always hella flat, and I wouldn’t trust eating any bacon he makes as it’s either burnt Dabi style or half raw—there is no in between.

He’s weirdly good at making pizza tho—not that that’s a (traditional) breakfast food, I’m just throwing it out there lol.

Anyway, this is probably because pizza’s a relatively easy dish to prepare and also a favorite, thus giving him more of an incentive to perfect it, but I digress.

🌟 While he is a competent enough cook, when it comes to baking things get a bit shaky.

Simple things like cookies and brownies are fine enough, but anything with more steps and-or an involved process is a no-go. He just doesn’t have the required combination of want, concentration, and skill needed to make stuff like that.

But he can definitely handle a batch or two of cookies, so if you wanna get your holiday baking on he’ll be happy to help.

🌟 Much like his big brother he loves sugar for the sake of sugar so he honestly isn’t too picky when it comes to flavors.

Peppermint, chocolate, honey, various nuts—it’s literally all good.

Okay, so I take it back, he really likes cookies with nuts and dried fruits. Fruitcake cookies are delicious and he doesn’t care what anyone has to say about it.

Also pistachio biscotti and hazelnut too, gotta love that crunch. These two are a year-round thing for him as they pair excellently with coffee.

🌟 If he just had to choose a favorite cookie to make it’d probably be meringues just because they’re easy lol.

Just whip up the egg whites, add in a bit of sugar and whatever you’re gonna use for flavor and coloring, slap it in a bag and that’s like 99% of the work done.

Plus no real decorations are required! If you want a cool shape just use a cool piping tip. Wanna get a bit fancy? Add a dusting of powdered sugar or cocoa or a drizzle of royal icing or melted chocolate and you’re good.

By his estimation the less time you spend on the cookies the more time you have to eat them, with each other, on the sofa while you finally finish up that show you’ve been trying to watch for ages.

Sure, anything he does with you is gonna be a good time, but he’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t prefer to spend said time doing something that doesn’t require use of an oven lol…

Aching Stomachs and Full Hearts || WC: 700~

“Do you think I’d get sick if I ate this straight from the bowl?”

You look up from the cookies that you’d been fastidiously piping on to the parchment lined tray with a furrowed brow, seriously considering the question. For his part Tim’s expression is about the same as he regards the red streaked fluff that you’ve yet to bag up. The smell of peppermint hangs heavy in the air, blending nicely with the cocoa flavored kisses you’d just taken out of the oven a few minutes ago.

“I mean, I guess not?” you finally conclude with a shrug. “People eat raw meringue, right? That’s a thing that goes on some desserts. I think. Don’t quote me on that.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s a thing,” he agrees. “Plus American eggs are pasteurized to hell and back so that should help. Probably. Given my luck I probably shouldn’t risk it though…”

He’s making points, you have to agree. “I mean… But when has that ever stopped you before?”

“Literally never.” The fact that this is said around a mouthful of whipped egg whites only further proves this point.

Flirtation with food-borne illnesses aside, your little cookie baking session has been pleasantly chill. Honestly you hadn’t been expecting to have any company, but once you’d told your man what you planned on getting up to this weekend he was pretty insistent on joining you. It was an offering of affection as old and cherished as anything in your relationship; his free time may be scarce, but Tim has always made it abundantly clear that it’s always been yours to monopolize. It’s a selfless kind of greed, his wanting to spend his every waking (and sleeping, as is more often the case) moment with you, one that he doesn’t get to indulge in nearly as often as either of you would like. This is why you had busted out the eggs, sugar, and extracts instead of trying to make something more elaborate��because at the end of the day you’d rather enjoy his company than watch him flip his shit over trying to fold nuts into cookie dough without completely mangling it.

When the soft laps of a sticky mouth continue to sound behind you, you have to ask—“Is any of that actually gonna make it into the oven?”

“Given the fact that I low-key feel like I’m gonna puke? Yeah, probably. NuugHHhh—blech… One day I shall make better life decisions, ‘but it is not this day’.”

Fucking nerd, you think, bringing Aragorn into this and making me love him more and shit. Ugh. Fookin’ disgusting…

A mildly concerned “Wait” pulls your mind away from its lovesick, meme-y thoughts, and the question that follows it—“You don’t, you don’t think I actually gave myself salmonella, do you?”—leaves you snorting out a laugh.

“A stomachache? Yeah, you just ingested a decent amount of peppermint oil; that stuff’s rich and not really meant to be eaten like that, at least not in large quantities. But salmonella? Nah, probably not.”

Tim grunts a bit at that before letting out a drawn out groan as he comes to slump against your back. Toned arms wind their way around your waist as he slots you in more firmly against his torso in a move that’s more cuddle than hug. Meanwhile you take your hands away from your work so as not to ruin your cookies, only daring to start back once he’s settled. His relative stillness turns out to be a trap, however, as soon after he chooses to tuck his head into the limited space between your head and shoulder to watch you work. At first the positioning is innocent enough, and really it technically stays that way even when he’s nosing at your neck and peppering you with soft kisses. There’re no demands or expectations behind his touch, just an outpouring of affection that leaves your cheeks pleasantly warm.

To be loved, so tenderly and completely, really is all you could ever hope for—all you could ever want or need. And so you abandon the task altogether, choosing instead to lean back into his embrace and accept all that he has to give you.

Choosing him—now and always.

Up Next:

🌟 Day 7: The Ends Verses the Means || Decorating Your Home

It really says something about what your life has become, you think, that you’d hardly blink if you walked through a wormhole that led to a department store, but you’re thoroughly confused by why a relatively innocuous Christmas song is playing in your home.

Yet another side effect of dating a Bat that no one warned you about.

His methods are a bit odd, but you can’t argue with the results…

© notepadsandtealeaves, 2020 || Please do not repost, translate, or otherwise alter or distribute my works without my express permission. And for the love of god keep it away from Youtube and TikTok lol…

#((Immy does fan fiction: the Batboys))#tim drake x reader #tim drake x gn!reader #tim drake x gender neutral reader #tim drake x you #Tim Drake x Y/n #tim drake imagine #tim drake headcanon #tim drake hc #look--tim may be a sleep deprived disaster human but he's OUR sleep deprived disaster human #and he's trying his best so leave him be pls

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notepadsandtealeaves · 3 years

Text

Jason Todd x GN!Reader in: The Short Second Life of Gregory the Gingerbread Man

12 Days of Batmas || Day 6—Baking Cookies

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT || 18+ ONLY ||

↞ previous: questionable morals of the cinematic kind || ugly sweaters

|| ao3 version | 12 days m.list | batboys tag | main blog ||

|| dames day 6 | dick day 6 | tim day 6 ||

“‘Noooo! Not the gumdrop button!’”

Saving the ginger-children, one bite at a time.

Headcanon || WC: 1.1k~

🌟 I’m fairly certain that it’s widely accepted in the fandom that Jay’s a good cook.

I would imagine that he had to pick up the skill fairly early given the state of his childhood prior to the adoption.

Aside from having to feed himself, he also had to keep his ma fed, and dammit just because times were hard that didn’t mean that they couldn’t have small comforts.

He learned how to do the best he could with what little they had, and honestly? It was pretty damn good.

Between the errands that he ran for various folks in the neighborhood and his ahem—five-finger discount—he was usually able to put together an honest to goodness balanced meal at least once a week.

Grant it, a lot of it came out of boxes, bags, and cans, but a vegetable is a vegetable at the end of the day, right?

🌟 Anyways!

🌟 Once he moved into the Manor his skills only improved, what with having Alfie’s immense talent to glean from.

Dude. Can. Burn. Do you fucking hear me??

Definitely the type to be craving something at two in the am and make that shit regardless of how intricate it is. I mean, if he wants a rack of lamb and he’s got the means to make it then why the fuck not?

Though he’ll never admit to it aloud (unless he’s feeling especially soft), being the provider he is he’s always wanted to be able to give his family all the home cooked meals he never got, and he wants them to be good.

To that end he made sure to learn all that Alfred/Food Network/YT/dozens upon dozens of cookbooks had to teach him. If he doesn’t know how to make something just give him a few days and access to a recipe and I guaran-damn-tee you that he’ll have it mastered by the end of it all.

🌟 All that said, baking is probably his least favorite way to cook, meat-based dishes notwithstanding.

This mostly applies to desserts, tho a lot of breads are also on his side-eye list lol. And he hates most casseroles too, if he’s being completely honest. He finds them to be a bit too heavy/rich for his liking. But anyways…

🌟 In his opinion baked desserts are either too involved or not challenging enough.

For example: basic cookies/pies/cakes? Yeah, those are all delicious, but boring as hell to make.

But on the other hand if you make something a bit fancier like, say, ladyfingers, that takes way more precision than what he wants to put in tbh. And then you got shit like puff pastries where you gotta keep folding and freezing it and shit all just to get the right texture? Yeah—no.

And don’t even get him started on the decorating aspects. The intensity that he puts into gift wrapping manifests itself here too and honestly he doesn’t want to put himself through that esp. given the fact that he knows he’s not exactly the best at it.

I know this all sounds like it contradicts what I wrote above, but some people are just like that. They’ll make a whole ass seven course meal without batting an eye, but ask them what’s for dessert and they’ll tell you to go fuck yourself lmao.

🌟 Christmas, and more importantly you, are the exception to the rule, however.

If his doll wants to bake up some cookies then that’s damn well what the pair of you are going to do.

But don’t think he’s doing this solely to humor you and isn’t getting any enjoyment out of it. There are very few things that you do together that he doesn’t love by virtue of, well, your doing it together lol.

Between work/school/whatever other life things the pair of you got going on, domestic reprieves are few and far between. I personally canon Jay as being a big homebody, and shit like this? Yeah, he lives for it.

🌟 Luckily for you both he’s less far militant about this than the gift wrapping thing lol.

So long as there isn’t anything on the line and-or these cookies aren’t meant to go on display he’s able to dial back the intensity. He doesn’t want this to be anything but fun for you both.

It should be said, however, that he’s really adamant about getting accurate measurements. There will be no putting liquids in dry cups or vice versa in his house, no sir. In fact he’s more apt to use a scale if you’re making anything larger than a single batch; it’s just easier that way.

Anything meant to be given as a gift will probably be something really basic that doesn’t require any decoration outside of nice packaging (think homemade slice-and-bake type deals).

🌟 His favorite cookies to both eat and decorate are gingerbread men. Yeah, he’s basic like that.

He’s a big fan of warm, heavily spiced things, especially in the colder months, and gingerbread hits all the right notes for him.

On the production end it helps that they’re a p. basic cookie to make, and even easier to make pretty thanks to the cookie cutter. Likewise decorating them is a straight forward endeavor, but you also have the option of doing something a bit more elaborate if you so choose.

And the scent… *chef’s kiss*

If you can abide by it, he’ll definitely keep a few gingerbread scented candles around the house and occasionally light them throughout the year.

🌟 In that same vein gingerbread houses are also a thing—a very big thing, in fact.

They’re not the most practical decoration—never mind the vermin that they’re basically begging to move right the hell in—but something about them just screams ‘Christmas’ to him.

He doesn’t go in for those store bought kits, not when there are so many cool templates to be found online, and that’s saying nothing of what the two of you can dream up together.

Has certainly initiated a few fun competitions between you to see who could make the best creation. These are never serious, naturally, with the prizes being sweet and-or flirty things like winner gets x-amount of cuddles and kisses and the like which means there are no real losers to be had.

Ahhhh~ it’s so cute, y’all are so cute, I cannot…

🌟 Overall it’s a p. chill time. Naturally things get a bit more involved if you’re making the houses, but even then the vibe’s very ‘lo-fi winter mix’ lol.

Things never get too messy because who the fuck wants to clean that shit up? And in between batches you’ll be snacking on the scraps while you decorate and chill and just generally enjoy each other’s company—and if that isn’t that the very thing we all need in these trying times idk wtf is…

The Short Second Life of Gregory the Gingerbread Man || WC: ~400

You look on in mock horror as your man liberates a smiling cookie being of one of its signature—nay, sacred—decorations.

“‘Noooo! Not the gumdrop button!’” Your impersonation of Gingy leaves a lot to be desired, you’re sure, but it gets your building buddy to laughing so it’s all good.

For his part Jay continues to chuckle as he affixes the sugar-crusted treat to the trimming that runs along the roof of his larger creation. To call the thing a ‘gingerbread house’ would be an insult to all parties involved; it’s a gingerbread McMansion at the very least, one complete with a Berry Blue Jell-O pool and Isomalt picture windows. The not-so-little house is nearly nicer than your actual home, though the same cannot be said for the state of its tenants.

“Poor Gregory. I can’t believe you’re gonna do my mans dirty like that,” you continue on as you look over the defaced cookie. “It’s not like he was wearing much to begin with. With the buttons gone he may as well be naked! At the very least he’s been disgraced. How’s he supposed to look the rest of his ginger-family in the face now?”

“…Good point.”

Jay picks Gregory up then, and for a moment you think he��s gonna set him back to rights, but–

“Wow. You really just did that, huh? The buttons weren’t enough, you had to go and eat his legs too.”

“And his stomach, that’s the most important bit,” he tells you around his bite. “The little dude was living foul. Out here all half-dressed—that shit ain’t decent. We gotta think of the ginger-children if nothing else, babe.”

You snort out half a laugh at that, though his solution ignores several others that would’ve allowed Greg to live to see another day (i.e. replacing his buttons), but you don’t bother with pointing that out, especially since it looks like he’s gonna be adding the little drops to his cross hatching as well. Jay’s really going all in on this and you’re positive that before it’s even halfway complete you’ll have made another store run or five.

And as for Gregory, well… Better eaten than locked away in some gingerbread cell until The Rot sets in, you suppose.

Up Next:

🌟 Day 7: Firelight in Gotham || Decorating Your Home

“Pennies in a string, falling leaves, a sycamore—moonlight in Vermont~”

He’s always had such a beautiful voice…

#((Immy does fan fiction: the Batboys))#jason todd x reader #jason todd x gn!reader #jason todd x gender neutral reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd imagine #jason todd headcanon #Jason Todd HC #did i add enough tags yet? lmao #why yes i did take that title from that one random offshoot story that the twilight lady wrote thanks for noticing lmfaooooo…#at this rate these are gonna be christmas in july fics lmfao--sorry about it

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notepadsandtealeaves · 3 years

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Damian Wayne x GN!Reader in: Alone Together

12 Days of Batmas || Day 2—Cuddling by the Fire

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT || 18+ ONLY ||

↞ previous: choices || playing in the snow

|| ao3 version | 12 days m.list | batboys tag | main blog ||

|| dick day 2 | jay day 2 | tim day 2 ||

…the passion that burns behind his eyes—so visceral and all consuming—tells you that he’s already found the only hereafter that he cares to know…

The only thing Damian values more than his privacy is you…

Headcanon || WC: ~900

🌟 Definitely the traditional type when it comes to a lot of things.

Now this isn’t to say he’s inflexible, or that he’ll try to foist any roles on either of you. He does have a preference for a more… let’s say ‘classical’ relationship, but who you are as a person, how you identify, or anything along those lines has no bearings on this. For him it more so translates to his behavior towards you.

He grew up on old Hollywood glam era movies—think Cary Grant, Gregory Peck, Clark Gable, Humphrey Bogart, etc.—and he always found the romance portrayed there to be charming (if a bit dysfunctional). Having nothing else to go on this kinda became his foundation for what romance should look like.

🌟 As he’s gotten older his viewpoint has likewise matured, but he cannot fully shake his tendencies towards that old world romance. Because of this he always strives to be a gentleman, to affect that suave, charismatic, and at times somewhat impish mien that were the hallmarks of the era.

It’s not exactly surprising that his mind latched on to these movies in such a way, I think. I mean, look at the adults in his life.

His mother spent her time pining after his father who didn’t seem like he wanted anything to do with her as a person most of the time, let alone a romantic partner. Meanwhile, said father’s playboy persona saw him running through women faster than Tim through Red Bulls during finals week.

His brothers all had their own emotional hang-ups and his friends (his real ones, not the silver spoons he entertained to keep up appearances) were either just as stunted as he was or so far removed from him personality-wise that he felt as if he couldn’t glean too much from them.

🌟 Alfred has always been the most stable person in his life—in all of their lives, really. The dad to out-dad all dads, and a true gentleman through and through, and Damian has always admired the way the older man carries himself.

Somehow he always manages to stay in his lane while also making himself heard. There’s a core of steel behind all of his words, and yet people don’t bristle when he speaks. His aura is suitably commanding but not intimidating—unless he wants it to be, in which case watch out because homie’s ex-MI5 lol.

Dames has no idea how he does it, but he’s been doing his best to imitate him for years now. The gentler, more tactful parts of his personality/mannerisms definitely come from Alfred (and a little bit of Dick as well, though he’d rather choke than admit to that aloud lol).

🌟 Catch him out here holding doors for you, pulling out chairs, standing whenever you enter a room and the like.

If it bothers you he’ll definitely cut back, so no worries there, but I feel like if you’re in a relationship with him then you probably adore these quaint little traits. I mean who wouldn’t want to be treated like royalty 24/7? Especially when the person isn’t putting on airs—that’s just Damian Wayne being Damian Wayne and I personally think it’s great.

🌟 Anyways!

🌟 His preferences oftentimes see him whisking you away when the holidays roll around.

Though it isn’t always apparent, he loves his family, honestly and truly, but what he has with you hits different. He’s so greedy for you, for your time and attention, that it honestly scares him sometimes.

It can’t be healthy, the way he wants to monopolize your every waking moment, but he figures that so long as he doesn’t act on it (too often) he can be excused. After all you’re… Gods, he’s not sure that even with his expansive vocabulary he has the words needed to adequately describe just how wondrous he finds your very existence, which is further testament to just how amazing you are.

But yeah, whenever a major holiday comes up he does his best to spend as much time with you as possible. He wants to make memories with you, ones so cherished that you want to recreate them over and over again until they become tradition. And he wants them to be yours—as in made and solely shared by the two of you (and any babies, be they furry or human, that you have may between you).

Of course you still do things with your families and friends, but trust and believe that you’re also spending a fair amount of time with just you and yours.

🌟 His schedule being what it is you’re not always able to get away from Gotham, but when you can—oh BOY. Dude goes all out, no expenses spared.

He has definitely rented out an entire ski lodge before (and by proxy the mountain range attached to it) lmfao.

Yes, this ended up with his brothers and friends tagging along because “–dude you just rented a whole ass mountain! We’re gonna help you get your money’s worth.”

And “I’ve seen Scooby-Doo. No way we’re letting the two of you go up there alone—that’s how people get murked by a caretaker with a limp and grudge.”

🌟 So imagine, if you will…

Alone Together || WC: ~700

Here’s the accompanying album, if you’re that way inclined.

The swell of strings fades out into the sputtering pops and skips of a vinyl that has come to its end. Neither you nor your man move to rectify this, knowing that the old floor model hifi will switch over to the next record soon enough. In the meantime you’re left to enjoy the sounds of the lodge around you. The faint tinkling of snow where it strikes the oversized windows, the sight creaks and groans of an aging building standing firm against the elements, the crackle of the fireplace before you, and the heart that beats steadily underneath your resting head…

It’s a lullaby that you could stand to listen to forever, though Lady Ella seems to have other plans.

The needle drops and within seconds the standard’s rich voice is filling up the space with her crooning words. As she bids the snow to keep falling, you snuggle deeper into Damian’s embrace; the hand that rests atop the swell of your hip squeezes a bit once you’ve settled again before his thumb resumes its slow glide over the cloth there. You sit like this for a long while, happy to just enjoy each other’s company without fear of interruption. Conversation ebbs and flows, lapping against the ambiance like a tide, cresting in the fire-warmed air with waves of laughter that dissolves and fades into contented sighs.

It’s only when the music switches over to something slower that Damian stirs. He takes you with him as he rises, keeping you close with a hand pressed to the small of your back while the other tangles itself with your own. He takes you up into some approximation of a box step, swaying you in time to the drum’s beat. He lends his voice to the melody, singing of enchanted stairways and traveling with you to the heavens above, though the passion that burns behind his eyes—so visceral and all consuming—tells you that he’s already found the only hereafter that he cares to know–

Right here, in your arms, in front of the fire’s glow.

Meanwhile, outside of the lodge…

“I cannot believe that little shit locked us out.”

“Stop being so dramatic, he only locked the doors to the lounge–”

“Which is the quickest way to get out of, and more importantly, into the lodge!”

“The main doors are still a thing, you know.”

“Yeah, but they’re all the way over there…”

“And whining about it isn’t gonna change anything. The sooner we get walking, the sooner we get warm.”

“Honestly I don’t know what you guys expected, we did kinda very much so impose on his trip…”

“For his own good! Look at this place, it’s friggin’ huge! I’m telling you, places with this combination of space, age, and isolation are just murder mystery headline generators in a parka.”

“‘Murder mystery headline generators in a parka’– Bruh, your mind…”

“…Okaaay. That may be true, but this is Damian we’re talking about here. Dude was trained by a cult of assassins and Batman—I don’t think it’s actually possible to get the drop on him.”

“Either way this is some Grade-A bullshit. When I get inside I’m gonna–”

“You’re gonna come warm up with me, love.”

“…yeah, sure—definitely, doll—but afterwards–”

“We’re all gonna watch Christmas movies and eat our weight in sugary trash.”

“Hells yeah, bro. I call dibs on the watch list!”

“No complaints here, well so long as we don’t have to watch Die Hard–”

“Umm, we most assuredly are watching Die Hard! It’s a holiday classic!”

“Die Hard is not a Christmas movie, Tim.”

“Not with that attitude it isn’t. And can I also say that coming from the ten of you, that level of synchronicity was both impressive and mildly terrifying? Congratulations and never do that again.”

“Well now we gotta.”

“Operation: Freak Timmy-Boy Out Via Vocal Coordination is live! Erm, sexier name pending.”

“I hate you all.”

“No you don’t!”

“Are you guys serious right now?”

“Yes!”

“Goddammit…”

Up Next: 🌟 Day 3: Mall Madness || Getting Lost at the Mall

Damian Wayne is a man on a mission. Things need to be bought and this task will be seen through with all due efficiency…

Thee Damian Wayne getting lost? Lmao, nah.

#Damian has a lovely singing voice do not fight me on this you will only die tired and mad #it’s all deep and rumbly and ahhhh~ too bad he rarely uses it #but when he does it’s always a treat!#Damian Wayne x Reader #Damian Wayne x Gender Neutral Reader #Damian Wayne x You #Damian Wayne x Y/N #Damian Wayne Imagine #((Immy does fan fiction: the Batboys))

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notepadsandtealeaves · 3 years

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Jason Todd x GN!Reader in: ‘Martha Stewart’ Who?

12 Days of Batmas || Day 4—Wrapping Presents

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT || 18+ ONLY ||

↞ previous: mall madness || getting lost at the mall

|| ao3 version | 12 days m.list | batboys tag | main blog ||

|| dames day 4 | dick day 4 | tim day 4 ||

You wait with bated breath as your man inspects the parcel before him.

With its sharp creases, smooth sides, and expertly tied bow your offering would be considered immaculate, flawless even, to anyone else—but Jason Peter Todd isn’t just ‘anyone’.

It’s on sight, Ms. Stewart.

↠ Requested By: Not a soul lol ↠ Reader Gender: Neutral ↠ Content Type: SFW fluff ((but my blog’s 18+ if minors want to consume my sfw stuff while still respecting my wishes of them staying out of this space, they can head over to my AO3)) ↠ CWs: There’s some v. briefly and vaguely described fade to black action at the very end of the ficlet. *cough*guess you must’ve wrapped the hell outta that gift lmao*cough* ↠ Betas? Nah, we don’t do that here. ↠ Total WC: ~1.5k

Headcanon || WC: ~900

🌟 Jay’s one of those people that’s weirdly good at wrapping things. It’s a natural talent that he didn’t even know he had until he moved in with Bruce.

I personally canon all the boys as being hella close with Alfred, but Jason was by far the one that spent the most time with him. There was just something about the older man that set him at ease.

Around Bruce he always felt like he had to be ‘on’. Part of this was due to the (one-sided) competition that he had going on with Dick. Grayson was—and still is, if we’re being completely honest—the golden child. He set the standard on what it meant to be Robin, and goddamn if that bar isn’t high as fuck to this very day.

Jay spent a long time trying to live up to what he felt was expected of him. Where Bruce saw drive, Alfred recognized the anxiety and longing to emerge from the long cast of the first son’s shadow.

Because of this he always made sure that Jay knew that such efforts weren’t needed with him, that he saw his value and worth not only as Robin, but as Jason Peter Todd-Wayne (which, ofc the others did too, but Jay didn’t always perceive it that way).

His touch was a light one, as anything more would have insulted the brash child; Jay’s never been one for being babied or pitied, after all.

🌟 But we’re getting off track here—suffice it to say, he felt a lot more at ease in the aging butler’s company than he did in most others for a very long time.

🌟 Anyways!

🌟 During one of their hangout sessions Alfie was wrapping gifts for one occasion or another and Jay offered to help out and what do you know—the kid turned out to be some sort of wrapping prodigy lol.

He finds the act of wrapping things to be rather relaxing. Given his natural affinity for it he barely has to concentrate on the task; even when he lets his hands run on autopilot the results never suffer for it. It’s honestly one of the few things that allows him a measure of true zen.

He also does origami for the same reason.

He hadn’t even considered it until Kori had gone on one of her fixation tangents. She ended up buying a bunch of supplies for all of them to practice with, all too sure that her boys would indulge her latest flight of fancy lol. Naturally Roy was all for it, Jay less so though once he got into it he found that he loved it.

At any given time your home has at least a half dozen little paper creations scattered about it. Like I said back in Day 2’s installment he’s not a big fan of clutter, so they get swapped out fairly regularly, with the old ones getting tossed unless you insist on keeping them (in which case you’re gonna have to squirrel them away in a box or something).

🌟 He can and will use his superior skills to flex on folk—you included lmao. Though if you ask nicely he’ll be happy to give you some pointers so that you can up your game.

He’s weirdly serious about the whole thing, tho. Like…

He sets up a legit wrapping station complete with different types of paper (ones of varying thickness, textures, etc. as he insists that these variances all require different wrapping techniques), a grip of tape, and some heavy ass scissors. Add to that your practice items (i.e. some boxes and objects of various sizes and shapes) and it’s just this whole ass thing.

On top of technique he also focuses on aesthetics, so you’re gonna get a bonus lesson in how to choose the right wrapping paper, when you should use streamers as opposed to bows, ribbons and how to tie them, etc.

He turns out to be a patient, but oddly strict teacher. When you ask him why he’s going in so hard he just kinda shrugs.

“Gotta do it right, doll, or there’s no point in doin’ it at all…”

((Tbh he’s not used to people looking to him for guidance in general, let alone in something non-combat related. He doesn’t want to disappoint either of you by doing a half-assed job so he makes sure to give it his all.))

🌟 It should also be said that he’s not above using gift boxes/bags, but he won’t like it lol.

The circumstances under which he does so are v. specific and has some rather weird conditions.

Like he has to know the person has a preference for the things over wrapping paper for some reason, or there’s no wrapping paper/fabric in a 100 mile radius, or his fingers are broke—you get the vibe…

🌟 In that same vein, he will more than likely never employ a professional’s help either as he feels like whatever they can do he can do better and for free so why waste the loot?

Yes, his opinion still stands even if it’s for some high class function. He’s just that good and you both know it, so what’s the point in pretending otherwise?

‘Martha Stewart’ Who? || WC: 600~

You wait with bated breath as your man inspects the parcel before him.

With its sharp creases, smooth sides, and expertly tied bow your offering would be considered immaculate, flawless even, to anyone else—but Jason Peter Todd isn’t just ‘anyone’.

To call him the Gordon Ramsay of gift wrapping would be both disingenuous and not. On the one hand his standards are just as unattainably high, but on the other he hasn’t hit you with any rudely creative insults which is good as you’re not entirely sure how you’d react if he told you your efforts were comparable to a drunk elf’s or the like.

For his part Jay runs an examining finger from one corner of the box to the other, following the line down and inwards along the perfectly pleated side tab. He gives the paper there a small flick, but the tape holds, much to your relief. The last time he’d done that the tab had popped and you got a several minute long lecture about the importance of securing your seams properly—“Good effort, doll, but all the pretty wrappin’ in the world don’t matter if that shit falls apart before you can get it out of the house.”

He conducts a few more test of integrity, giving you a nod of approval as your wrapping stands up to each one. Once he’s satisfied he moves on to scrutinizing your artistic vision, and in the end he deems this to be acceptable as well. Well, mostly, as he finds the glitter encrusted paper to be a bit much when paired with the equally blinged out ribbon, but Cass’s ongoing obsession with grainy textures makes the combination acceptable.

“–and with that in mind,” he continues on, “Imma give you a ten outta ten. Good work, baby.”

You may legitimately squeal over the praise, but who can really blame you? After spending the better part of the weekend having every little mistake picked apart—albeit in a loving way—you’ve finally got the approval you’ve been so desperately craving. Jay pulls you into a hug then, chuckling all the while as you let out a long sigh of relief, though your comment of “‘Martha Stewart’ who?” leaves him tutting.

“Hol’ up, let’s not get crazy here, babe. Martha is a legend. Now don’t get me wrong, you’re a helluva lot better at wrapping shit than most people, but you’re nowhere near being at the level where you can besmirch the name of Queen Stewart.”

You snort at that. “Whatever. Chick better not blink because I’m coming for that crown.”

“Aw, word? Okay, I see you, I see you…”

As your shared laughter tapers off you can feel a shift in the atmosphere. Levity is traded in for hooded eyes and smirking lips as he regards you with an almost predatory glint. The quick switch up leaves you confused until he reminds you of the reason you’ve been working so hard. Upping your wrapping game had been the initial goal, yes, but the, ahem, incentive that awaited you should you perfect your methods saw your motivations skewing…

“Ready to claim your reward, doll? Because I’m certainly ready to give it to ya…”

The words are mumbled against lips that have just been released from a toe-curling kiss. You’ve barely managed to reply before strong arms are sweeping you off of your feet. Your peals of surprised laughter are swallowed by more hungry kisses as you leave behind the stack of perfectly wrapped gifts for soft sheets and warm bodies and shared breaths.

Up Next:

🌟 Day 5: Questionable Morals of the Cinematic Kind || Ugly Sweaters

“What is all of this anyway?” you ask as he shuffles past you.

Jay lets out a sound that’s part sigh, part amused snort. “So you know how it’s Dick’s turn to pick the theme for the Christmas Eve party? Well apparently it’s ‘ugly holiday sweaters’. …we gotta make some up for the contest, and they gotta be bomb because the winner gets to pick what we’ll be binging that night and I’ll be damned if I have to sit through all fifty thousand Die Hard movies again.”

The entertainment may make you go ‘hmm’, but at least the company’s nice.

#Jason Todd x Reader #Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Reader #Jason Todd x You #Jason Todd Imagine #great now i can’t stop thinking about taking a masterclass from this dork #it’d solely be done to see who breaks first as i know i won’t retain anything lmao

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notepadsandtealeaves · 3 years

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Tim Drake x GN!Reader in: And Now You Know (So Please Never Ask Again)

12 Days of Batmas || Day 4—Wrapping Presents

↞ previous: day 3: mall madness || getting lost in the mall

|| ao3 version | 12 days m.list | batboys tag | main blog ||

|| dames day 4 | dick day 4 | jay day 4 ||

“‘Aww come on babe, how bad can it beeee?”

…the answer to that foolish question has turned out to be ‘Pretty damn bad’…

He doesn’t fail often, but when he does it’s usually in the most ridiculous way possible…

Headcanon || WC: ~700

🌟 The king of gift boxes/bags.

🌟 Look, he gets that tearing the wrapping paper off (or gently removing and preserving the integrity of it, if you’re that way inclined) of a gift is half the fun, but…

🌟 …he’s terrible at wrapping stuff.

🌟 Don’t worry, he’s fully aware of how ridiculous that is as:

First and foremost, he’s a gd Bat. He can hit a target the size of a penny on the other side of the room with Kobe-like precision, never mind the hand-eye coordination needed to wield a bo staff half as well he does.

Secondly, he plays so many video games that said hand-eye coordination has been further honed into a fine point.

And finally—he’s a grown ass adult.

By his estimation all of these factors should allow for him to wrap a fucking present and not have it look like something an enthusiastic toddler cobbled together and yet…

🌟 Look, he’s trying his best here, but– He’s just bad at it, guys. Like really, really bad and it doesn’t make any sense and it annoys him to no end but there doesn’t seem to be anything for it.

Somehow he always manages to cut the wrapping paper either too damn small or comically large.

Tape. So much tape all over the place.

The creases are never straight and he always manages to wrinkle or tear (usually both) the wrapping paper.

Also papercuts are a thing that almost always happens and though he has been in far worse pain, there’s just something special about the stinging throb of a papercut that makes him want to avoid the things at all costs.

🌟 He’s asked Alfie for lessons, but they didn’t stick for whatever reason.

He’s briefly contemplated asking his brothers and-or Bruce for help but ultimately decided that the resulting, incessant teasing wouldn’t be worth it, like at all.

🌟 Also high-key blames the whole thing on the biologicals’ janky parenting. They were so obsessed with him being a little genius that they didn’t do normal kid stuff with him.

There was no sitting around drinking coco and wrapping presents in the Drake household.

Any and all gifts were wrapped by professionals and placed (by their maid) under their immaculately trimmed tree (which was also decorated by professionals).

For Tim the holidays felt real mass produced before Alfred and the rest came along, but I digress so let’s move on…

🌟 He has also contemplated letting Amazon/store workers wrap his gifts for him, but that feels like cheating for some reason?

Yes, he’s well aware that this makes no sense, but it’s how he feels in his heart of hearts lmao.

((Definitely has everything to do with what was mentioned above))

Though if it’s for something more upscale—like a wedding, for example—he’ll cave and let a professional handle it.

🌟 So yeah, boxes and bags are his jam, and he always picks out really cute, hella expensive ones.

You’re never gonna get something with a basic pattern, or more boring yet, a flat solid color. He always makes sure to get something that matches your tastes and-or the occasion.

And he always makes sure to get all the fixings to go in the bags. Tbh by the time he’s done with the things they look like something out of a Hallmark display case.

But uhh… We’re… we’re not gonna talk about that time that he tried to make you a bag by hand (per Dick’s pestering). Let’s just say that level of DIY/arts and crafts projects aren’t his thing and move on lol.

🌟 If you’re one of those people (like me) who don’t really care for all the frills then he honestly may love you just that little bit more.

Do you know how many times he’s wanted to just slap a bow on a gift and call it a damn day?

Spoiler: It’s Every. Fucking. Time.

🌟 So in conclusion:

🌟 ((Is this meme even still relevant? Idk, I’m too old to care, tbh, and Drake’s face in the second pic still makes me chuckle so…))

And Now You Know (So Please Never Ask Again) || WC: ~400

“‘Aww come on babe, how bad can it beeee?’ Pfft.”

You snort at the mocking approximation of your voice. You do not sound like that—or at least you don’t think you do. Either way, the answer to that foolish question has turned out to be ‘Pretty damn bad’, but before you can comment Tim’s defeated sigh crescendos into a frustrated growl.

He tosses the tape he’d been battling with for the past minute aside with enough force that it bounces off of the table to land amongst the pile of discarded wads of wrapping paper with a dull clatter. You’re fairly certain that the thin plastic casing is cracked now, but given that the edge had gotten stuck to the roll (and is now subsequently lost to you for all time) you figure it doesn’t matter overmuch.

When he told you that he wasn’t the best at wrapping gifts you were inclined to believe him—after all, Tim’s honest to the point of self-deprecation when it comes to his shortcomings—but you honestly hadn’t thought that he would be this bad. In fact you didn’t know that it was humanly possible to be this level of terrible at something so simple, and yet you’ve got several mangled rolls of paper, an entire bag’s worth of crushed bows, and several bandaged fingers that tell the harrowing tale.

You open your arms to him then, and though he’s low-key glaring and high-key pouting the whole time he settles into your warmth just the same. As you run your fingers through his messy mop of curls you feel him relaxing by increments until he’s all but boneless against you. Between the lulling, repetitive motion and the metronome of your heartbeat it comes as no surprise that Tim literally falls asleep on you, not that you mind one bit. His weight is a welcome one, grounding and secure.

Eventually you’re going to have to package your gifts one way or another, but that’s Future You’s problem. For now you’re more than content to give in to the slumber that tugs at the edges of your consciousness. You pull your man impossibly closer, sighing in the way of the terminally lovesick when he squeezes you in kind, and allow yourself to drift away…

Up Next:

🌟 Day 5: Live Petty or Die Hard || Ugly Sweaters

“Tim, baby, is it really that serious?”

He looks away from his soldering work just long enough to give you a look that says, ‘Yes, darling, it really, really is’…

He can be petty as hell, sure, but you kinda-sorta love him for it.

#Tim Drake x Reader #Tim Drake x Gender Neutral Reader #Tim Drake x You #Tim Drake Imagine #idk why but the thought of him being really bad at wrapping gifts has me weak #does that make me a terrible person? shit probably #but i still love him tho #and honestly same. i can’t wrap gifts for shit #gift bag supremacy/gift box master race in this house

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notepadsandtealeaves · 3 years

Text

Tim Drake x GN!Reader in: You’re the Reason Why (We Can’t Have Nice Things)

12 Days of Batmas || Day 1—Playing in the Snow

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT || 18+ ONLY ||

|| ao3 version | 12 days m.list | batboys tag | main blog ||

|| dames day 1 | dick day 1 | jay day 1 ||

“So tell me again, why is this a thing that you’re doing?”

“Don’t say revenge, Timmers, don’t say revenge–”

“…Revenge.”

“Alright, I’m outta here.”

You don’t know why he’s this way, but you’re here for it.

🌟 Though they can stand alone, the fics for this particular day are all loosely connected, starting with Dick’s and ending with Tim’s.

|| You’re the Reason Why (We Can’t Have Nice Things)

“So tell me again, why is this a thing that you’re doing?”

“Don’t say revenge, Timmers, don’t say revenge–”

“…Revenge.”

“Alright, I’m outta here.”

You, your boyfriend, and his best friend all laugh at the Simpson’s scene that you’ve accidentally on purpose reenacted—though unlike Homer’s brain, Conner does not grab his things and float off. He does, however, hand Tim a welder’s torch without much more bidding than a vague hand gesture. That he’s involved in the madness isn’t at all surprising, though it is a bit concerning. He’s as entrenched in this damned prank war as the Wayne boys are, and has been since Damian had somehow managed to swap out the contents of his shampoo bottle with platinum blond hair dye some years back. With the Kryptonian in the mix, peace…

Well it was never an option, not really, so you guess it’s whatever.

“You still haven’t told me what this thing’s meant to do,” you remind the pair as you continue to watch them work. The device looks like it would be perfect for a Luigi’s Mansion cosplay—ya know, if the Poltergust 3000 was cobbled together from a leaf blower and other various bits of scrap.

When all you receive by way of reply is a set of matching Cheshire grins you sigh.

“Well at least tell me what it’s called?”

“The Bringer of Justice,” Tim says, voice distracted.

Con’s brow furrows at that. “I thought we were calling it The Summoning of Justice?”

“Bringing, summoning, whatever. Hey, pass me tha- Thanks.”

The level of synchronicity between them is impressive, and a little unnerving if you’re being honest. They move like two parts of one whole, as if they share a brain—Or rather one singular brain cell, you silently amend. It’s the only explanation as to why they’re putting so much effort in to making something that’ll do so little. Knowing that you’ll get nothing else of worth out of them you leave them to their work, reminding yourself that they’re probably not making anything that’ll actually cause severe property and-or physical damage.

Probably.

…Yeah.

You highly doubt this is the outcome Dick was hoping for when he sent that text, though it’s more than likely what he expects…

“Ah, it’s the lovely ____—always a pleasure to see you.”

You give the aging butler a warm smile as you greet him in kind, though when he asks you where your boyfriend is–

“Conner’s flying him and it in.”

“‘It’?” he repeats, expression equal parts concerned and amused.

“Yeah, it’s this… launcher-contraption-type-deal? I guess? The most I’ve been able to gather is that it’s meant to even the score between them and the others by ‘raining down white hellfire from above’. They also wanted me to specify that said ‘white hellfire’ is of the snowy variety and not actual white phosphorous. I won’t ask why this distinction needs to be made.”

Though Alfred’s replying hum is short it somehow manages to relay an entire lifetime’s worth of exasperation. “I would say that this may be the answer to their blasted prank war, but that level of optimism isn’t becoming of a man of my years.” Though his words are a lament there is a measure of levity to be found in his tone.

When he informs you that the other three brothers and their significant others have already arrived and are engaging in some ‘scheduled fun’—“I believe Master Richard has orchestrated a snowman building contest, and as a result we will be having roasted potatoes with the evening meal instead of braised carrots.”—though you both know that that’ll be devolving soon enough.

“I’ll try to keep the collateral damage to a minimum.” Even as you voice the sentence you know that this degree of optimism isn’t befitting someone of your years either.

The scene that greets you upon exiting the Manor is one fit for a Hallmark movie. Three couples—all young, fresh, and ridiculously beautiful—enjoy the season’s offerings.

Jason and his love have seemingly given up on the contest as their snowman only sports a scarf, a carrot nose, and not much else (“Gotham minimalism” Jay dubs it, though you’re not entirely sure that’s a thing). They’ve opted to cuddle up on a bench, offering color commentary on the other two’s builds in between sips from a steaming thermos.

For his part, Dick and his spouse are only halfway through constructing their snowman; the base is done, as is the torso, but the head is little more than an oversized snowball at the moment. It only takes one look at the pair of them to know why. When one tries to start in on the task the other will swoop in with a flurry of kisses or a spontaneous back hug or something else equally sweet and distracting.

Damian and his beloved are likewise halfway through their build—which is more ‘beast’ than ‘man’. As Dames works on building the thing’s front half, his darling decorates the bits that are already finished. Black glitter—more than likely edible, because they value their lives too much to risk tracking the real stuff through the Manor—dots the snow in large swatches making their muse obvious. It’s Batcow. They’re making a Batcow out of snow because of course they are. They converse in hushed tones, their words leaving a contented smile on the man’s lips.

The sight is peaceful, lovely–

“Revenge rides a pale Kryptonian!”

–and unsurprisingly short lived.

Of course with Jason Peter Todd being who he is, he’s already making a quip before the flying pair is even within twenty feet of the ground. “Does ____ know that you like to ride Conner? Or is this you guys’ way of letting us know that have some type of menagé-a-three thing going on?”

He promptly takes a snowball—shot at a high speed and with no small amount of pressure—to the face for his troubles.

He blinks dumbly for a moment before wiping away the clumps of snow with one hand and calmly pushing the thermos into his lover’s grasp with the other. “Alright Tiny Tim, Rudolph the Red-Tights Reindeer—it’s on.”

For their part, Dick and his love are both laughing their ass off as they watch the second Robin take two more shots in rapid succession, though their snickers morph into shrieks when Jay flings his snowman’s whole ass head at his brother. The thing catches him right across the chest, exploding into several large pieces and a spray of now loose snow; the backdraft catches his fellow instigator as well, making them cough and sputter as they swipe at their now dusted face.

“Of course you realize that this means war?” they grit out as they glare at the much larger man.

“Bring it, little bit!”

To his credit, Jay’s bravado doesn’t waver even with the couple flings their snowman’s entire torso at him, though he does blanch a bit when they work to heft its rather sizeable base.

Clearly operating on the same devious wavelength as their man, Jay’s partner in mischief had taken cover behind the bench in the same moment as he’d left it. Taking full advantage of Dick getting blasted, they quickly set about rolling out a few snowballs, the largest of which is lobbed at Damian’s back. He stiffens as the snow shatters against his left shoulder blade before turning around and glaring at his attacker. A lesser being would’ve been begging for mercy, but then again a lesser being wouldn’t have been crazy enough to aim for the former assassin in the first place (never mind their dating the Red fucking Hood). As it stands they cackle wildly before grabbing their remaining ammo and darting around the bench in search of a new source of cover.

“Beloved—protect the cow.”

“As if it were our first born.”

Despite their words, Dames’ beloved seems more intent on using the snow sculpture for shelter. You can see their hands working, and given the pressure that they’re putting behind their pats you know that their snowballs are gonna have a little extra bite; they’re quick and efficient, turning out nearly half a dozen balls in just under a minute. They say something in Arabic, pulling a vicious smile from their man as they split the projectiles between them.

With the pair of them in the fight things turn into an all-out war, and you can only be glad that no one has taken note of your presence yet–

Thwack!

The surprise of being slapped with a snowball has you crying out more than the impact itself—that the hit comes from behind you makes it doubly unexpected. Your confusion morphs into betrayal when you turn to see that your accoster is none other than your own damned boyfriend.

“Couldn’t let you miss out on all the fun!” is all he says by way of explanation before he and his bestie are zooming off back into the fray.

Know there’s nothing for it now, you scrape a portion of snow off of the nearby banister, form it up, and give yourself over to the chaos.

Up Next:

🌟 Day 2: Old Peeps Roasting on an Open Fire~ || Cuddling by the Fire

“Old peeps roasting on an open fire, Timmy-boy screaming ‘Oh god nooooo~!’”

You probably won’t need the fire extinguisher this time. Probably.

#Tim Drake x Reader #Tim Drake x Gender Neutral Reader #Tim Drake x You #Tim Drake Imagine #timmy-boy and his contraptions…#((Immy does fan fiction: the Batboys))

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