He’s not a casual tea drinker, he doesn’t just have a stash of sugar and earl grey at his desk with a few mugs at the ready.
No, Timothy Drake has over sixteen seperate kettles and tea sets in his room. Some are china, some are vintage, some are shaped like flowers or frogs or painted with a Vincent Van Gogh style over it. Some only have one cup and saucer, some have enough for a tea party. Some are so old they’re are chipped and faded. Some are so new they haven’t been used and are still set up nicely in a display case.
That’s just the carrier of the tea, but the flavours he has on hand…
He has English breakfast, he has Merlot, he had Green Tea, Herbal, Black Current, Lemon, Chamomile, Honey, Mint, Butterfly Pea, African Solstice, Cherry, Chocolate, everything! If you can think of it or have heard of it somewhere before, he has it.
Every knows that he drinks the, they see him with a cup near constantly and he even has a keep cup for when he’s patrolling.
But not even knows exactly how deep his obsession goes.
Alfred does, because he once had to listen to Tim talk about how you can’t rank read through taste alone but also process and how it works with sugar and milk and sweetener after the older man made the mistake of saying he thought English Breakfast was best.
Bruce knows because he once threatened to confiscate Tim’s tar strainers if he didn’t get some rest and witnessed how hard Tim Drake can tweak firsthand.
Barbara knows because she once accidently broke a cup when she backed into a table with her chair and, while Tim was understanding it was an accident, she had to watch him go through the stages of grief in real time. The kid had openly mourned the cup that had been shaped like an apple as if it was a loved one and she swore not to touch them again lest she cause another funeral.
Yet, even though not even has seen the dozens of cases and cabinets he has to organise his tea leaves and dishes, there is one thing that everyone has a deep understanding of.
If Tim lets you use a cup, he sees you as someone to trust. He thinks you’re reliable and trustworthy enough to touch something fragile and valuable to him.
But if he serves you tea himself, from his own personal collection?
You aren’t just loved by him, you aren’t just his family, but you have single handedly gained one of the biggest allies you will ever have.
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Ever dreamt of the perfect 1950s lifestyle? This retro-inspired fashion scene (AI-generated) presents a blonde in a lovely coral floral swing dress, enjoying her downtime by the warm glow of a classic fireplace with tea and a good book. Click for more inspiration! 📖💐🍵
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Authors note: Hey chicas, I tried my best with this. As fucked up as it sounds I'm not used to writing cute fics so hopefully this is up to your standards. Just as a warning this isn’t like a super fluffy fic. To make the fluff more impactful there will be action and fighting before it. I tried to make the fighting as short as possible without leaving out info.
Feedback is always encouraged!!
Plot: Natasha asks you for a huge favor
Warnings: men... men having the intention of treating a women like an opject, shooting, punching, violence, Red Room (if you watched the movie you understand), death, fake flirting, drinking, being drunk (let me know if I missed anything)
Word Count: 2445
I am currently at a bar getting trampled by what seemed like actual children. They must’ve gotten kicked out of the bar close to campus so this was their next best shot. The place was grubby and smells of body odor and bad decisions. What in my right mind am I doing here? I had just finished a mission so I came to Budapest to lie low and enjoy the architecture. Plus the safe house is here.
Just when I thought my night wasn’t going to get any worse my body is being forced to the side. I can’t help but glare at the bitch that pushed me. I’m met with beautiful green eyes.
“Hello?!” I yell over the blaring music but she is just staring into my soul.
“What the fuck did you push me for?” I yell again waving my hand in front of her face. Just trying to get any reaction from her.
“You speak english?” She questions.
I look at her with an annoyed look. That's all she has to say after she slammed into me.
“Yes of course I do. Do I look fucking hungarian to you?” I question rolling my eyes.
I begin to walk away when a hand covers my mouth and I'm being dragged away.
“Shh be quiet pretty girl” A sweet russian accent plays in my ear.
Out of my own shock I freeze.
I do not have time for this.
Realization quickly washes over my body. I think quickly of all possible scenarios. She could be planning on killing me, maybe I owe her boss money? If it’s the boss I’m thinking of, he definitely knows what kind of girls to send my way. I struggle against her grip before I throw my head back and force my elbow into her side. Her grip loosens slightly but she insists on digging her nails into my skin. If she draws blood I'm gonna kill her. Fighting against her nails I twist toward her. It wasn’t by much but it was enough to grab her jacket and slam her into a wall. By the look in her eyes she was shocked but a small smirk played on her lips as soon as I noticed the red hourglass tattoo on her collarbone.
Shit
“What do you want from me?” I growl at her.
“Your love.” She confesses.
“Are you insane?” I glance at the tattoo, instantly regretting my words.
“Don’t answer that” I say slowly, stepping away from her.
I watch her every move. She's trained to move like a cat, quiet and deadly. If she were to move I wouldn’t notice until it was too late.
A smirk slowly pulls at her lips. “Who are you?"
“Given your smirk you already know who I am Natasha.” I have known Natasha since she blew up the Red Room. I was one of the widows that was saved. I couldn’t be more thankful but why did she feel the need to attack to get my attention.
“It is good to see you too, Widow.” She pushes herself off the wall and circles around me. Like a panther hunting her prey.
“Don’t call me that! What do you want?” I question.
“I need your help finding this man. He is part of the few that got away before the Red Room got destroyed. Given you’ve been lying low for over a year now I think it’s time you get back in the action.” She nudges my arm.
“What do you say, honey bun?” I roll my eyes at that.
“Okay fine, what do you need me to do?” I ask.
“You see that man at the bar with the gray hat? That's him. I need you to flirt with him and get in his head. Bring him to this address.” She hands me a small slip of paper with an address written in red ink. Classic.
In the Red Room we would color code our writing blue means easy target, red means dangerous to widows, green means dangerous to all, black means orders came from Dreykov directly.
“I will be waiting in the bedroom. Get him drunk, knock him out, do whatever you need to do to get him to this address.” I nod in understanding.
“Got it.” I confirm, eyeing this man. He’s huge. Around six foot five and at least three hundred pounds. I take a deep breath stepping in his direction. A strong hand grips my arm. I look back at Natasha staring at me. Her eyes scanning my face like this is the last time she’ll see me.
“Please pretend like you’re gonna see me Natalia. I got this. You know I've handled worse” I put my hand over hers, running my thumb over her knuckles. You can see her face soften when I say her real name.
“I know, любовь. I just worry. But go get him. I will be waiting for you.” Natasha says her accent is thick. Her accent always gets worse when she’s scared.
I nod and sway towards him. I have to make it seem like it’s his idea. Taking a drunk girl home and taking advantage is his specialty. I pretend to drunkenly fall into the seat next to him. Asking the bartender for a strong drink purposefully slurring my words.
“Hey sweetie” A masculine voice whispers in my ear and I fight the urge to lean away from him. His breath smells of whiskey. His hand cements itself to my hip in almost a bruising restraint.
I giggle and lean against him. “What are you doing?” I eye his arms pretending to be impressed by the muscle showing through his shirt.
“You're so strong!” I grip his bicep, puffing out my chest. His eyes practically burn holes into my breasts.
“I’ll show you how strong I am, sweetie. Let's get you home.” He says paying his tab and apologizing to the bartender. “Sorry bro my wife doesn’t know her limits sometimes.” The bartender chuckles.
“No problem man, mine is the same way.” God they talk like they own the women in their lives. Like we are objects. Disgusting.
He leads me out of the bar, me stumbling over my own feet.
“Can we go to my house, it’s thirty five- uhhh wait I don't remember.” He chuckles.
“I wrote it down, hold on.” I pause swaying slightly and I scramble to get the piece of paper out of my pocket and hand it to him. He doesn’t question why I don’t have my own address memorized as he takes the paper from my hand.
“Ah yes, I know where this is. Don’t worry sweetie we can go to your house.” he says, leading me in the direction of the house. The cold breeze leaves goose bumps along my skin. It has to be at least one in the morning.
The front of the house is one of an old vintage home. It is absolutely breathtaking. He stops at the end of the driveway.
“Do you have keys?” He asks and I shake my head in response.
“I’ve always had an open door policy.” Given Natalia never gave me a key I can only assume the door is unlocked. My stomach drops as we walk closer to the door. So many what if’s circle my mind. What if Natasha isn’t here? I didn’t see her leave the bar. What if he doesn’t want to go to the bedroom? What if Natasha doesn’t make it to me in time? I haven't done a mission like this in a really long time so my nerves are acting up. I beg them to be calm and keep a level head.
“Let's have some fun. My room is upstairs.” I giggle, pushing aside my worry.
He just chuckles at my drunkenness and leads me to the bedroom. When we step into the bedroom he roughly drops me on the bed and goes to lock the door. The door to the connected bathroom opens slowly, a pair of green eyes peeking out. Relief settles over me. He turns back around and eyes Nat. Looking her up and down like she is a piece of meat.
“The more the merrier.” he smirks.
There's no way this bitch just said that.
Anger washes over Natasha's face and she runs at him. Her fist collides with his throat and he is sent back gagging and trying to catch his breath. As he kneels down her knee slams into his nose. A loud crack rings through my ears. She was so quick you could see him struggle to catch up.She pulled her infamous gun from the back of her jeans and shoots him execution style.
She kicks him over and looks my way. “Are you okay honey bun?”
“Yes, I'm okay. Everything just happened so fast and honestly I didn't expect him to go down that fast.” She chuckles at me.
“They always second guess a woman's ability to fight. It helps in these situations especially when a man thinks he’s an ‘alpha’.” She rolls her eyes at her own statement and I can’t help but laugh.
“Come on, let's get you home.” She motions for me to follow her after she kicks the man out of the way.
“I’m gonna pretend you found where I live in a responsible and very legal way.” I say and glance at him on the way out.
“What will happen to him?” I ask
“A cleaning team will be here in about twenty minutes. Trust me this place will look spotless by the time they are done with it.” I nod trusting her every last word.
We walk outside into the chilly area and make our way to her black nineteen ninety Cadillac. I chuckled at the car and she glanced my way. Giving me a look of questioning.
“Nothing, I would just think you’d have a BMW or some type of fast car.” She almost looks offended at my words.
“First of all I love classics. Second of all get your ass in the car. It's cold out here.” I smile and listen to her command. I hate admitting this but I trust her with my life so I can just shut my brain off.
The drive back to my place was quiet. Her free hand rested on my thigh and my left hand rested on hers rubbing my thumb over her knuckles. Before I knew it she was pulling into my complex. After being in Budapest for so long I requested a bigger apartment. This one comes with bigger parking spaces so when Natasha parks we aren’t fighting to get in and out of the car. After she parked we made our way to the elevator and to my door. As much as this is an old building I find beauty in it. Think of how many people have lived here. How many lives have lived in the same space but experienced it so differently. It’s beautiful to be a part of those many people.
As the door creaks open Natasha holds the door open for me and locks it when both of us are inside. Nastahsa’s gaze falls on the fireplace. More specifically the photos above it. It’s pictures of us and our families when we were younger. Well our assigned families. My favorite picture is of Nat, Yelena, and me. We looked so happy playing with the fireflies.
“How were you able to keep all of these?” She asked.
“Melina kept them for me. She said that it would help you remember if they ever took your memory.” I say.
You can see the sadness in her eyes.
“I could never forget you. I spent too much time trying to win you over to forget your beautiful face.” She flashes a smile.
“You were always such a flirt.” I chuckle.
I grab her hand and lead her to the kitchen. Maybe some tea will help.
“Do you still like peppermint?” I ask pulling the box out of the cabinet.
“You already know the answer to that.” She sasses, blowing me a kiss.
I smile and grab the kettle, filling it with water. I put it on the stove and make my way to the bathroom. Before she even gets the chance to get up I say.
“Stay there, I'm getting a bandage for your hand.” I can hear her huff at that. I can’t help but giggle. I came back with the wrap and a damp washcloth. I lift her up and sit her on one of the kitchen stools, a small gasp coming from her.
“Let me see your hand.” I say and she hesitantly gives me her left hand. It doesn’t look as bad as some of her injuries in the past but it still looks painful. I run the cool wash cloth over her knuckles, a small hiss escapes her mouth.
“I know my love, I'm almost done.” I say wrapping the bandage over her knuckles and around her hand securing it at the wrist.
“There we go all done. See not too bad.” I smile looking up at her. Her eyes hold so much love and adoration. I can’t help but blush lightly at the sudden attention. Her eyes search my face, like she is looking for a clue. My eyes glance down to her lips. We both start leaning in. The tension getting thicker.
The tea kettle goes off and I step away, coming back to reality.
“I’ll get that.” I say shakily. I make my way to the stove turning the burner off. I grab two cups and two bags of tea. I put the bags in the cup and pour the boiling water into each cup.
“Would you like some honey, honey?” She asks, standing beside me with the jar of honey. I giggle and nod. I watch her pour the exact amount I like into mine and a little bit into hers.
“How do you know how much honey I like?” I question furrowing my eyebrows.
“You liked it like this when we were younger.” She answers with a wide smile.
I can’t help but hug her. I can hear the honey fall to the counter and her arms wrap around me tightly. My eyes well up with tears and I hold her as tightly as possible only to loosen it to put our foreheads together.
“I have always loved you.” I confess.
“I love you more.” She says and a wide grin appears on my face.
I lean in and connect our lips. The teas long forgotten
