#the Hall of Timmy — for as big a deal it was — just feels like it would be too small a way to bring him back ya know? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

notjohnlegere · 3 years ago

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Hello, I’m back! I hope you all have had lovely holidays and a Happy New Year! Thank you so much for being patient with me during my break for the holidays. It’s hard to juggle being so busy and posting fics. Here’s a New Years fic for you guys! I also plan to post more holiday fics as late gifts for you. Stay tuned! 🥰

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New Year, New Step

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New Year, New Step

Timothée Chalamet x Reader

timmy and his wife bring in the new year with a big surprise

*obligatory mobile formatting apology*

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Irritated. That’s all you were lately, completely irritable. You loved him to death, but for the past few months everything he did got on your nerves.

Why did he put the socks in the wrong drawer of the dresser? He knows they’re supposed to be in the second from the top. And oh god, why can’t he take his shoes off at the door? The clunk on the hardwood floor is so loud!

Things that were normally not a big deal were now the biggest deal, some days even reducing you to tears.

This wasn’t the fault of your new husband, no. You may have only been married for seven months, but you had been dating and living together for five years. He was no different than he had always been, and he had always been wonderful. You felt like you were going crazy, that you were inching toward your final snap before they wheeled you off to whatever facility was best for your declining state.

As you sat at your kitchen island pondering your recent mental health, you ate a bowl of cereal. New Year’s Eve was tomorrow and you had so much to do. Timmy wanted to go out and meet some of his friends for a small party. You still hadn’t planned your outfit or what you’d be doing with your hair and makeup.

In fact, the more you thought about it, the more you realized you really really didn’t want to go to the party. You didn’t want to leave the house at all. The mere thought of going out into a crowd of people, albeit a small one, brought tears to your eyes. And before you knew it, they were spilling down your cheeks. Here I go, being crazy again. You thought.

You were nothing shy of ugly sobbing, your face in your hands as you gasped for air. You didn’t realize how hard you were crying until your confused husband was roused from his slumber and came down the hall.

“Mon amour?” His voice was groggy and laced with concern. Quick, long legged strides brought him to your side. “Baby, what’s the matter?”

“I-“ You choked. “I don’t-“

“Hey, shhh, it’s okay.” Timmy said, lanky arms draping around you as he pulled you into his bare chest. He ran his fingers through your hair and down your back, embracing you tightly against his body.

Your sobs subsided after a minute, but you were still met with strong emotions in your chest, threatening to spill tears over once again.

“I don’t- don’t want to go to the New Year’s Eve party.” You finally managed to choke out.

“Is that what you’re crying about?” Your husband was whispering now. “We don’t have to go anywhere if you don’t feel like it.”

“But you wanted to go-“ You started, but were cut off when you met his gaze. He put his hands on your cheeks and wiped your stray tears with his thumbs.

“I wanted to spend time with you.” He corrected. “It’s our first new year as husband and wife. I just thought you’d like to go have some fun. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have fun here, just us.” He reassured. He was always so sweet.

“Are you sure?” You were hesitant. You didn’t want to be the buzzkill. You were always so worried about being too selfish with him. It would be so easy for you to hide him away and keep him to yourself, but you knew the rest of the world deserved their share.

“Yes, I’m sure.” He said, his lips finding your forehead for a short kiss. “We can have our own party. I’ll cook for you, I got a bottle of your favorite wine a few days ago. We can even still dress up so you can get those pictures you’ve been wanting.”

“I love you.” You said, feeling yourself beginning to sob again. What the hell is wrong with me?

“I love you too.” Timmy said, but soon looked panicked when you started to cry again. “Baby, please don’t cry.”

“I’m okay, I promise.” You muttered, burying your face into his chest. You were unsure if that was a lie or not. You had no idea if you were okay, but you didn’t want to worry him. “I just love you so much.”

“I love you so much more.” He said, pressing his lips into your hairline.

The next day came and went slowly, and you were more of a mess than before. You didn’t eat breakfast because you were sick, the Chinese food from the night before had hit you like a rock. Then, to make matters worse, your favorite eyeliner cap had been left open and dried out the product, leaving you to cry about your less-than-impressive makeup look. It wasn’t until your favorite (more importantly Timmy’s favorite) dress wouldn’t zip around your waist anymore, did you completely lose it. You sat on the floor of your bedroom in your underwear and sobbed into your hands, ruining what little makeup you had put on. When Timmy found you, though, he tried to fix it. As he always did.

“I’ll go get you some new eyeliner. Even better than that kind!” He had said, waving his hands around dramatically as he sat with you in the floor. “And we can wear our matching PJs, it’ll be like a pajama party. Who doesn’t love matching pajama pictures?” He was always so caring. He always did everything he possibly could to take care of you.

You reluctantly agreed after some persuasion from him and you were feeling better for a little while. Until you got sick again. You vomited twice before you were finally able to make it to the couch and sit down where you were now.

Your husband put a cool rag over your forehead as he made a mental checklist of what to get from the store.

“Alright, so some anti-nausea, crackers, ginger ale, chicken soup, eyeliner, extra film for your Polaroid, anything else?” He asked you, his fingers brushing your cheek delicately. He was as thoughtful as ever. “Is this PMS? Do you need anything for that?”

“No, I don’t think so. I haven’t-“

And that’s when it hit you. Everything started to make sense. Every little piece of the past few months began to fall into place. You felt dizzy.

“Hey, are you alright? You look pale.” Timmy said, lowering himself into the spot next to you.

How could you have not noticed? You couldn’t even remember the last time you had your period. Hell, you couldn’t remember the last time you and Timothée had used a condom. Of course the emotional turmoil you were going through would make sense if you were-

“Can you pick up a pregnancy test?”

“A what now?”

“I’m late.” You muttered.

“What?” Panic was written all over your boy’s features. You would’ve giggled at how cute he was if you didn’t feel so nauseated. “How late?”

“Uhh, I don’t know? A few months?”

“A few months?!” His voice was shrill and cracked when he shrieked.

“Timmy, baby, calm down.” You reassured him, putting your hand on his cheek. “If we aren’t ready-“

“Screw not being ready,” He interjected, saying your name. “You’ve been eating seafood. And drinking!”

“Timmy-“

“We smoked last month!”

“Timothée Hal!” You raised your voice to grab his attention and he got quiet. “Everything is going to be alright, Tim. We don’t even know if I am- you know- yet. It still could just be an illness. Don’t panic yet. Let’s start with a test, okay?” You watched your boy closely. He took deep breaths and pecked a kiss to your lips.

“Okay.” He agreed, although he didn’t seem any less anxious. “I’ll be back soon. Give me like an hour okay?”

“Okay. Please be careful.”

An hour passed and your boy came stumbling into the house, bags in hand. On the coffee table he dumped out three bags from three separate drugstores, and just about every pregnancy test known to man fell out.

“Okay, I wasn’t sure which one was the best. God, there were so many. I didn’t realize the pregnancy test market was so competitive.” He rambled as his hands fished through the different tests. “I also got something called an HCG test. I have no idea what that means but it was next to all the other boxes and-“

“Timmy, breathe.” You cut him off, rising from your spot on the couch. “Let’s just try this one, it says the words rather than the lines.” You said, picking up one of the tests from the pile.

“Can I help?”

“What are you gonna do? Pee on it for me?” Your sarcasm drew a giggle from his throat.

“I don’t know.” He muttered, heat rising to his cheeks. “I don’t know anything about this stuff.”

“I don’t either. But we can figure it out together.” You said and kissed him on the cheek. “Give me a few minutes.”

What followed would be the longest few minutes of your husband’s life. At this point, you weren’t as nervous as before. You knew that the two of you would be able to handle any outcome. Timothée, on the other hand, was less easily consoled. He paced the living room and hall. His hands tugged at and ran through his curls. He was thinking of every possible negative that could happen, he was nothing short of terrified.

When you walked out of the bathroom and down the hall, it took mere seconds for Timmy to run to your side like a curious puppy.

“So?” He asked, his green eyes wide and wandering your form.

“We’re pregnant, Timmy.” You replied, barely above a whisper. You were scared of his response.

“Oh my god.” He said. He fell to his knees, and for a moment you were scared that he had passed out. That was, until lanky arms snaked their way around your waist as they always had. He pressed his face against your stomach. “You’re pregnant! We’re pregnant!” He shouted so loudly it startled you.

“Yeah, that’s what the test said.” You spoke shyly, a giggle on your lips. Your hands wound their way into his perfect curls.

“Oh my god.” He repeated. “You know what this means, right?”

“You’re gonna be a daddy? I’m gonna be a mommy?” You smiled down at your husband. He was grinning, his cheeks were red with glee.

“No wine tonight.”

With that statement, fireworks exploded in the distance, startling the both of you and causing you to trip. You ended up on the floor in his arms.

“Hey, be careful.” He fussed at you. His hand instantly flew to your stomach. “You’re falling for two now.”

“I have a terrible feeling you’re going to be an absolute helicopter.” You kissed him on the cheek with a giggle. He laughed to your comment.

“I can’t wait to helicopter the both of you.” He said. “We should start making you a pregnancy menu so you can eat what’s best for the both of you.”

“Oh god, here we go.” You teased. “At least wait until the new year.” He checked his watch.

“I think I can wait five more minutes.”

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ao3 is johnlegere, find my fics there too. requests are open, send one in my ask box! hope you enjoyed :)!

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dairy-farmer · 2 years ago

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I know we all love people looking at sweet innocent and pretty timmy and going "aww cutie, I'm gonna fuck you :)" but consider: pathetic Tim Drake and everyone going "*deathly horny grip* hngh"

He looks sad, he looks pathetic, he looks like he's one bad day away from making a 23 step plan into killing you and making it look like suicide without ever lifting a hand in the mess, rendering him perfectly clean because he can use the excuse that 'he was never part of it. He just did a few things that set of a chain of events where the results are far too gone from his hands it can't technically be his fault anymore'. He looks like a tiny pitiful cat sadly doe-eyeing you into walking out in the rain and petting it only to be hit with it's sharp claws and a strong bite to match.

His eyebags go for DAYS and people fantasize about them being the reason, like they fuck him awake each night until dawn and he's too busy working to sleep any more than 15 minutes after. They wonder if he bites his moans down to keep quiet or if he's the loudest motherfucker with just a sharp tug on his hair. They imagine that it's his sweet hole they fuck in rather than their fist at night and sometimes they wonder if they can get away with drugging Tim and fucking him (they can. Bruce does it all the time.)

Hngh sexily depressed Tim because there's just something so sexy about the despairingly depraved feelings people feel when they look at him and go "he needs my dick in his ass rn. RN."

😂😂😂no because im just imagining someone texting tim "noooo don't kill yourself you're so sexy aha" and tim is just staring blankly at it before blocking their number.

tim was cute and so full of life when he young, but now he's aged a decade in just two years and he's TIRED. he wants to do his work and sleep. that's it that's all he wants. he doesn't have the time or patience for incompetence and he WILL bite. people see him scurrying the halls of titan's tower, the cave, and the watchtower and just bite their lips because he's half hunched over and busy working his little fingers into whatever tool he's fidgeting with.

but he's still so soft looking. he has these big little eyes that are lined with exhaustion and they look up at someone like they're his savior if they offer him a granola bar. it's an addicting feeling. he eats in these little bites and he sways with sleep if he stays still for too long.

he's constantly working looking like he's on the verge of a breakdown and sometimes they wonder if they could sneak up behind tim and pull down his pants and touch him while he was working.

they imagine pressing tim onto his back and fucking into his hot little pussy. would he pay them any mind at all? or would he just keep typing away on a tablet or computer because he's trying to meet a deadline and he has no time to shoo away some horndog humping into his pussy.

tim would let it happen, if it was too annoying to deal with. he's busy working and ignores the hands squeezing his tits and ass, the mouth sucking hickeys into his throat and the cock desperately rutting against the wet seam of his cunt.

the only time that tim is finally still and calm, at peace is when he's asleep or knocked out. tim eats or drinks whatever is handed toward him without a second though. he's so wary yet also so trusting. it wouldn't be hard to drug him, in fact bruce has mastered the art of it.

when he sees tim getting too into his head, when he sees him falling to deep into the abyss. bruce fucks him straight again.

he gives him enough tranquilizer to knock out a cow and fucks him deep and fast and rough. he abuses his clit until it's red, hot, and throbbing. he forces orgasm after orgasm into tim. he feels his insides got tight and clamp down on the cock inside him.

it helps. because tim wakes up sore from sleeping in an odd position but refreshed. he wakes up energized like his body has been hit with a reset button.

bruce just nods approvingly when tim is back to himself. he just needs to be fucked back to normality that's it.

bruce figured it out when tim was dosed with pollen and spent days in pain as he tried desperately to squeeze more pleasure out of himself. all slobber, drool, and tears as he fucked his fingers deep inside.

but when it was done. when it was over. it was like tim had been reviatlized.

some people got fucked stupid but tim? oh tim was different.

he needed to get fucked to be better when he worked all that tension out of his system that was when he could finally get back in control.

it's hard to resist, especially when you see tim struggling to desperately to keep his head above water.

he's an adorable little thing, a cute little animal when he's desperate and needy.

and he's made to be fucked.

#asks #answered asks

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toosicktoocare · 3 years ago

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Okay, I’m very much obsessed with the web comic “Batman: Wayne Family Adventures,” and I want to write little one-shots for it.

If you’d like to see something written, drop a prompt in my inbox!

Also found on AO3!

1: Better Than Dick Grayson

Jason’s beat by the time he guides his bike through an underground entrance to the Bat Cave. Patrol wasn’t hard – more annoying than anything else. There’s been an increase in copy-cat villains lurking the shadows of Crime Alley, all who can’t even follow through with a napkin-scribbled plan properly.

“Nice work tonight, Hood.”

Jason slips off his bike, boots heavy against the steel floor below him. He taps the comm nestled in his ear. “Thanks, O. Time to sign off? I’m sure you have an absolutely riveting day at the library tomorrow.” A cheeky smile plays at his lips as he slips his helmet off, huffing around a laugh at Barbara’s drawn-out sigh in his ear.

“I honestly don’t know why I help you every night.”

“Come on, O. You know you look forward to our quick-witted banter every day. That’s our thing – our trademark, if you will.” His smile widens when Barbara chuckles in his ear.

“You’re ridiculous, Hood.”

Jason slips into a changing room, grimacing as he cards his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. “Please, O. You know you love me.” His suit is damp against him, an uncomfortable testament to just how much he’s done on patrol in the few hours he was out.

“Maybe a little.”

Smirking, he shrugs his jacket off and reaches to the back of his neck, working his damp suit off until it’s hanging low at his waist. “You flirting with me, Babs? I’ll tattle to Dick.” He barks out a laugh at the low, impressive string of curse words that echo from his comm.

“I retract my previous statement. My tolerable feelings toward you stem from obligation alone.”

“Babs,” Jason whines, slamming a hand to his chest, “you wound me! Now I’m really going to tell Dick!”

“Well, you’re out of luck. He left for Bludhaven an hour ago.”

Jason pushes down on his suit until he’s stepping out of it, kicking it to the corner of the changing room with the notion that he’ll deal with it later. Tomorrow. He sighs – eventually.

“Detective Grayson summoned for an assignment?” He turns on his heel, snagging a towel that he drapes over his shoulders, using one corner to mop the sweat dripping from his hair.

“Something like that.”

Barbara’s voice goes soft on the other line, and Jason stops, frowning smally. “What’s up, Babs?”

“Damian and Bruce are still out, so I need to get back to them. Can you check in on Tim for me? Steph said he’s been quieter than usual all day.”

“Pump the kid up with coffee, then? I can do that.”

“Jason.”

Jason holds his hand’s up in mock defense out of habit, sighing between his teeth. “Fine, yes. I’ll follow in golden child Dick’s footsteps and take my role as the dutiful big brother.”

“Good. Also, I have that on recording now for the next time you try to sarcastically remove yourself from a family affair.”

“Barbara!”

“Later, Jason!”

There’s a crackle in Jason’s ear, and then the line goes dead. Rolling his eyes, he pulls the comm free, dropping it beside a large monitor in the cave before padding upstairs, eager to shower Crime Alley’s discount villains away.

He swings by Tim’s room first, finding him at his desk, eyes soft and cast toward the window. His expression is somber albeit a tad thoughtful, and Jason promptly pulls him out of whatever muted stupor he’s currently lost in.

“Well,” he starts, nudging the door open wider, eyes flicking to the textbook open at the desk. “You’re doing better than I did. Studying wasn’t really my forte.”

Tim twists around and cocks his head to the side. “You were a straight-A student.”

Scoffing, Jason drops against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Hey. I didn’t say I wasn’t smart.” He nods to the book. “And you’re essentially a boy genius, so do you really need to do that?”

“It’s a good distraction,” Tim sighs, turning back to the window and dropping his cheek against his fist.

“A distraction from what?” Jason’s eyes narrow into sharp slits, watching a small line of tension take to Tim’s shoulders.

“Dick left.”

Jason’s taken aback. Dick comes and goes all the time – they all do. He can’t imagine Tim will be here long, and he, himself, is only staying the night before he heads back to the safe house he’s been frequenting by himself in the morning. Now that he thinks of it, he’s sure he overheard Steph mentioning packing for a trip with Barbara in a few days.

“He’ll come back,” Jason responds, and Tim spins around in his desk chair with a sigh that’s far too long and heavy for a kid his age.

“I know that. It’s just,” Tim pauses, waving one hand around, “too quiet without him here.”

“That’s a bad thing?” Jason cocks a brow, and Tim huffs.

“You know what I mean – Dick’s all energy and smiles, and everything just feels better when he’s here. When we’re all here together.”

This, Jason thinks, is edging a delicate territory he’s not adept to handle. His vocabulary rivals Alfred’s, and yet, piecing together words into a sentence that’s both optimistic and comforting is not something he feels he’s capable of. Instead, he steps into the room, dropping his palm to Tim’s head, and the silence that follows is sharper than Bruce’s best batarang.

“Jason,” Tim finally mutters, voice flat.

“Is this comforting?”

“No, it’s weird.”

Jason rips his hand away, a sigh of relief slipping past his lips. “Well, that’s one thing we can agree on.” He turns toward the door, muscles faintly aching, his reminder that he really wants to shower and sleep. “Night, Timmy. Dick will come back soon.”

He opts not to look behind him lest he wants to feel a big-brother spark of guilt he’s just too exhausted to handle. Instead, he slips out of the room without so much of an over-the-shoulder glance.

---

Jason’s alarm starts softly from his phone, and he slams his hand against it with a low groan, trained to wake at the quietest of sounds. Outside, the sun’s not quite made it up and over the horizon, still casting the manor in a soft glow – a view that Dick swears by. Jason shuffles over to his window and takes in the view for roughly four seconds before he decides he’d rather see it through the visor of his bike’s helmet.

Still, before he can leave, he’s got one more thing he needs to do at the manor – a rather brilliant idea, if you ask him, he came up with in a sleep-ridden mind right before he conked out for the night.

He’s not Dick. He’s better than Dick.

He changes and perks an ear to the sounds down the hall, hearing the others waking. Once he hears Tim’s bedroom Keurig stop running, he acts, plastering a triple-watt smile to his face and storming out of his room.

“Ugh, Jason,” Cass mutters, rubbing her eyes. “What are you doing?”

Jason doesn’t respond, waiting, instead, for Tim to open his bedroom door, and the moment he does, Jason sucks in a long, swelling breath.

“Good morning!” He shouts, dragging out each word, making his voice as loud as possible, a bright bellow that sinks into every crevice of the manor.

Beside him, Cass cups both hands over her ears, and Damian merely turns back into his room, slamming the door behind him. Duke can’t get to his phone fast enough, and Tim promptly jumps out of his skin, his coffee splashing from his mug to burn against his hand and stain the floor. There are footsteps pounding up the stairs, and Jason smiles even wider, his cheeks stretched and tight, and he sucks in another large breath.

“Jason, what the hell—”

Jason cartwheels down the hall, narrowly avoiding a puddle of coffee to stop upright before Tim. He ruffles Tim’s hair, his forced smile fading to something softer, more genuine. “Morning, Timmers!”

“What in the world is going on?”

Bruce is breathless at the end of the hall, and Alfred’s trying, and horribly failing, to hide a laugh behind a cough.

“I’m telling my family good morning,” Jason shouts, arms outstretched. He offers Tim a wink and leans in close. “Grayson’s got nothing on me,” he whispers, tone devious, before he presses a kiss to Tim’s cheek and claps a hand to Tim’s shoulder.

When he pulls away, he slips past Bruce and Alfred, maneuvering around them with a practiced grace that could rival Dick Grayson. “Something smells incredible down here!” He adds from the stairs.

“Oh, Dick’s going to love this,” Duke mutters, ending the video recording on his phone.

“Should I call Leslie?” Bruce asks, worried, his attention torn between the startled and amused faces before him, and the echoing sound of Jason singing Broadway showtunes from the kitchen downstairs.

Tim looks down to his coffee mug, his hand faintly burning and sticky, and he smiles warmly. “Nah, Jason’s fine.”

#batman #dc #batman wayne family adventures #fanfic #batfam #batfamily #my writing #my batman writing #jason todd #Tim Drake #barbara gordon #bruce wayne #Damian Wayne #dick grayson #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #Alfred Pennyworth

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crispyimagines17 · 4 years ago

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“Maria Bonita” - [ Timothée Chalamet | One Shot ]

Summary: We invite you to take a glimpse to the Chalamet’s house. A teenage parents who would do anything to protect, love and take care of their little one despite all the eyes of society.

Written by: Crispy Imagines.

Soundtrack: main theme

Notes: A promise is a promise ppl, after two years of waiting Maria Bonita is finally here. First of all I want to thank every single person who was asking for this masterpiece, I hope i don’t let you down. Feedback is always welcome and nothing, enjoy it cause y’all deserve it. Also, we attach several audios to make you feel part of the story, so contrast them just as a background sound.

Tags: @miss2001babe ; @lg-vangogh ; @expectodonuts ;

[1]

The creaking of the bed came to a halt as your two-year-old Maddox weigh crashes down the mattress; his tiny feet pressed on daddy’s back, sending a burst of chills down Timothée’s spine. Maddox hands traveled to mommy’s cheeks, pitching or stretching them as he let out a chuckle.

“Mommy?” he whines, kissing your cheeks softly “Mommy” he repeats, nuzzling his face on yours.

“What’s up champ?” Timothée speaks, his groggy voice echoing the room as he stretches his body.

“Daddy!” the little one leaves you and jumps all the way to Timothée.

“Good morning.”

“morning.” Maddox repeats.

You opened your eyes, and the first picture your eyes capture was little Maddox hugging tightly his daddy with a Woody on his right hand. When he saw you, you could see his eyes glowing and leaving daddy’s side just so he can be with you. Immediately you open your arms, letting his tiny weigh crash on yours as he looks at you with pure happiness.

“Hi mommy”

“Hi momma.” You hear Timothée’s voice as you rolled your eyes. He slowly approaches to you two, snugging and earning laughs from both of you. “How’s my family?”

“We’re fine. You need to get Maddox a shower bef-…”

“Noo…” the little kid as soon as he heard shower leaves the bed in such a hurry, leaving his favorite toy in bed. Both of you laughed.

“I’ll make some breakfast and I want you ready by the time I’ll call you.”

“Yes momma.” Timothée gets up from bed and before leaving the room he approaches to give you a tiny peck, then a kiss and later a passionate kiss; grabbing towels from the drawer.

“Come here little man, before I’ll catch you.” You could hear Maddox giggles all over the apartment and timmy’s footsteps running around.

…

“Come on bub, we’re late for school. Just put some damn clothes.” Timothée’s voice came out as desperation as Maddox was running in circles butt naked. He tried everything, baby shark song, let Woody shower with him and even doing some funny voices, but none of them work. He sighs, face palming as he listens to the little one singing “You’ve got a friend in me”.

“Love.” He speaks. “Can you help me with Maddox?”

“Sure, just watch the scramble eggs.” He sighs in relief, and lifting himself from the wet floor walking carefully. When he clashes glazes with his son, he mumbles him

“You’re going to get in big trouble, mommy is coming.” Maddox smile fades and the fear got in his eyes, so he quickly runs to his bedroom bringing the first piece of clothing he found.

…

“Dammit.” You whispered as you tried to adjust the child seat. Timothée was right behind you, holding Maddox; both of them watching you getting pissed.

“Let me try, love. Here, hold Maddox.” You sigh, extending your arms as little Maddox lunges towards you. You lay your head against his, as you rock yourself back and forth. “we’re ready.”

Today was going to be a long day due to your shift, leaving early sounds nice, but also means going to the grocery store, doing laundry, cleaning the house, teaching Maddox, do some paperwork. Although timothée helps you in every way he can there’s still more job to do, like you’re working nonstop all the year. As you drive towards Maddox daycare Timothées hands were on your thing, resting peacefully as he slowly reads some scripts.

“Shit” he mumbles, you looked at him with an arched eyebrow. He realizes his mistake and quickly covers his mouth and watches Maddox, who’s been gazing at the window without a clue of what happened. Timothée let out a sigh as he slowly began to read his duties when the little one laugh.

“Shet” Maddox said giggling as he smashes his toys. Both of you close your eyes in regret, he will now say the word to nonstop and the ladies from the daycare will complain, like always.

“Oh no.” you let out “Maddox, honey.”

“Wa mommy?”

“Remember when we said that kids shouldn’t say big words?” he nods. “You need to stop saying that, it’s rude and people will not like it.”

“Shet.” He repeats giggling.

“Love, say something to your child” you said looking at Timothée.

“Me? Why?”

“Cause you said the big word.” You insist.

“Why I’m always the bad guy…” he whispers as he take a breath. “Bub, what do we talk…”

“shet shet shet shet!” Maddox said out loud causing both parents to sigh.

“Well, we tried” Timothee said as you parked at the daycare.

[2]

Picking up Maddox from daycare was the heavy stuff of the day, receiving each and every day complaints from the teachers about his hyperactivity, molesting other kids or yelling in story time. Today was not the exception, despite the look of irritation from the teacher you were calm and hugging a tired Maddox rocking back and forth.

“Maddox is… a special kid. His behavior today concerned the other teachers due to the fact that the child said the word shit many times. That cause the other kids to follow him and my job here is to ask you, Is everything okay with your… boyfriend and you?” you arched your eyebrows surprised.

“Y-yeah, we’re fine, Maddox is like a sponge absorbs everything, including the bad stuff.” You chuckle nervously. She shakes her head.

“Kids at your age don’t know how to raise a child, it surprises me that you’re still together and with Maddox temper…” you were in shocked, does she tell you that? And in front of your kid? Oh, you’re so mad you’ve couldn’t hold your tongue.

“Believe me that my kid is surrounded by love and emotional stability lady, you have no right to judge me or my husband. We’ve been swallowing some bullshit since I was pregnant, but I will not tolerate to insult me in front of my kid. So, fuck yourself and your stupid business.” You raised your middle finger and walk towards the exit without looking back.

After you put Maddox in his chair, he looked at you in a lovely way, touching both of your cheeks and smiling.

“Love you mommy.” Your eyes watered as you kiss him on his forehead.

“Love you too.”

…

Going to the grocery store was Maddox favorite thing; the thrill of daddy pushing the car so fast; when mommy buys his favorite cereal and the music that always calms him. So when you said your next destination a chorus of happiness filled the entire car.

“Okay, we’re supposed to get the basic. Love, get a car and I’ll see you on the aisle 2.” You grab Maddox hand but he didn’t walk. “What happened?”

“Daddy.” He points with his little finger towards Timothée direction.

“Daddy will come soon. Come on, let’s go.” But Maddox stayed, making his little body heavier so you couldn’t walk.

“Daddy.” He repeats.

“Love he will come back, let’s go.” You tried once more, but he let himself fall on the floor, starting a tantrum that led all the eyes of the store on you two. You smiled awkwardly picking up Maddox as you tried your best to avoid the judge of the people’s eyes, walking down the first hall as you let him down with tearful eyes.

“Maddox, honey, you need to listen to me.” You cup his cheeks in an attempt to catch his attention. After he saw you his concern became evident.

“wa hapen?”

“Here you are, I thought you said aisle 2.” After he saw your eyes, his smile faded and he kneels with you two. “What’s wrong, baby?” you shake your head.

“Nothing, I just-“ you immediately tried to recover yourself and got up wiping your eyes. “We need to hurry up, we still have to make dinner.” You grab the car. “Love, please take Maddox with you.”

And so were you grabbing everything you need and both of your boys were trying hard to cheer you up by singing or listening to Timothee saying stuff like “Mom looks pretty today, isn’t she?” “We’ll make dinner so you can take a rest”

You were in line ready to pay and behind you there was a nice lady pampering Maddox. Timothee smile to her.

“Taking care of the little brother, huh.” She said waving at him. “what a handsome man.” You both look at each other without saying anything. It was normal that many people believed one of you was babysitting a younger sibling or a cousin so you didn’t bother to correct the lady.

“Mommy sleep.” Maddox said, looking at you with tired eyes. Your eyes immediately watch the lady who was quite skeptical. “Mommy.”

“Oh” she only said. Your eyes travel to her, you’ve could see her disappointment on her face, it was something you’ve got used to it. You tried to recover yourself, this was too much for one day and it hasn’t ended yet.

“Love, can you pay? I’ll have to take some air.” Timothee’s eyes were concerned.

“Sure love, here, take the keys. Maddox will stay with me.” You grab the keys and exit the store as soon as you can, fighting hard to keep the tears from falling.

When you get into your car you let yourself go, tears streaming down your face and allowing yourself to feel this way.

The migraine you’ve been dealing with was in its best moment, due to Maddox screams and the tv in all the volume it has. Timothee was in the bedroom with a script; he left you with all the toys, crayons and food on the floor. You sigh, frustrated and just when you were calming yourself you saw Maddox torn one of Timothee’s scripts and laughing. Timothee was behind him with a red face, taking him the pieces of paper to look directly at you.

“Seriously? Are you not watching this kid?” after those words your blood began to boil, throwing him the nearest object.

“Are you fucking serious? I fucking make dinner because you “innocently” forgot, I’m doing laundry so you can go to your fucking auditions clean; I’m washing dishes cause you’re so busy reading your stupid scripts and you can’t watch Maddox. And you’re implicating that it’s my fault that I don’t watch our kid? Unbelievable.” You said furious. “I don’t fucking have a break, I work my 8hr shift, pick up Maddox; do all the chores; helping Maddox with his homework; shower him, giving him dinner; make us dinner; shower myself if I have time; and checking some paperwork. You’re… You’re just auditioning, promising that one day we’ll be in a mansion and lived happily ever after, you do not do anything unless I asked you for.” He was shocked, avoiding all eye contact with you.

“I-I don’t know what to say.” You sigh, leaving the kitchen, taking one of your coats and leaving the apartment.

��

You could hear Timothee’s footsteps behind you, but you just keep on walking, breathing deeply so you can��t say something you regret.

“Wait, love.” He tried to grab you softly by the arm.

“So now I’m your love, huh?” you rolled your eyes, stopping yourself to look him in the eye.

“You’ve always been my love. Sorry for behaving like an asshole. You were right, I’m a completely shitty father. I leave you with all the heavy duty while I focus on a stupid dream.” You could see the sadness of his face, eyes beginning to water. Immediately you cupped his cheeks and touched your forehead with his, staying in silence for a couple of seconds.

“You know I’m the biggest supporter of your dream.” You said in a whisper. “But you have to be a responsible father and husband. We are a team; we’re supposed to help each other in every way we can. I’m not asking to give up on what you are passionate about.” you sweetly pressed your lips against his.

“I love you.” He said, with eyes pure of love that your stomach curled up.

“I love you too, handsome.” You stayed hug for a while, while you feel like there was something missing. It was Maddox!

“Oh my god… where’s the kid?” you lift the head to catch his eyes.

“I left it with Maddie, I think we should pick him up before she calls us.” You nod.

An so where you, walking back home holding hands having the warm sensation that everything from now on will be just fine.

[Soundrack] [3]

The sound of nature calms both of your boys, you suggest to travel to the nearest park to set up some wood fire. And now you are carrying Maddox tired body, the little one is closing his eyes so often, and it will not take too long for him to sleep; since he’s got his thump already in his mouth. Timothée was watching the stars, with a sad tone on his face he said:

“Sometimes I forget that I’m a dad. When they invite at some restaurant for brief seconds I forget that I’m someone’s dad, that I change diapers or fed him. And that feels weird, not good weird, like something is missing. I’ll never going to regret being a father at my age, I will have a long way to watch him grow and become anything he wants; and somehow that makes me happy.”

“I don’t regret either. I feel that this kid connects us in beautiful ways; we are his mentors to teach him the good and bad. I think we’re more than ready to take the challenge.”

“I love you. And I’m so happy I chose you to be the mother of my child, even if that means by accident.” You couldn´t help but laugh.

“I love you too. Come on, let’s go to our house.”

“At least let us heard one more song before we go.” Timothee got up shaking the dirt from his pants, he went to the car and shuffle a couple of songs before he found out the one. “This one will work. Let me get Maddox on the car.”

After he let the baby he slowly approaches to you, touching his forehead with yours, rocking back and forth as Maria Bonita was playing on the back.

“Even if this song is made for a Maria. In this park, at midnight with the stars and moon as witnesses you’re my Maria Bonita. The one I will always be in love, beyond my body and soul. I’m all yours baby. Just say the word and we will go to the nearest chapel.” You smile.

“Yes.” You whispered on his lips

“Promised me that you don’t lie just because you feel idolized.” You kissed him. “I love you Mrs. Chalamet. Let the world know I Love this woman.” You shake your head, chuckling, the song ended and to seal the promise he kissed you passionately taking from his coat a jewelry box; knealing.

“Will you marry me?”

#Timothee Chalamet #timothee chalamet imagine #timothée chalamet #timothée chamalet #timothée chalamet imagine #timmy tim #timmy chalamet #timmy x reader #timmy blurbs #armie x timmy #Call Me By Your Name #cmbyn #CMBYN MOVIE #ladybird #Beautiful Boy

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iphoenixrising · 3 years ago

Text

DickTimWeek2021 Day 2

** Day 2: Time Loop | Jealousy | Stray AU

Welp. Time to break some hearts.

They’re laughing like assholes as they climb through Timmy’s penthouse windows.

“Did you see that thug punch himself in the face?”

“That’s the right way to get out of an ass beating by the Batman.”

Tim, still in Red Robin, doesn’t even bother, just lets his knees buckle so he can slide down to the floor and laugh until tears are rolling down the dominio still plastered on his face.

He’s riding the concussion train with

(J)

Josephine and she’s not as bad as some of them are.

Dick at least tosses the gloves and gauntlets before hauling Timmy’s bruised ass up off the floor, throwing the arm around his shoulders.

“C’mon, you butt. Really Timmy, just laying here in your suit? Alfred would be appalled.”

“S’why I don’t go to the Manor much anymore.”

“Ooh, I’m telling. You’re going to be in so much trouble,” as he gets Tim down the hallway to the bathroom.

“Y-You can’t! You’re the oldest! Dami’s supposed to be the tattle-tale!”

“Nu-uh. As the oldest, I can do whatever the hell I want.”

And does he tell on Timmy? You bet your ass he does.

It’s nice when Alfred can look at someone else in the family with extreme disappointment.

Tim comes by the Manor the day Alfred video chats him, shuffles down to the Cave behind the butler and absolutely sticks his tongue out at Dick’s smarmy grin.

His apartment is a literal mess and Dick can’t be bothered to do much more than flop on the overstuffed couch with a groan.

Still in his uni from the day shift, he’s too bruised and battered and tired to even think of suiting up for the night. He’s been running himself ragged for two months, the day and night shifts blending together along with the usual bullshit of daily human life, and he desperately needs a night of terrible television, junk food, and snuggles.

Like he’d been reading the room, Timmy walks out of his bathroom, towel around his shoulder and hair just this side of damp.

“Hey, you made it home in one piece.” Tim’s long fingers in his hair literally pulls a noise out of Dick he can’t ever remember making.

“Yeah, I drove down because you looked like death warmed over when we talked last weekend. Luckily for you I went grocery shopping, did a few loads of your laundry, and cleaned up a little so you don’t have to worry about housework.”

“I love you. Have I told you that recently? Like, so, so much–” is muffled by the couch cushions, but he thinks Tim can probably still make it all out.

“Mmhm, I know,” and the gentle scratching against his scalp doesn’t stop, and Dick goes a little boneless with it. “I even brought my Roku so we can binge watch terrible television while you eat something more substantial than cereal. Alfred is going to be so proud of you.”

A pat to his head and Timmy is off, slinging his towel on the rack, turning on the shower again to make sure it’s nice and hot for all those bruises and contusions.

He’s no-nonsense about picking up his previous mentor and best friend, literally stripping him down and manhandling him in the shower after a low whistle at the span of blue/black across Dick’s chest and ribs, the scrapes across his back and shoulders.

The first aid kit tackle box makes an appearance because Tim plans for literally everything ever, and Dick finds himself sitting on his sink wearily while his injuries are meticulously treated.

He knows he eats something super tasty with meat and vegetables, his belly full, before Tim pulls him down on the couch and lets Dick lay against his chest, between his legs to sleepily float while watching God-awful B-movies.

It’s the most relaxing weekend he’s had in a while.

Dami sneers at Tim, arms crossed over his chest, the expression on his face begging Tim to try to deny it.

The third Robin however, is looking over at Dick with horror that the big secret is finally out in the open.

“Th-that isn’t– it’s not–” Tim fumbles desperately, “he’s been my big brother forever, that’s it!”

“Tt. Grayson may be painfully oblivious, Drake, but the rest of us are detectives. Even Todd knows of your feelings and he rarely even comes to the Manor!”

Tim’s soul literally leaves his body.

Dick blinks, completely taken back, mouth open without anything coming out.

Damian raises his eyes skyward and prays for patients dealing with these two. “What I am saying,” he tries, he really is trying here, “is that you two must cease and desist this pointless–” vague hand wave– “pining for one another. It is getting to the point of absurdity. I demand you two either discuss your need for one another or take this ridiculous mooning elsewhere. The rooftops of Gotham is no place for this,” another hand wave, “utter nonsense.”

Tim’s mouth goes dry, subtly backing away to be closer to the Ducati’s waiting for tonight’s ride. He’s pretty sure he has enough energy left in his shaky knees to hop on one and be the fuck out of the Cave before his face literally bursts into flames.

But, well. Dick was Batman.

His strategic retreat is stomped into the ground by acrobatic leaps and a very well done joint lock to keep him from immediately taking off.

Dami scoffs at them on his way up the winding staircase. He stops Pennyworth on the way and turns the butler to return back into the Manor proper, citing those two needed time to figure themselves out.

After several weeks under deep cover, Nightwing wearily hacks into Titan’s Tower and makes his way through the maze of hallways until he hits a hidden panel.

Tim is sleeping on his desk, only one empty coffee mug at his workstation. Even dead in his boots, Nightwing can take a second just to look, just to sigh, just to enjoy how much every inch of this boy is his.

He journeys down the hall, flips the bed covers up, carries his sleeping partner in and tucks the blankets around him, a quickly there kiss to the top of messy, too-long hair. A shower in Tim’s perch literally makes everything in life a little less awful and exhausting, not enough for him to do much more than crawl in bed against Tim’s warm body and snuggle up close.

He gets breakfast in bed and blue-violet eyes looking at him with fondness rather than awe, gets coffee flavored kisses and a slow-paced back rub that continues down to his thighs and calves and feet. Later, he gets a date night in a nice restaurant and a sweet San Fran club scene for dessert. He gets to let loose and hold Tim’s body against him, to play them both until the gazes are intense and the low key UST between them makes other people on the dance floor give them space.

Witty banter is a primary weapon against megalomaniacal bad guys of any flavor. For some former Robins, it’s an art form.

Over the years, they’ve cultivated their dip and distraction to bounce off one another like a well-oiled vigilante machine.

It should have been a standard take-down because it’s not one of their more dangerous, deadly villains. It’s not one of the Rogue Gallery baddies. It’s not one of the mobster families, not one of the super powered groups come to call. It’s not someone with hordes of thugs and deadly science waiting to take them down.

It’s a simple B&E, just Nightwing talking it up to draw gunfire while Red Robin is creeping up from behind to get the last laugh.

It’s one of a thousand times they’ve done this.

It’s a guaranteed win.

It’s the last hour of patrol before they get to go back to Red’s penthouse and snuggle together, eat and show, probably have some fantastic sex before passing out.

The .45 shell, however, cuts through the suit, between armored plates.

Going after the running baddies is automatic, taking them down, zip ties, and viola. They’re ready for GCPD to pick-up, all kinds of gift-wrapped.

When N finally realizes Red isn’t with him, isn’t answering comms, isn’t waiting for him on the roof, he goes back inside. He hits up B for a ride in the big car in case he missed –

– anything.

The pool of blood around Red Robin is more than he can afford to lose, and Nightwing has been in the vigilante life for over twenty years, has been official with Red Robin for a little over two, has personal experience on how his Baby Bird can take a mostly-fatal beating and still keep moving. He’s seen Tim come close with the Clench, with horrifying injuries, with any of the many bad guys they fight holding him hostage.

Nightwing has seen him perform literal miracles.

And tells him so the entire time he’s got Red Robin up in his arms, carrying him through Gotham’s skyline to the waiting car, falling in with Red on his lap when the familiar hatch slides back, the tourniquet already applied before he even shot a grapple. The struggling pulse is enough of a concern to get it together.

And even if they all gather to strip off the suit, and now it’s on to get vitals back to an acceptable range. Even if the Bats cry overhead, even if the equipment is top notch in the Cave, even if Dick is still talking the whole time, and Alfred is keeping a cool head and Bruce is gripping a hand and Damian is standing at the ready to hand implements and Cass is biting her thumbnail while she hovers and Steph is moving from empty space to empty space around the gurney –

The consistent beep of the flatline cuts through it all.

The Titans make it for the service.

Each of them make a point to hug Dick for as long as possible, holding on tightly.

Bruce is silent and stoic, a little boy again when he has to watch someone else he loves being lowered into the cold, unforgiving ground. Another Robin taking a piece of his heart to the afterlife.

Steph is red-eyed, a ghost moving around to individual circles, listening to stories she might not have known.

Cass grips the coffin with bruised knuckles, her whole body wound tight as a string ready to snap. She doesn’t move the entire service, is already convinced leaving him to his own devices caused this whole thing. She doesn’t blame the thugs or Dick or Bruce. She blames the boy that never understood how much it all means.

Duke Thomas is back in Gotham, taking leave from the Outsiders to be here for the family that took him in after the Joker drove his parents insane. He hovers in the doorway to welcome mourners, direct them toward the book to sign-in, talks about Tim Drake with regular humans and other metas in disguise, accepts condolences with his throat tight and his eyes watery. He makes sure Dick has a bottle of water after the first hour, pats Damian’s shoulder, grips Bruce’s arm, weaves an arm around Cassandra’s back to give her a squeeze, obediently looks at the old pictures of Tim on Steph’s photo roll when she’s overcome and has to see that smile again.

In the back, Jason Todd wears dark shades and a clean black suit. Roy Harper is beside him, a hand on the broad back to keep him grounded, to keep the Pit rage at bay. If anyone knows how far Tim and Jason had come over the years, it’s the former Red Arrow. If anyone knows how much agony Jason is in at this moment, at another fallen brother, another Robin gone, if anyone had held the Red Hood while he screamed and cried and broke the utter fuck down, it’s Roy Harper.

Damian Wayne hovers right by Grayson’s side, silently supporting his first Batman, his first brother. Whenever Dick’s eyes start going hazy, glazing over, Damian gently grips a wrist to bring him back, allows fingers to lace through his own and tolerates the tight squeeze that obviously assists in grounding the oldest Robin.

(Later when the night is crowding grief-stricken Wayne Manor, Damian will be the one to open Grayson’s bedroom door, lift the covers to crawl in behind him, to wind both arms tightly. He will be the one to take the onslaught of grief, to be soaked in tears and snot, to listen to the broken, hoarse voice, to make soothing hums that ultimately mean nothing.)

Alfred Pennyworth quietly talks with the funeral director about the arrangements. Of course Master Timothy would want to be laid to rest with his parents, and the family appreciates all the support and ease of process as the deceased was an important part of the Wayne family.

When he gets a phone call, he firmly verifies the name on the tombstone is Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne Grayson.

Exactly four days after the service, the Flash is staring at him helplessly, gripping Nightwing’s arm tight, “please, please, Dick, don’t do this. You can’t think this is the answer!”

He can barely hear Wally with the absolute destruction going on around them, the machine they’d inadvertently stumbled upon (which is a lie, Nightwing had been looking for it and the Flash basically caught him red handed).

“You know you aren’t going to be able to stop me.” Standing between the glowing portal and Wally, debris from overhead crashing down on them at intervals, Nightwing is at his peak stubborn, “no matter how fast you are.”

“You don’t understand what’s going to happen,” Wally yells desperately as the vacuum starts pulling at Nightwing’s other arm, pulling him into–

–the Speed Force.

“You don’t have the lightning, Dick, you won’t be able to get yourself out, and I won’t have any way of tracking you!”

The small smirk as the machine’s panel starts going haywire, lights blinking and readings off the charts, makes Wally’s heart clench hard in his chest, makes him try to dig in his heels, makes his stomach tremble.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve already done this, Wally. And I’ll do it as many times as it takes until I change everything.”

The pellet Nightwing palmed before the Flash grabbed his hand goes off the same time the machine hits the highest ratings and a low boom is followed up with an intense swirling suction, pulling the heroes closer to the portal’s surface.

The light grenade goes off without a hitch and the Flash has no choice but to let Nightwing go.

They’re laughing like assholes as they climb through Timmy’s penthouse windows.

#dicktimweek2021 #dicktim #dick grayson #tim drake #sad times #time loop #winter writes #my ficlet

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cecesunshine · 3 years ago

Note

Hii! Could you write number 1 and number 15 with Axel? ❤️❤️

Hi! Here it is! Sorry for taking so long!

Masterlist

Just Friends | Axel

Summary → After something that Axel says during a talk-show, his relationship with Scholar takes an tragic turn. Will they be able to fix it?

Pairing → Axel x Scholar

Warnings → Swearing

Word Count → 1333

Prompts used → 1. Can I kiss you? + 15. We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.

A/N → English is not my first language, so I’m sorry if there are mistakes or if something doesn’t make sense!

It had been a week since Axel had been to The Tonight Show with Timmy Falcon. It also had been a week since Scholar and him had stopped talking. All because he was too afraid to face the consequences of his actions.

Axel knew there were risks, he was a teenage superstar, everybody wanted a piece of him, so it was stupid to think that he would be able to go on a date without nobody noticing. It was obvious that someone would sneakily take a picture of him and Scholar as they were leaving a fancy restaurant.

Scholar felt the world cave in on their shoulders. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong. The media was calling them Axel’s mysterious affair and his fans were attacking them non-stop on social media, commenting on their weight, their looks, their hair, everything. Having their privacy being violated and being criticized wasn’t even the thing that hurt more.

Scholar opened their laptop, going over to the show’s MeTube channel and clicking on the snippet where Axel was talking about their date.

“So Axel, tell me how your date with your mysterious affair went?” Timmy asked, making the audience go wild.

“Oh, it definitely wasn’t a date. We are just friends. ” Axel replied jokingly to Timmy.

His words cut deeper than a knife. How could he say that with a smile on his face? How could he deny it in front of the audience and the millions of people watching at home, including them? Scholar didn’t understand, and they didn’t want to try to understand.

Scholar grabbed their phone, unlocking it. They had a lot of missing messages and calls from Axel that they were successfully ignoring. Shrugging off the thoughts about Axel, Scholar grabbed their bag and left the dorm, going straight to the cafeteria where their friends were waiting for them.

The cafeteria was full of students, who were commenting about Axel and how delusional Scholar was for thinking that they could even have a chance with someone like him. Although gossip was cruel and unnecessary, Scholar didn’t blame their classmates for their comments. People who would watch them and Axel together at the Academy would see Scholar pining over Axel and him always reciprocating with a smile or something like that.

God, Scholar was making a fool out of themself in front of the whole School and nobody bothered to tell them.

Grabbing a black coffee and a croissant from the cafeteria, Scholar made their way to the table where their friends were saving a spot for them. Scholar sat between Ellie and Tegan who were anxiously waiting for Scholar to say something.

“So, are you gonna tell us how are you feel or will we have to torture you for information?” Ellie joked, trying to light up the mood.

“I feel great.” Scholar ironized, furiously taking a bite of their croissant.

“Oh no.” Tegan whispered to himself, but loud enough to catch Scholar and Ellie’s attention. “Tyler just texted me that Axel arrived at the academy.”

“Great, now I have to ignore him in person.” Scholar took a sip of their beverage, while trying to figure out how to avoid Axel for the rest of the day. “And now that he’s here people will start to comment even more, nice.”

Scholar quickly ate the rest of their breakfast and left the cafeteria, deciding to hide in the auditorium until it was time to go to class. Scholar figured out that it was a place big enough to hide and that Axel wouldn’t think to search for them there.

Sitting in the front row, Scholar let their body drown in the seat being occupied. Dr. Kim wouldn’t be here until the next hour and then, Scholar would already be gone for at least 20 minutes so they didn’t even care about locking the door.

Reaching for their purse, Scholar took out their phone and earphones and opened their playlist on Spacify, putting it on shuffle. As all odds were against Scholar, it started playing a song from Axel’s new album. The album he was promoting on the show where he was asked what they were.

The words “Just friends” still echoed on Scholar’s head, making all the rage and sorrow they had been fighting and trying to get rid of since last week come back. As Scholar released a breath that they didn’t know were holding, the auditorium’s door opened, announcing that someone had entered.

There he was, the reason why Scholar had to walk facing the ground when walking the halls of Arlington Academy. As Axel made his way to Scholar, they were already walking towards the other exit door.

“Scholar, wait!” Axel said. He was lucky, Scholar decided to not leave.

“What?” Scholar turned around, walking towards him. “What do you want?”

“I want to say…” Axel had rehearsed this scenario in his head multiple times like he would rehearse for his interviews. “That I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? After all that you caused the only thing you came up with is sorry? Jesus Axel, you really don’t care about us, do you?”

“Care about us? Scholar, I’ve been calling you and texting you since that day and all you do is ignore me, if there’s someone who doesn’t care about us here is you!”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault? Well I wasn’t the one who went to TV and denied that there was something between us. I was the one dealing with comments saying things like how guys like you don’t go for people like me or how dumb the paparazzi must be for thinking that someone that looks like me would have a chance with internacionally famous Axel.” Scholar spoke, feeling their voice fail and their eyes get watery.

“I’m sorry. I should have said something. I should have controlled my fans and say how they were hurting one of my most important friends.” The boy tried to save the conversation, not wanting Scholar to leave thinking that he didn’t care about their feelings or well-being.

“Important friend? Is that what I am to you?” Scholar muttered, not letting Axel talk. “We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.”

Axel, who was on the verge of crying, didn’t know how to explain. He liked...he loved them, he wanted to protect Scholar from his fame and all of the bad things it brought with it. His fame privated him from normal things teens would do like go to the movies or even go on a date with someone he was in love with.

“I know we’re not friends, Scholar.” Axel replied to their snarky comment. “Friends don’t go on dates at fancy restaurants, friends don’t sleep on the same bed and friends don’t get romantic songs written about them.”

Scholar then remembered the song they were listening to before Axel came in. Nobody But You. It suddenly clicked. Axel, the guy who didn’t like to write or perform romantic songs, wrote a romantic song for them.

“Scholar, corazón, the only reason why I said we were friends it’s because I didn’t want you to get any hate, or get you hurt. I know how the media can demonize you to the point where the only thing you want to do is scream.” Axel walked in their direction, grabbing their hands. “Nothing makes me more scared than the thought of hurting you, and that’s what I did and for that, I’m sorry.”

“Oh Axel.” Scholar’s soft hands reached for his face, caressing it. Axel had dark circles under his eyes, signals of sleepless nights. “I’m sorry for treating you like this, baby.”

“It’s okay. I should have told the truth, you are my amazing partner.” His hands found Scholar’s waist, pulling them closer to him. “Can I kiss you, corazón?”

Scholar smiled, giving him permission. His lips were as soft as they remembered. It didn’t matter what people thought, they weren’t just friends, they were each other’s soulmate.

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crankynewt · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter Three - You Said Forever

Another Love Series Masterlist

Pairing(s): Regulus Black x Fem!Reader, Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader

Song: driver’s license - Olivia Rodrigo

Warnings: Angst, shoddy timeline, swearing, (I think that’s it??).

Word Count: 2.8k

Masterlist

Author’s Note: I made an angst series using sad songs, ofc I had to use driver’s license eventually! Also, although the characters have gotten a bit older, I’m still using Andrew Garfield and Timmy Chalamet as the face claims! I hope y’all enjoy this chapter, it’s a big one!!

(Neither gif is mine, all credit to the creators!)

If the decrepit walls of 12 Grimmauld Place could talk, they would tell the tales of misery and anguish. The house had not seen much happiness since it’s construction, especially during the period Walburga, Orion, and their children inhabited it. It was only following the deaths of all of Sirius’ family that he took up residence there with you when the anguish was displaced with joy, if only for a short period. It’s no wonder that you moved to a cabin in the middle of nowhere with Remus following the events of October 31st.

Standing in the front entry once more, the ghosts haunting the dwelling seemed to be whispering unintelligible warnings against proceeding further into the house. You could hear the shrieking of Walburga’s painting upstairs, a familiar nuisance that had your blood boiling in an instant. Your husband’s arm draped protectively across shoulders as he rubbed soothing circles with his thumb was the only thing keeping you sane at that moment in time.

Through the open door at the end of the hall you could see the face of Sirius Black, the light in his eyes slowly returning as he spots two of his favourite people in the world. He quickly stood, rushing out the door to embrace you both in a warm hug as you dropped your trunks to the floor. He held the both of you close and tight, afraid that should he let go, he would wake up alone in his cell once more.

The Order reuniting was the perfect distraction for both you and your husband, your recent unemployment resulting in a sense of unease in both your minds. Luckily, both Sirius and yourself had inherited enough money that you needn’t worry about working, but the void that your children left when they returned to Hogwarts the following year was certainly hard to fill. Summer break couldn’t come soon enough for any of you.

Towards the end of that summer the Weasleys came to stay, Molly and Arthur bringing their four youngest, meaning that mischief lay just around every corner. About a week after their arrival was when Hermione showed up, the same day that Moody had taken a small group to retrieve Harry from the Dursleys.

Hearing the opening door, you rushed from the kitchen where the meeting had been taking place to see that Arthur had returned with the young girl who he’d picked up from her muggle household.

“ Professor (Y/L/N)!” She smiled, lugging her cart behind her with one hand while the other cradled her ginger cat.

“Oh please, Hermione, I’m not your teacher anymore.” You said. “(Y/N) is fine.” You knew the girl had seen you as a role model, both academically as a skilled teacher but also following the story Harry had detailed to her about how you’d worked for the Order to relay Death Eater secrets to them. You can still remember the slap across the head she’d given Ron after he let her secret slip during class, the young girl embarrassed that you knew how she idolized you.

“The rest of the kids are just upstairs if you want to join them, Ginny will show you to the room you’re sharing. Harry should be getting here in about half an hour, and dinner will be at six-thirty!” You explained, the girl smiling as she carefully let Crookshanks down to the floor before she dragged her case up the stairs behind her.

Returning to the table, you sat in the seat across from your husband as you shared a tight-lipped smile. The two of you had decided that it was probably best to maintain a level of professionalism around your fellow Order members, the pair of you keeping all talk of your relationship outside of the meetings. These gatherings, however, continued to consist of endless bickering over the topics of Harry and Voldemort, the only subtle comfort you’d found during the evening had been Crookshanks crawling upon your lap for a snooze.

“I’m just saying that we can’t risk telling Harry about this, it’ll just be putting him in more danger and we never know who’s listening.” You said. “I mean, look at Pettigrew! He hid in your house for years without anyone knowing! Who knows what he’s shared with ‘You Know Who’!”

“Yes, but there aren’t exactly unregistered animagi running around everywhere, (Y/N).” Sirius remarked.

“Says the unregistered animagus to the other unregistered animagus.” You snapped, glaring at your in-law from across the table.

You forced your mouth shut after that, not wanting to continue bickering with your friends, letting your thoughts wander until Sirius’ comment forced it’s way back to the front of your mind. You weren’t exactly sure as to why it was bothering you so much. Even after the meeting had concluded and you were the last one in the kitchen, baking cookies for the teens to snack on the following days, you couldn’t shake an odd feeling. As if there was something that your subconscious had registered that your conscious mind hadn’t yet comprehended.

It was only when you turned to grab the tinfoil from the cupboard behind you that a cold sweat found your body, your mind finally registering what you’d missed when something caught the corner of your eye. Maybe you hadn’t noticed it because you didn’t want to believe it, or maybe it was that part of you realized just how long it would take for this shock to fully register.

“You must think I’m stupid,” You began, refusing to turn away from the dough you were scooping onto the cookie sheet, “or maybe you’re still just as arrogant as you were in school.”

You didn’t receive a response right away, causing both a wave of relief and disappointment to wash over you at your incorrect suspicion. But that all went away when you heard a shifting sound and the screeching of a chair.

“What gave me away?” A voice called from behind you in a smug tone you’d heard countless times many years ago.

“Oh please, Regulus.” You said, finally working up the courage to turn around as you fought desperately to conceal your emotions. He was older now, crinkles reaching the corners of his eyes, and his previously neat clothes were now battered, torn, and bloodstained, but apart from that he looked just as he did when he walked out the door years ago. “We were married - I know you better than you know yourself.”

He gave a silent chuckle as his smirk became a tiny smile and he looked towards the floor. An uncomfortable silence filled the room as a strong, unnamable tension continued to grow between you. While you expected an explanation, Regulus seemed to have anticipated a much happier reaction from you.

“What, you’re not happy to see me?” Regulus commented, his confusion continuing to build at your indifference to his sudden appearance. “I’m still your husband, you can’t spare me a smile, at the very least?”

That’s when it hit you - he doesn’t know. Regulus, or Crookshanks, rather, hadn’t heard anybody mention that you’d moved on. It must have been some luck or twisted fate that he’d never been in the room when your relationship had been mentioned, which means he also doesn’t know about Teddy. But does he know about Archie and Cassie? Surely he would’ve asked about them immediately if he was aware.

“You’ve been gone for a very long time.” You said, your bitter tone contrasting the quietness of your voice, yet your volume grew with each word until you were shouting. “You abandoned me, how dare you show up now and expect me to welcome you back into my life with open arms. Do you have any idea what I have been through the past sixteen years?! You have no fucking clue exactly what you left me to deal with! And now you sit here with that smug expression, daring to call yourself my husband and expecting me to forgive you for the hell you put me through?!”

Regulus sat there with his mouth opening and closing, the first time you’d ever seen the quick-witted boy speechless. You could see the hurt in his emerald eyes as his mind desperately searching for something, anything to say. But you never got the chance, as the door opening as a third voice filled the room.

“Honey, it’s starting to get late, I think you should come to - dear god.”

Both your and Regulus’ heads snapped towards the over of the voice, only for your eyes to meet your other husband. It didn’t take long for Regulus to process why Lupin was calling you “honey” and exactly where his comment was going, his eyes darting between the two of you over and over again, before a sigh escaped him.

“So that’s why.” He said, leaning further back into his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “How long was I gone before you and the werewolf started -”

“Don’t!” You bit, probably a bit too loud because that was what finally caught the attention of two sets of ears upstairs. In the long, dark hall, two doors opened and two sets of eyes stared at each other from across the way. The eldest and youngest of the Black men eventually made their way down the stairs together, careful to be quiet as they attempted to discern what the voices in the kitchen were arguing about.

“There is a lot more going on than you realize, you can’t just expect everything to go back to normal after so long. Now if the two of you would stop bickering like children we can discuss everything like adults.” They could hear Remus say, presumably attempting to diffuse the situation considering how level-headed the man typically is.

There was no sound as Sirius slowly peeked his head through the already open door, utterly disbelieving the sight before his eyes as his shocked exclamation broke the eerie silence.

“Holy shit!”

“What?!” Archie gasped from behind him, squeezing into the room behind Sirius and peering over his shoulder to see a face that he’d only ever seen in photos before.

Regulus’ eyes widened at the sight of the young Black, clearly seeing so much of himself in the fifteen year-old boy. You being pregnant when he left definitely wasn’t outside the realm of possibilities, you were married after all, and suddenly a lot of your anger towards him seemed justified.

“Is that my… Were you…” He trailed off, unable to find the words he wanted to say as his mind still processed this new information.

Remus suddenly covered his shaking head with the palm of his hand, quickly exiting the room and heading out the front door to get some air. He didn’t want to watch Regulus steal his wife and his kids away from him - he just couldn’t.

“Fuck.” You cursed under your breath, holding your own head in your hands as you attempted to make sense of the insanity around you. “Archie, go back upstairs, I’ll be up in just a minute.”

“But-” Your son didn’t get to finish his protest, the look in your eyes when your head shot up to look at him scared him into compliance. In his entire life, he’s never seen that look of utter fury, especially not from you. He quickly left the room, anxious to fill his sister in on everything that had just gone down.

“Sirius, please deal with your brother while I go find my husband.” You breathed, not sticking around to hear a response as you made your way down the hall.

“Now where,” Sirius began, pulling out the chair at the head of the table and quickly sinking into it, “have you been?”

“I was the cat.” Regulus stated simply, the smirk he typically wore working its way back onto his face.

“You were Hermione’s cat?!” Sirius laughed, finding the irony of another “dead” person in his life winding up as being one of the trio’s pets. “Maybe we need to take a look at Harry’s owl.”

But the humour of the situation didn’t last very long, both their faces quickly falling as reality gained their attention once more.

“I can’t believe I have a son…” Regulus trailed off, still in utter disbelief about the existence of the boy who looks exactly like him.

“And a daughter.” Sirius added, his brother’s eyes widening to saucers once more. “Twins, to be exact. Arcturus and Cassiopeia.”

“What’re they like?” He asked, desperate to learn more about the children he’d never known existed. Of all the things Harry, Ron, and Hermione talked about around him, they couldn’t have mentioned his children at least once?

“They’re perfect - don’t know where they get it from, probably somewhere on (Y/N)’s side.” Sirius said, a small smile forming as he talked about the kids he adored so much. “They’re both in Slytherin, just about to go into their sixth year. Archie is the quieter one, just like you were, while Cassie is a lot more extroverted and even joined the quidditch team her first year.”

“And (Y/N)...” Regulus suddenly grew solemn again, letting out a disappointed breath as he looked away to a random point in the room. “I need to win her back.”

“Regulus, I- I don’t think you can.” Sirius said, causing his brother’s head to whip back around to him, fury written all over his face. “Remus and her have been together for years, that’s not something that’ll just go away. He raised your children with her and they also have another son together, Teddy.”

“Then what am I supposed to do? Just give up?!” He snapped, a sinking feeling beginning to set in as he began to realize just how difficult getting you back to himself will end up being.

“What’re you supposed to do? You’re supposed to get to know and form a relationship with the children who’ve thought you were dead their entire lives!” Sirius said. “And maybe you’ll establish a new relationship with (Y/N) again, one as co-parents. But her and Remus have both been to hell and back, so please, just promise me you won’t go about trying to sabotage their marriage.”

“But what about our marriage?”

Remus couldn’t hear any of the typical sounds of busy London that night, he was too anxious and all that he could pick up were the sounds of his heavy breathing. He was so distracted, in fact, that he didn’t notice you quietly slipping through the front door or sitting down beside him until you leaned your head on his shoulder.

“How’d he come back?” Remus asked, wondering just what had happened to tear his life apart.

“He was Hermione’s cat.” You said, your voice soft and sorrowful. “Turns out the Marauders weren’t the only unregistered animagi at Hogwarts. I’m just embarrassed it took me so long to figure it out, I knew it was his patronus but I guess I just didn’t want it to be true.”

“What does this mean for us?” Remus asked the dreaded question looming in his mind.

“What do you mean ‘what does this mean for us?’ Why would this change anything?” You asked in disbelief, raising your head from his shoulder to look at him.

“But he’s Archie’s and Cassie’s father-”

“So are you! You’re also Teddy’s dad.”

“And you were married. He was your husband first.” Remus added, gazing at you with a look of nothing but misery. “We were at Hogwarts together, I saw how utterly obsessed the both of you were with each other for years. You never even spared me a second glance, the only reason you even knew I existed was because I was friends with his brother… I’m not even mad about it, you should be with whoever you want to be with, and that’s Regulus. You’ve always deserved someone better than me-”

“Now you listen to me Remus John Lupin.” You began, your husband flinching at the use of his full name, something that you only did when you were angry. “You are who I want to be with, not Regulus; there’s no one better than you. If anything, I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you. Yes, we were married first, but that was for less than a year and happened seventeen years ago! We’ve been together for fourteen years, Remus, you’re my life now. I loved him in the past but he abandoned his family, you’re my life now and the one I want to grow old with. He might be Archie and Cassie’s father, but you’ll always be their dad.”

None of your eyes were dry by the end of your confession and you both spent the next several minutes just holding each other, relishing in the fact that the both of you were going to be okay.

“Let’s go to bed, yeah?” You said, Remus nodding in response as the pair of you stood up. “We can deal with the rest tomorrow, Sirius can handle it for now.”

A/N: Okay, so I don’t personally believe the theory that Regulus never died and was actually Crookshanks, but it was what worked for this story so that’s what we’re going with! I’m so grateful for all the support this series has gotten, you guys are the best!

Join the Another Love series taglist here!

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@ladycomplex @lunalovecroft @datrie @tomshollandz

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camsthisky · 5 years ago

Note

When I say I screeched when I saw the post with the tags saying you would accept prompts I mean I sCREECHED! (That said if the urge to write dwindles or if you are overwhelmed by prompts then pat this ask on the head and send it away) anyway, if you feel inclined, would you do Batfam, one lonnng hug, with Dick and Tim (or Damian or Jason, whichever you prefer) :)

“Tim.”

“I’m right here.”

“Tim!”

“I know, I know. Just--hang on.”

A sob. “Tim.”

Tim grits his teeth, trying not to cry or scream out of pure frustration. He curls his hands into fists and puts them in his lap, staring up at the ceiling and away from everything else in the room, desperately trying to calm himself down before he loses it.

Breathe. Look away from the ceiling. Make eye contact.

The moment he looks, he’s more annoyed than before. There are no tears. There’s nothing in those eyes but amusement for hell Tim is currently having to sit through.

“Timmy, please.”

“Fucking fine,” Tim groans out, shoving himself away from his laptop. “But if Bruce yells at me for not getting this report done because you want me to help you make pancakes, I’m making you do the report for me.”

A bubbly laugh resounds throughout Tim’s room. “Yeah, right. You would never let me closer than a foot away from your laptop. Also, I’m not interested in getting graded by you for doing your reports.”

“I wouldn’t grade you,” Tim scoffs.

Steph smirks. “You gave Bruce a ninety-three percent on his report about the Steiner Sisters.”

“It wasn’t Bruce’s,” Tim defends himself, knowing that Steph’s already proved her point, but still feeling the need to set the record straight. “It was Dick’s. He keeps using the wrong ‘which’ and I wanted him to stop.”

“Did it work?”

“Do you think it worked?” Tim grumbles.

“Did you think it would work?” Steph shoots back, hands on her hip and eyebrow raised like she knows more than he does.

Tim looks away, irritation flaring again. “In the next report, he deliberately misused every single there, their, and they’re, and reading it was torture. And I don’t think Bruce even cared. He just corrected it as he read it.”

Steph hums. “I mean, B’s been dealing with Dickie-boy’s antics the longest.”

Tim shoots her a dirty look before he walks out of his room. “Stop hanging with Jason.”

“How’d you know I was hanging out with Jason?” she asks as she follows him, and Tim knows the innocence in her voice is just her way of making fun of him, but he’s irritated enough to answer.

“No one calls Dick ‘Dickie-boy’ or says ‘antics’ but Jason fucking Todd.”

“Language.”

Tim flips her the bird.

Steph only laughs, and Tim can’t help the way the corners of his lips upturn slightly.

Of course, that’s when things always seem to go downhill. He’s this close to smiling, and then boom. Life comes to kick him in the ass. Usually in the form of Jason. Or Damian. Or Ra’s al Ghul.

Tim’s life is a mess, because out of these three people, technically, he’s related to two of them.

What a clusterfuck.

In this case, though, neither Jason nor Damian come sprinting down the hall to kick his ass and make his day worse, and Ra’s al Ghul does not just happen to suddenly appear in his life to gripe at him. No, life decides to throw something different at Tim today.

Tim and Steph are still in the hallway when they hear it. Glass shattering--a window?--and it’s coming from--

Steph blinks at him. “Was that...?”

Tim doesn’t wait another second. He races towards Dick’s room, Steph right behind him. Shoving his way into his big brother’s bedroom is easy enough, and Tim doesn’t bother knocking.

The room is spotless--which is weird for Dick. Dick’s notorious for keeping his bedroom a mess, somehow even managing it when he’s only staying at the manor for a few days. Tim knows that Dick’s apartment is the same way, and he also knows that Alfred makes regular trips to keep the mess from getting out of hand.

So, yeah. It’s weird that there isn’t even one article of clothing lying on the bedroom floor when Dick’s been staying here for the past week, and he’s due to stay for another three days. Especially when Alfred refuses to clean the bedroom up for him while he’s staying.

“Dick?” Tim calls out, because despite the fact that he heard something, there’s nothing here. No mess, and no Dick.

The en suite bathroom door is closed, though.

“Dick?” Tim calls, knocking on the door. “Are you in there?”

Steph stands behind him, silent. She seems as unnerved as Tim is.

There’s no answer for a long moment. But, just as Tim is about to try the handle for the door, there’s a hoarse, “Tim?” from the other side of the door.

Tim swallows past the lump forming in his throat. “Are you okay? I heard something break.”

“‘M fine.” A lie. “Already texted Bruce.”

“Okay,” Tim says, his mind going a thousand miles a second. He meets Steph’s eyes for a second, but she just looks grim. “That’s...good. Did you tell him to come up here?”

Dick hums from the other side. Tim tries not to let the way his heart rate is picking up affect his responses.

“Can I come in, then?” Tim asks, hesitant. “While we wait for Bruce to get up here?”

There’s silent for a long moment. Just long enough that Tim starts to edge towards panic, his own body readying itself to force its way into the bathroom without his brain’s permission.

And then--

“It’s unlocked.”

Tim opens the door.

And on the other side, he finds a mess.

The mirror is shattered. There are pieces in the sink and on the floor, and Tim’s pretty sure a lot of those pieces are smeared with blood. And then there’s Dick, who has shoved himself into the bathtub, staring at the wall. His hand is bloodied, his clothes are soaked--with sweat or water, Tim’s not sure yet--and he’s shivering.

“Holy shit,” Tim hears Steph whisper from behind him. He ignores her.

“Dick?”

Dick blinks a couple of times before he’s able to focus on Tim, who’s carefully avoiding the broken glass to grab the first aid kit underneath the sink and make his way towards the bathtub.

“I’m gonna go get a broom,” Steph says, and Tim waves her off. She disappears and it’s just Tim and Dick.

Tim sets the first aid kit down on the lid of the toilet as he lowers himself to his knees on a relatively clean spot of the tile.

“You’re not okay,” Tim says.

“No.”

“Can I help?”

“Probably not.”

Tim bites his lip, looking his brother over. His stomach swoops at the blood still dripping from Dick’s knuckles, glass embedded in the cuts. It’ll be relatively easy to fix, but Tim doesn’t think Dick will let him try.

“Please, Dick. I want to help.”

Dick blinks a couple more times, like he’s not all the way there. Tim wonders if he’s drugged. And then he wonders if he is, then whether he did it to himself or not.

Probably not, considering Dick’s aversion to even medications that are legal, but Tim can’t completely rule it out, either. Dick can be unpredictable and impulsive, and despite his habits, he’s been known to act outside of them when he’s not in the right state of mind.

“I--” Dick hesitates. Breathes. His voice is still hoarse. “I could use a hug.”

Tim doesn’t even have to think about it. One second he’s kneeling on the floor, the next, he’s situating himself in the bathtub the best he can to hug his big brother.

Dick hugs him back, fingers scrabbling at the back of Tim’s shirt.

Steph comes in with a broom. Bruce is a step behind her, face pinched with concern that looks sort of like constipation if you don’t know him. And also if you do know him.

The entire time Bruce bandages Dick’s hand up, Steph sweeps up the broken glass, and Tim holds onto Dick in the longest hug he’s given in a long, long time. It’s both nice and cramped, but Tim doesn’t mind. He’ll stay.

Tim makes eye contact with both Stephanie and Bruce after they’re finished with their tasks, neither of them making any move to leave the room, either, and instead, engage Dick into conversation--Bruce obviously worried, but still able to keep the tone dry and sarcastic, with Steph throwing in ridiculous comments.

But they all stay, and Tim doesn’t let go for a long while. They’re family.

#tim drake #stephanie brown #dick grayson #dc #prompt #unedited #and probably never will be edited whoops #wearetakingthehobbitstogallifrey #cam answers #camryn writes

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chemiste · 4 years ago

Text

The Faint Headed and Light Hearted ~ one-shot ~

a/n: yo girl is back with another one shot, i had this idea swirling around in my head after watching one of the many harry styles youtube tour edits and just.. decided to roll with it! love you guys <3

mah masterlist

You don’t how, but some way, after all the double shifts you pulled, you were able to buy a pit ticket to see Harry fuckin Styles perform on his tour.

His songs had been your savior these past months, moving to LA to start fresh since college wasn’t quite cutting it for you. Thankfully, a friend of yours knew someone that was leaving for Tokyo and wanted to rent out their apartment, you jumped at the chance and even got a friend discount on the rent.

You’d found a job at a book store in Beverly Hills that paid well since they only hired ‘the best’ and had been working there for a few months.

Now the day was finally here, Harry was in LA for his tour and you were going to see him LIVE, ON STAGE, IN PERSON.

“You’re so lucky Y/N, make sure to tell me all about it, Eric is here so I gotta go,” your friend Melanie said through the phone.

You were deciding what to wear to the concert, not knowing if you should do with a blue top or pink.

“Alright, don’t break the bed frame again! I know the old couple below you almost had a heart attack last time Eric and you had a ‘sleepover’.”

“Shut up, at least this girl is getting it tonight!”

“Hey, I’m sure I’m getting it a whole different way,” you quipped back.

You hung up after you said your goodbyes and ultimately decided to go with the pink one that said babygirl. You pulled on your ripped black jeans and boots. While tying the laces, you felt your tummy rumble.

Oh shit, I forgot to eat lunch today and I don’t have time to grab dinner.

While debating what to do about food, you took the ticket that had been mailed in as well as a fifty-dollar bill and shoved them into your bra. (The only for sure way nobody would be stealing it tonight.

I’ll just grab something at the auditorium before I go in.

Glancing at the clock on your wall you jumped up, seeing you were late. Quickly, you locked your apartment and slid the key into the wooden frame on the outside of the door so you wouldn’t have to take it. Then you attached your phone with the chain-link your friend had gotten you for your birthday to your jeans so you wouldn’t lose it.

Once you made it outside, you hailed for a taxi and slipped in.

“To the Forum please.”

..............…

It was packed.

You’d arrived just in time and were able to give through the security checkpoint, thankfully you’d gone to the bathroom beforehand so all you need to go was get through the crowd.

Fans were excitedly chattering about the last performance of his tour, it would definitely be one to remember. The line to buy merch seemed to wrap around the whole building, the electricity in the room was amazing and pumped your adrenaline.

You found the big hall that led farther down into the arena and after showing a few people your ticket, you made it to the pit.

With some quick maneuvering and a few shoulder bumps, you were able to get to the front of the stage.

“Oh my god, oh my god I'm so excited!”

A girl with purple hair next to you squealed. You glanced and noticed her other friend as bright orange hair and a headband with two stars wiggling around on top.

The purple girl turned to you, grinning with her whole face.

“I’m Piper and this is Timmy! Aren’t you just psyched to be here!?”

You laughed at her enthusiasm, “Yeah, I’m really really pumped for the show! I had to earn up for this ticket so I pushed through to get to the front of the crowd.”

The other two nodded eagerly, “We did the same, though, Timmy almost dropped his hotdog but it was fine and he’s eaten it now so no worries about having mustard all over my shirt.”

Crap, you forgot to eat and drink some water before leaving the apartment!

You were debating on whether or not you could trudge through the crowd again when screams filled the room. Kacey Musgraves made her way out onto the stage so you just decided to tough it out,

I’ll be fine, psh it’s not like I didn’t go without water of eating for a day while cramming to finish and assignment in college.

..............…

“Thank you, everyone and good night!”

Kacey had been fantastic, your new-found friends and you had jammed to your heart's content during her performance and were high off the feeling, you were a bit light-headed from all the movement and it made you feel like you were floating on top of clouds.

When the cube dropped on the screen, people flipped shit. You bounced along with Timmy and Piper, ready to have the best time of your life.

Then there he was.

Harry Styles.

Immediately he went into Only Angel, enrapturing the crowd with his angelic voice. He danced and wiggled around the stage, getting into the groove of the show. Once the song ended, he lifted his hand to the sky and waved hello.

“California how ‘re we doin’?!”

Screams filled the room and answered him back with excitement. He chuckled and swung the mic cord over his shoulder.

“Now, this is ma’ last show on the tour.” Awww and boos were heard as he nodded with them, “But I’m glad you’re here with me for it! Let’s hit it!”

He jumped into Woman, then broke your heart with Ever Since New York and Two Ghosts. As the notes finished up on Two Ghosts, he took a moment to get some water and walked along the edge of the stage peering into the crowd.

“He’s so close to us!!!”

Timmy yelled, making the stars bounce on his head.

Harry was currently having a conversation with someone a few people to the right of you.

As he walked by to get back to the mic stand, you could’ve sworn you’d just made eye contact with him.

I must be just a little dehydrated that’s all.

The beats for Carolina started and you grabbed Piper by the arm, “This is one of my favorites!” “Mine too!” She replied, shaking her hands in the air.

She's got a family in Carolina

So far away, but she says I remind her of home

Feeling oh so far from home

She never saw herself as a west coaster

Moved all the way 'cause her grandma told her

"Townes, better swim before you drown"

You closed your eyes and swayed with his singing, it was euphoric.

But, when you opened your eyes, Harry’s were staring right back at you.

She's a good girl

She's such a good girl

She's a good girl

She feels so good

You both kept eye contact for the verse, you smiled and danced along with it, watching as a smirk grew on his face while he sang. He looked back out into the crowd for the next few parts.

She's got a book for every situation

Gets into parties without invitations

How could you ever turn her down?

There's not a drink that I think could sink her

How would I tell her that she's all I think about?

Well, I guess she just found out

She's a good girl

She's such a good girl

She's a good girl

She feels so good

I met her once and wrote a song about her

I wanna scream, yeah

I wanna shout it out

And I hope she hears me now

You sang with Piper, twirling your spot. Unbeknownst to you is that while you and Piper serenading each other, someone was watching you ever so subtly.

La la la la la la la la la la la

She's a good girl

She's such a good girl

She's a good girl

Feels so good

She feels so good

Oh she's a good girl

She feels so good (woo)

.................

The rest of the night is fantastic, there were only two songs left and you felt like you were on cloud 9. But when Harry started to sing The Chain, and it’s like the drums were ringing in your ears all of a sudden.

You stumbled a bit and started to see a couple spots in your vision but easily shook them away.

The rockstar cleared his voice, “Alright’, it’s the las’ song, yeh ready?”

Fans responded back by screaming their heads off and Kiwi started.

The first time he sings it, he’s running through the crowd along the aisle, jamming with everyone else.

The second time he sings it again, he’s a bit out of breath but very happy nonetheless.

When he finally makes it back to the stage, sweat dripping off his brow and a very drenched shirt, people are expecting the performance to be over.

But then, with a cheeky smile, he says, “One more time!”

She worked her way through a cheap pack of cigarettes

Hard liquor mixed with a bit of intellect

And all the boys, they were saying they were into it

Such a pretty face, on a pretty neck

She's driving me crazy, but I'm into it, but I'm into it

I'm kind of into it

It's getting crazy, I think I'm losing it, I think I'm losing it

The man on stage surprisingly turns to look at you again. Piper starts freaking out, assuming he’s looking at her, but you can tell it’s you.

He’s looking at you.

You start to feel a bit warm in the crowd.

Everyone is warm, it’s fine, I’m fine.

But you can tell you’re not doing so well.

Oh, I think she said "I'm having your baby, it's none of your business"

"I'm having your baby, it's none of your business" (it's none of your, it' none of your)

"I'm having your baby, it's none of your business"

"I'm having your baby, it's none of your, it's none of your”

It's New York, baby, always jacked up

Holland Tunnel for a nose, it's always backed up

When she's alone, she goes home to a cactus

In a black dress, she's such an actress

The problem is, you’re a stubborn person so you decide at that moment to just go ham during the last part of the song, and then deal with your problem later.

Harry is rolling hips to the song, throwing his head back ever so slightly to see if you’re watching and suffice to say you can’t take your eyes off him.

Driving me crazy, but I'm into it, but I'm into it

I'm kind of into it

It's getting crazy, I think I'm losing it, I think I'm losing it

Oh, I think she said "I'm having your baby, it's none of your business"

"I'm having your baby, it's none of your business" (it's none of your, it' none of your)

"I'm having your baby, it's none of your business"

"I'm having your baby, it's none of your, it's none of your”

“Babygirl, you havin fun?”

He speaks quickly between the lyrics, as he walks over to your section of the crowd. It takes you a second to realize he’s addressing you by your shirt design.

“Hell ya!” You call back, and he grins.

She sits beside me like a silhouette

Hard candy dripping on me 'til my feet are wet

And now she's all over me, it's like I paid for it (cha-ching)

It's like I paid for it, I'm gonna pay for this

Right when the guitar solo starts, you can tell you’re fucked.

Your head is pounding from the loud vibrations and you start to lose your balance a bit.

It's none of your, it's none of your

"I'm having your baby, it's none of your business"

"I'm having your baby, it's none of your business”

“Y/N?! Are you alright?” A concerned Piper looks at you.

(It's none of your, none of your)

"I'm having your baby, it's none of your business”

“I-I don’t think so.”

"I'm having your baby, it's none of your business"

(It's none of your, none of your)

In the span of 10 seconds so many things happen.

Right as Harry is finishing the ending of the lyrics, pumping his fist with the guitar riff right at the end, he makes eye contact with you.

The lights are flashing too fast for your liking, the first two guitar strokes make you see black spots dance in your vision.

Right as Mitch strums the 3rd one, your eyes snap up to Harry with a fearful look.

During the four riff, he’s excitement turned slightly to confusion in response to the look he had received from you.

And then as the final 5th stroke happened, you felt your eyes roll back and dropped.

Piper screamed, but was drowned out by the other fans. Harry watched as you fainted, disappearing into the crowd, but before he could say anything, the lights were cut so the band members could hurry off stage.

He couldn’t just leave you.

In a flash, Harry dropped the mic and hopped off the stage, darting over to the fence line you had been standing at.

Because it was still slightly dark, nobody noticed the singer jumping over the fence and pushing into the crowd where you had fallen.

“Y/N?! Oh my god, Y/N wake up!”

He snapped his had to where he heard the crying.

Okay, I’ve got 30 seconds before the lights go up, I need to be fast.

He pushed through the sticky bodies until he found a small opening where you laid, along with two hair-color people crouching beside you. He moved over quickly and examined you, then moved to lift you up.

“Hey what are you doing?!”

The purple hair girl screamed.

Harry held you in his arms, Adeline pumping through his veins making it easier to hold you. He watched as your head lolled on his shoulder, seemly unaware of what was happening.

“ ’ve got t’ get her out of here befo’e the lights come up. Can yeh trust me?”

Piper’s eyes widened as she realized who was standing in front of her.

“Uh—yeah, go, go.” Harry nodded and turned around, basically hard shouldering people to get to the fence barrier.

“Hey Thomas!”

He yelled to the security guard, the bouncer looked over and his eyes rose when he saw Harry and you in his arms.

“Grab her so I can get o’ver! Quick, befo’e the lights come up!”

Thomas did as instructed and Harry jumped over, then took you back into his arms, he climbed the stairs at the middle of the stage and rushing to the side stage right as the lights came up.

He let out a breath and started to jog back with you, “Hey! Someone get me a medic!”

A flurry of people came around him and you as he brought you into the backstage room where the other band members had been waiting for him.

Sarah’s eyes lit up in alarm as H came in with you.

“Jesus Christ! What happened?!”

She said as she cleared the long table for Harry to set you down on.

Medics swarmed your body and Harry took a step back, hands flying to his hair as he watched with concern and guilt.

“She jus’, I—, I’d been lookin’ at her during some o’ the songs yeh know? And then I called her out during Kiwi—“

“This is babygirl?”

Mitch interrupted, pointing to you on the table where the medics were taking your pulse and checking your head for an open wound.

Harry nodded, “Yeah, Yeah, see er’ shirt? So— so I kept watchin’ her and then right at the end of our third Kiwi, she just looked up to me wit’ this terror in her eyes and then fainted! The lights went out immediately I knew she’d get run ov’r so I hopped off and got ‘er m’self.”

Jeff, Harry’s manager, bursted in through the door, “I heard Harry brought an unconscious fan backstage? What the fuck is happening?”

Harry started to pace, wringing his hands together and pulling at his hair, Sarah watched him in concern and came over, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, it's alright she’s gonna—“

“But she fainted! I feel like this is meh fault cause it was at mah concert y’know?! And—And, what is she’s not fine—“

“She is going to be fine, we’ve checked her over and no sign of a concussion, I think she’s dehydrated and could use something to eat but she’ll be alright.”

The medic interrupted, trying to save Harry from having a meltdown.

The whole room let out a sigh of relief, as the medics trickled out, Harry pulled up a chair to sit down next to her.

The other band members watched unsure if they should leave or not, Sarah eventually made the decision for everyone and came over to Harry.

“Hey, we’re gonna load everything up, let us know if you need anything.”

Harry nodded, not speaking as he rested his face on his hands that were propped up by his elbows on the side of the table.

The door closed shut and finally, Harry and you were alone.

Well— Harry was with your unconscious body alone, not to be creepy at all.

After a few minutes, you started to wake up, squinting your eyes from the bright overhead lights above you. Harry watched hopefully as you started to sit up, not yet noticing the disheveled rockstar next to you.

“What the fuck?”

“Are yeh okay?”

“AHH!”

You sprain off the table, not expecting a voice to be talking to you.

Not expecting, fucking Harry Styles, to be talking to you.

He got up from the chair, quickly catching you as your legs decided to give out from the sudden burst of energy.

“Hey, be careful, yeh fainted.”

The singer grabbed a fresh water bottle from the mini-fridge in the room, “Drink this.”

You took a couple sips, a puzzled confusion on your face as to you looked at the man before you who was intently watching your every move— as if afraid you’d break.

“So, uh, what happened? No offense, but like, why am I sitting on a table with only you in the room.”

You shook your head at what you just said, “Sorry that came out rude, I’m just a little groggy. Can you tell me what happened?”

Harry moved from his chair to sit on the edge of the table with you, “Well, yeh fainted, at the end of the concert. And I saw it so I went out into the crowd and got yeh.”

Your body flushed with embarrassment, memories starting to come back a bit quicker.

“Oh, thanks for that, you really didn’t need to do it.”

Harry chuckled, rubbing a hand down the back of his neck, “S’alright, kinda felt like it was meh fault, see as though y’eh fainted from my voice.”

You scoffed, not believing this man was inflating his ego with your recent blackout.

“Wow, you really are a narcissist aren’t you? I did not faint from your voice, thank you very much, I’d forgotten to eat something or have a sip of water before the show. I think the adrenaline was too much so I just dropped.”

He smiled at you cheekily, “Hmm wha’ever you say love.”

You let out a big breath and watched the brit lick his chapped lips, without thinking it through, you handed the water bottle to him.

“Here, drink this.”

He rolled his eyes at you for throwing his words back in his face but did as you said. H took the bottle from your hands, taking light slips before a big gulp.

“Wow sorry, I didn’t realize how thirsty I was,” He said surprised as he handed it back to you.

You shrugged your shoulders, the crazy emotions bubbling down as you finally saw the man in front of you as a regular guy and not an A-list celebrity.

“S’all good, sometimes you need someone to look out for you if all you’ve been doing is looking out for others.”

He hummed in agreement, “Yeah, it’s just a little hard when you’re out of touch with the major population.”

You felt bad for him, he basically was inadvertently telling you it was hard to trust people since they might just be using him.

How sad...

You nudged his shoulder, “ Well, just know that there are great people that would be lucky to have you as a friend. Not because you’re Harry Styles, Rockstar Extraordinaire, but because you’re Harry Styles, The one who helps the fainted headed and stays light-hearted through everything. I know we’ve just met but, it shows you do care, truly care. I can’t say the same for a lot of people I know.”

He looked at you with wide eyes, “Wow, uh, thank you. That’s quite a compliment, I’m not sure I deserve it in all honestly.”

You shrugged, “Well, I think you do, so I gave it to you.”

You finished the water bottle and moved off the table, Harry following your actions. You moved back and forth on the balls of your feet, not sure what to say.

“Uh, thanks for saving me from being trampled by the pit. Oh, also your songwriting is amazing, I hope you keep it up.”

You swore you saw the boy flush a bit at your compliment but you brushed it off.

He’s probably still warm from the show.

“Of course, and thank you. I’m sure I will.”

He opened the door for you and you both walked out, going down the hallway to where you assumed the exit was. Before you got to the door, Harry stopped you.

“Wait, one second.”

In a flash, the rockstar zipped away and into another room, you were slightly confused but then he came back with something in his hand.

A phone.

Harry smiled at you, “I was wondering if there’d be a possibility I could take you out to dinner, as an apology for making you faint.”

You laughed, “ I keep telling you Harry, it’s not your fault.”

He smiled, “Please baby girl?”

“Well, who am I to say no to a superstar?”

“Don’t you mean Mr. Light Hearted?”

“Wow, you really are a dork. Twitter is right about you”

He handed you his phone, it was the newest iPhone and had a pink sparkly case on it. You typed in your number and handed it back to him.

“Thank you,” he looked at his phone, “Y/N.”

Oh, I like the way he says it.

You turned to the door and pushed it open, but not before glancing back.

“Bye Harry.”

“See you soon, Y/N”

...........................

When you finally got back to your apartment and had eaten a couple PBJs and downed two glasses of water, you checked your phone and saw a text from an unknown number.

1-310-478-9537

Hey babygirl.

Oh yeah, that ticket had definitely been worth it.

48 notes · View notes

capsized-heart · 5 years ago

Text

Lady Liberty and The Captain / Part One

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader (1940′s Brooklyn AU)

Summary: You are a rising young star and the newest breakout actress in Hollywood’s Golden Age! When war finally descends on the west, your reputation as America’s Sweetheart finds you cast in a promotional picture alongside Captain America himself.

Yet, he looks eerily familiar, like your Stevie from childhood…

Word count: 4.7k+

Warnings: fluff!!

A/N: hello, everyone!!!! I hope you’re staying home, warm, and safe during these crazy times. I’ve been snuggling with my doggie and continuing with my university’s online classes in my final semester..absolutely crazy how things are rn. I hope this new story can help brighten up your day just a little bit.

First of all, I just want to say thank you💖💛for all the love that old and new readers alike have shown this blog recently. I’ve been writing on this platform for a little less than a year and I never thought l’incendie would blow up as much as it has. You guys are amazing. I’m really excited and eager to share new pieces and hope you enjoy the content I have coming! Please don’t hesitate to pop in and say hi, or shoot me a message. I’ve really enjoyed connecting with readers and would love to know your thoughts on my fics, or just to talk about fandom stuff! Timmy included! PAHAHA

So, this chapter is gonna be a part of a mini-series for a 1940′s writing challenge and I’m using the prompt of wartime romance! This will probably be split into two or three parts and I will tag the host as soon as the last chapter goes up, I’ll most likely make a masterlist in the end as well. Reader has a name in this fic, but hopefully the choice of name will make sense later on :D

As always, feel free to drop a ask/message if you’d like a tag in the next update.

ENJOY!

THE NEW YORK TIMES

Film: ‘Apple of Discord’, Lola Swanson’s Dazzling Debut!

By NICHOLAS WATTS September 1, 1943

----------

The film drama from the original screenplay written and directed by Andrew Campbell opened to a roar of applause and acclaim at the Radio City Music Hall yesterday evening. Apple of Discord is a reimagining of the myth and Plato’s allegory, focusing on the tumultuous, profoundly elegant life of a young noblewoman during the Trojan wars.

The film’s frontrunner and leading lady is Hollywood newcomer, young and fresh-faced Lola Swanson. Swanson’s performance is so thoughtful, so unfaltering, so intelligent and controlled that it is hard to believe this is little Lola’s long awaited motion picture debut. And what a debut this is!

Starring opposite Hollywood veterans Sean Schultz, Kash Dennis, and Gracie Smith, this star-studded cast packs punches and sizzling chemistry and yet, Swanson does not fizzle out but confidently holds her own, demanding your attention in every scene, and rightfully so. Watching Swanson in this picture is watching a major actress in the making.

Born and raised in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen before moving to Brooklyn to pursue acting, some may recognize Lola from her daytime television roles in Insanity and Passion, It’s a Date! and as Jessica in Jessica Davis Returns.

Now we know these roles were preparing Swanson for the debut of the decade.

“APPLE OF DISCORD” is now showing at the Radio City Music Hall and Cinema 2. Tickets at 25 cents. Running time: 139 minutes.

★★★★☆

——

APPLE OF DISCORD, written and directed by Andrew Campbell; director of photography, Laszlo Kovacs; edited by John Wright; music by John Barry; released by Universal Pictures.

----------

The newspaper trembles hard between your fingers, threatening to tear its edges. Pulse pounding, ears ringing. You can’t stop smiling. You feel like crying.

You reread the words again and again, the words written by legendary film critic Nicholas Watts, the man you’ve only dreamed of making an impression on, that he’d someday see you in a picture. And here he’s written a glowing review of your major motion picture debut.

You erupt in a fit of giggles and screams, twirling around the small space of your apartment in a swirl of nightgown, pinned curls. A neighbor, Mr. Krisinski, you think, pounds on your wall to shut you up.

It’s still early morning and you had gone downstairs at first light to buy a paper from a newsboy. Outside your window, the streets of New York already yawn and bustle with morning commute. The movement of people, gleaming automobiles against the red brick buildings and muted gray of Manhattan. Warm sun washes over it all, your heart brimming and full, mirroring the glow of golden dawn.

You feel on top of the world. Maybe you’ll finally make it here.

Your phone rings. You rush over to the mint blue rotary telephone on your bedside table, snatch up the receiver before Mr. Krisinski can break down your door with all the racket you’re making.

“Hello?” You say into the mouthpiece, cradling it between your hands. You feel breathless, high strung and buzzing, like you’d just downed a whole case of Coca-Cola, whirring with the taste of sugar and success, bubbling with starpower. Maybe it’s Kash or Gracie calling to congratulate you. Hell, maybe even President Roosevelt.

“Lola! It’s me. Have you read the paper?” The cool voice of Peggy asks you through the receiver. You quietly laugh at your own fantastical expectations. Of course it’s Peggy. Punctual, collected Peggy.

Peggy Carter is your talent agent and manager at MGM. Peggy had snatched you up while you had been working as a background actress on Michael Curtiz’s Casablanca, so hopeful and beholden just to be in the presence of such respected artists, willing to stay the extra hours even after the other girls had gone home when realizing they wouldn’t be seen in the shot. It hadn’t been your first time on a hot set, you were used to the itchy costumes, long hours of endless waiting, and the empty stomachs, but no way you were going to miss a chance to see Ingrid Bergman and Madeleine LeBeau up close.

Back then, only a few years ago yet a lifetime away it seems, Peggy had been a casting assistant, seeing your dedication and marching right up to you between takes to hand you her card. On the back, written in smooth blue ink, a time the next morning for an audition at MGM Studios in downtown New York. Eight o'clock sharp.

You didn’t sleep at all that night after you wrapped.

She’s worked at getting you into audition rooms and meetings for years, pushing you onto writers, production assistants, riggers, directors. She had secured you an audition with Andrew Campbell after “accidentally” leaving your headshot in his mailroom and later calling his assistant with threats of stolen property. MGM’s new fresh face had been penciled in for a side read the following week.

Fierce, ingenious, and your own bright star, you’ve risen through the ranks and fought your way up with Peggy at your side.

“Yeah, Peg. I have it here in front of me. This is...absolutely nuts.”

“Not really, you were brilliant in the picture, darling. But it’s a comfort to know Watts has finally replaced that cotton in his brain with some sense.”

Another laugh from you, twirling the telephone cord around your finger.

“Let me have this one, Peg.”

“If you insist.”

You hear the rustling of newspaper from the other end. You can practically see Peggy sitting at her desk, perusing the paper over a morning cup of coffee, her hair curled, makeup and nails all scarlet red and perfect. The golden placard glittering on the frosted glass of the door.

Margaret Carter, Casting Director.

“I’m calling to tell you about an offer we received this morning from Paramount. I think you should take it.”

That rush of giddiness burns bright again in your veins, pulse skyrocketing.

“Paramount? Geez, what did they say?”

“They want you for a promotional picture that’s being produced by Senator Brandt. Brandt is hoping to boost the homefront’s war bond sales with a little starpower from you and from Captain America. You’ve seen his posters, haven’t you? That costumed bloke?”

You have. Plastered everywhere and looking like an absolute buffoon. Nice physique, though.

The disappointment that settles in your stomach is ugly and cold, like a fruitless pit, hard, rough, a sour taste in your mouth. It’s stupidly childish, yet your own expectations for your first movie, first box office hit, for that very first taste of the promised fame and fortune of success, begin to blink out. Expectations you’ve held on to since you were a little girl, since you realized this is the type of work you want to do for the rest of your life.

You’ve managed to impress Nicholas Watts, the most cynical film critic in all of Hollywood, and this is your big break? A Paramount picture featuring you and a tights-wearing mascot?

Peggy is practically asking you to star alongside Mickey Mouse.

“Is that all they offered?” You respond. You wince at the demanding, ungrateful tone. Afterall, showbiz has hardened you to go after what you want, to take and take because this lifestyle does not guarantee anything. You’re told no more than you are yes, the constant rejection having molded you into a diamond tough girl, glitzy and solid, unbreakable, beautiful.

But how many girls would kill to be in your place?

“The only sensible deal. They also offered you the role of Violet for It’s a Wonderful Life, and Ruthie in The Grapes of Wrath.”

“What?! Peggy, contract me for those instead!”

“Well, I’m not going to. And you listen well as to why.”

You twist your lips together. Peggy’s voice filters clipped and disapproving through the phone line, the way she always gets before she offers you damned good advice.

“Not just Watts is impressed with your work, Lola. You’re finally turning heads and for all good reasons. Anyone can get in front of a camera if they have the right look. But you’ve shown them that you have the look and the raw talent. Critics are saying you’re rivaling Judy Garland, darling. And you’re telling me you want the part of a lousy love interest? A secondary daughter? All because the pictures have big names behind them and people may go see it?

“No,” you mumble.

“No is right. You know better than anyone that people expect young stars to burn out fast so they can take their place. It’s all business. If I put you in for those roles, we’d be playing right into their hand. We’d use up all your potential in one summer. The public would get sick of seeing your face in every big picture. We have to earn their affection, darling. It’s slow and tame and not always glamorous, but this deal is smart.”

You listen, silently.

“Morale is low. War is when people turn to familiar pastimes and simple pleasures. To treat themselves, to take their minds off all the grizzly headlines. Captain America embodies all of that and more. If we take this, I promise you, Lola, that people will remember you as the girl who got them through the darkest times. This will do wonders for your career years down the line. And then, if you still want to play Violet, I’ll phone Frank Capra myself.”

You close your eyes and draw in a breath, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Well, it looks like I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

“Wonderful. I’ll phone Paramount now. We’ll be in touch.”

Growing up with poor Irish immigrants for parents, the rare moments you could afford to splurge on luxuries, you spent them at local cinemas and theaters with your brother. Any day was a good one when you and Samuel bought tickets for a noon screening, the cheapest showing of the day, scraping together pocket change to split a popcorn if you were feeling extra special.

And reclining in a nearly empty theater with refreshments and goodies between the two of you, you’d watch the silver screen with hope in your mouth and stars in your eyes. In here, it no longer mattered how little money you had, or the discrimination your family faced, or the war in Europe, or the meager apartment you’d go home to, lucky if the electricity and heating had been paid for. In here, nothing else mattered but the visual stories.

And you realized that you wanted to help tell them. You wanted to be in front of the cameras, to embody characters and personas and let audiences worldwide empathize and identify with your performances.

You’ve loved playing make-believe since you were a little girl, having never really grown out of it. You could do it, you think. Dangerous dreams, perhaps, but what child doesn’t hold this wish within them? To see their name in lights and to be admired and commended, but most of all, to provide for their family?

How hard could it be?

At sixteen, you land your first speaking role. It’s pathetic. You’re working on set as background, per usual, only this time, the director picks you out from the crowd and gives you the line of, “Good morning, sir.” You’re to look off camera as the actor playing Kent entered the scene and you would then say your line.

You’re stupidly excited. Three simple words. You’ll be uncredited, of course, but your face would finally be seen! With butterflies fluttering in your stomach, the scene resets, Kent takes his mark, the cameras roll, and you deliver.

The scene is cut from the final reel.

You pound the pavement. You scour newspapers and flyers for casting calls, you phone agencies and playhouses, you save up to get your picture taken on glossy photo paper. You keep looking. You keep working in background until you can land a steady role.

Then, you finally get one. A miniscule part of a friendly neighborhood girl on a TV drama for CBS. You only have mere minutes of screen time, but the checks that arrive in the mail from Columbia Broadcasting System after your first few episodes air say otherwise.

You open a savings account. You plant your paychecks and watch them grow into a comfortable sum of money. You land another guest starring role for a daytime soap, the secretary of the title character. Combined with your parents’ salaries from your mother’s sewing and your father’s work on the railroads, you become the main breadwinner.

You move your family out of Hell’s Kitchen, out of your cramped, dark apartment. You sign a new lease under your new stage name and move to Brooklyn together.

Brooklyn is slightly cleaner, but the familiar hustle and bustle, the noise of shopkeepers and dialects and children and cars is comforting, grounds you in your roots. When your CBS drama wraps months later with your last check in the mail and you’re looking for your next gig, your brother works odd jobs to help shoulder the burden. Brick laying, chimney sweeping, milk and mail delivering, Samuel becomes no stranger to any and all work, so long as it pays. You become a typist on the side as you wait for auditions and callbacks.

Samuel tells you his aspirations to be a poet, a writer. He hasn’t said a word to your parents, but he shows you the small bound notebook he carries with him, leafing through pages of prose and verse. You encourage him to submit his work to newspapers, publishers. He gives you a shy smile, says he’ll consider it as soon as you get your motion picture debut. You shake on it. Together, your already close bond of brother and sister grows stronger as you each work to support your art.

You’re waiting for Samuel to finish his shift so you can catch a late showing of His Girl Friday, a warm September day when you first meet Bucky Barnes down at the wharfs. He’s tall, lean, and glistening with sweat when he rounds out of the warehouse with an armful of crates and nearly knocks you off the pier.

“Hey, watch it!” he snaps. His eyes flash like the water around you, blue and cold and dangerous. Brown locks curl with perspiration against his forehead, the sleeves of his workshirt rolled up over his shoulders, the exposed skin of his throat and arms flushed and tan.

Embarrassed, you try to steady him, to which he growls in annoyance and spins out of your reach. He makes a great show of bearing the weight himself, grumbling as he sets down his load. You don’t miss the way the muscles in his back flex and dip. It isn’t until he slowly stands back up, wiping his palms on his khakis, that you get a good look at each other.

The hostility in his eyes softens ever so slightly, simmering into a look that cinches your chest tight when his gaze travels shamelessly up from your kitten heels to the curves of your lips and cheek. His breathing is still labored as he surveys you and you can feel heat and color blooming against your skin. When his eyes finally settle on your face, you can’t decide whether you want to slap or kiss him.

“You lost or something, honey?” He asks with a whisper of a smile. He strolls in a lazy half-circle in front of you and moves to go back up the ramp to the warehouse. Then, he pauses and turns back to you.

“Have we met before? I swear I recognize you from somewhere.”

This delights you deliciously, that a handsome young man you’ve met by chance has seen your work. Not glamorous, acclaimed roles by any means, but recognition nonetheless. You bite the inside of your lip to suppress your smile and give him a coy, bashful flutter of your eyelashes.

“If that were the case, I’m sure I’d remember you.”

He grins wolfishly, pleased, and takes a step closer. “Yeah? Think you’ll let me take you out for dinner tonight?”

“She’s got plans with me, Buck.” Samuel’s voice carries across the water. Your brother emerges with wooden boxes and sets them between you and Bucky in a huff, as if he’s implementing a physical barrier, both childish and endearing. Bucky glances at you and Samuel.

“Are you two..?”

“Steady? No. She’s my sister.”

Bucky snorts and his eyes find you again, glittering in the evening light. “You never told me you had a sister, Sammy. And such a looker too..”

“Makes you wonder why I never brought her up,” retorts Samuel and gives him a playful shove, traps him briefly in a headlock. “At least Steve wouldn’t ogle.”

“Stevie would get a nose bleed and pass out.” You hear Bucky grunt back. Samuel moves as if to dump him into the drink and Bucky pinwheels, scrambling. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!”

Satisfied, Samuel releases him and socks him in the shoulder for good measure. Bucky stumbles, looking boyish and smooth despite his shirt and hair all disheveled.

You’ve seen his type in casting offices all across New York; bold, alluring, and charismatic. It’s a look and type you’ve longed to act opposite of someday, as all young starlets dream of, but a look that simultaneously sparks the feminine temptation that shivers between your breasts. You wonder if Bucky would look the same in a dark bedroom, with him on top of you and your fingers running over his back…

Bucky grins toothily when he catches you staring and shoots you a wink. None of those movie star hopefuls hold a candle now to his rugged, spirited charm.

Samuel guides you back up the pier so he can punch out his time card and the two of you can be on your way. And as you’re about to set foot on solid ground, you hear Bucky call out to you.

“What’s your name, honey?”

Samuel sighs and shakes his head. “Cripes.” He mutters to himself. Before Samuel can stop you, you laugh and turn back to the water with a fresh and girlish aire, warmth and excitement whispering through your veins, young and naive and sixteen.

“Dolores!” You give him your full name, your real name. For once, you don’t want to be Lola Sparks. You want to be your natural, honest self, the girl who deserves young love and joy and an untroubled adolescence. The sound of your voice rings clear and strong, the diva that you are, and Bucky’s mouth curves upwards.

“See you ‘round, Dot.”

Much to Samuel’s displeasure, you tail your big brother around the docks like a lost pup whenever you have time. And being a C-list actress and a part-time typist, you have plenty of it. You loiter with the excuse of bringing sack lunches, waiting on Samuel and Bucky at the edge of the warehouses. It’s lonesome and bores you to no end being all by yourself, until one afternoon when someone is already waiting at your spot by the pier.

Small, skinny as his own shadow with a fringe of blonde hair, he leans hunkered and folded within himself, timid and seemingly conscious of how he occupies space. His jacket droops over his shoulders, eyes downcast even as you approach. He has a sketchbook in his hands, concentrated as the pencil moves across the page in fast, gentle strokes. You see an impressive likeness of the piers and Bucky’s distant figure in charcoaled lines.

“That’s really something.” You say.

He jolts so hard the paper tears and he crumples it into his fist in a single motion. “Huh?” he answers. When he looks to you, you realize his eyes are a pretty shade of teal. He flushes, petrified, the tips of his ears coloring pink. You feel horrible when he goes to pocket the ball of paper.

“I’m so sorry for scaring you,” you breathe. Gently, you offer your palm to him. “If you’re not keeping it, do you mind if I have it?” You ask softly. A few seconds pass and he shakes his head before placing it in your hand. You unfurl the paper, carefully smooth it out as he watches you from the corner of his eye.

Shyness is a barrier of art you’ve known all too well, from your own experiences in audition rooms to your brother’s reluctance to find a publisher, you understand that sting of insecurity better than anyone. So, you let him watch you as you admire his work, let him know of his talent and let your actions speak for you. You smile and slip the drawing into your purse.

Then, his stomach grumbles audibly, almost comically loud. He folds his arms around his stomach, so tight you’re afraid he’ll snap in half. You quickly reach into one of your paper bags and hand him a sandwich wrapped in cellophane and a can of lemonade.

“Here, let’s trade.”

“That’s awfully kind of you, but I can’t accept..” he starts. The timbre of his voice is surprisingly gallant and sure, pleasant, sweet. You have a gut feeling that the world has been taking advantage of that kindness his whole life, scaring him away from genuine compassion, that everything must have a catch. It makes you press harder.

“I insist. Please. It’s the least I can do for sneaking up on you.” He eyes you warily and again that feeling of regret washes over you. “Consider it payment.” You smile.

Finally, he takes Samuel’s lunch from you and unwraps the sandwich. He eats quickly and quietly, draining the lemonade only minutes later. Perhaps it’s his bony statue, but you feel happy to see this stranger eat.

When he’s finished, he wipes his mouth and turns to you. His lips, pretty, pink, part as if about to speak, yet no words leave him. Instead, he stands frozen with that transfixing blue-green gaze keeping you still, lingering.

That is until a stream of brilliant scarlet red dribbles down his chin and splatters onto his dress shirt. He pinches his nose, doubling forward and his flustered complexion matching the blood spilling from his nostrils.

“You must be Steve,” You laugh lightly and quickly hand him your handkerchief of cream yellow lace and embroidered flowers. You help steady him as he keeps his head tilted down. “Bucky’s told me all about you.”

Steve groans and presses the handkerchief to his face, blushing all the way down to his neck.

Steve returns your handkerchief days later with an embarrassed hush, carefully cleaned and laundered. It smells of lavender and clean linen and the image of him working the fabric between his thin fingers with soap and suds warms your heart.

You tell him it’s his. He blooms and keeps it neatly folded in his breast pocket.

You and Steve quickly grow close in the hours you spend together waiting on Bucky and Samuel. You pack extra lunches for him and sit by the piers chatting, skipping stones as Steve sketches the Brooklyn skyline day in and day out.

“Draw me!” you tease. “Isn’t that the request that all artists want to hear?”

But surprisingly, he does. He always draws you and Bucky and Samuel with striking, intimate familiarity. His sketchbook gradually fills with portraits and pictures of you, sketches that could put your very headshot to shame.

After their usual shifts, the four of you head to the drugstore for your ritual of sodas and sundaes. Two pairs, brother and sister and brothers by blood enjoying a rare wartime treat. With the rations on sugar, it’s a special and memorable circumstance just to be together and sharing something sweet.

It’s there, at your corner booth in Wolfe’s Pharmacy over ice cream, that Bucky opens up a paper for that night’s television network schedule and sees your name.

His eyebrows shoot up. “Dot,” he says. “What do others call you?”

Defeated, you twist your lips, hesitant to break the short spell of normalcy you’ve had with your new friends. Samuel sips at his Coke with a silent grin.

Time for the truth to come out.

“Well, ‘doll’, by Stevie,” you giggle and toe Steve’s foot under the table. Steve shyly shrinks back into his seat. “But CBS calls me Lola.”

Bucky’s jaw drops.

“Get out of here. You’re pulling my leg..”

“I absolutely am not.”

“Sammy, tell me she’s pulling my leg.”

“She’s not.”

Two pairs of brilliant blue eyes dart between you and your brother. Bucky’s face breaks into an open smile, laughing. Steve lurches forward.

“Have you ever met anyone famous?” Steve prods with a hint of that honest, innocent charm.

You wrinkle your nose sheepishly. “Mason Cook?”

“Who?” Bucky asks around a mouthful of sundae.

“Exactly.” Samuel snorts.

“Well, I’m sure he’s very talented.” Says Steve.

You swipe his maraschino cherry and let the stem dangle between your lips. “At least Stevie believes in me.”

“Dot, honey. I saw your pilot episode. If anyone’s a fan, it’s me.” Bucky feigns hurt, hand to his chest.

You stick out your bottom lip before sucking in the stem, working it into a tight knot in your mouth. “Are you still gonna be when your girl is signing autographs with John Wayne?”

You place the knotted stem on your napkin. Bucky nearly chokes.

“I better be.”

Samuel coughs. Steve giggles.

You thank your stars that your secret doesn’t change anything between Steve and Bucky. They treat you just the same; as Samuel’s baby sister who tags along with the boys. The teasing, the fleeting looks all unchanging.

Girls, you’ve unfortunately realized, are catty and mean. You’re competing for roles, after all. But with Bucky and Steve, your first taste of homecoming since moving to Brooklyn, you don’t have to worry about silly competition, or fame, or being the best in the room. They keep you level-headed, reminding you of your girlhood and life’s simple pleasures.

Bucky drives you and Steve around town in the company truck on weekends. Hopscotch and jacks on brick roads and warm nights, watching sunsets until the sky blushes peach and mango yellow at Coney Island.

A Saturday afternoon on Rockaway Beach, a vacation for you all after a draining week of work and auditions when Bucky promises to win you a stuffed bear when he sees you eyeing the one on careful display.

“Buck..Bucky, give it a rest, we can try the next one.” Steve chides.

Another plastic ring pings off the neck of a glass bottle. Bucky curses, rings his hands together and slaps another dollar onto the counter.

You and Steve trade looks. Bucky’s been at it for ten minutes. At this rate, you know you’ll be walking on the train tracks home tonight.

So, you and Steve huddle close and cheer him on. Do it for our doll! says Steve. Finish it so you’ll stop wasting money, you dolt! you cry. Hell, even the vendor finds it humorous and joins in.

And when Bucky wins that grand prize and you’re handed a teddy bear as big as Stevie, you hoist it on your back, careful to not let it touch gravel or dust as the three of you walk in line with the train tracks later that evening.

Paradise, a sheltered haven from the broken landscapes and realities that the European newsreels broadcast home in grim black and white.

True to Bucky’s word, they become your biggest supporters, helping you run lines and monologues and accompanying you to auditions. Bucky’s not bad for a scene partner, and Steve’s awareness of emotion and character motivation is impressive.

The attention you receive from casting directors and auditionees doesn’t hurt your chances either, lanky Steve and smoldering Bucky wishing you luck before stepping into the green room.

You book a drama. Then, a short film. Then another. You call them your lucky charms.

And when your humble little short film “premiers” at the corner cinema, squeezed in between an empty noon showing of a cartoon rerun, Steve and Bucky whoop and holler when your character is shown on screen. They throw popcorn and gumdrops, jostle you by the shoulders. Bucky even runs down the aisle and mimes kissing the projector screen.

“That’s our girl! That’s our Dot!”

The usher threatens to throw you out. Steve tells him you’ve paid good money for your tickets and you’ll stay and watch as long as you please.

The following week, you’re scouted by Peggy Carter.

Your world, your career will never be the same.

#steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #captain america x reader #captain america x female reader #captain america x you #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x female reader #winter soldier x you #steve rogers fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers imagine #bucky barnes imagine

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maxdark158 · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter three! Finally! We’re halfway through guys unless I add more chapters

Thank you @ozmav once again for the inspiration for this, thank you everyone who is reading it, I hope you all have amazing days and enjoy!

ps: I’m thinking of writing a version of this from Damian’s POV. Should I do that or nah?

Angel in Gotham: Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Ao3

Demon in Gotham: Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Ao3

Fanart for AiG: Riddler ~ Joker thank you @thegreysman

Please tag me in any fanart you draw for this guys ^^

Once Marinette got over the hugeness of the entire house – The entrance was roughly three times as big as her entire house, bakery included – it was fun. Damian didn’t take her on a tour, as he wanted to eat before talking to his brothers, but the places she saw were amazing.

Alfred showed her the kitchen – she stared at it open-jawed for nearly a minute – before having them sit in the dining room and wait until he had prepared their lunch.

Lunch was amazing, to put it lightly.

Alfred whipped up some amazing food and desserts – sugary sweets that her parents didn’t typically make. He left her and Damian alone for the most part, though she kept asking if he wanted to eat with them. He assured her that he already ate and continued to leave them alone.

It was really fun. Damian was just, in general, an awesome person, and Marinette was having more fun than she had in years.

He made her happy.

She really, really liked being happy.

But, of course, the quiet lunch didn’t last. The food was finished, Marinette was full, and she couldn’t reasonably slip anything else into her purse for Tikki. Plus, she knew some of Damian’s brothers were in the house. According to Alfred, Dick and his father were working, but the other two were home.

“Do your brothers know we’re here?” she asked while helping Alfred and Damian clean up.

“No, and we can leave before they find out if we’re quick about it,” Damian told her.

“What if I’d like to meet them?” she teased. “They sound fun!”

Damian paled, though his expression hadn’t changed.

“Alright Angel, if you’re sure,” he pursed his lips, “but if you want to leave for any reason, just tell me.”

“Master Damian, I do believe that Miss Marinette is capable of taking care of herself,” Alfred chided him.

“What he said, Damian,” Marinette giggled. “I’ll be fine. They can’t be worse than The Riddler or Hawkmoth, and I survived those two.”

If anything, that made Damian look more… upset? He didn’t look nervous anymore. More… angry? His shoulders had tensed and he gripped the plate he was holding. But before Marinette could properly decipher his emotions, his grip loosened and his shoulders relaxed.

“Todd,” his voice sounded annoyed. Marinette turned around to see who he was talking to.

A very tall man with a white streak in his hair was smirking. “Demon Spawn! I thought you went somewhere else!” He glanced down and saw Marinette. “Timmy! The Riddler girl is here!”

The Riddler girl? Why was she referred to as-

Marinette heard a crash, running footsteps, and suddenly another boy was there. He had dark purple bags under his eyes and smelled of coffee.

“Holy sh-

“Language,” Alfred tutted.

“You’re actually here! I didn’t think Damian would let you near us!” he chuckled. “I’m Tim Drake-Wayne!”

“Jason Todd-Wayne,” The tall one with the white streak said.

For a moment, she blinked at them. These were Damian’s brothers, members of the Wayne family which is very prestigious and rich and well-known.

One of has a dye job and uses nicknames. The other looks like he hasn’t slept in a week and smells like his blood is entirely coffee. They were people.

Marinette liked being reminded of that.

She smiled. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng! A pleasure to meet you!”

“So you solved The Riddler’s riddle, right?” Tim asked. “Like, knew what the answer was?”

Marinette nodded. “He probably googled it. A toddler could do better.”

Tim seemed to light up. She wasn’t sure why the riddle was ridiculously easy. She was expecting a challenge from the villain named after them.

Tim opened his mouth to add more when Damian cut in from behind her. “Drake, don’t harass her with your questions!”

“I’m not!”

“You are!”

“She isn’t uncomfortable-”

“You’re asking about her first and only encounter with a villain of course she is-”

“Are you even looking at her she isn’t-”

“Hey!” Marinette jumped at Jason’s voice. It wasn’t loud, but the argument was putting her on edge. Tikki in her purse pressed closer to her. It was comforting.

“Yeah?” she asked, facing him. The brothers were still arguing behind her, but her focus was on Jason now.

“So you took down The Riddler, right? Like with hand-to-hand combat?”

Now that she thought about it, the uncertainty in her was beginning to rise. how did Jason and Tim know? Her memory then decided to remind her that Damian, the two’s younger brother, had also been there. Plus there’s the article online. Damian didn’t know she had taken down The Riddler combat wise until he read it

Marinette nodded. “You must have read the article. They really made it a lot more amazing than it was.”

He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. She took that as a sign to continue.

“The Riddler clearly has very little combat experience,” she moved her hands in an exasperated gesture. “In Paris, we have akuma that turn people into temporary villains, so most people learn basic combat to stay alive.”

Jason huffed. “Are you saying you only know the basics?”

Marinette tried not to freeze. If she said she only knows the basics, she’s lying. If she says she doesn’t, he might figure out her identity – the Wayne family was supposed to be smart!

“My class is attacked by akuma often,” she says instead, allowing him to come to his own conclusion about her words.

Jason hummed, contemplating. Then he grinned.

“Want to spar with me?” he asked. “I’m not a slouch in combat myself, and I’d like to see how good you are.”

No. Marinette should say no. Jason would respect her answer and she shouldn’t fight someone else in Gotham when the news already made an article about her. She needed to draw less attention to herself she should say no-

“Sure!” her mouth moved on its own.

Curses!

“What?” Damian asked, interrupting Tim during their argument.

She spun around to face him and Tim while Jason slung an arm over her shoulders. “Freckles here just agreed to spar with me!”

Marinette almost expected the sudden physical contact to make her tense but it didn’t. Huh. Maybe she was doing better than she thought, dealing with… well, everything.

She turned her head to look at him. “Freckles?”

“It’s your nickname. ’Cause you’ve got Freckles.”

Marinette shrugged. It was better than Princess. Plus, it would be weird if he called her Angel too – wait why would that be weird? It’s just a nickname between friends!

“Do you seriously want to duel her because she beat The Riddler?” Tim scoffed.

“You wanted to question her because she solved his riddles! Plus-”

“Todd,” Damian hissed.

“Yeah demon spawn?” Jason went from annoyed to bored pretty quickly.

Marinette felt like another argument was going to happen. “Damian, I agreed to it,” she told him, meeting his eyes. “Plus, akuma are typically much larger than me anyway. It’s not like I’m going to break from someone as small as Jason!”

Jason and Tim both laughed at that, but she paid more attention to Damian. he seemed to tense for a moment again before his shoulders dropped. He grumbled something that Marinette couldn’t understand and turned around.

“We have a gym down the hall,” Tim helpfully provided. Jason was still giggling, his arm removed from her shoulder.

Marinette made her way there, following Tim. Damian walked behind her, and she heard him talking to Jason, but she wasn’t sure what was being said.

Plus, they just had this whole conversation about the right to secrets! If Damian didn’t want her to know, she wouldn’t eavesdrop.

“Do you know your IQ?” Tim asked.

Marinette blinked at the sudden, and odd, question. “No, I don’t think I ever took the test.”

She did remember taking a test when she was younger, but that couldn’t have been the IQ test. It was difficult, and there were things she didn’t know, but the IQ test wouldn’t be as easy. Plus, her parents would have told her if she had taken an IQ test!

Tim seemed to deflate slightly. “Do you have any measurement of your problem-solving skills?”

Marinette had a feeling that Tim was trying to compete without telling her the rules of his competition. She played nonchalant though, shrugging it off.

“My parents don’t like playing strategy games with me,” she said, remembering how even as a young girl she always won. They pretended to like it because she liked them, but she could tell it wasn’t fun for them after a while. She’s not sure that they weren’t just pretending to loose for her though.

“You always win?” Tim asked. She nodded.

“Hey Timmy, stop holding Freckles up!” Jason called from ahead of them. Marinette jumped this time, wondering how he snuck around them without her noticing.

She checked – Damian was with him too. What the hell?

“Alright, alright,” Tim grumbled. The two sped up and soon entered the gym.

It was huge, much like everything else in their mansion. There were several treadmills, punching bags, different assortments of weight lifting equipment, and a large mat in the center. Likely for sparring.

Marinette was glad she had chosen her overalls instead of her dress.

Jason took off his jacket and took a position on the mat. Marinette followed suit, setting her purse with Tikki inside near his jacket. When she took a position, she made sure that it was off slightly. She didn’t want to try her hardest, just in case the brothers realized something about her. Something about spots.

Jason lunged, Marinette ducked his punch and maneuvered behind him, driving an elbow into his back. He dodged, barely, and went for a swipe under her feet.

She let herself be tripped, maneuvering her fall so she wasn’t hurt.

“Well, that was fu-”

“You can do better than that!” Tim cried. “There’s no way that’s it.”

“Drake,” Damian grumbled.

Jason paused. “Wait, you weren’t really trying?”

“I-” she hated liars, she didn’t like lying, and usually preferred telling half-truths “What makes you think that wasn’t my best?”

“The Riddler is bad at combat,” Tim leaned against the wall, “But he’s better than that. Why are you holding back?”

“She can hold back if she wants to,” Damian grumbled.

“Jason wanted to see how good she is,” Tim retorted. “If she’s holding back, it’s like purposefully failing a test or losing a game!”

“No, it’s not!” Marinette responded before thinking, her competitive side awakening. It was hugely different! It wasn’t a game and-

“Why are you not trying to win, Freckles?” Jason asked. “This is sort of a competition.”

Marinette’s eye twitched. She was losing the game!

She got up and assumed a better position. “Fine then,” she huffed, deciding to make this quick. She could get her parents to vouch for her if needed, as she did actually sign up for combat lessons.

Jason got into position and this time, she attacked first.

She knew he was likely too heavy for her to swipe under his feet, so she instead went for a fake punch to the throat. He grabbed her fist to block and she grabbed onto his other hand to swing onto his shoulders. He attempted to pull her down with the hand she grabbed but she managed to remove it from his grip and grab it with her own.

“What the hell!”

Jason’s wrists were held by her. He couldn’t shake her grip off him, her hold was too strong. He was attempted to buck her off his shoulders, but Marinette’s legs wrapped around him too tight to be shaken off. As he struggled to get her to let go, she began to swing around to make him lose balance.

He didn’t have his arms to stabilize him or catch his fall. His bucking made his lack of balance worse, and with several curses, he began falling backward. Marinette let go of his trapped hands mid-fall flipped off him, somehow dodging his head.

When Jason landed face-first on the mat she was there quick as lightning, pinning his arms behind him and his legs with her weight.

“I win,” she grinned.

Jason responded with more muffled curses.

She got off of him and helped him up. After he was standing, she spared Damian and Tim a glance.

Tim’s mouth was open, likely because she climbed all over his brother to beat him – but Jason’s much bigger than her, so she had to use his weight against him somehow!

Damian… Damian’s expression seemed neutral, but his hands were open instead of fists. They shook slightly too.

She wasn’t sure what that meant.

“Holy hell what are they teaching you in Paris?” Jason grumbled, pupping his back.

Marinette bit her lip. She should have gone easier on him. “I’m sorry-”

“Why?” Jason asked. “I asked for you to fight me. This was fun even if I got a mouthful of matt.”

“Do you work out?” Tim asks.

“Not regularly,” she says. “But my parents own a bakery and the flour bags are heavy. Plus, sometimes someone orders a huge cake, and those can get heavy too!”

Tim nodded.

Damian was still silent. She frowned.

Jason spoke before she could. “Hey Demon Spawn, are you rebooting or something?”

Damian blinked. “Apologies. I’m a bit surprised, as I didn’t see Marinette actually fight The Riddler, I didn’t know what she was capable of.”

Marinette felt her dread building up. He was afraid of her and he hates her and she wouldn’t have him as a friend and she’d be heartbroken and because of his rejection and – wait what?

“What?” she said out loud, “I’m sorry I zoned out.”

“He said you did a good job, Freckles,” Jason interrupted Damian. Jason seemed smug for some reason. Damian’s eyes looked greener – or was his face redder?

“Thank you,” Marinette smiled.

“Okay since that’s over now,” Tim rubbed his hands together. “Marinette-”

“Please tell me none of you died,” Bruce Wayne, as in THE Bruce Wayne walks in, surveying the room. “Huh. I’m surprised there isn’t any blood. Alfred told me you were sparring.”

“Jason decided to spar Damian’s girl-”

“Marinette,” Damian interrupted. “My friend Marinette.”

Bruce Wayne sees her for the first time and Marinette has to shake off the feeling of being analyzed.

“She’s the girl that punched Riddler in the throat,” Tim says helpfully, and she feels slightly embarrassed but – hang on.

How does he know that? There’s no way he could have known that.

She abandons that thought and decides to introduce herself.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” she goes to shake his hand since that’s how Americans greet each other. He takes it and shakes.

“She won against Todd by the way,” Damian says and Bruce stiffened? She’s not sure what that’s about.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Bruce says. “Alfred wanted to invite you to stay for dinner.”

Marinette paused. “I apologize, but I must be returned to my class by five-thirty pm,” she says. American time is really weird.

“Uh, it’s four forty now,” Jason points out, “How long is the drive, Freckles?”

Marinette pails. “I should probably head back-”

“I’ll go with you,” Damian says. “Alfred can drive us if that is alright with you.”

She nodded, going over and grabbing her purse. “Thanks for inviting me over,” she smiled at Damian. She turned to his brothers and father, “It was wonderful to meet you guys!”

“I’ll win the sparring match next time, Freckles,” Jason told her. He was smiling though, and so was she.

Tim grumbled something about not getting to test something. “You better come back,” he said out loud.

Marinette a mixture of sorrow and guilt in her chest when she remembered her limited time here. Her smile turned to more of a grimace. But she shoved the nasty emotion away. “I’d love to return if I’m invited.”

“When,” he told her.

She managed to smile again. “When.”

She and Damian left the room. Alfred, who already seemed aware of the situation, escorted them to the car.

The ride was silent at first. Marinette couldn’t tell if Damian didn’t know what to say or was comfortable with simply sitting there.

“The brothers I met were nice,” she told him. “They seem annoying-”

“You can say that again,” he grumbled.

“-but they seem like decent brothers,” she finished. “They’re fun people too.”

Damian shrugged. “Sometimes.” Marinette saw his lip twitch though and knew he was happier than he let on.

“Do you have secrets?” he asked suddenly after a few more minutes of silence. “You don’t have to tell me, obviously, but you’re aware that there are things I’m not comfortable telling you yet and-”

“I have secrets,” she said, feeling Tikki nudge her. “Maybe I’ll tell you someday,” Tikki nudged harder.

Damian smiled slightly. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t wish to, Angel. It’s only fair that I give you what you’re giving me.”

Marinette grinned wide. “Thank you,” she said earnestly.

“We have arrived,” Alfred said from the front seat. Damian opened the door and got out, holding it open for her, and she mumbled a quick thanks.

As she got out, the worst happened. Her clumsiness, while rarer nowadays, sent a curse from where it resided in her Paris bedroom.

She tripped over Damian’s feet.

“Oh my- I’m so sorry,” she struggled to get the English out while scrambling to get off the ground.

“It’s alright Angel,” he said from behind and Marinette stiffened, ice water filling her veins.

Oh no, no no no.

Damian helped her up, and she turned to face him. The sun wasn’t setting, it was still low in the sky and she was seeing him in a new light.

“Is something wrong?” he sounded worried.

The ice water got colder.

“I’m okay,” she said, brushing off her knees. “I used to fall like that all the time, but I’m okay, I promise.”

Damian’s face smoothed back to its neutral expression, but Marinette knew he was still worried. She wasn’t sure how she knew though.

“If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask,” he told her.

She felt numb. “I won’t,” she said.

They said their goodbyes. The car drove away. Distantly, Marinette realized that the sun was setting.

The ice water froze her to the core, it’s dread soon becoming a guilty weight to carry on her shoulders.

“Tikki,” she whispered. “I think Damian is Robin.”

oooOOOooo

“He knows. He’s going after her,” her friend sounded tense. “The girl from the article.”

“The one that took down Riddler?”

“The same one.”

“That’s not good,” she mumbled. “I haven’t even gotten to talk to Batsy yet.”

“Don’t tell her, okay?” her friend’s tenseness bled into worry. “She doesn’t ever need to see him again.”

“She doesn’t know?” she asked. “Don’t you two tell each other everything?”

“Just don’t tell her,” her friend stood. “I will when I’m done.”

“Done with what?” she asked, turning to watch her friend leave.

Her friend didn’t answer.

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nokomiss · 4 years ago

Note

Happy 4th! I would love something with Dick and Tim having fun patrolling or working on a case together, maybe with a moment where they have to pull off a little acting for undercover/incognito reasons. Dick/Tim is my favorite but a brotherly dynamic would be great too if you are feeling that instead! Thanks for being open to prompts!

So the morning started out… weird. And by weird, that meant Tim was startled awake by Dick Grayson jumping on his bed while belting out an off-key rendition of “Blue Suede Shoes.”

“Go away,” Tim tried, shoving his face deeper under the pillow and pulling his legs up into the fetal position, attempting to keep from getting bounced on.

Dick ignored him. “Rise and shine, time to fight crime!”

“Crime doesn’t happen at--” Tim blearily poked at his phone, “Eight-thirty in the morning.”

“Crime is always afoot, Timmers,” Dick replied. He hopped off the bed and poked Tim in the side. “Come on. We’ve got that thing you said you’d do with me. You and me! Incognito! It’s gonna be great.”

Tim had absolutely no memory of whatever mission Dick was claiming that he’d agreed to. “When, exactly, did I agree to this?”

“Uh, four weeks ago,” Dick said. “When we were patrolling the East End. Remember? The night we rescued those puppies?”

Tim definitely remembered the puppies, they’d been adorable. And Dick had said something about---

He opened his eyes, and actually looked at Dick for the first time. He was wearing a spangled, fringed jumpsuit that wasn’t the infamous early Nightwing costume. It was white, with bell-bottoms and a plunging neckline, with a rhinestone-studded belt. His hair was in a pompadour. And he struck a pose, one hip out, head bowed, arm in the air.

Dangling from the arm in the air was another white sequined jumpsuit, this one featuring a cape with a bejeweled eagle on the back.

“No,” Tim said, horror-struck, as he remembered with sudden clarity Dick mentioning a tip he’d gotten about a shipment of drugs being smuggled through at an upcoming Elvis convention, and Tim laughingly saying that he’d only go if there were costumes.

“Yes,” Dick said. “We pinky-swore, Tim, you can’t back out now.”

It was true; they had. Tim sighed and got out of bed, taking the jumpsuit from Dick. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“This is easily the best undercover gig I’ve ever had,” Dick confirmed. “Shake a leg, we don’t want to be late!”

Tim dressed quickly. The jumpsuit didn’t feel as weird as it ought, given what he wore out every night, and he kind of enjoyed the short cape. Dick produced some shiny satin scarves to complete their ensembles -- blue for himself, red for Tim, which made him smile, and even big gold sunglasses. After his hair had been fixed, he had to admit they both made pretty good Elvises; he doubted anyone would identify them as members of the Wayne family, at the very least.

On the ride to the convention hall -- a mid-sized one, Tim noticed, with minimal advertising, even though, as far as he knew, Elvis impersonation didn’t trigger any of Gotham’s major rogues -- Dick updated him on the case. He’d done a decent amount of footwork on it already. There was supposed to be a major shipment of newly produced narcotics coming in through the con somehow. The only solid name he had was Geezer, and Dick was unsure if that was a description or a name.

“So we’re going to stalk every geriatric Elvis we can find?” Tim said.

“Stalk is such a negative word,” Dick said. He looked unfairly good as Elvis, and Tim was mildly concerned that they were going to draw unnecessary attention to themselves. Tim himself at least knew he wouldn’t; the jumpsuit he was wearing was too big, and made his lean frame look scrawny instead. It was the trick he’d used in high school to avoid looking too fit, but Dick had not chosen to go that route himself.

Tim planned on making fun of him for that.

Arriving at the convention center was a treat, as he and Dick fit in perfectly. Almost everyone in attendance was wearing Elvis costumes, the majority of which were white rhinestone-crusted ones similar to the ones they were wearing, with a few black leather outfits or gold suits mixed in for fun.

They spent two solid hours moving through the crowds, listening to snippets of conversation and looking for suspicious body language. They focused on the convention hall with its dozens of booths filled to the brim with Elvis merch. They were the likeliest spot for surreptitious drug deals, though Dick’s information hinted at a much larger operation than just two-bit dealers.

In actuality most of the time was actually spent trying on ridiculous hats, posing with various other Elvises, at one point joining in on a giant karaoke flash mob to Jailhouse Rock despite not knowing the choreography (Dick hissed, “Just shake your pelvis, it’ll be fine” and lo and behold for once that advice was spot on) and in general having a grand time.

It was, actually, such a grand time that Tim started to become suspicious that this wasn’t actually a drug bust but actually just an outing to an Elvis convention.

“So why didn’t you bring the brat instead?” he asked as they got fried peanut butter, banana and bacon sandwiches. Now that he was thinking about the day critically, he was doubting everything. This was exactly the sort of dumb adventure that Dick would normally love to drag Damian to, under the guise of exposing him to quote-unquote culture.

Dick cast his eyes around and said, “I love Dami, don’t get me wrong, but some things are sacred.”

“Oh,” Tim said, “you didn’t want him to harsh your vibe by refusing to wear a jumpsuit.”

“Exactly,” Dick said, nodding. Several hours in and Tim still wanted to laugh when he really focused on what Dick looked like, especially since he’d truly taken to the role and was doing a lip snarl to punctuate nearly every sentence.

“But Jason would have eaten this up,” Tim pointed out. It was exactly the sort of over-the-top nonsense that Jason excelled at, despite denying the fact vehemently. “Or Cass. She would have been an incredible Elvis. She would have crushed Jailhouse Rock.”

“You wanna make this a family outing next time?” Dick’s whole face lit up. “Awww, baby bro!”

“Shut up,” Tim muttered. “There’s totally not a next time.”

“Crime never sleeps, Timmy, and look at how many shady individuals are here.” Dick pointed to a toddler taking a few wobbly steps then tripping over its bellbottoms. “I mean, by next year, there’s a crime lord in the making.”

“Not what I said!” Tim said, laughing. “I just wondered, you know, why me, out of everyone.”

Just like that, the laughter dropped from Dick’s eyes and he straightened up. For one brief second Tim could see how he managed to be a convincing Batman, and then Dick said, “Tim, you’re important to me, you know that, right? I knew this was going to actually be a fun mission for once, and I miss having fun with you.”

Oh. Tim knew logically that they hadn’t spent as much time together recently as they used to, especially as they used to back when he was Robin, but he hadn’t thought that Dick missed it as much as he did.

“I’m glad,” he said, and didn’t duck away at all when Dick wrapped him up in a bear hug, then continued to lead the way with an arm draped over his shoulder.

“There’s a panel starting soon about theories on Elvis’s current whereabouts, I bet there’ll be plenty of geezers there.” Dick led the way to a room off the main convention floor.

Sure enough, given how dated the Elvis-is-alive theory was, most of the audience and the entire panel were decidedly geriatric. The panelists presented theories that were in depth and crazy enough that Tim almost wanted to look into their veracity, even though he knew that if Elvis had truly not died, some superhero would have surely come across him by now and he would have heard about it.

The audience was of far more interest. Several of the Elvises would get up, whisper to another, then disappear behind a curtain for a few minutes. Tim elbowed Dick when he noticed, and Dick nodded. They snuck around to the curtain, and peeked behind it.

Another Elvis, this time in statue form.

Tim shrugged, unsure as to why people were sneaking in to see a statue of Elvis when there were easily a dozen other animatronic ones at various points on the convention floor. They approached slowly, but the statue was just that: a statue.

“Weird,” Tim said.

Dick shrugged and looked at it closely. “Pretty good likeness.” He poked it in the chest, randomly poking at various rhinestones, and there was a faint whirring sound from within the statue, and the rhinestone belt popped open like a quarter candy machine and dropped two pills onto the floor.

They stood for a moment, blinking at the revelation that they’d found a secret narcotic dispensing machine disguised as an Elvis statue.

“Huh,” Tim said, “I’m gonna be honest with you here, I didn’t actually think this was a real mission.”

“I mean,” Dick said, “I can see why it would be outlandish. Guess we wait here and kick the ass of whoever comes to try to collect money from us?”

“What if it’s the old Elvises?” Tim said. “Is it morally okay to kick geriatric ass?”

“We can gently kick their ass, I guess?” Dick said. “Real delicate-like.”

It was a truly embarrassing moment to be a vigilante. The narcotic ring was masterminded by three guys in their eighties who probably had dealt to the King himself, and Dick and Tim had to very delicately immobilize their scooters and zip-tie them before alerting the police. They waited in the little anteroom making sure no one else stumbled across the drugs or dealers until they heard the approach of officers, then slipped out into the crowd just as the dance-off began.

Dick of course insisted they join in before leaving, and Tim had to admit he was glad; it was a sight to see.

#my fic #dcu fic #tim drake #dick grayson #batfam #I wrote this with a brotherly relationship in mind #and it's totally gen #but tried to make it a little ambiguous since you ship them #hope you enjoy #jes-cher

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