#there’s too much i enjoy about him not to be sincere sometimes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thiccpersonality · 2 days ago

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5 Times Bruce Was Protective of His Pups (+2 Times They Were Protective of Him)

4: The Girls

⚠️WARNING⚠️: there is suicide mentions and attempts in this chapter. Nothing overly graphic, but it is mentioned, so I just thought I should forewarn of that just in case my loves.

Enjoy! 💛

—

Barbara remembers when she first met Batman, it was a pivotal moment in her life, a time where she was just an insecure teenager trying to find her way in the world. She remembers being bright eyed and curious towards her Uncle Jim when she found out he worked with the mysterious Batman; Gotham's faithful caped protector. But before that, it was a point and time in her life that she doesn't like remembering too often (before meeting the Bat that is), she was still suffering the loss of her parents even after all the years of coping–okay, maybe coping isn't the right word exactly?

Try: lashing out and being rebellious.

It seems as if everything in her life got harder after her parents tragic passing: she couldn't concentrate in school anymore, she could start fights as much as she defended herself from them, she talked back in a way she never used to before, her moods felt unstable most days and seemed to grow worse the older she got, etc.

She felt like the world was out to get her now that her parents-her protection-went away.

As if just because her guardians are no longer in her life that it gives the world the right to bully her.

There were times that she felt guilty over her attitude...especially towards her uncle, he was nothing but patient and kind to her, even when she was being an ass to him, and he quickly started to become like a second dad to her. Something that made Barbara feel guilty and distressed, because it's not like she was trying to replace her biological father, she just...she just recognized that firm yet gentle attitude Jim has as being similar in a way only a father's can be like. Sometimes she believes that's why she talked to Uncle Jim the way she did as a teen, all because she felt guilt over 'replacing' her parents when that's not what it was at all, she was just finally learning to move on.

Barbara may not like to look back at her teenage years too fondly, but she does hold close the sincere affection from her uncle and the day she met Batman, a day that she'll never forget as long as she lives.

————°————

Barbara stumbles back into her teacher's desk, her eyes red and tears hot as they pour from her eyes, her breathes sharp as she loudly inhales for air. Glare held onto the door where another student is being dragged out of it by another teacher, a feeling of satisfaction bubbling up in her chest at the sight of their nose dripping with blood, it's what they get for picking on her so much. The young teen snaps out of her anger induced haze at the feel of a cool cloth being softly pressed to her knuckles, her red rimmed eyes being drawn up to her math teacher. "Barbara."

The ginger only responds with a sniffle, avoiding her teacher's stare in favor of looking at the chalkboard.

"Barbara-" they sigh softly-"you know I'm going to have to call your uncle. You promised me that you wouldn't get into any more altercations with other students, and this fight ended up with someone's nose being bloody."

The girl furrows her brows in displeasure, glaring at the chalkboard at the thought of her uncle finding out about another fight...again. "It wasn't my fault! Lorraine is always being a jerk to me all the time. She started the fight by cornering me...so I decided to end it." Barbara hisses as the pain in her knuckles finally registers, the washcloth dabbing softly at the cuts to her hands, the adult humming at their student's side of the story. "Okay, she shouldn't have cornered you, I agree with that. But, you are a very bright girl, Barbara, and sadly in public school there are...rules and ways both teachers and students have to conduct themselves, okay? I know most of the fights you get into are with bullies...but there's only so many times I can try sticking up for you before the school expels you-"

Barbara snatches her hands away from the cloth, her eyes stinging with unshed tears from the unfair treatment, "But why don't they expel the kids who are picking on me?! I'm not allowed to do anything for myself." The adult opens their mouth to try and explain, closing it instead and pulling out ointment for Barbara to put on her cuts while softly telling her, "Make sure to use it this time...stop letting it hurt on purpose. I'm going to call your uncle now, try to cool down and remember that there's snacks in the lower drawer."

Barbara rolls her eyes and sits in the teacher's chair instead, resting her face in the crook of her arms and forsaking the ointment, dropping it in one of her backpack's side pockets and closing her eyes to think.

"-bara." A hand gently rests on the teens shoulder, shaking her body gently. "Barbara, wake up, it's time to head on home." A soft groan escapes the sleeping figure, Barbara sitting up with her eyes closed and smacking her lips as she tries to wake up, when did she even fall to sleep?

The sound of the voice speaking quietly to her registers in Barbara's sleep addled mind, her eyes snapping open to look up at her Uncle Jim Gordon, guilt rising up in her at seeing how tired the other man looks...probably because of her. "Hi...I don't wanna go home right now." The older man stares at his niece before conceding with a tired sigh, "Alright...we won't go home yet. How does burgers sound to you?" Jim nods in thanks to the math teacher before leading Barbara out of the classroom, the girl humming in thought before answering. "It depends on if burgers come with fries and a milkshake?" Jim smirks at his niece, deciding that he can spend a few extra bucks on the younger, what he wanted to say being forgotten as he finally gets a good look at Barbara, frowning at her puffy eyes and scratched knuckles. "Babs, what happened to your hands? Did you get into another fight today?" Jim questions, snatching one of the girl's hands into his own, stopping them in the middle of the school entrance and watching his niece's face closely as she frowns in displeasure.

"Mr. Halloway didn't tell you?"

Barbara chances a glance at the older man, shoulders tensing at the unhappy look he's giving her. "So...he didn't tell you, why did you even come here when you didn't know what happened?"

Jim rubs at his forehead with a sigh, his tone matter of fact, as if what he's saying is something the younger should already know. "Why wouldn't I come and get you? Your teacher said that you needed me to come to you...it sounded really serious-" he stops as the shorter snatches her hand away, hiding the bruised flesh behind her back as she rolls her eyes, clicking her tongue at the man's concern.

"Well it's nothing, so, you came here for no reason. It was just a fight. I could have walked home by myself."

Barbara makes her way out of the school and towards her uncle's car, the man hot on her heels as she tries to downplay the situation, his voice tight with barely restrained emotion towards his niece. "Barbara-wait! Would you just...stop for one second-" he gently grabs the girl's wrist-"I came here for a perfectly good reason; you are that reason and that's all I need to go anywhere for you. And second, you know I don't like you walking home alone. Third, you keep getting into fights...there is obviously something going on and I want to know what that is, but I can't try to help when you won't open up to me and say anything. And Mr. Halloway called me but didn't explain because he said he wanted you to have the choice to do so."

Barbara digs her nails into the palms of her hands, pulling her wrist away from her uncle's careful hold as she narrows her eyes at him accusingly.

"Cut it with the shit! You always say you'll be there for me when I need you, but you weren't there when my parents died, were you?!" Her words are sharp as she hisses at the older man, like knives expertly targeting its mark as they dig into his heart, Jim frowning down sadly at Barbara.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Barbara, I tried to help your father in any way that I could, but-"

Barbara doesn't know what came over her...she just feels like everyone is against her lately, always making excuses as to why people are able to treat her the way they do, always an excuse as to why she isn't allowed to act the way she does.

Jim sucks in a sharp breath at the stinging slap to his cheek, it's not the worst hit he's taken...but his eyes water simply because of who it's coming from, he doesn't know what to say to start helping Barbara. Eversince her mother and father's passing, there's been a rift between their relationship because he-he wasn't there for the family in the way he should have been, he knows deep down that there's not much he could have done, he can't help someone that doesn't want to be helped, and seeing his brother's alcohol addiction slowly consume his life was soul crushing; to see the person he ate, slept, played with and fought with lose himself to the bottom of a bottle just like their father was a horrifying realization.

But he tried.

God, did Jim try to get his brother help, especially when seeing his behavior change towards his wife and daughter: getting snippier, shouting and screaming for no reason, putting his hands on people, harshly speaking to his daughter in a way that was deeply concerning.

Barbara was a bit too young and innocent at the time to truly pay much attention to those things, not saying she didn't notice them, but she always made little excuses for her dad to avoid the revelation of just how much her father has changed. Every question he would ask his little niece about their home life whenever he next saw her was met with the innocent exclamation of, "My daddy's just a bit tired from work! He throws tantrums like I do sometimes when I'm sleepy!" It hurt to see. But there wasn't much he could do as his sister-in-law didn't want to press charges at the time, she loved his brother so much that it hurt, all for the sake of trying to stay long enough to help him seek help.

Every plead to her for herself and Barbara to live in his little apartment as long as they needed went unheard as the woman insisted that all she needed was enough time for her husband to grasp what she was begging to him about. That one day it'd click and he'd understand the severity of his actions.

But that day never came.

It was a surprisingly cool summer afternoon when it happened; a Saturday, when Jim and Barbara excitedly waved off her parents, the family excited as Roger woke up that day suddenly agreeing to rehab and therapy to deal with personal issues that were causing him to drink.

It was too good to be true, but Jim and Barbara thought nothing of it, celebrating with pizza and ice cream while his niece jumped around the house screaming about how her daddy was finally going to be better. Things were going so well too that day, Roger even having a surprisingly cheerful countenance as he told the family about his decision, the soft look in his eyes unassuming as he looked at his teary eyed daughter; they thought it was just him realizing how much he loves his family.

The too tight-almost desperate-hug Roger gave to Jim and Barbara before leaving was chalked up to a promise that things will only get better from there.

And the kiss the man gave to his wife was slow and passionate; intimate, as if it was a goodbye, the woman just giggling into the kiss as she called Roger's name breathlessly-and somewhat fretfully-at the fact he kissed her that way in front of family. No one thought anything of Roger taking the car keys from Thelma with a small smirk on his face, insistent on how he really wants to drive as he gave one last close look at his brother and daughter before leaving.

It was only a few hours later when Jim received a call, his sleep being interrupted as he reached for his phone quickly, hoping that he wasn't being called in for work...but anything would have been better than what he answered to.

A car crash; suicide.

He arrived at the scene after leaving his worried and confused niece with a trustworthy neighbor, walking up to a sorrowful looking police partner as they handed him a suicide note that was carefully placed in a small, beautifully decorated jewelry box taped inside the glove compartment with a necklace for Barbara inside of it. The note mentioned that Roger loved his family a lot, especially Barbara, and that he never wants her to think anything that happened was her fault...but that he was unwell for a long time and sought help on his own, stating that the drinks never truly filled that hole inside of him due to the cracks inside, he can't stay full when there's leaks inside the building. He asked for Jim to take care of his daughter and be there for her in a way that he couldn't, that he made the decision to take Thelma with him because he knew she'd be heartbroken if he died on his own, but that Jim and Barbara are strong enough to continue living their lives.

Jim felt like throwing away the note because he felt so...so...angry at his brother for doing what he did, he hated thinking it, but he felt like Roger was being cowardly. Running as he always did like when they were growing up and things got too hard for him, never properly wanting to face the consequences of his actions and leaving anyone and everyone who's ever cared about him to deal with the fallout of it.

It was surreal to go back home to Barbara, the small pup running up to him with her nose twitching, scenting her uncle's distressed scent as she bumped her head carefully into his legs and hugged onto him, trying to comfort him even though she didn't know what was going on yet.

It was the moment he told her what happened that their relationship shifted with each other.

And now, after a few years later, Jim is left with a bitter and upset teenager.

The alpha blinks away his tears-and his thoughts-breathing out slowly, opening the door for his niece and gesturing for her to get in the car. Barbara grinds her teeth together, looking down at her hands and cursing herself for being so difficult, she didn't mean to hit her uncle. A part of her wants to apologize, but another stubborn part of her insists that she has no reason to, so, she keeps her lips shut tight as Jim sits in the driver's seat.

"What burger do you want? The usual you always get?"

Barbara looks at the alpha in disbelief...she...hit him out of anger...and he wants to feed her?

The teen feels her lip wobble in guilt, sitting on her hands to keep them from doing something impulsive to hurt herself with and lowering her head so that her orange hair falls down slightly trembling shoulders to cover the remorseful look she knows that is on her face. "Home."

Jim bites at his lip to stop himself from saying anything to the beta, sighing tiredly and turning on the car so they can head on home.

XXX

Barbara jumps out of the car as soon as it's in park, ignoring her uncle calling for her as she pulls out the extra house key from her backpack and unlocks the door, slamming it in Jim's face just for show at this point, still not wanting the older man to know just how sorry she feels.

The girl rushes to her room and shuts it quickly at hearing the front door opening, locking it and resting her head against it, finally allowing her tears of regret and frustration to fall. "Shit, Barbara, what were you thinking? Are you stupid or something?" She tugs at her hair harshly in the hopes of grounding herself, dumping her backpack onto the floor and pushing away from the door to flop onto her bed, burying her face in the pillow and screaming into it before turning her head to the side to look at her slightly busted knuckles.

Barbara sighs as she flexes her fingers, breath hitching as the torn skin stings slightly from the stretch, her eyes drifting to the fallen backpack by her door as she thinks about what Mr. Halloway said, "Stop letting it hurt on purpose."

The slight pain to her hand brings Barbara out of her thoughts, sighing as her stomach also rumbles loudly in hunger, the young girl rolls onto her back and groans up at the ceiling as she whispers to herself, "Should've went for that burger." The beta squints her eyes in deep thought before turning to rummage through her drawer, pulling out enough cash from saving her allowance to get a burger and fries, "I don't need anyone. I can walk on my own."

Barbara rolls off her bed and stuffs the cash inside of her shoe, tiptoeing over to the window and opening it, shivering at the cool autumn air that brushes against her cheek...at least the walking will keep her warm enough.

The beta climbs down the fire escape, feeling satisfied with leaving her window open so that when Jim comes to check on her all he sees is proof that she "ran off". It's not like she's sneaking out for any bad reasons anyway, she's just really hungry and is going to get herself something to eat...it's not the end of the world just because she decided to walk outside alone, a girl needs her space sometimes.

Barbara allows her mind to wander as she walks, inhaling the crisp autumn air as she feels some of her worries lift a little, she enjoys this season a lot: the changing of the leaves, the soups and warm drinks one consumes during this time of year, the chill to the air that can be the right amount of cool. It's a bit of a bittersweet feeling this season brings too...but she thinks that it's better than feeling so lost, alone and angry as she has been as of late, this time reminds her of her parents and when things were generally going good for her family, her mom always loved to decorate their house with little pumpkins strewn about the room, the omega doing anything she could to get her hands on fall themed apparel to cover her family from head to toe with.

And her dad.

Barbara can almost smell the cinnamon apple tart her dad loved to bake around this time of year, can taste the cinnamon hot chocolate he always allowed her to help make with him.

She just wants to know where it all went wrong...her parents marriage didn't seem to be rocky at the time, and there wasn't anything that she saw or overheard her father struggling with, but it seemed like one night out at the bar turned to two and two into three and so on. Barbara remembers the day her Uncle Jim told her about the accident, she was stunned into silence as he carefully handed the wooden jewelry box to her, not knowing how to feel at the sight of a beautifully delicate necklace with her name engraved on the front.

But she did know how to feel at the, 'I love you always, my heart', that was on the inside of the heart shaped locket; angry.

Barbara felt as if the words were a lie, because who leaves behind their ten year old daughter to fend for herself just when things started to get better? But, she knew it wasn't her parents fault for someone else's mistake...if anything, she always thought that if anyone would get into a drunk driving accident, that it would be her father and not some stranger who was stupid enough to be on the road at the wrong time.

She remembered thinking about how she'll find the perpetrator someday and bring them in for the murder of her parents-or kill them herself-she's not too picky.

The beta still has the wooden box stashed away in her room...even though she was in pain and hurting from her father getting into a drunk driving accident, she could never find enough strength to open up the box and wear the necklace like how she promised she would, she just stashed it away and never wore the one thing that would remind her of what she loved most. Barbara shakes herself out of her thoughts as she's arrived at her destination, breathing on her cold fingers as she steps inside of the warm building and taking a seat first, giving her own body time to warm up before she thinks of ordering.

The beta sits there for a few minutes, blankly staring at a stain on the table as her mind wanders off again, snapping out of it at a cheery voice speaking to her.

"Mind if I sit here with you?! Looks like there's lots of room!"

Barbara looks up at the stranger, taking note of his fancy looking school uniform and raising a brow at the tray full of two double cheeseburgers and large fries on the boy's tray. "Cheap burgers? You look like you could afford anything you want and you choose to eat this food?"

The beta frowns as the other takes her response as an okay to take a seat across from her, "I don't think I could afford anything on my own? But my mom can! And cheap, greasy burgers are what I like to eat best-don't tell Alfred that though!" The boy-that Barbara surmises is about her age or a bit older or younger...she can't really tell-just smiles giddily at her, the beta's nose twitching as she scents the other and smells the alpha trying to develop on him, the boy not bothered at all by her hesitation. "Uh...who in the world is Alfred?"

The young alpha sticks his nose up and shakes his head, "Sorry. Can't tell you that. I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

Barbara's hesitation turns to irritation as she scoffs and crosses her arms, "Whatever. You're the idiot that-" she blinks in surprise at the hand the other suddenly extends, that stupidly infuriatingly happy smile still on the boy's face as he introduces himself, "I'm Richard! And what's your name, fair maiden? That way I can tell you who Alfred is without getting into trouble for talking to strangers."

The alpha keeps his hand in midair, shaking it around when all she does is stare at it as if it's an alien species.

Barbara rolls her eyes and slowly brings her hand up to shake Richard's hand, not able to control the smirk as the other shakes it up and down enthusiastically. "My name's Barbara...good sir?"

Richard smiles at the girl's attempt to play along, nodding his head and pushing his tray to the middle of the table and gesturing for her to eat his food. "A name that fits the beauty of the girl who bears it-" his blue eyes drift down to the scrapes and cuts on her hands-"What happened to the hands though? Looks like you punched something."

Barbara leans back against her seat and blows a stray hair out of her eye with a proud smirk, "Try someone."

The boy gasps, eyes shining as he leans forward like a little predator, "Tell me more! Some reason I've been cursed to never see a fight break out at my school-I mean, where's the drama and sense of adventure with those people? Anyway, why'd you punch someone? Were they messing with you-oh, oh! Maybe you were playing the hero and saved someone from being bullied?"

Barbara shakes her head, "If by someone you mean me...then yes. That skank Lorraine deserved it." She growls with a small sniffle, turning her nose up defiantly.

Richard nods in agreement while biting into a fry, "Yeah! Wait...who is Lorraine and why is she a skank-excuse my language."

Barbara finally takes a fry and pops it into her mouth, shaking her head with a tsk, "You have to tell me who Alfred is first and then I'll tell you about Lorraine. So?" The boy perks up and nods, pushing one of his burgers the beta's way, "He's like my grandpa and the family butler."

Barbara furrows her brows as she bites into the burger, voice muffled slightly from the food in her mouth. "B't...s'he the gr'pa or b'tl'r?"

The alpha just smiles and nods, "Yes! But he's the greatest butler-grandpa that any kid could ever ask for. His cooking is really good and he smells really nice and he feeds me good food. That's why I said don't let him know that I said I prefer cheap, greasy burgers...he would feel offended at my taste-or lack thereof-in food."

Barbara snorts in amusement, feeling herself relax under this strange boy's innocently genuine ardor. "Yeah...well, I don't think you have to worry about Alfred finding out about anything, I don't even know who he is or what he looks like...so you are covered there." She bites at her burger again, looking up from her food at the feeling of the alpha's expectant look, slowly realizing what he's waiting for and clearing her throat when she's done chewing. "Right, Lorraine. I don't think there's much to say about her other than she sucks. I...tend to get into a lot of fights at school, and then I'm the one that gets into trouble for it. And while I have started my fair share of fights, it's only because Lorraine and her flock of mindless, spineless bimbo and himbo zombies for 'friends' pick on me. My parents always taught me to stick up for myself and that's exactly what I'm doing."

Richard frowns sympathetically at her, chewing on a fry as he shakes his head disappointedly. "And this is exactly what's wrong with our society today-" he leans forward with an impish gleam in his eyes-"Whaddya say about me convincing my mom to transfer me to your school? He has the money to do it without an issue...and I'm sure I can make a convincing enough presentation for him to allow it."

Barbara hates how easily Richard is able to make her feel happy without an issue, she's almost jealous of the way happiness seems to come naturally to the other.

"Your mom makes you do presentations whenever you wanna do something? I admit...you don't seem like a bad kid, but why would you even come to my school, there's nothing special there? And what would you even say to convince him to transfer you? Cause I'm pretty sure the only reason is that you want to beat someone up, Mr. Where's The Drama." Barbara smiles at Richard and tilts her head, genuinely curious as to what his answers will be.

The alpha places his hand on his chest and gasps in mock offense, "Does it really look like little ol' me could beat up anyone? And mama only makes me present certain things cause he says I need to learn to negotiate things better, says he won't have a son that's easily taken advantage of by sweet words and seemingly good deals...we don't want another zun house incident-anyway! I would come to your school because I'm a good person and want to help a new friend out, and only for that reason, thank you very much! And the thing that would make my mom transfer me issssss—drumroll please?" He drums his fingers against the table, "You are a kid!"

Barbara bites her lip so she doesn't smile so hard, a chuckle escaping her at the reason. "I'm a kid? That's really your strongest powerpoint? I see why your mom makes you do a dissertation explaining why you want to do the things you do, you give such sloppy explanations for yourself." Richard pouts and throws a fry at Barbara's head, smirking at her shout of protest towards the 'attack'. "It's not sloppy, it's camp, Barbara. And you're right...I was wrong, I would have to mention that you are a sad and lonely looking kid too."

The beta gapes at Richard, stuttering and crossing her arms defensively, she doesn't know if he meant that to hurt or what? It definitely seems like he's being serious which is almost so much worse than him trying to be meanspirited about it—at least dealing with jerks is what she's used to.

No, wait.

Something in Richard's eyes looks oddly...perceptive, causing an emotional whiplash for the girl at how his gaze seems carefully watchful; analytical, gone is the playful shine to his eyes in favor of adopting an odd sort of hardness to them...though Barbara doesn't necessarily feel scared because of the look, at least not for any bad reason. It's just...jarring for the boy's eyes to look so intense while his face is still open and friendly, it's as if his eyes scream of a whole different person that the beta doesn't know about, his stare seeming to strip her down to the bone until nothing but her vulnerable little heart is left on display for him to see.

That's the thing that is scaring her.

And scare her it does, enough for her to stretch over the table to cover the boy's eyes, uncaring of the salt and grease on her hands as she's now left with the alpha's friendly smile.

Yeah...that is definitely creepy how different he appears with just his eyes covered.

"Don't be an ass...I'm not a sad or lonely looking little kid-" Barbara hopes her voice isn't as strained as she feels it is-"What in your drama loving mind made you think that?" Gosh, she doesn't even know what possessed her to ask, but there's almost a desperation to know what he thinks.

Richard taps around the table–searching–until he lands on a fry, popping it into his mouth with a thoughtful hum, "I love a good drama just as much as the next person...but I wasn't trying to be an ass-excuse my language-about it. I noticed the way you were spacing out over here-" Barbara's eyes widen in shock at the finger that rests on her lips to keep her quiet, as if he knew she was going to protest-"and before you say anything sarcastic about it, it wasn't just because you were spacing out that I felt something was off. You...you have that look in your eyes, you know? The one that shouldn't be in anyone's gaze...but especially a kid's."

Barbara feels a bit of that irritation flare up at the accuracy of his claims, but she also feels an odd sense of relief that fills her at being seen for how she actually feels; sad and lonely.

The beta sniffles and plops back into her seat, avoiding eye contact with the alpha and shrugging, "Maybe those dissertations aren't always so sloppy?" She manages a small smile at the surprised laugh escaping Richard, glancing his way as he taps his temple with his index finger. "I still know how to use my brain properly! Just because I'm silly it doesn't mean I'm stupid." Barbara nods and studies the kid as he looks outside the window, his eyes scanning the busy sidewalk as if in search of someone specific, her curiosity is peaked by her new...friend, she doesn't think she's met anyone quite as interesting and perceptive as Richard before.

The two now remain in a surprisingly tranquil quietness, eating their now cool burgers and (somehow) still slightly warm fries in companionable silence.

Barbara can feel herself growing a bit sad as they both finish their food, the boy wiping away any stray crumbs or salt flakes from the table with a napkin and back onto his tray. The silence being broken as Richard softly asks, "Was it both your parents? A parent maybe?" With a small gasp, Barbara looks back up into Richard's eyes again, only to be met with a familiar look in his eyes as he stares at her, his gaze sorrowful and apologetic towards whatever it is she had to go through.

Barbara feels her eyes watering again, nodding and wiping at her tears to try and get them to stop. "M-My mom and dad. S-Same day. Car accident. D-Drunk driving"

Richard hums and stands from his seat, wrapping his arms around the girl and crying with her when he feels tears wetting the front of his shirt, resting his cheek against the other's head and close to her ear so what he says next is heard by her alone. "I'm sorry, Barb. Mine-" he swallows down the lump in his throat-"mine died on the same day too. It was a murder."

Barbara's eyes widen and she peeks up at the boy, her eyes widened in horror, "W-Were you there to...you know?"

At the young alpha's slow nod, she hugs onto him tighter and sniffles while rubbing his back comfortingly. "T-That's–I'm sorry you had to witness that, I can't imagine how you fe-"

Barbara gasps as one of his hands reaches behind his back to tap at her knuckles softly, the bruised flesh aching the tiniest bit as he does so. "I think you know exactly how I felt...you are still in the process of it and sometimes I still am too, but it's not impossible to-to try moving on...I think it's what our parents would want us to do because they loved us. You should try taking care of your hands when you get back home to whoever you decided to freak out today, don't let the pain stay and become you."

"Master Richard?"

Barbara and said alpha both turn their heads to the entrance, the beta sniffling and pulling away from the warm embrace to rub at her eyes, immediately knowing that the older alpha looking imploringly at Richard is definitely an Alfred...he does smell nice and looks like the best grandpa-butler ever.

Richard glances at Barbara, smiling when the beta turns playful and zips her lips shut, mouthing, "Your secret is safe with me."

The young alpha's smile is blinding as he chuckles and mouths, "Thank you", back at her with a playful wink while exclaiming a little too loudly about how he hopes to see her again someday. Barbara waves goodbye as she watches the two leave the restaurant, a coldness consuming her as she makes up in her mind to head home as quickly as possible.

XXX

Barbara curses softly to herself as she stumbles in through the window, knocking over the pencil holder on her desk and looking up to the bedroom door worriedly, half expecting her uncle to come busting through before she realizes after a minute of standing still that the alpha didn't even hear her. "Thank God-" she mutters and crawls the rest of the way in, shutting the window as softly as she can and smiling victoriously as she got away with it-"Maybe I should go apologize?"

The young beta bites her lip when thinking about Richard and Alfred, at how-even though she barely knows them-the two looked to be close with the way the younger wrapped his arms around the older as they walked away.

The boy also mentioned something about not letting things hurt-just like her teacher did-and even how moving on is possible...she is...not really realizing it-but more so focusing properly on what she knew was already there, how she's afraid of moving on and allowing herself to grow beyond the pain she's felt for a couple years now. Barbara knows that she's almost slipped up and called her Uncle Jim dad before...and that was something that horrified her-that still scares her-and out of that fear she treats her uncle unfairly.

Barbara makes her way over to the door, reaching for the handle and pausing when she sees that it's already cracked open, her curiosity peaked as she calls for her uncle.

"Uncle Jim!" Barbara cracks open the door and pokes her head out with a frown on her face when she doesn't get an answer, that's weird...it's not like her uncle to ignore her calls, he always responds no matter what, even if she's just trying to get on his nerves. "Uncle Jim!?" She tries to ignore the anxiety scratching at her chest as she thinks that maybe he's finally left her, that maybe after dealing with her attitude so much he's finally thrown in the towel and left her alone as she so often screams for the alpha to do.

Barbara swallows down the whimper that wants to escape her and rushes to her uncle's bedroom, poking her head into the dark room and hoping she'll see his sleeping form under the covers.

"Crap!" The beta hisses at the unruffled sheets, rushing out of the room and back to her own to dig through her backpack and pull out her phone, freezing over her uncle's phone number when realizing that's probably why she can't find him, he went to look for her. Barbara curses herself again and looks at the thirty plus missed calls from the alpha and the abundance of text messages asking where she's at and to come back home, that feeling of guilt and shame overtaking her earlier anxiety at how much she's truly putting her uncle through, texting a quick I'm home because she doesn't feel brave enough to call him herself.

After her message goes through, the young teen mutes her phone in worry of the older man's possible response towards her, tossing her phone on her bed and burying her face in her hands. One minute she's in her room and the next Barbara knows, her feet and instincts have carried her to the comfort of her uncle's bedroom and onto his bed, her nose seeking out the man's comforting scent left in the pillows as she buries her face in them.

A whine escapes her as it doesn't feel like enough...she wants her uncle, not the pillows or the bed. She wants to be wrapped in a warm hug and cuddles–why did she ever tell him to leave her alone?

Barbara sniffles and wraps her arms comfortingly around herself before heading over to the closet, searching through it in the hopes of finding something to cover herself with that is her uncle's, her eyes being caught on a familiar looking coat pushed into the very back of the closet, a shocked hiccup escaping her as she reaches for the coat Jim wore the day her parents died. She feels like she shouldn't be reaching for it...let alone putting it on, but there's an odd sense of comfort she feels as she slips the heavy jacket on.

For her, it's a symbol of strength and comfort as this is the same coat her uncle wrapped her up in the day he told her about the accident, the beta's fingers shakily buttoning up the coat and sighing in relief as the warmth consumes her.

Barbara hums contentedly into the collar of the coat, stuffing her hands in the pockets and growing confused at the paper she feels in the right pocket of it. The girl sniffles and steps into the light of the bedroom, eyebrows furrowing in deep thought at the familiar looking scribbles on the piece of paper...why does it look so recognizable?

Blue eyes scan the now open paper slowly as she slowly realizes why the scrawl looks so familiar, it's because her father wrote it. But why would her uncle have a note from her father in his pocket? Barbara feels her heart race as she reads the note, so caught up in the letter that she doesn't hear the front door slamming open and Jim calling her name fretfully, her eyes are glued onto each word as the truth is revealed: her father committed suicide and he took his wife–her mother–with him.

"Barb-" Jim sighs in relief at seeing the young teen standing in his room-"where did you go? I called and I texted you but you never responded."

The alpha frowns at the lack of a response, his concern growing at the scent of tears in the air, a soothing rumble escaping his chest as he steps closer to the girl, eyes widening as the hand he tries to set over her shoulder is slapped away. "Why...why did you never tell me?" Her voice is watery as she asks, turning around and holding up the paper accusingly to her uncle's face, "You told me that it was a drunk driver. Why did you-I don't-my father committed suicide and you never told me?" Barbara narrows her eyes at the taller, laughing incredulously at the look on her uncle's face. "And what's that look for? Disappointed that I finally found out the truth, huh?! You thought you could keep this from me forever and that-that I'd what? Move on someday and be happy thinking someone else killed my parents and got away with it? You thought I couldn't-" her voice wavers-"couldn't handle knowing I wasn't enough for him."

Jim's eyes widen and he shakes his head, a distressed sound escaping him as he stares at the girl's trembling form. "T-That's not what it is, Barbara, I promise that it's not sweetheart. Y-Your father...he was really sick on the inside and felt like there was nothing that could have helped him-"

Barbara balls her hands into fists, the paper crinkling as it's crushed, "Then I guess my mom felt that way too?! She had to leave me as well because I wasn't a good enough pup for her or dad-" the girl nods her head adamantly when the alpha shakes his in refusal-"Yes, yes, that's what it was and you all were-and still are-lying about it! You could never be honest to me about a-anything!" She screams and doesn't bother wiping away her tears, sobbing loudly as she looks down at the note with blurry eyes and mutters. "I-I would have d-done what was needed to fix myself if you all would have just asked."

Barbara's voice is hoarse as she tapers off, running under her uncle's arms as he tries to hug her and ignoring his shouts for her to come back as she runs out of the apartment door.

The beta gasps for air, her lungs burning and legs aching as she finally slows to a stop. Barbara doesn't even know how long she's been running for or how far she's ran, but the buildings no longer look familiar to her, maybe she's too distressed right now to fully pay attention to anything? Her attention, however, is immediately caught by a big looking building that towers over the others built next to it, her mind pushing her to go to the very top just to simply sit.

Yeah, just to sit.

Barbara sniffles and looks inside the window, noticing that there is still someone sitting at the front desk but choosing to step into the building anyway, smiling awkwardly as the receptionist looks up and eyes her suspiciously.

"I'm sorry, we're about to close, and there's no children allowed inside of the building."

The beta glances towards the elevator, wondering how she'll make it to the top floor and to the roof, "U-Um...it was starting to get really cold o-outside, and I lost my way as I was walking, so...I decided to come in here to get warm." She breathes on her hands to add to the helpless look she's going for, sighing into her hands softly in relief as the receptionist looks a bit more concerned now. "Are you okay? Do you...do you need anything to drink? I'm sure we still have hot cocoa in the break room, you can take a seat right over there and I'll bring it to you and then we can call someone to come get you."

Barbara nods her head in thanks and waits for the adult to leave, rushing over to the elevator and keeping an eye out for the receptionist as she waits for it to reach the main floor. The beta breathes a sigh of relief once she finally steps inside the elevator, pressing the button to the highest floor and stuffing her hands in her pockets while spacing out.

Barbara can hardly believe what she was told...I mean, she's been grieving her parents for a couple years now only to find out that they never died because of someone else's recklessness, but because of suicide. Honestly, she feels like it's all her fault...she really does, that's probably the reason why her dad started drinking was because she was too hard to handle–and what about her mom? Did she decide to die alongside her husband because she loved him more than their daughter? It's hard for Barbara not to think that, and a part of her is...jealous, about her dad, at the fact that he held her mother's heart so close to himself in a way that the beta couldn't, maybe her hands were too small at the time to properly hold it in her own?

Another part of the teen feels upset that they both decided to go on without her-they were being selfish when she thinks about it-I mean, Barbara would have gone anywhere with her mom and dad if she could, she remembers all the times that she would attempt to convince her parents to let her work with them because being around them was always so much fun that she never wanted to leave their sides.

But it seems they wanted to leave her's.

The soft 'ding' of the elevator snaps Barbara out of her thoughts, the beta sniffling and wiping away tears she didn't even know were falling as she steps out into the hallway, "I didn't think this through." She sighs softly while digging her palms into her eyes and looking down at her city below, the lights are beautiful from up top and so are Gotham's structures, the building she's in adds to that beauty as it's silent...it hides the chaos she knows is going on ground level, but up here? Up here she can imagine that everything is peaceful and just as pretty as the lights make her city seem.

The more she looks down at the sight below, the more her mind is thinking of jumping down. It's truly a gorgeous sight during the night and Barbara thinks that this would be a beautiful resting place...albeit she won't look so pretty after falling down so far, but isn't that horrifically poetic in a sense? The beauty of Gotham during the night from above and the wretchedness of its citizens down below? She'd be-quite literally-jumping into the fray and adding onto the ugliness she knows to be true, but as she's falling, she can close her eyes and at least remember the beauty for just a moment before she forgets.

Plus, she isn't worried about looking unrecognizable after her fall, she imagines that's how her parents looked after crashing: deformed and bent up in all kinds of different ways. She couldn't even get one last look at the two at the funeral, her dad apparently was going so fast that when they crashed it was so bad it changed the way they appeared, her uncle told her they were both found unbuckled at the crash scene.

Barbara touches the coolness of the window and wonders if her features will look just as distorted as her parents?

The beta already feels slightly off-kilter, it's been this way since her father and mother's passing. She can't think right, can't sleep right, can't interact with people normally like she used to because she feels so angry; she sometimes feels like she can't eat right, one second her appetite is here and the next it's gone, she can't smile like she used to before-and she can cry, but that doesn't even feel normal anymore despite how much she's been doing it.

Blue eyes look up at the sky, where Barbara can only hope her parents are, thinking that if this sight is what they see everyday...then she wants to join them up above too.

Pushing away from the window, Barbara makes her decision to jump, her stomach fluttering at the decision as she looks for roof access–she knows that there has to be a stairwell up here that leads to it somewhere or some form of a utility room with a roof panel. It takes only a few minutes of walking down the hallway until the girl finds a stairwell that leads to the roof, her heart racing in excitement as she turns the handle only to be denied access...of course there's a key for the stupid thing, probably for maintenance or the people that actually work here to have access to–"Damn it!" Barbara punches the metal door and goes back to the window she was looking out of, her eyes burning from the tears pricking at them, she never gets what she wants.

All she asked for was her parents to stay with her forever and that was denied, she wanted the truth and all she got was a lie, she wants to be happy and all she ever gets is sadness; and now that she wants to die-what-life wants her to live?

Anger courses through the beta as she starts pounding on the glass, ignoring the pain in her fists as they bounce off the reinforced material, "Come on! C-Come on!" Her punches get more frantic and sloppy as the window denies her access, a loud cry escaping her as her knees give out and she crumbles to the floor in a shivering heap of despair, sniffling and squeaking pitifully in a way she would if her parents were still alive.

Barbara keeps squeaking and calling out for people who no longer exist, so imagine her surprise at the warmth that encompasses her as she cries, the slight scent of vanilla surprising her...that's not what either of her parents smelled like.

"M-Mom?" The teen looks up and feels her heart stop for just a moment when looking into white lenses, "Y-You're..."

Batman instinctively tucks the pup closer into him when seeing her puffy eyes and snotty nose, lifting up his cape to gently wipe up the sticky substance, "Batman. Jim told me you were missing, are you hurt anywhere?"

Barbara's scent sours slightly at hearing her uncle's name, "I'm–fine. Go tell him that I'm okay."

The young teen does her best not to squirm uncomfortably at the look Batman gives her, a soft sigh escaping the man as he wraps his cape around the girl's shoulders. "Are you sure? I think I saw someone who is in a lot of pain trying to escape it in anyway that she knew how."

Barbara flinches at the fact that Batman caught her trying to...to...you know? Her eyes watering again at the reminder of her failure, "I-I...couldn't-" she whispers pitifully and sniffles-"H-How did you find me?" She looks up at the man curiously, gasping in shock as there's a tap on the window at the exact same time the older says, "Because I'm Batman."

Superman smiles kindly and waves, his smile growing at Batman's displeased grumble, "I thought I told you to head home already? I have things under control here." The Kryptonian just replies with a shake to his head before disappearing for only a second before he's suddenly standing next to the vigilante. "I had to stay! I wasn't sure if she was going to manage breaking the window, and Robin has got it covered below, he's-" Batman suddenly turns to growl at the super, his eyes narrowing behind the mask, "You left him by himself?!"

Superman raises his hands into the air and steps away just the tiniest bit, "I-he's perfectly fine! I wouldn't have left him alone if I wasn't sure he'd be okay. And he insisted that I be with you instead."

Barbara makes a surprised noise at Batman's hands tightening slightly on her shoulders when Superman smiles at him, her eyes watching as the man's jaw clenches and unclenches–is he mad? She opens up her mouth to apologize for being such a burden, but she finds herself pausing at the slight, momentary, uptick of the man's heartbeat before it settles back to a normal pace. "Stop smiling, it's disgusting as well as unnecessary. And there's a lot of things you don't know about Gotham if you think leaving a pup alone in the open here is the right thing to do." Barbara sniffles and glances up at Superman to gauge his reaction, trying not to laugh at the kicked puppy look he has on his face, his dark eyes widening at the reprimand.

"But-"

Batman snuggles Barbara closer to him and growls once more at the Kryptonian, "You left my pup out in the open. Superman, I swear if you don't get your ass back to him-" he pauses at the taller disappearing suddenly, a displeased rumble escaping his throat-"I hate it when he does that."

Barbara looks up at the Bat curiously, it didn't seem like he hated anything Superman was doing...if anything, to her it looked like Batman was touched-maybe even flustered-by everything the alien was doing for him, except leaving Robin alone that is. Now that she's had time to relax and breathe, Barbara feels-I don't know-silly? Shameful? For trying to jump out a window. Especially being caught by two of the most well-known heroes when trying to break reinforced glass, she can't imagine how pathetic she must have loo-

The beta stiffens up in surprise when she's pulled closer into Batman's side. A part of her wants to struggles against it, kicking and crying and screaming about how she doesn't deserve comfort for being so troublesome to everyone...but then again, that cold and lonely side is begging her to just let it happen, that she's been through a lot emotionally and mentally, that maybe receiving some comfort isn't as bad as that other self-destructive side makes it seem.

"W-What are you doing?"

Batman looks down at the stunned pup, holding back a satisfied purr at the child quickly loosening up in his hold. "Hugging you...do you...not know what that is?"

Barbara shakes her head quickly when hearing the concern in the alpha's (that's what the news says anyway) tone, "Of course I know what hugs are-" she sighs at the warmth radiating from the taller, how can someone wearing protective armor be so comfortable?-"But...why are you hugging me? Don't you have people to go save?" Batman frowns at the words and hums thoughtfully while carefully tucking a stray hair behind the pup's ear, "Last time I checked you are a people too, pup. And I always have time for people." Barbara can feel her eyes watering yet again, but this time from the gentleness in Batman's voice, at the concern for a complete stranger—from the realization of everything if she's honest with herself—she feels greedy; selfish, when thinking about how quick she was to choose to leave her Uncle Jim behind in the same exact way her parents passed away. She shakes her head and whimpers sadly, crying harder at the concerned noise the vigilante makes when doing so, "I-I don't deserve any of t-this. I'm s-selfish a-and greedy and s-self-absorbed!"

Batman stays silent, giving Barbara the time to explain herself.

"M-My parents died a c-couple years a-ago-" strong hands softly squeeze her shoulders in apology, and to let the pup know he's listening-"A car accident. A d-drunk driver crashing into my parents car is what the reports said...or that's what I thought at the time at least." Barbara inhales shakily and tries to press herself closer into Batman's chest, desperate to feel more of the warmth coming from him, "B-But they actually died by suicide. A-And I-" her voice cracks-"I just found out that truth today and it f-felt like too much after e-everything I've already been struggling with. A-And so I came here to just sit on the roof-that's what I told myself at least-but I started thinking that maybe I'm better off dead and that this would be a great place to die."

The young teen pulls away slightly so she can look up at Batman. "But I didn't think a-about my Uncle Jim...he has done everything for me ever since they died, a-and because I was too busy being angry at him, I was about to hurt him worse by dying just like my parents d-did."

Barbara bows her head and whispers, "I'm so sorry. I-I'm scared a-and I don't wanna die, p-please...help me?."

Batman whines slightly at the distress in the other's tone, hugging her tightly to his chest and rocking the now trembling pup as he shushes her gently, biting off his right glove so he can card his fingers through her hair. "You don't need to apologize for hurting, do you hear me? I'm sorry to hear about everything that happened...your Uncle Jim told me the truth about what he did and you'd be surprised at how sorry he is too-" he pulls away to gently tilt the pup's face up, purring comfortingly when seeing the puffy eyes and tear stained face-"I...my parents died too. Someone shot them in an alleyway right in front of my eyes."

Barbara's eyes widen, her mild scent escaping her in an attempts at comforting the other.

"I...I put my caretaker through a lot of hell the older I got because I felt strongly just as you did. And...it has taken me a long time to forgive myself for those things I said or did to him during my grieving process-but, he told me I was still young, and sometimes it can be harder for someone younger to sort through those feelings no matter how ugly they appear. Barbara, Jim doesn't hold your feelings against you, do you know that?" Batman softens at the girl's disbelieving look, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear as he whispers, "But...maybe you hold your own feelings against you."

Barbara gasps softly and bites her lip while nodding slowly, rushing forward and hugging onto Batman with a loud cry, squeezing on tighter when the man cradles her head gently in his right hand while his left holds her back firmly.

The noise the vigilante lets out in response to her puppy crying is surprising, because it's not the sound of an alpha comforting a pup, but a very omegan one. "Y-Your a-" Batman pulls away and smiles down at the girl, bringing a finger to his lips, "Omega. Not even your Uncle Jim knows, so I'd appreciate it if you could help me keep this secret?" Barbara's hands tighten on the omega's cape, her heart racing at the kind smile the man gives her and how he's trusting her with such sensitive information. "O-Of course!"

"And Barbara-" the girl makes a confused noise as her head is gently turned towards the window, cringing at her appearance before she looks at the Bat through the reflection-"Sometimes one of the people or things you live hardest for is right in front you the whole time. Everything is going to work out just fine and I'll make sure you get the help you need, if you really want it?"

Barbara looks at herself through the window, taking in the bloodshot eyes and red nose...she looks-in her eyes-absolutely disgusting, a hot mess if you will. But...she also looks so incredibly alive and real, and at least for right now, that's exciting and something that causes her heart to beat faster and her stomach to flutter excitedly about.

Maybe...maybe her life is now truly beginning? Barbara sniffles and gives a small-but sincere-wobbly smile, "I want it. I want to live."

Batman nods and stands up with the girl tucked into his side, his eyes drifting down as he realizes Barbara's hands are hurt, "I'm glad. Now let's go get you back to Jim and get your hands clean, he's worried about you."

————°————

It was like that moment breathed a newfound determination in Barbara that she never felt or knew she had before. She recalls quickly becoming just a tad bit obsessed with finding Batman again to thank him for everything he's done for her and Jim on that day, but she never had enough courage to follow him around again until the age of sixteen when she found life to be a bit more brighter.

Anyway, now she's twenty something and a crime fighter. It's kind of crazy how the man she ended up looking up to is the same one she's fighting alongside now, and even funnier is the fact that the boy she met in the restaurant is now her closest friend and brother.

And being a crime fighter for a couple years now has done wonders for her, she's even learned to read people better than before, though not as well as one of Bruce's newest daughters; Cassandra. That girl is actually kind of scary with how well she seems to know everything before it happens, sometimes her and Richard still think Cass is a metahuman and just says she's not-but anyway. Barbara isn't the only girl now-which is a relief honestly-she has two new little sisters now (yes, two) because Bruce took in another feisty one named Stephanie, the blonde is definitely a spitfire, always ready to knock some heads together and prove her worth.

Both her and Cass are always quick to jump into action and prove their value...which necessarily isn't a bad thing, but Barbara knows what it's like to feel lost, so she knows exactly how people can behave when they feel confused or don't know their own worth and roles in life or a family.

Which brings the beta to how concerned she is about her sisters. The two have been thick as thieves ever since being introduced to each other: always cuddling up together, sharing each others things, whispering to one another (or in Cass's case; signing)-and did Barbara mention whispering to each other? The willingness to do the job is admirable, truly it is, but the beta often finds herself worrying at the ways the two girls go about it...they almost seem desperate to show they are deserving of having a place in the family, desperate enough to do almost anything to prove that fact.

Which is exactly why Barbara is so afraid for them.

They don't need to prove anything to the family-to Bruce mainly, especially since the older knows that's who they are going out of their way for. And she gets it, Barbara would be a liar if she said that she didn't, sometimes she still has moments of insufficiency and self doubt that rise within her and cause her to act out sometimes.

But...

If anything Bruce has showed her ever since taking her into the pack as one of his own, it's that there is absolutely nothing in this world that would stop him from loving her, from loving any of his pups really. And that's the second reason Barbara finds herself concerned over her sisters; the fact that neither Stephanie or Cass have realized that Bruce just loves them for who they are and not who they think they-or anyone else-thinks they should be.

Which is how Barbara finds herself following the two teens out of Gotham's borders and into Metropolis, her anxiousness mixing in with curiosity as to why the two are traveling all the way into Superman's territory, they aren't planning on taking the man down to prove their strength...are they?

"You should have notified mom immediately instead of doing this yourself." Barbara mutters to herself and quickly glances down at the touchscreen on her bike showing the trackers she hacked back into on the girls bikes, holding back a very audible groan as the two red dots finally stop near...an... abandoned Lex Corp research facility? Barbara taps on the screen to make sure it didn't glitch, why did Steph and Cass come all the way out here for this specific building? In all her research on this one facility, it's the...least dangerous of Lex's buildings (when it was operating that is), all his staff seemed to focus on is regular science research and lab testings, nothing out of the ordinary there.

But who is she kidding? It's Lex-freaking-Luthor, there's most definitely something going on.

"You could have just asked to come along, y'know?"

Barbara tenses for just a second before relaxing with a soft sigh, taking her helmet off to face an amused looking Stephanie, "I know...but it doesn't seem like either of us should be here in the first place-" her eyes drift over to where Cass stands, raising a brow at the two-"Speaking of, I'm guessing this is exactly what you two have been whispering to each other about the past few weeks now? Tell me girls, why are we here?"

Stephanie bristles at the woman's tone, her shoulders tensing as if prepared to fight, "You aren't planning on telling ma...are you?"

Before the older can reassure Stephanie that she could have already informed Bruce of what is transpiring right now (but didn't) is interrupted by Cass stepping forward with a hand on Stephanie's elbow to calm her, a soft sigh escaping the shorter girl. "She could have already told mama already, but she didn't Steph, I think she wants to know what's happening before thinking of saying anything-" she pauses her signing to move one hand in a 'gimme' gesture before continuing with a victorious smirk-"And I told you the plan would work! Barbara followed us just as planned. So I expect my money later."

Barbara keeps her eyes on the girl's hands, her face morphing to one of confusion and disbelief at the word 'plan' being used.

"Wait, wait, wait! You mean, this whole time, you both were being so obvious just so I would notice you both?" The beta looks back and forth between the teens and sighs softly at seeing the matching looks of humor they both wear, "What exactly is going on here and why are we at Lex's researching facility? That, might I remind you, is abandoned." Steph-at Cassandra's prodding-concedes to the poking of her side and explains what's happening, "We can all agree Lex Luthor is an extremely stupid man, right?" That's...not what Barbara expected, but she can work with that, "Uh—I guess so? It depends on the when, where and why I guess. Why's that matter?"

Stephanie crosses her arms, "It matters because of what you just said: 'it depends on the when, where and why.' We know he's super smart-"

Cass signs, "Except for when he's being super stupid."

"Yeah, except for when he's being stupid. But today is one of those days he's being really smart...so smart to the point where he's done something potentially reeeeeally stupid." Stephanie reaches into a bag she brought along and pulls out a red folder, "Do you know what this is-" she pauses at the troubled look on Barbara's face and nods-"Ooookay, seems like you know exactly what this is-what?"

The older rubs her eyes with her hands and groans, "You took one of mom's important folders? You know he doesn't like us touching his stuff, but especially his folders-"

Cass tries to hold back an amused smirk, "Especially Stephanie...last time she tried to color code them with style, remember?" The blonde huffs and rolls her eyes, pursing her lips in displeasure at the memory of being scruffed and scolded, "It's not my fault mom chooses boring colors to keep his papers in. I still think spray paint was a wonderful idea to color code them with." Barbara can't help but to smirk at the memory, "You're almost as bad as Richard...he keeps adding stickers and glitter to B's stuff-wait! It's not about those things right now you two. You know we aren't supposed to touch mom's things, but especially the color coded file folders-" she narrows her eyes disapprovingly at Stephanie whispering about how the colored folders was done because of her...which is true (because she wouldn't stop spray painting the cream colored material), but that isn't the point right now. "That isn't the point, Stephanie, you aren't supposed to have your hand on these-wait..."

Cass and Steph look at each other curiously before turning back to Barbara.

"How–did you even get your hands on this?! Bruce is always careful of his things and I'm pretty sure he has every document and copy of said document numbered and remembered."

The two puff up their chests and smile proudly, "We distracted mama and made copies of the file. Which isn't too hard to do considering how much he loves us, but it was hard getting everything back in place the way he had it." Cassandra signs and gestures to the red folder, "But the contents of said document are exactly why we needed you to follow us. We assumed you were the safest bet as there's some sister solidarity going on here between the three of us, we could have brought Timmy along...but he would have felt too guilty keeping a secret from mama and told on us, so, here you are."

Steph nods towards the folder, "You know that very urgent matter that ma and Superman have been slipping away for? Apparently it's because a little birdie in the villain community let it slip during a fight with Metropolises sunshine child that Lex Luthor has been working on a clone of the Kryptonian." Barbara's eyes widen, and despite her inner voice telling her to just call Bruce instead, she opens up the folder and looks over the papers, her eyes skimming them to see if anything hops out at her. "Wait, it says here that Lex has been working on this clone for at least more than at least ten years now..."

Steph nods, "Which means that he's had plenty of time at perfecting this. We know he's attempted cloning or even crossbreed projects before, but working with alien DNA is a completely different thing, so I wouldn't be surprised if it took him even longer than usual to figure things out."

Barbara rubs at her temple, realizing just exactly what her little sister meant at the beginning with her question about Lex Luthor, "He's being so incredibly smart right now. Wasn't this same exact building the one where he first used Kryptonite on Superman? One of B's files reports that Lex drew blood from him after taking a chance on his theory that Kryptonite was a weakness, a theory that paid off well as it turned out to be true, he lured Superman to this facility not just to test a theory out...but I think it was to get some of his DNA if he happened to be right."

Cass smiles at Barbara, "Seems we aren't the only one who reads the files, but yes, he lured him out here for those exact reasons. Luthor wouldn't have made such a bold move if he didn't think he would win or have a backup plan, pretty sure in my research one of the materials used in this building was lead, which Luthor knew Superman couldn't see through at that point. Pretty sure egghead had an escape plan if things went south."

Barbara's eyes widen at the implication, "You two think that he built escape routes throughout the building? It would make sense, it's not like Superman could see Luthor escaping or even if there are layers to the structure."

Stephanie nods in agreement, "It's also suspicious how not too long later they 'shut down' the building. We think it's been a cover this whole time and there's something going on underground that Superman doesn't know about. I mean, the man would still have been fairly new-I think-to this superhero business at the time, so after the fight and Luthor going so far as to demolish the building to the point of rubble he would have found no reason to be suspicious of anything...at least not enough to come back here and check on things. Plus, we know how forgetful Superman can get sometimes...he doesn't take into account certain things that we as humans would, so he probably paid no mind to the fact his DNA was left anywhere during the stabbing."

Barbara sighs, "He would have been too focused on the fact he was able to get stabbed in the first place."

Everyone remains silent for a few minutes to process everything before Cass steps forward with a hopeful look in her big brown eyes, "So can we count on you to help us? You-besides Timmy-are one of the most tech savvy out of everyone, we are pretty sure there must be cameras or some sort of electrical output somewhere for you to get a signal or something from. Please? Mama and Mr. Kent have been working hard to track this clone down, we could help a lot here and show him we can achieve more."

Barbara looks up, prepared to say no to offering them help...but the adorable brown and pretty pale green eyes that look desperately at her for help is-in all honesty-all too familiar to the beta, enough to give her pause.

"I...we should really call mom."

Stephanie and Cass look at each other before each taking a place at Barbara's side and hugging onto the woman, nuzzling into her neck as they stare imploringly up at her. "Pretty pleeeeease?"

Barbara feels her resolve crumbling under the pouty lips, soft pup-like squeaks and the big eyes the two girls give her, realizing that this is exactly how Bruce must feel whenever he looks at his children.

————°————

Usually days aren't this nice for Bruce (besides seeing his babies of course), usually there's always something or another to be concerned about, but surprisingly enough, the omega was able to...relax?...in some way today. If you call him trying not to die constantly from heart failure as relaxing, then yes, he's enjoying himself immensely.

Despite the cause for his impending heart failure being right in front of him.

Bruce feels his nose twitching not in the attempts of getting a whiff of Clark's scent nervously as he sits on Clark's slightly worn couch, why is he here in the man's apartment? Hell, why is he even here in Metropolis?

"Bruce, do you not find the snacks pleasing to your tastes?"

The omega snaps out of his increasingly disturbing thoughts of anger as to why he can't properly smell the alpha around his own den, blinking away the far away look in his eyes and paying attention to the alpha's now worried look, why does he look that way? He shouldn't. "The snacks? Oh, yes, thank you for the snacks Clark-" he takes a delicate bite of the pastry the other handed to him, surprised at how it's flavored in the exact way he desires his sweets to be-"this tastes delicious, really, where did you get these from? Maybe I can bring some back to my pups."

Clark feels his heart flutter at the words, knowing he's failing at hiding his pleased smile as Bruce squints at him as though he can physically see light radiating off him.

"I made them!" Oops! Too excited, "I mean...I made them myself. You don't seem like someone who would just eat any kind of food given to you, a-and I know how much you enjoy this pastry as I smelled it on your breath the last time I ran into you and I knew it must have been homemade as the last time you got this snack it was from a bakery and you didn't like it."

Clark feels like he was rushing his sentence, each word running into the other as his nervousness grew at him exposing himself. What if Bruce thinks he has horrible breath because of what he said?

Bruce stares at the alpha in bafflement, doing his best to avoid smelling his own breath to be sure it doesn't smell so strongly...when he wanted Clark to notice his smell, that isn't what he meant. "O-Oh? Does my breath usually smell so strongly? I apologize for...um...assaulting your senses like that, Clark. But, you were right, Alfred made these for me last time I ate them...I prefer a lot of homemade foods and snacks, I–guess I'm a little too picky in that way."

Is...that insecurity in Bruce's tone?

Clark feels his alpha grumbling in displeasure at the omega looking away for a split second, in Bruce speak, that means he's sorry–and he has no reason to be sorry.

'You smell amazing: your scent, your breath, your hair–your everything really. And I wouldn't mind scenting you everyday for the rest of our lives, because that's how good you smell.' Is what Clark wants to actually say...but he's an unmated alpha with an unmated omega—alone—in his apartment together, he can't say that to the other without seeming like a creep. "You don't smell strongly-" Clark swallows nervously as Bruce makes eye contact with him-"You smell really...sweet and soft in the best of ways, so no worries. I should apologize for startling you in that way...I just—it's easy to use my senses for certain things and...I just like making others happy, so I smelled the ingredients of what you ate last time and remembered so I could make something you'd enjoy."

The alpha gives a sweet smile to Bruce, "And you shouldn't worry for being 'too picky'. It's not your fault that you have standards for yourself, even if it's just with food. I, for one, don't think you could ever be too choosey."

'I would feed you whatever you wish for the rest of our days', is something Clark has to beat down with a metaphorical stick as he almost says it. However, the pink tinge to Bruce's cheeks cause the man's nostrils to flair with barely concealed excitement as the omega's scent slips through the patches on his neck the tiniest bit–and what a scent it is–it smells like a warm and slightly spicy dessert...aaaaand it immediately worries Clark because of how much it makes him want to bite the other.

"Thank you, Clark-" Bruce's hand unconsciously raises to play with the back of his hair as he takes another bite of Clark's handmade pastry just for him, his eyelashes fluttering as he holds eye contact with the alpha while biting down, unaware to the affect he's having on the other-"It...amazes me how considerate you can be towards others. It's kind of disgusting-"

'That's why I love you so much,' is not something Bruce can really say to Clark, especially not when the other could have someone so much...better.

The slightly defeated noise coming from across him causes Bruce to refocus on Clark, the omega panicking internally at the-in all honesty-crushed look the other wears, why does he look so-"You think I'm disgusting?" The alpha and omega blink at each other awkwardly for a few tense minutes, Bruce processing what the other means and almost choking on his dessert as he rushes to explain, "No-" curse his inherent reactions of mild to severe disgust in the face of people being genuinely kind-"It's not you, Clark, it's me...really. I'm...I'm from Gotham."

Bruce trails off awkwardly, trying not to scream at the flimsy excuse, his inner omega practically howling at how any future attempts of romance is off the table. The cards are no longer where they lie because Bruce-in his infinite lack of proper emotional skills (at least towards adult humans-I mean, aliens)-flipped the table when peeking at the hand he was dealt, abruptly ending the game. Thankfully, Clark just laughs, the sound causing Bruce's ears to tingle and his belly to grow warm and the omega's lips to unwillingly turn up into a genuine smile. "Well...I don't think that I can argue with you there exactly, guess it's an instinctive reaction to kindness? Um...though I think you are very kind yourself despite everything."

Bruce feels like his heart is actively in the process of failing, pretty sure he's dying right now with the way he has to hold back the severe pounding of it, his body can't decide whether to continue pumping blood to his heart or his face.

Still, he feels like he should try explaining what he actually meant. "I meant disgusting in a good way, j-just-" dang it! Stop the stuttering-"so you know? It's like cute aggression but when I see anyone who's just...genuine, I want to call them disgusting because I have no other words for them." That was singlehandedly one of the dumbest answers Bruce feels he ever gave to someone, maybe he got it all wrong before? He's actually trying to kill himself with the embarrassing crap spouting from his own mouth.

Clark sits up a little straighter in his seat, "Oh? You...think I'm cute?"

Bruce scrunches his nose up, "No, children and babies are cute. Animals are cute. Even old people are cute-" his omega practically claws at his mind at the alpha's shoulders slumping slightly-"U-Uh, not saying that your face isn't-"

He feels his face growing even warmer at the intense look the alpha gives him suddenly.

"I mean it's not-not cute–I mean, you aren't cute! No, what I'm saying is that you look hot, sexy, drop dead gorgeous, like a god in the flesh, sex on legs han-" Bruce bites his tongue when Clark leans forward a little as if a spell has been cast on him to listen to whatever it is that the omega says, his eyes sparkling with something Bruce is too distracted to put a name to, "I-I think you look appropriate." He feels like screaming at the way Clark just stares at him...he doesn't know if he wants to burrow himself away in his nest forever or dive-bomb out of the window? But, his inner omega is practically preening at the attention the alpha is giving him.

Clark holds Bruce's gaze, his alpha sticking its metaphorical chest out at how pink the other looks...like a perfectly ripe strawberry, good enough to sink his teeth into.

Just one taste.

One taste wouldn't hurt, right? Sink his teeth gently into Bruce's cheek just to feel the flesh give under the pressure?

Yeah, just one. Little. Ta-

"Clark?" Bruce's soft voice pulls the alpha out of his trance, the Kryptonian cursing himself internally for almost letting his fangs grow longer...pretty sure they almost were dripping with the amount of saliva built up in his mouth.

The alpha blinks away his intrusive thoughts, embarrassed to realize he was starting to crawl on his very unstable coffee table (that Bruce has been trying to convince him to get rid of for awhile now), clearing his throat and acting like he's dusting something off of the surface. "T-There was something right there on the table that you definitely couldn't see because I have super vision and you don't."

Bruce furrows his brow at the statement, he hates being reminded that he doesn't have powers, "I know that you do. No need to rub it in, Clark."

The alpha winces at his poor choice of words, he was just rushing to get something out of his mouth to explain his creepy behavior. "That's not what I meant to say, B, you know I didn't." He watches as the omega moodily bites at the rest of his pastry, his voice softly rumbling in satisfaction when the other grows disappointed when his next bite is full of air and he notices the pastry is gone, "Would you like ano-"

"Yes. Now."

Clark wants to feel irritated at the interruption...they've been over Bruce's demanding attitude before, but the need to provide for his the omega overrides the need to tell the shorter to say 'please'. "Okay, okay. How many?"

Bruce hands the alpha his plate, "All of them?"

The taller laughs at the question in the other's tone, "You don't sound so sure about that. Plus, I thought you wanted to take some home to the pups?" Bruce relaxes back into his seat, purring softly in happiness at how the other remembered, "I was just testing you to see if you remembered me saying that. I do want to take some home to them, unless you were planning to eat the rest?"

Bruce can't see Clark's reaction to his purr as he's facing away from the kitchen, but the alpha is losing it, softly banging his head against his fridge at the happy little noise.

"No. I wasn't planning on eating any of this, it was all for you anyway."

All for him? That sounds satisfactory to Bruce's ears, he sighs softly and looks up at the ceiling to try and remember why he came down here in the first place, his memory is never this bad...but Clark has the special ability to make him feel stupid and clueless to everything.

'Beep' 'Beep'

Scratch that. One of his kids is calling him, he can't remain stupid or clueless.

Bruce tries not to jump to the worse case scenario as he clicks on the comm in his ear, "Batman–"

"Mom-ah!" Barbara gasps as she's thrown into a wall, "We aren't here to hurt you–Spoiler, get down! We need you to come–" her earpiece makes a static noise as a series of loud bangs are heard, the sound of Barbara screaming for Spoiler causing Bruce's heart to stop before she's heard grunting, maybe throwing something? "Barbara, sweetheart? What's going on?!" He stands up from Clark's couch, rushing over to the window in the attempts to climb out of it, key word: attempt, as a hand gently rests itself on the small of his back.

"Are you really about to jump out of a window? Let me fly you."

Bruce opens his mouth to argue, but the sound of Stephanie's strained voice in his ear makes him forgo it, "M-Ma...we need you and Superman down here–to the right, Barb! We kind of ran into a situation-ugh!"

By the time Bruce looks over at Clark, the man is dressed in Superman regalia, the omega tugging on the other's cape insistently as the alpha gets the idea and lifts the shorter into his arms. "We'll be right there! Clark, I have a suit hidden somewhere not too far from here-" at the Kryptonian's curious looks, Bruce sighs softly-"it was an abandoned building, Superman, it's perfect for a hiding spot." He clicks at his earpiece again, "Spoiler, what's the situation you're dealing with? Is it a code Arkm-23a?"

The two adults wait in a tense silence before Spoiler speaks up, her tone soft and guilt ridden, "Um...the situation isn't in Gotham, mama. Try: code 2813-Krypto-SP #56C." A quiet curse escapes Superman, which is how Bruce knows the situation is serious, and suddenly he's reminded as to why he came down to Clark's apartment in the first place, his voice a distressed growl as he finally responds to his daughter.

"You found Superman's clone?!"

————°————

Spoiler wipes at her bloody nose, her vision blurry as she tries to shake off the pain, the sound of her mom screaming in her ear doesn't help the concussion she's probably gotten from Clark's insane clone, "H-How many times do we have to tell you that we aren't here to hurt you, #56C? We just wanted to find you." The teen curses as she barely manages to stumble away from the other throwing a chunk of metal at her...it's a great thing Barbara turned off the security cameras and alarm systems, or else they'd have a lot more trouble with security trying to rush in.

The clone growls at her, "Where's Superman!?"

Spoiler tenses in caution at the experiment rushing towards her...to be honest, this plan isn't going as planned, they only expected to find a blob of something or an unfinished project, not a fully developed teenager with severe anger issues. They didn't even bring Kryptonite, which was actually a very dumb decision the blonde admits was probably her oversight, "He's coming! We promise, okay! Can you just calm down for one-" It seems as if everything is moving in slow motion as Spoiler watches Black Bat descend from the ceiling like a bat out of hell, her legs wrapping around the clones head as she uses the force of her body to drag the boy to the floor with her, the small hands moving in a series of strikes as she attempts to see if pressure points work. Stephanie realizes that the younger is testing for any weak points, someone has to do it she supposes? But the blonde alpha finds herself worrying as the clone easily grips her sister's wrists in his hands and easily extracts the girls hands off of his body, the boy grunting as he slams the Asian girl harshly back into the floor.

Black Bat winces as the taller rests his weight on her smaller body–he's surprisingly heavier than he looks–her hands twisting in a test of the grip he has on her while her lips pull down to a frown at not even budging. "How do you know Superman?!"

The creaking of metal is heard before the roof caves in to reveal Superman and Batman, the alpha's nostrils flaring at the familiar scent in the air...it's definitely his alright, but there's also something not his about it, it's weird and causes the man to release his own scent in retaliation to the clones domineering one. "Because I'm a close friend. That's how they know me." The clone throws Black Bat into a wall, his eyes narrowing at Superman as he leaps up to the man, throwing a harsh jaw punch as the Kryptonian crashes through a couple walls and away from the rest of the group.

Batman frowns worriedly as he rushes to Black Bat's side, his hands quickly fluttering around the teen as he checks for any injuries, "What in the world were you girls even thinking?! Do you know how dangerous this was to come here alone?"

The teen frowns at how her mama is displeased, lifting her hands to quickly sign an explanation, "We just wanted to help you and Superman...we know how busy you've been and thought that we could do it together." The omega stands up with his daughter, attention shifting to Spoiler as the girl wobbles in place, a worried sound escaping him at the sight of his pup with a bloody nose, "You girls help me everyday, what do you mean? Spoiler, baby, can you hear me? See me properly? You can barely stand, puppy."

The blonde stumbles into her mom's arms, taking a deep breath in to avoid puking as the world spins, "F-Fine. S'my fault, ma...I forgot...the-the Kryptonite."

Batman frowns at the slight slur to the blondes words and her slow pace, his instincts flaring to check on her but also not to as this isn't a safe place to do so, especially not when he can hear a fight going on a couple rooms over. "This isn't any one person's fault, sweetie, where's Oracle at?" A tug on his cape causes Batman to turn towards Black Bat, following where the girl's pointing to and whining at seeing the woman holding her arm to her chest, lip busted as she types something into the computers.

Batman frowns worriedly at the sight of his eldest girl and leads his youngest two over to her, his hands reach out to the woman as he turns her around, "Are you okay?"

The younger takes a moment to realize who's touching her before she nods slowly, her gaze lowering to the floor in shame at what she allowed to happen. "I'm fine, mom...I'm so sorry, I k-knew I should have called you. I was stupid not to-" she's interrupted by Batman tugging her and her sisters in for a careful hug, his voice a soothing rumble as he comforts his pups, "But you did contact me. You and your sisters ended up doing the right thing, baby, but we need to get you three out of here...I'm pretty sure Spoiler has a concussion and it's not safe." He stops as the eldest girl doesn't let him lead them back up top, the beta shaking her head with a frown on her face.

"W-Wait! You need to see something. The only reason why the clone is so angry is because he's been brainwashed to hate Superman...apparently they would torture experiment #56C and then make him think it was Superman that hurt him so badly. Lex made sure that hate would be the only thing in his clones mind when thinking of the Kryptonian."

Batman pauses, growling protectively when a loud noise is heard behind them from Superman and his clone fighting, holding Spoiler and Black Bat to his side while he keeps his eyes on Oracle.

The ginger types in something to the computer, clicking on a file she knows that Batman has never seen before, her eyes trained on the omega's reaction as he quickly scans through the notes on #56C–"I know, right?" The beta whispers in disbelief as the omega gasps softly in shock, holding her little sisters tightly in her arms as Batman hands them off to her and runs through the hole in the wall and towards the fight.

Oracle turns to look at the digitally highlighted words that caught her mom's attention, unable to stop her soft chuckle as she cuddles into her sisters. "I think we'll be leaving here with a new brother, girls."

XXX

Batman grapples down a hole in the floor, his heart racing as he gets closer to Superman...and their son, his nose stinging at the strong scent of two angry alphas in a heated battle. "Superman!" The alpha immediately turns to look at the Bat, leaving an opening for the younger half-Kryptonian to place a mean roundhouse kick to the older man's face, the teens attention diverting to the man dressed in black.

"Who are you? Are you with Superman?"

Batman feels horrible for the way a part of him trembles excitedly at the teen asking that question, even when he knows the boy doesn't mean 'being with Superman' in a romantic context.

The omega clears his throat softly and stands tall, nose lifted high as he nods, "Yes, I'm Batman. We work toge-hk!" Hands suddenly squeeze at Batman's throat, the vigilante remaining calm as he looks at his pup, not one that's been adopted (though of course that doesn't make them any less his kids because of that fact), but it's...shocking to see something that is–technically–biologically his and Clark's.

...

....

Oh. My. Gosh!

Him and Superman have a kid together?!

Batman takes a close look at his pup's face closely despite the hands tightening on his neck, his gaze softening under his lenses when seeing the heterochromatic eyes; the left Clark's deep, midnight sky blue and the right his own icy blue color. The omega tries opening his mouth to speak, a wheeze escaping him instead of words, "W—hat's...yo–ur...n–name?"

The clone narrows his eyes at the man, "#56C."

Batman gasps for air, his hands finally reaching up to grab at the boy's wrists now that his airways are officially constricted, "N–o...h'w...a—bout..."

#56C hisses in pain as a large hand wraps around his wrist tight enough to cause him to drop Batman, grunting as he's thrown harshly into the wall and pinned to it by his neck, his breath hitching at the memories of Superman doing that same exact thing to him everyday before Luthor saves him. "Get your hands off of him." The boy's eyes flutter as he claws at the older man's arm to try and break free, trying to push down the fear at being faced with his biggest enemy, Luthor has warned him against feeling fear...it does him no good in battle.

Batman coughs loudly, hand on his quickly bruising throat as he pushes himself up and off the ground, feeling defensive at the sight of Superman manhandling their child.

"Superman, you're scaring him." His nose twitches at the sour scent of fear mingling in with the older alpha's anger. Batman grumbles in displeasure as the stubborn alpha doesn't listen to him, placing a hand on the other's arm and tugging at it, "Let him go–" he growls low; motherly, when Superman still doesn't listen–"Now, Superman!" The protective tone seems to register in the Kryptonian's mind as he suddenly releases the pup, stepping away as he snaps back to reality, though his brows are furrowed in irritation. "Why are you being so protective of him? He was hurting you, B." The omega continues to hold onto the alpha's arm until his hand actually leaves the boy's throat, "He doesn't know any better-" his tone is gentle-"He's been brainwashed into thinking you're the enemy as well as anyone attached to you. Superman, he's just a boy."

Superman opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water, defensive as his mind register's Batman's protective tone as being in favor of another alpha (even when that alpha is partly himself). "I was just trying to protect you and the girls, is that so bad? How else am I supposed to respond to a clone Lex Luthor made of me–of me, Br-Batman! This is my worst nightmare come to life. I've never wanted to give into the anger and hurt the people I've sworn to protect...especially those I love and care for most."

Batman feels himself softening at the sight of Superman's apprehension, "I know you're scared...but, did you not promise to protect the innocent? The boy didn't ask to be created by Lex Luthor of all people, and as I said before, he was brainwashed into thinking you as the enemy; the cause to all his pain and suffering, not the savior from it. Who's more innocent than a victim of a very horrible circumstance?" Batman turns his attention to the frozen boy on the floor, frowning at how intimidated the child looks curled up into the wall...he must be having some sort of flashback with the way he's staring off into space. "Can you hear me, pup? "

Superman looks down at the pup curiously, unable to shake the bitter feeling growing in him at the gentleness Batman is giving the other. However, the omega's voice speaking to him interrupts those feelings as he gives the other all his attention, "Do you feel anything when looking at him, Superman?"

Batman looks up at the alpha from where he's crouching next to the clone, his eyes carefully watching the man's face morph into a look of befuddlement, his deep blue eyes looking down at the boy curiously, "I...don't know? Maybe. There's something there that I can smell isn't just my scent...it itches my brain and I don't know why. Maybe it's Luthor's scent?"

The omega grumbles to himself watching the moment what Superman just said sinks into his own brain, the man's eyes widening dangerously big as the panic sets in.

"Stop thinking for one second you idiot-" Batman growls at the stupid alpha not understanding who exactly the boy is to him-"You are the first parent and the second one...the second one is me, that's what you're smelling. I bet that's the cause to your brain itch." Superman freezes in place as his brain tries to process the new information...#56C isn't his and Lex's child, but his and Bruce's?

That's...definitely not what he was thinking-and Oh. My. Gosh!

Him and Bruce have a kid together!?

Superman shakes his head, guilt overtaking the shock as he realizes the person he was pummeling wasn't just him, but that it's his and Bruce's child. His alpha howling in despair at how he's already failed as a father.

Batman extends his hands towards the alpha at seeing him pull away, "Wait, Super-" a burst of air brushes the exposed parts of the vigilantes face-"man..." He sighs dejectedly at the empty space where Superman once stood, not properly able to ponder on the feeling for too long as his son makes a distressed noise. "I was scared...I'm sorry that I was scared, I know it doesn't help me. I let him escape."

Batman chirps softly towards his son, hands slowly raising to pull off his mask, immediately releasing his sweet-spicy scent to the teen. "You don't need to apologize, pup, everyone gets scared."

The boy blinks the haze out of his eyes somewhat at the scent of the omega, a low rumble escaping him as he's suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling of comfort, instinctively leaning in close to the man as his nose settles against the warm neck. Why does Batman look so familiar to him? Why, why-"Mother..." #56C whispers as it clicks in his brain who the man before him is, he remembers Lex showing him pictures of Bruce Wayne and telling him that the billionaire is his mom...though nothing else was said besides that, the bald alpha always just grumbled about how stupid Bruce is and how he most likely gets people to do his work for him.

Bruce chirps in response to the name, cuddling the boy close and gently massaging his nape to calm him down, ears twitching as he's called top level by his daughters. "We'll be right up!" He tilts his head up while shouting, holding tightly onto the boy as he helps him stand and grapples up the hole in the ceiling.

The boy tenses at seeing the three girls he fought earlier still in the building, stepping in front of his mom protectively as he growls warningly at them. "Why are you still here? Aren't you with Superman?" A gentle hand resting itself on #56C's shoulder causes his stance to relax slightly, Bruce's smooth voice purring reassuringly in his ear, "It's okay, pup, they know Superman but are with me. These are your new sisters–something we can talk about later–right now, I want to ask you if there's another name I can call you?"

The teen lowers his defensive stance at the information, and the fact that the three girls all look at him warmly...why aren't they mad at him?

"No. I have no name."

Bruce frowns displeased at the fact Luthor didn't even name his kid, a thoughtful hum escaping him as he rests a hand on the boy's head. "How about...Conner? I think that name suits you, and there is always the choice for you to change it later if you don't like it."

#56C–Conner, shakes his head insistently, standing a little taller at finally receiving a proper title, "I want the name, mother. I–thanks."

The dark haired teen bristles at the giggles escaping his...sisters (he has to get used to saying that), the blonde one nodding softly with a smirk on her lips, her voice slurred slightly when speaking. "H–e's...cute. I think...I think h'll fit...in." Bruce frowns at the state the alpha is in and gently grabs her from Oracle, "We need to get you home. Oracle, did you-"

The woman nods her head, "Already called Leslie. She's on standby at the Cave." She doesn't bother mentioning that the rest of the family know that he's coming home with another kid. Bruce finds himself smiling proudly at all his kids before turning to look at Conner carefully, "Baby...would you come home with me? This place is no longer safe-" he doesn't think it ever was-"and I would like to check on everyone in a place I know won't be harmful."

Conner blinks in shock at the question...he didn't know mother wanted to take him with him...Lex never allowed trailing or following of any kind, just his obedience.

The teen looks around the place he did grow up in thoughtfully, he has no feelings one way or another about it, it's more like a training ground than what he imagines a home (whatever that is) to be. Conner looks back at Bruce with a curious look in his eyes, "Okay. I want to know what home is supposed to be." The omega smiles happily at hearing the boy is willing to follow him, stamping down the fury towards Lex Luthor and the man's lack of proper child care, tugging his mask back on with one hand and adjusting his hold on Spoiler as he heads out the building, leaving Conner with his two sisters.

Black Bat nudges the boy with her elbow, keeping her posture loose and open despite the alpha tensing defensively at the playful gesture, a wide smile on her face and hands moving in a flurry as Conner gives her his attention. "Welcome to the family-" she opens her mouth to speak, her voice quiet with disuse-"B–roth...er." Conner suddenly feels shy at hearing the word come from his sister's mouth, nodding to the shorter while thinking that maybe his new home life won't be so bad, tilting his head curiously as the blonde sibling peeks over mother's shoulder with an impish smile to her lips. "Wait until you meet your new brothers. They're a blast."

Conner freezes at the thought of other boys sharing his mother's space, his brain only thinking of one way to respond to the older girl, "Brothers? No one said anything about brothers."

The protective tone must be obvious in his voice as the girls laugh at him, the boy not being able to focus on feeling offended by it as he's overtaken by a warm feeling at making his new family laugh.

(Notes from AO3—Some things I want to explain too right quick is, 1: Please excuse the crappy explanation as to where Conner was grown. 2: Please excuse the horribly written fight scenes 😭😭😭 and 3: Conner's experiment number is based off of the fact Krypton's sector number is 2813, while Krypto just is supposed to be referring to the fact/reminder Lex is dealing with a half-Kryptonian experiment; SP just means specimen and #56C is just the number of times Lex has tried his attempts at making a clone and C...I have nothing for that, I just thought it sounded nice 😂.

But we can say #56 is in section C of Lex's experiments, to which this Conner is the only working one.

Flimsy excuses I bet for my reasoning to everything, but please accept it (it's Christmas 😭😂). I truly hope the length of this chapter will satisfy all who have been waiting on me? You all's comments truly motivate me, and don't be afraid to tell me if you hate this chapter or it's length, I seriously won't be mad but I will appreciate all your comments 🙏🏼☺️.

Also, I hope you guys enjoyed the choice I made for the girls finding Conner? I thought about it and the thought actually wasn't forgotten so I went with it, especially as I thought it'd be nice for them to find him kind of as a little introductory to our beloved clone.

I really need to stop blabbing, but I hope everyone has enjoyed this chapter? Please remember to stay safe, happy, healthy and of course lovely as always. 💛💛💛💛—End of notes from AO3.

Part 1: The Interview, Part 2: The Gala, Part 3: The Search.

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bluedalahorse · 5 months ago

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Wishing a disclaimer-free, unironically Happy August to my pals in the YR fandom!

There are many things to say about this character that will be said by other posts. Some of them will be silly and some of them will be less silly and still others will be deeply analytical. I think I’m just going to be sincere for once.

August is one of my favorites.

In the end, Young Royals would not be Young Royals without August. The ups and downs of his character arc, the juxtaposition of his destructive hubris against his slowly emerging vulnerability, his in medias res ending that promises an intriguing journey we’ll never get to see onscreen—all of these make Young Royals what it is. I wouldn’t want to watch a version of the show without him there.

My wish for the next year is that I’ll get to read some thoughtful August-centered fanworks. Future fics that explore how he gets out of the monarchy and attempts to make restitution. Shipfic about him and Sara or him and Nils or him and someone else I hadn’t thought of. AU fic where his characterization is allowed to breathe and he doesn’t become a cookie-cutter villain with a breezily written demise. Stories where he can be pulled deeper into the Unfamiliar and then grow from it.

I hope we’ll see those stories shared on rec lists and praised for how well they address August’s characterization. I hope there’s fanart and gifsets and playlists.

It doesn’t need to be a lot. But I’d love to see it all the same.

#young royals #august horn of årnäs #let me have my one moment and then I’ll go back to trashing him #there’s too much i enjoy about him not to be sincere sometimes

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fereldanwench · 9 months ago

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this watcher stuff is an absolute trainwreck that i cannot turn away from

#i finally watched their goodbye vid and shane looks rly uncomfortable in it esp when they're on the couch together #and the way ryan recoiled when shane was like 'share passwords for the streamer' lmao #you always gotta be mindful not to parasocial too hard here #but i would like to believe that shane 'eat the rich' madej has always been sincere about his beliefs #and i appreciate that sometimes your ideals conflict with your reality #i just struggle to see him actually being on board with this #and the handful of 'oh so you don't think artists should be paid' comments i've seen #you fucking knuckleheads it has nothing to do with that #plenty of people want to make sure they get paid!#hence their very successful patreon!#it's about being completely out of touch with your audience #no one watches for the slick production #it's for the banter and the chemistry #and tbh although fuck buzzfeed i enjoyed the unsolved format more than the ghost/mystery files format #there's TOO much production in some cases #i like the boys a little unrefined #anyway if they follow through with this move i'm definitely out #shows: watcher #t: wench.txt

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amathslutsguidetofandom · 2 months ago

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"I'm Taking That As A Yes, Princess"

PAIRINGS: Ghostface!FratPresident!James "Bucky" Barnes x Reader

WARNINGS: Getting alcohol spilt on you, fingering, a bit angsty? (if you squint), semi-bathroom sex, swering, unprotected sex (darlings, please wrap your man's pig in a blanket), p in v, mentions of cum, handjob, a slight hint of a blowjob and slight fluff? (If I have missed anything, please feel free to let me know 😊)

WORD COUNT: 2,922

*not proof-read*

ENJOY!

Walking into the house, you were immediately surrounded by sweaty, sticky bodies. You grimaced at the overwhelming feeling and tried to find a space where you could catch your breath. The kitchen was relatively empty, except for a couple making out on the counter. You decided to mind your own business, reaching into the fridge and navigating past cans and bottles of beer to grab a water bottle hidden at the back.

You twisted the cap off and took a long sip. Everyone was dressed up differently, which made sense—it was Halloween. Instead of babysitting your little cousins, you’d faked being sick to your parents, dressed up, and come to the Alpha Phi house. This wasn’t like you at all. The top student in your class, the teacher’s pet, the early-assignment submitter, the girl who became a TA in her junior year—you were the “good girl.”

So why were you here? Because you’d overheard some girls talking about the infamous Halloween party that the Alpha Phi guys threw every year. And you weren’t the type who usually went to parties. So why this one? Because you’d heard that Steve Rogers was going to show up, and you had a little crush on the star player of the varsity ice hockey team. You’d been trying to muster the courage to talk to him ever since you sat next to him in a lab in your first year. That was two years ago, and you’d been harbouring feelings for him ever since.

Your heart did a little flip every time he smiled at you when you passed him in the halls. Finishing your water, you threw the bottle in the recycling bin and tugged your tutu down to avoid a wedgie. The ballerina costume was a last-minute, twenty-dollar buy, but you were happy with it—the corseted top accentuated your chest, and though the sheer tights were a bit snug, it didn’t bother you too much.

You were making your way through the crowd and spotted a tuft of blond hair. Your heart flipped again. This was it, the perfect moment. You were going to ask Steve if he wanted to go out sometime. He was tipsy enough to say yes, and if he said no, he’d be too focused on his hangover tomorrow to remember your question. You took a deep breath and started toward him.

Then you saw them. You’d thought the rumours weren’t true, that they couldn’t be real. But the sight of Steve Rogers making out with Peggy Carter would be forever etched in your mind, because the pain in your heart was unbearable. You stood frozen, your heart thudding in your chest as you watched Steve's hands roam over Peggy’s body. You clenched your jaw and sniffled, rooted to the spot.

You only snapped out of it when someone spilled their drink on you. “Damn, sorry, gorgeous,” a guy dressed as Fred from Scooby-Doo winked at you drunkenly before chuckling and moving away. You shook your head, trying to clean the alcohol off your costume.

“Hey, buddy. I think you owe the girl a real apology,” another voice piped up. You looked up to see a towering figure dressed as Ghostface, holding Fred by the shoulder. “Now, say you’re sorry—like you really mean it, and none of that half-assed stuff because you’re shitfaced,” Ghostface ordered, crossing his arms. Fred straightened up, looked you in the eye, and apologized sincerely. Ghostface nodded approvingly and sent him away.

Before you realized it, Ghostface had moved closer to you. You turned to see him looking you over, his mask bobbing as if inspecting your costume. He clicked his tongue and put a hand on the small of your back. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

You both walked upstairs, where the sounds of the party gradually faded, and you were grateful for the quiet. You hesitated when he opened a door and gestured for you to go in.

For the first time that night, you spoke up. “Um, I’m sorry, but I don’t even know who you are.”

The chuckle that followed freaked you out a little, but then he reached up to remove the mask.

James. Freaking. Barnes.

You tried your best to mask your surprise, but you were sure he saw it, because the corners of his lips lifted into a smirk.

James “Bucky” Barnes—the captain of the varsity ice hockey team, a good student, a charmer, the president of Alpha Phi, and most importantly, the best friend of Steve Rogers.

You’ve met James a few times here and there. During some of the varsity games. And passed him in the dorms sometimes. He never caused you any trouble. He even offered to help you move-in in your second year when he clearly saw you struggle push your luggage up the stairs.

You were just acquaintances.

You swallowed and timidly walked into the pristine room, surprised by its immaculate condition. “I certainly didn’t expect a frat president to have such a clean room,” you muttered, hearing James laugh at your comment as he closed the door.

“Well, I don’t work well in a messy environment,” he shrugged and walked closer, his gaze trailing over your corset. You backed up slightly at the intensity of his approach, making him huff a laugh. “I don’t bite, princess,” he said, his fingers grazing the edge of your corset.

He gently guided you to the adjoining bathroom. “I’ll have to wash it out a bit. So, if you don’t mind getting your tutu a little damp, princess…,” he led, waiting for your response. You shook your head, signalling it was fine. He nodded toward the counter, and you hopped onto it.

He wetted a towel and began dabbing it on your clothes. “So, what’s a timid thing like you doing at a fraternity party?” he whispered, his focus on cleaning up the stain. You glanced at his concentrated face before looking away. “What? Can’t a girl come to a party?” you replied, defensively, for some reason.

James chuckled, “Oh, a girl can come to a party. But you, you’re not that type of girl, princess.” You raised an eyebrow at him, puzzled by his statement. “I mean, you never come to parties in general. So why the sudden appearance?” He sighed and caged you between his arms.

You tensed, starting to stammer. “Well, I wanted to see someone,” you shrugged, looking down at your hands.

“Yeah?” James asked, his gaze piercing. “Who was the special guy?”

You looked up at him through your lashes, then quickly looked away. He used two fingers to tilt your face toward him. “Eyes on me, princess,” he said softly.

“Steve. I came to ask Steve out…,” you admitted, spilling your secret.

James looked at you with you look, you couldn’t decipher what it was. But you didn’t know what to feel about it. He looked into your eyes for so long, you started to tear up due to the lack of blinking.

“Steve…,” he dragged it, and it made you wonder why. But you didn’t question it.

He continued to dab the wet cloth to your clothes. “You didn’t have to do that you know… The, um, asking the guy to apologize to me,” you broke the silence, because you couldn’t take the stuffy air that was in between the both of you.

James shook his head and chuckled as he dabbed on your neckline. “If I didn’t my Ma would scold my ear off if she knew. And, besides, a pretty girl needs to be treated right.”

You’re breathing stops at that, and you looked up at him with a confused look. He smirked at your expression, “what?” You shook you head and asked him, “you think I’m pretty?”

James scoffed and nodded, “I would have to be blind if I didn’t think your stunning, princess.”

You didn’t realise but your lips and James’ were a hair breadths away. “James…,” you tried to start but James beat you to it, “Bucky, princess. Call me Bucky.”

You gulped and nodded.

“Bucky.”

He groaned at they way his named sounded on your tongue. “Princess, your killin’ me here,” he whispered more to himself than at you. His knuckles gripped onto the counter tight. “Please…,” he muttered.

“Pardon?” you didn’t catch what he said.

“Please let me kiss you.”

You froze, you didn’t know what to do.

You always thought Bucky was hot. Hotter than Steve, but you never had any classes with him to fully judge him. You were a hundred percent sure that if Bucky was your lab partner instead of Steve, you’d totally be crushing on Bucky instead.

And if that were the case, you’d be nodding your head like a mad man. Steve was taken, you were still recovering from that. Bucky, apparently, liked you. Liked you more than you thought he did.

You saw the way his gaze flickered from your eyes to you lips and back to your eyes. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, and saw his pupils dilate at the movement.

“I-,” you started but your thoughts were washed away when you saw Bucky lick his lips too. You heart thuds in your chest as you feel like the whole world is dark and the spotlight is just on you with the way Bucky looks like you. There’s a small part of you that wanted to feel how his lips would feel against you.

So, you nodded.

Before you knew it, Bucky was standing between your legs and gripping your hips. He then pulled you close and smashed his lips on yours. You took a second to understand what was going on, but when your conscious did come back to you cupped his face and kissed him back.

He licked at your bottom lip asking your permission to open up your mouth and you allowed it immediately. Soon your tongues were dancing together, yours was meek and shy letting Bucky do all the taking over. You wrapped your arms around his neck and whimpers against his mouth, which just made him groan against you.

He moved his lips from your mouth to your jaw, then to your neck. You tilted your head to give him more access, and the more you let him the more your whimpers turn to moans.

He moves his hands all over your body, “this okay, princess?” He whispered against your skin, and you nodded fervently and grasped at his black cloak. You felt him palm at your chest, and you sighed and whispered a, “more, Bucky, please.” He nodded against your skin and moved his hands up your thighs and squeezes the flesh of your thighs.

You felt the heat pool between your things and squeezed them together. Bucky smirked and pushed them away, “nuh uh, none o’ that.” He got closer to you, and you wrapped your legs around his hips and chuckled. His hands moved to your inner thighs, and you gasped out, the wetness pooling more into your underwear.

You felt his knuckles brushed against your core and you whimpered and dropped your head against his shoulder. “Please, Bucky,” you muttered against his costume. Without any other word he ripped your tights at the centre and felt the wet path of white cotton.

“Oh princess, so wet f’me already?” Bucky snickered and you nodded at his question. He rubbed his knuckles against your cunt’s lips and pressed his fingers harder when he heard your soft mewl. “You like it don’t you, princess?” To which you nodded again and whispered his name breathlessly.

He pushed your underwear aside and sunk his thick fingers in, and you whined at the intrusion. The sweet stretch felt better than your own meek fingers and soon Bucky was pumping his fingers in and out making your legs shake. “I’m not even rubbing your clit, princess. Your legs are already shaking,” he whispered roughly against your ear.

His thumb started to rub at your clit and that’s when you lost your mind. You mewled and moaned his name as his fingers were rubbing that deep spot in you and his thumb playing with your button has you becoming a wailing mess. He bends down and started to attack your neck. “Fuck, Bucky. Please,” you cried out as you feel your impending orgasm start to build at your core.

Bucky roughly rubbed at your clit and within seconds your gushed around his fingers. You sighed and untensed your shoulders. Bucky brought his fingers to his mouth, closed his eyes and licked them clean. You whimpered at the sight.

You both leaned in and captured the other in a deep kiss, Bucky picked you up like you weighed nothing and exited the bathroom and walked until he placed you down on his bed.

He pulled the Ghostface mask down and leaned to tower over you. You bit your lip, and he chuckled, “didn’t know princess was a bit freaky, hmm?” He unbuckled his belt under the cloak, and you took off your tutu and tossed it somewhere in his room.

When he managed to get his cock out of his pants, your eyes widened as the sheer size of him and then looked at him to see the small smirk that was painted on his lips. “Something wrong, princess?” You gulped and said, “it’s not gonna fit.”

Bucky chuckled and leaned over you once more and whispered into your ear, “we’ll make it fit, princess.” The tone he used made you shiver, and you gripped onto his shoulders and readied yourself. Bucky ran his shaft up and down you’re sit and you whined desperately.

“Bucky, please. I need you,” you squeezed your eyes shut and threw your head back. He tapped your cheek with two fingers and said, “eyes on me, princess.” And with that Bucky slowly pushed inside you. The stretch was so deliciously sweet and painful it made you lose your mind. You both gasped at the feeling of him moving further into you.

“Fuck, princess. You’re so tight,” he grits out as he starts to slowly thrust in and out of you. Your legs wrapped tightly around his waist and your nails raked down his back and he let out a deep moan which made goosebumps raise on your skin.

The sound of skin slapping on skin wasn’t’ as loud as your wails of Bucky’s name and moans. When the tip of him tapped against that spot in you, your eyes rolled to the back of your mind and you squealed, “Bucky right there, oh! Right there!”

Bucky grabbed a hold of the headboard and thrusted harder into you, aiming at that same spot and you felt tears run down the side of face in pleasure. “Fuck, princess. Gripping me like a vice,” he purses his lips as he knocked his hips against yours.

You felt the sheer length of him move in and out of you, your walls embraced him like he was meant to be there in the first place. “Attagirl. Take what I give you, yeah?” He huffed against your ear. The coarse patch of pubic hair that rested at the bottom of his happy trail, rubbed against your clit giving your that nice friction and it made you whine even more.

He pressed a hand against your abdomen and pressed down harder and it made the feeling even better. He saw how you reacted and pressed down harder, and you arched your back at the feeling. With that you felt the climax in you start to rise, “Bucky, I’m so close.” You whimpered as you watched the man wearing the Ghostface mask rut into you expertly.

He threw your legs over his shoulders and rutted into your harder, the band at your core bends and bends until it finally snapped and soon you were coming around Bucky’s cock.

Bucky groaned deeply at you squeezing him tightly, he pulled out and you whined at the loss of the feeling. He was fisting his length at the sight of you post orgasmic bliss and it looked so hot from your perspective. You quickly got on your knees and replaced Bucky’s hand with yours. “Fucking hell, princess,” he ran a hand through your hair and bunched it up at the back of your head. “That’s it, making me feel so good,” he sighed and threw his head back.

He groaned when you parted your lips, the mushroom head of his member inches away from your mouth. He tipped his head back, “fuck I’m so close.” And soon you felt his warm spent spill down your throat. Bucky moaned at the sight, and his chest reverberated deeply when he saw you swallow.

He pushed you down to lay on your back again and he then he laid next to you. You reached up and took of his Ghostface mask so you can his face. “That desperate to see my face? Hmm?” He smirked at your action. You shook your head and chuckled shyly, “maybe.”

Bucky reached up and caressed your face. “You know you’re really pretty right, princess?” You blushed at his comment, “buy me dinner first, Barnes.” Bucky chuckled and then nodded, “are you free this weekend?”

You froze, “you can’t be serious.”

“Well, I kinda am.”

“You are a piece of work James Barnes,”

“Should I take that as a, yes?”

You chuckled and shook your head; you gave him a soft smile.

“I’m taking that as a yes, princess.”

🎀🎀🎀

A fic posted during the midst of exam period?!

I would like to thank @buck-star for helping me with coming up with this idea!

This took a while and it's ALOT, but late night productivity hit me like a freight train haha.

I've one more exam in the next week and I'll be done!

Hope you lovelies liked this!

Lemme know what y'all think of the fic!

Till' then,

Stay Coquette-y,

Anya 🫶🏽🕊️🎀

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criminalminds4eva · 3 months ago

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secret polaroids - spencer reid

summary: secretly dating your coworker, when it all coomes to light due to a blurry polaroid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

“wait, whos in the picture behind your phonecase?!”

doctor spencer reid, the genius with an eidetic memory, one of the fbi’s brightest minds, your coworker. who you’ve been secretly going out with for the last couple of months

it all happend over spilled coffee, you had been rushing over to the office, holding cups of coffee for the team working on a case out of town. as a new member of the team you wanted to make a good impression, hell maybe suck up to them a little.

so when you walk in the precint and spill the coffee all over your clothes, the work of a small town cop running into you, spencer offers to drive you to the hotel, to change into clean clothes.

“that was so embarrasing god what an idiot” you said covering your flushed face as spencer drove to the hotel

“the cop ran into you, besides you were doomed from the start carrying 8 cups of coffee in the same hand, and statistically speaking, it's actually quite common to spill coffee, especially when multitasking or under stress, the brain can only process a limited amount of information at once, which leads to small errors in motor control.” spencer looked over at you and chuckled

"you know it amazes me how much information you have stored up in your brain, i mean i know about the phd´s and everything but still its so amazing" you said looking over at him as he parked in front of the hotel, you can see his cheeks start to form a little red to them and naturally yours do too

and after that, a couple of weeks later full of small glances, smiles and of derek telling him how painfully obvious it was that he likes you and liked him. he asked you out

"you know people who share common interests and engage in meaningful conversation tend to form stronger connections and, well, i really enjoy talking with you, so i was wondering if you'd like to have dinner with me sometime? i promise i won’t ramble about statistics the entire time" he said as he tried to hide the blush in his face so the rest of the team wouldnt know what the both of you were talking about in your desk

"spence, id love nothing more than to hear you ramble over dinner"

one dinner became two then three, then you found yourself kissing him goodnight as he dropped at the door to your apartment

he leans in slightly, hesitating for a brief moment, as if calculating the perfect timing and then gently kisses you

"i really enjoyed tonight" you said after the kiss "would you like to come in for a drink?"

he pauses for a moment, trying to think clearly then says "id love too"

after a while you both end up getting wine drunk in your apartment floor, which leads to the decision of your bringing out your polaroid camera

"come on spence smile for the camera" you laughed trying to get him to take his hands off his face but he wouldnt so you snap the picture anyway

"alright enough, your turn" he said taking the camera from your hands and taking a couple of pictures of you.

he wobbles a little setting his wine glass down in the counter, eyes half-focused but full of affection. "you know,ive been thinking, well, not just tonight, but, like a lot. you’re amazing and smart, and funny, and so beautiful and i think your definetly out of my league and if i were to kiss you then go to hell, i would. so then i could brag to the devils i saw heaven without entering" He fumbles over his words, blinking slowly, but his sincerity is clear. "maybe you could, um, be my girlfriend? statistically, we’re, uh, compatible, and I think we could you know be really happy together what do you say?" he offers a lopsided smile, clearly a bit nervous despite the alcohol.

his rambling takes you back "did you just quote shakespeare to me?" you chuckled as you leaned in to kiss him once more

"is that a yes i take it?" he said kissing you back

"yes doctor reid, i want to be your girlfriend" his eyes wide open to your response, and for a moment hes speechless, he laughs nervously rubbing the back of his neck and grabs the camera once more

"come on we are taking our first official dating picture" he smiles shyly but brightly taking a blurry polaroid of the two of you in front of the mirror

the two of you knew it was better to keep the relationship private, spencer's face flushed when you mentioned the thought of how derek would tease him, or how he wouldnt hear the end of it from garcia being all happy for the both of you. knowing they wouldnt do it to harm either of you but since this was quite new and being coworkers, you decided to keep it private but not a secret. the team knew spencer was seeing someone, emily said his face seemed brighter and suddenly he couldnt stay overtime to finish the files jj had sneeked him in his desk. and they knew you were seeing someone too since garcia said she caught you smiling while you were texting, they hoped you guys were seeing each other but since neither of you ever mentioned the date or maybe it was the fact that you really were able to mantain a professional front while working, they hadnt been able to fully catch on that you were dating spencer

that was until you decided to put the blurry polaroid of the night he asked you to be his girlfriend behind your phone case

"wait who's in the picture behind your phone case?" penelope squealed with exciment catching the attention of the rest of the team

"is that your boyfriend y/n, do i officially have no chance with you" chuckled derek leaning against your desk as you nervously took your phone from garcia

"oh come on now she will tell us when she wants too" emily approached then took your phone from your hands "besides you cant really tell who it is in the picture" as she looked at the picture trying to figure it out despite your efforts to take the phone from her hands.

derek stood beside her also looking at the picture "hey but doesnt it kind of look like.."

"morning what are we looking at" spencer appeared at your desk, his face blushing when he saw the picture emily and derek were looking at, they looked at spencer, then looked at you burying your face in your hands

"oh my god, no way really?!?" garcia said with a bright smile "doctor love oh my god i cant belive it" she said hugging spencer

"so i guess the cat is out of the bag huh?" you said looking at spencer

"you owe me 20 bucks i told you they were dating" emily said playfully punching derek in the shoulder

"wait you guys had bets on this" spencer said laughing nervously letting go of the hug with garcia

"well pretty boy we didnt actually think you would even ask her out how long has this been going on for" said morgan looking playfully hurt "baby girl let them breathe" he said pulling garcia from you

"a couple of months" you mentioned letting go of the hug with a cheesy smile

"alright, we have a case" said rossi joining the team by your desk. the team grins weider as they notice spencer blushing as he stands next to you "were really happy, for the both of you" said derek as they started to walk away. you get up from your desk following the team and squeeze your boyfriends hand, a signal that all was well

"did you really think we wouldnt figure it out?" rossi raised his eyebrows as he looked at spencer watching walk away while the team playfully teased you "im happy for you kid" rossi patted him on the back

spencer shakes his head with a half-laugh trying to hide the blush in his face as they joined everyone.

⋆｡°✩

a/n: feedback would be super appreciated, i hoped you enjoyed reading <33

#criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #derek morgan #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #bau team #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fandom

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cleo-fox · 1 year ago

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Overtime

Summary: Sometimes, working overtime isn’t all that bad.

Pairings: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+ minors DNI, sex, cunnilingus, teasing, light bondage, office romance.

Series: Overtime (I don't have a masterlist for this, but if you enjoy these idiots, check out Daylight, a sort of sequel).

A/N: This was largely written prior to season 2 and posted right before episode 4, so it’s not entirely canon compliant and the parts that are may be compliant by accident.

Also, @give-me-a-moose and I were on a similar wavelength about Loki angrily reading romance novels and I would strongly recommend checking out her fic The Imagine Nation if you too are enthralled by this idea.

You don’t think that Mobius intended to keep Loki’s desk behind yours.

“It’s temporary,” he tells you apologetically. “He just needs somewhere to go for now, until I figure out what to do with him.”

“You’re talking about him like he’s a stray cat that you found,” you say.

“You won’t even know he’s there, I promise.”

“You’re still doing it.”

Mobius sighs and puts on his most sincere, earnest expression—the one that he always uses when he’s about to ask you for a stupidly massive favor.

And it’s only because you almost never, ever see this look from him that you back down.

“Okay, fine,” you say. “But he’d better be on his best behavior.”

Mobius puts his palms together and tips them toward you. “Thank you. You will not regret this, I promise.”

You sigh and shake your head. “Just remember this next time you’re budgeting for raises.”

But then—in a move that you certainly don’t expect—Loki ends up sticking around. And, in the subtle way that the stray you’ve been feeding slowly turns into your cat, Loki’s temporary desk becomes his permanent desk. And strangely enough, Mobius’ assurances turn out to be more correct than not: Loki does a lot of fieldwork and is often away; when he is at his desk, it tends to be because he is working on more complicated missions, the ones that require poring over mountains of files looking for patterns and trying to untangle the slippery mess of time itself.

Your work is decidedly less glamorous than Loki’s—almost no fieldwork, lots of files. Endless files. Some days you feel as though you must have seen every file in the TVA’s extensive library and then you’re immediately proven wrong by another wing of filing cabinets that you swear wasn’t even there before.

Although he is generally well-behaved as your desk neighbor, Loki’s presence has a way of distracting you. Even if you didn’t know who he was, your gaze would still naturally drift his way, lingering on those regal cheekbones, that ink black hair, that cunning smirk. The way that the fabric of his dress pants clings to his thighs certainly doesn’t help, to say nothing of how his forearms look with his shirtsleeves rolled up. He can make your heart start to race with no more than a casual glance in your direction and god help you if he gives you one of those devastating smiles. Luckily, you don’t think he takes that much notice of you. You have the sort of pleasantly dull exchanges of coworkers who don’t really know each other and he is almost painfully polite to you. It’s a strong departure from the way he interacts with others—with others, he is bold, charming, sarcastic, talkative, a far cry from the more subdued, almost courtly tone he strikes with you. It’s a difference that is so stark that you can’t help but attribute it to some sort of negative feeling on his end.

“How’s it going with Loki?” Mobius asks you during a one-on-one meeting a couple of months after Loki’s temporary desk becomes his permanent desk. “He’s behaving himself, right?”

“It’s been fine,” you say, “though truthfully, I don’t think he likes me all that much.”

“What? Of course he likes you,” Mobius says. “Why wouldn’t he like you? You’re lovely.”

You shrug. “I dunno, he’s just different with me than he is with everyone else. Like…overly polite. It’s like he thinks I’m going to send him to the principal’s office or something.”

“Let me get this straight,” says Mobius. “First you were worried that he wouldn’t behave himself and now you’re worried that he’s too well-behaved?”

Privately, you realize he has a point. Outwardly, though, you’re not going to admit it. The sardonic tilt of Mobius’ mouth suggests that he knows this.

“No, I just…I don’t think he likes me all that much,” you say. “And he’s entitled to that. People don’t like each other all the time, it’s not a big deal.”

This is also a little bit of a lie—you do wish he liked you. Loki is so magnetic it’s hard not to want his attention. And with the matter of your silly little crush, well…that doesn’t help either.

Mobius sighs. “I think you’re overthinking this. He likes you, sometimes it just takes him a little time to warm up. He’s a bit of a prickly guy.”

You bite down the urge to point out that you’ve seen him warm to other people almost immediately. This conversation has already gone on longer than you want and you are edging dangerously close to having to admit that you care so much because you have a big stupid crush on him, which is obviously unacceptable.

“Well, the point is that it’s fine,” you say quickly, trying to project an aura of cool confidence. “I don’t have any complaints, he seems like he’s settling in, so let’s move on. Did you have any feedback on my recent report?”

The furrow between Mobius’ eyebrows deepens just slightly, the only indication that he doesn’t fully believe you. But for whatever reason, he decides to let it go and follows your change in topic without further comment.

This is one of the reasons you like Mobius as much as you do: he always seems to know the right moment to push and the right moment to bend.

You’re not sure if your relationship with Loki would have changed had it not been for the problem of Charles Berlitz.

The joke around the office is that after Mobius convinced Loki to work for the TVA, he needed something new to obsess over and Charles Berlitz was the next best option. It’s hard to say exactly who Berlitz is, as he has a tendency of showing up, well…everywhere. He is quite literally in every timeline, at least as far as anyone can tell. Sometimes he is an author, penning serious, scholarly essays on outlandish theories like the Bermuda Triangle and the Philadelphia Experiment. He seems to have a fondness for all manner of schemes—he was responsible for introducing both homeopathy and multi-level marketing to no fewer than sixty different timelines. His ability to peddle bullshit naturally led him to politics—pick any rebellion, coup, or campaign on any given timeline and there’s a good chance you’ll also find Charles Berlitz.

Scammers and con artists are not atypical in your line of work, but what makes Charles Berlitz an enduring mystery is that he has never been found. You can have reputable documentary evidence that Berlitz was present at a certain time and location, but if you show up to investigate, he is never there. There have been some glimpses over the years—a shadowy face in the back of a crowd, the hem of a cloak disappearing behind a corner—but nothing concrete or substantive.

“Our ghost in the timeline,” Mobius had said in one of his more poetic moments at an all staff meeting, his voice overly hushed and dramatic. You had seen Loki roll his eyes and you had to fake a coughing fit to hide your laugh.

Time moves differently at the TVA, so it’s hard to say how long Mobius has been working on this case when he makes a breakthrough, but it’s not terribly long after your conversation about Loki. A campaign button had been found in an apartment that Berlitz rented for two years in the French Quarter. That particular campaign button could only have existed in one specific timeline and its distribution was limited. You aren’t entirely clear on all of the details, but Mobius seems to have a plan.

And unfortunately, that plan involves you giving up most of your weekend to work.

It’s near quitting time on what passes for a Friday at the TVA. Loki has been in today and you can hear him starting to pack up. Technically, he’s got twenty minutes of work left, but you’re not about to tell him that.

You doodle absently on your notepad. Technically, you’ve also got twenty minutes of work left, but realistically: nothing is happening.

“Oh, great, you’re both still here.”

In general, this phrase has never meant good news for you and when you look up, you see Mobius with a sizable armful of files.

Also not a great sign.

Mobius plunks the stack of files directly on your desk. “There’s been a development with Berlitz. I need you both to review these now.”

“It’s Friday,” says Loki, affronted. “Surely it can wait until Monday.”

“No can do. I need this done by Sunday at the latest,” says Mobius. “This is an all hands on deck situation.”

Loki glances pointedly at the office around you, which has already started emptying out for the weekend.

“All hands on deck, but most hands are already in the field,” Mobius concedes. “Which is why I need the two of you—” He points to you. “You because you’re good—” He gestures to Loki. “And you because you’ve got desk duty.”

“I beg your pardon—” begins Loki.

“He’s grounded,” Mobius says to you in an exaggerated stage whisper.

This is not surprising to you: you had heard a rumor last week about an incident that had occurred on a mission to the inauguration of Richard Nixon and you suspect that these two events are likely connected.

You look at the pile of paperwork on your desk. You could probably get through it on your own in a couple of hours, but if Loki’s helping, maybe you still have a shot at having Saturday to yourself. You bite back a sigh. “What do you need me to find?”

“Anything that mentions anyone from the Lucchese crime family or Nero Variant N2815,” says Mobius. “I’ll go get the rest.”

Your heart sinks. Farewell, Saturday. “There’s more?” you say.

“It’ll be triple overtime, I already got it approved!” he calls over his shoulder

You sigh and glance at Loki who is scowling at the pile of files as though they’d wronged him personally.

There’s a long moment of silence before you speak. “Is there any truth to the rumor I’ve been hearing about the Nixon inauguration?” you ask.

“If it involved a hot air balloon, then yes,” he says rather tonelessly.

“Well.” You pause as you stare at the pile of papers. “At least it was worth it.”

That at least earns you a hint of a smile.

Several hours later, your stomach is growling and you’ve developed a rather impressive crick in your neck.

You lean back in your chair, stretching your neck to the side and rubbing the knot that is pulsing in your upper trapezius. Office work has done nothing positive for your posture in general, but tonight’s work has you hunched over more than usual and your neck is aching.

You and Loki have made good progress, but your pile of finished and sorted files is scarcely comparable to the full cart that Mobius had brought in. Back when the evening was new and you weren’t quite so tired, you’d been optimistic about possibly having half a Saturday free from work; that hope has slipped away the longer the evening has dragged on. Now you’re hoping that you’ll still have a bit of Sunday to yourself and even that feels unlikely.

Your stomach growls again. You should probably eat something—you’d worked through your regular dinner hour in a fit of misplaced optimism. The cafeteria is closed this time of night, but there’s a vending machine not far from your office that has shitty coffee and mostly edible sandwiches.

You stand and stretch, stifling a yawn as you turn around. “I’m gonna grab a coffee and some dinner,” you say. “Do you want anything?”

Loki looks up at you from the file in front of him, blinking somewhat dazedly and running a hand through his messy curls. “I’d like to stretch my legs a bit, if you don’t mind the company.”

You honestly didn’t expect him to want to join you. It’s a pleasant surprise, certainly, but also a little nerve wracking in the way that interacting with Loki always is. He’s so handsome and aloof and you’re not quite sure how to talk to him without acting like a total fool.

But you’re also not about to say no, either.

“Of course,” you say, “I don’t mind at all.”

The TVA is unusually quiet at this time of night—the steady hum of fluorescent lights and the murmur of distant voices is all that accompanies the tap of your shoes on the linoleum. It only heightens the jittery, nervous feeling you get from Loki—like your stomach is filled with drunk, lightning struck butterflies.

“Are you finding much?” asks Loki as you enter the hallway together.

You shrug. “A bit. Mostly on the Nero variant. I’m not having as much luck with the Luccheses.”

“I’ve got all of their property transfers, I think,” he says. “Renato Lucchese never met a vineyard he didn’t like.”

“Or racehorses, from what I understand,” you say. “I think that’s how he lost most of his money.”

You arrive at the vending machines. Loki looks at the vending machines and then back at you, a somewhat puzzled and troubled expression on his face.

“This is what you meant when you said you were going to get coffee and dinner?” he says.

You shrug. “Yeah, what’s wrong with this?”

He points at the coffee machine. “Mobius calls that machine Satan’s coffeemaker, does he not?”

“Yes, but I know how to trick it into giving me something that’s almost palatable,” you say.

Loki gives you a rather dry look. “Something that’s almost palatable?”

“I mean, I’m just trying to manage your expectations. It’s still pretty shitty coffee, it just tastes less burned.”

He looks at you for a long moment before tilting his head toward the hallway. “Come on, let’s go.”

It’s your turn to look skeptical. “What are we doing?”

“We’re going out for dinner.”

He takes you to a twenty-four hour diner called Frank’s that’s maybe a five minute walk from the TVA. It’s one of those places with yellowing Formica tables and big booths covered in red faux leather patched with the occasional square of duct tape. It smells like coffee and grease with a faint odor of cigarette smoke despite the prominent no smoking signs.

“I wouldn’t have thought this kind of place was your style,” you say as you sit down in a booth next to the window.

“I’ve expanded my horizons,” he says, sliding into the seat across from you.

An older woman with greying blonde hair approaches your booth. She wears a nametag reading “Connie” in big capital letters, a sticker of a pink cat stuck on the space next to her name.

“How y’all doin’ tonight?” she says as she hands you each a laminated menu. She looks at Loki. “You want your usual?”

“Please,” he says.

“You got it.” She turns to you. “How ‘bout you, hon, can I get ya started with something to drink?”

“Coffee would be great.”

“All right, I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

You raise your eyebrows at Loki as she walks away. “You eat at diners and you have a usual order. My expectations are being completely upended.”

He returns your pleasantly amused expression. “And you have vending machine coffee for dinner. It’s a revealing night.”

“I mean, I don’t actively seek it out,” you say. “It’s a convenient option that I exercise only when I have no other choice.”

“No other choice?” A sly smile curls at his lips. “Do you not have the entire array of space and time at your fingertips?”

“Well, first of all, we aren’t supposed to use TemPads for personal errands without a supervisor’s approval.”

“Technically.”

“No, actually. It’s in the personnel manual. Like verbatim.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You would put yourself through the egregious physical suffering of vending machine coffee simply to appease the capricious whims of our cruel overseer Miss Minutes?”

You bite back a laugh. “You know she’s not actually our boss, right?”

“I can’t discount that possibility. She wields a concerning amount of power within the organization.”

Connie is back with your drinks—coffee for you and tea for Loki. “Sunday Special?” she asks Loki as she sets a metal teapot and empty mug in front of him.

“Please,” he says.

“You got it.” She looks at you. “Didya get a chance to look at the menu or do you need a minute?”

You’re feeling a little daring. “I’ll try the Sunday Special as well.”

“All right, two Sunday Specials comin’ right up,” she says, collecting your menus.

“So, what’s in a Sunday Special?” you ask Loki as you take a sip of your coffee.

“Boiled fish eggs, mainly,” he says, pouring the hot water into his tea mug.

“Liar,” you say promptly.

He raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t even look at the menu, how could you know?”

“Places like this don’t serve fish eggs,” you say. “Way too unusual and definitely the wrong price point.”

“I suppose you’ll just have to see,” he says with a playful glint in his eyes. The easy charm that you’ve seen him use with the others is on full display and it’s enough to make you giddy. Maybe he doesn’t dislike you after all.

“Well, if it’s fish eggs, you’re picking up the bill,” you say, “and I’ll be getting something else instead.”

“You’d really hold me responsible for your impulsive dinner selections?”

“Yep. And I don’t even feel bad about it.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you could be so unforgiving.”

“Well, you don’t know me all that well.”

“To be fair, you keep to yourself quite a bit.”

“A little bit,” you say. “But also to be fair, you haven’t really asked.”

“On work time?” he says, widening his eyes in mock horror. “That would mean write ups for both of us, I couldn’t let that happen.”

“I think I know enough about you to know that getting in trouble is not one of your primary concerns.”

He gives you a sly smile, like you’ve caught him out and he likes it. “That’s a diplomatic way to put it.” He takes a sugar packet from the dispenser on the table and tears it open before pouring it into his mug. “Well, we’re on break now, so you can safely tell me something about yourself.”

You drum your fingers on your coffee mug. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, this can’t be the only part of your life. Who are you outside the TVA? What did you do before this?”

That giddy feeling comes to a screeching halt and you take in a long, slow breath. It’s a simple question, one that most people can answer to some degree. For you, though, it’s a bit more complicated.

“Well,” you say. You take a sip of your coffee, mostly to give your hands something to do. “I don’t actually know—I chose not to remember when they gave me the option.”

You’re surprised by how gentle his eyes are when you look up. “My apologies,” he says, “I didn’t realize.”

“It’s okay,” you say and you really do mean it. “You couldn’t have known.”

Usually, you say something like this and then gently redirect the conversation, but something about the way he’s looking at you makes you want to continue. Like maybe he understands difficult things and doesn’t mind hearing about something that others would shy away from.

“When they told us everything and said they could fix our memories…” You clear your throat and focus your gaze just above his shoulder. “It’s weird, but I just had a feeling that it wouldn’t be good for me to know…that something really bad had happened. So I asked Mobius to check for me, just to be sure…” You swallow, blinking hard.

You remember how sad Mobius’ eyes were, how he’d gently placed a hand on your shoulder and said, “I think you’re making the right call, kid.”

“It’s not really okay, is it?” Loki says softly.

You shrug. “I mean, it’s…it is what it is.”

“You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

“It’s not a lie—”

He raises a skeptical eyebrow and you remember that he is, in fact, the god of lies.

“It’s more like…I can’t really miss what I don’t know, but at the same time, the reality of that absence hurts a little. So maybe not exactly okay, but not exactly not okay, either.”

There’s a lot of kindness in his gaze and you have to look away because it makes your head spin and your breath catch in your throat. “I’m not really sure if that makes sense,” you say.

“It does.”

There’s a silence between you, but it’s not uncomfortable.

“Do you…do you think you’d want to forget if you had that option?” You’re not entirely sure what prompts the question and you regret it almost as soon as it leaves your mouth. “I’m sorry, that’s probably too personal.”

He shakes his head and there’s a warmth in his eyes that you don’t expect. “I rather think I owe you one.” He pauses, running a finger around the rim of his mug. “Sometimes I do,” he says finally. “It can be quite painful remembering.” He worries his lip between his teeth. “But I’m not sure who I would be without the knowledge of my past, either.” His gaze flicks back to you. “What’s it like for you? Do you feel like you know who you are without those memories?”

It’s a good question—one you’ve never been asked. “I mean, it’s hard to say for sure. I think I do,” you say. “Sometimes I wonder if I was different in my timeline. Maybe I was kinder because I had different experiences that made me more empathetic. Maybe I wasn’t—maybe I was worse. Maybe I had a villain arc.”

He chuckles. “That doesn’t seem likely.”

“I dunno, maybe it explains the vending machine coffee and my fish egg related threats,” you say and you feel almost giddy when he returns your smile. “Or maybe I’m the same and all those experiences that shaped me are just scars I can’t see.” You shrug and take a sip of your coffee. “At the end of the day, though, that timeline is gone. I’m all that’s left. It’s sad, but it’s also freeing, in a way.”

He nods. “Mobius has said much the same.”

You smile slightly. “Our philosophies are similar, I suppose, though I think there are probably more bits of his past self in his present self than he realizes.”

Loki grins. “It’s the jet skis, isn’t it?”

“I mean, I just don’t think most normal people spend that much time expounding on the reliability of the Yamaha engine versus the pure, raw power of the Kawasaki.”

Loki holds up a finger. “But have you gotten the lecture about Yamaha’s braking system?”

“I think I have that memorized at this point.”

“‘The perfect choice for families.’”

“‘You just tap the brakes. Just tap them. Perfectly smooth stop every time.’”

“‘Reliability meets affordability.’”

“‘You can’t say no to that.’”

You think you probably could have riffed on this for a bit, but you’re interrupted by the arrival of Connie with your dinner.

The Sunday Special turns out to be a fairly traditional breakfast—eggs, hash browns, two fluffy pancakes, sausage, toast, a little bowl of strawberries.

“Definitely lots of fish eggs in this meal,” you say to Loki after Connie leaves.

His smile is small, but genuine. “You haven’t looked under the pancakes yet.”

You feel it then, but you don’t fully understand until later that this dinner has unlocked something important between the two of you. After months of awkward, stilted conversation, it’s like you finally understand how to talk to each other. And you’re surprised to find that even outside of your big stupid crush, you actually like Loki. You like his sly smiles and his dry humor and how easily the two of you fall into a routine of playful banter. You click in a way that surprises you, in a way that makes you mourn the lost potential of all those awkward, stilted months and feel giddy about the possibilities ahead.

Dinner is over too soon and you walk back to the TVA feeling revived from the coffee and the conversation.

Disaster awaits you back at the office, though: you’d left a stack of the Nero variant files on your desk and evidently the construction was too precarious, as the entire pile had tipped off your desk and spilled to the floor, contents scattered everywhere.

“Fucking hell,” you sigh, running a hand through your hair. You’re not sure whether you want to laugh, cry, or scream. Possibly, it’s all three.

“Here.” Loki is bending down on the floor to gather the files. You studiously try to not ogle his ass or thighs. Or at least not obviously. “Clear off some space on your desk—I’ll help.”

Twenty minutes later, you’ve set up an entirely new system—Loki has dragged his chair over to your desk and the cart of unsorted files sits between you, like a surly metallic chaperone. And even later when you’ve sorted out all of the files from the floor, he remains parked at the end of your desk, a stack of new, unsorted files in front of him. Admittedly, it’s a lot more efficient for you to work like this: privately, though, it gives you a warm glow that has nothing to do with workplace efficiency.

“I’ve invented a new game,” he says some time later.

“What’s that?”

“Every time either one of us finds documentation showing Renato Lucchese losing money on a racehorse he was told was not a good investment, I get to have a drink.”

You look up at him. “Look, I know you’re a god and everything, but I am pretty sure that will kill you.”

He sighs and tosses the file into the Lucchese pile. “I think it would add a little excitement to the evening, don’t you?”

You raise your eyebrows and look back at the file in front of you. “You mean this isn’t your idea of a fun Friday night?”

“My idea of a fun Friday night includes far fewer files and a lot more debauchery,” he says, taking a new file from the cart.

You glance at the clock. “Well, it’s only eleven. I don’t usually start body shots until after midnight.”

“What are body shots?”

For one horrifying moment, you think that you’re going to actually have to explain this to him, but then you get a good look at his expression.

He’s teasing you.

“You’re an ass,” you say, swatting him on the shoulder with the file you’re holding.

He wags a finger at you. “That’s workplace violence. I’m going to have to report that.”

You lean back in your chair and return to your file. “I’m pretty confident that you’ll be put off by the amount of paperwork that process requires.”

He shakes his head as he returns to his own file. “Uncontrolled bureaucracy is how bad actors escape accountability.” There’s a brief pause. “And…there’s another racehorse.”

You continue on like this for the rest of the evening, occasionally chatting and Loki proving definitively that the Renato Lucchese racehorse drinking game could not be played without resulting in a fatality. It’s nice, though. Yes, it’s sorting files and yes, it’s not the most intellectually riveting task you’ve ever done, but spending time with Loki is nice. It’s because of this that you find yourself trying to stay awake, pushing past your looming exhaustion.

But around two, you can’t quite fight the heaviness of your eyelids any longer and you doze off in the middle of a report on the sinking of the Lusitania.

“Hey.” Loki is gently shaking your shoulder. The way he says your name in that deliciously deep voice makes you want to swoon and you’re glad that you have the ready made excuse of sleepiness to explain any embarrassing behavior on your end.

“I think you’d better call it a night,” he says gently. “Get some sleep and come back with fresh eyes.”

“What about you?” you say. “Are you going to do the same, or are you just all talk?”

He smiles at you and it warms you to the very tips of your toes. You could bask in that smile like a cat in a sunbeam.

“I’m starting to fade a bit myself,” he says

“Very convenient,” you say and he grins at you.

“Come on, I’ll see you back home.”

Part of you wants to protest—there’s really no need for him to walk you home—but a larger, louder part of you wants to let it be, prolong the magic of tonight for just a little longer.

There’s a comfortable silence between the two of you as you walk out of the office together.

“What time do you think you’re going to come in tomorrow?” he asks as you approach the residential wing. “It’s probably sensible to coordinate our efforts a bit.”

“Yeah, that’s a good point,” you say. “I was thinking nine, but that will be dependent on how much coffee I have.”

“Yes, about that,” he says. “I cannot stand idly by and watch you torture yourself with vending machine coffee.”

“Well, the cafeteria will be open, so I was going to torture myself with cafeteria coffee, which is at least thirty percent less over brewed.”

He clicks his tongue. “You’re not making a compelling case for yourself.”

“To be fair, it’s quite late and I’ve been staring at files for hours.”

“All the more reason to get decent coffee,” he says. “We’re going out for breakfast.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh, we are?”

“Consider it an intervention,” he says. “I’ll come collect you at eight.”

You’re not quite sure if this is just his natural confidence and swagger coming through or if he’s flirting with you and this counts as a date.

“Where are we going?”

“I know a place.”

The place in question turns out to be a food cart in Central Park in 1998.

“Should I even bother asking if you have supervisor approval for this?” you say, looking skeptically at the time door glimmering before you.

Loki scoffs. “I don’t have a supervisor.”

“You do. It��s Mobius.”

“That can’t be right, we’re peers.”

“You’re absolutely not. Did you read any of the onboarding materials?”

He ignores your question. “I don’t see why I’d even need a supervisor, honestly.”

You snort. “Need I remind you of what happened at the Nixon inauguration?”

He spreads his hands in front of him. “It’s not my fault that I’m the only one with a sense of humor.”

“I’m not entirely sure that was the problem,” you say. “Gerald Ford is never going to be the same, from what I understand.”

Loki waves a dismissive hand. “He’ll be fine, the tail isn’t permanent. Now, are you coming or not?”

You roll your eyes at him and make a halfhearted complaint about proper protocol, but you know that you’re walking through that time door and not looking back. You knew that before he even posed the question.

The food cart is owned by a man named Samir who has a wide smile and booming laugh. He talks to Loki like he’s a friend and he tells you that you have the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen. You are fairly certain he’s exaggerating, but you stuff a few extra bills into the tip jar anyway.

“I can’t believe you fell for that,” says Loki as you walk away, each carrying a coffee and a brown paper bag with a breakfast sandwich.

“Fell for what?” you say, batting your eyes at him. “I do have beautiful eyes.”

“I’ve heard him say that on at least thirty separate occasions.”

“Yeah, but this time he really meant it. I could tell.”

He rolls his eyes and leads you to a park bench overlooking a wide, grassy field. The leaves are just starting to change and the air has a little bit of a bite to it.

You sit down on the bench and take a sip of your coffee.

“It is good coffee, I’ll give you that,” you say.

“See,” says Loki, “you can’t go back to that vending machine sludge after this.”

“I mean, if it’s eleven o’clock at night and I’m on a deadline, I can.”

“Darling. You have a TemPad.”

“Loki. Read the personnel manual.”

He wrinkles his nose. “It’s not really my genre.”

You roll your eyes and take out your breakfast sandwich. “What is your genre?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that a serious question?”

“Of course it is,” you say. “I love talking about books.”

He gives you a slight smile and takes a sip of his coffee. “A little bit of everything, honestly,” he says. “Philosophy. Magical theory. History. Politics. Anything from Asgard, really, though it can be a bit more challenging getting some of those titles.”

“I’ve had pretty good luck with the Library of the Sacred Timeline—have you checked there yet?”

He frowns. “I’m not familiar.”

“Oh, you’d like it—it’s on the eighteenth floor. It’s intended to be a collection of the greatest works of literature from as many branches of the timeline as possible,” you say. “It started as a research project, but people liked it and it just kind of evolved into this huge collection. They’ve actually got a pretty sizeable collection of books from Asgard.”

It’s like you’ve told him that his personal paradise had been located on the eighteenth floor this entire time. “Will you show me?”

He is practically vibrating with the sort of anticipatory, manic energy that you typically would associate with Christmas morning right before you tear into presents. It’s sweetly endearing.

“Of course.”

Ten minutes later, you’re leading him through the winding hallways on the eighteenth floor. You’re not surprised he hasn’t heard about the library—it’s a bit out of the way and the eighteenth floor is so poorly designed that it’s not terribly easy to find.

The design of the library is a sharp departure from the rest of the TVA. The shelves and floors are made of the kind of dark mahogany that you typically see in the kind of estates that look like something directly out of a Jane Austen novel. Worn oriental rugs muffle your footsteps on the creaky wood floors and the air smells faintly of dust and paper.

There’s a subtle change in Loki when you walk through the doors—almost like a muscle in his shoulders finally relaxes and he seems truly at home for the first time since he arrived.

You touch his hand. “This way.”

You lead him into the stacks, back to the far corner, right after the books from Alfheim.

“You can borrow whichever ones you like,” you say softly. “There’s a sign out sheet at the front desk.”

He nods, though you don’t think he really hears you—he only has eyes for the shelves, his gaze sweeping across the spines like they’re old friends. You’re about to excuse yourself to give him a little privacy when his brow furrows and he exhales sharply. “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

“What is it?”

They have the entirety of the finest Asgardian literature at their disposal. Untold centuries of the writings of our greatest minds—” he plucks a book off the shelf, “—and they choose to include this?”

The title looks fairly innocuous—a red, leather bound book with the title The Cloistered Heart embossed in gold script on the front. You take the book from him and open it. “What’s the problem with this?”

“It’s inconsequential fluff, literary pablum of the highest order.”

This is the Loki that you’re more familiar with and a smile curls at your lips. Almost on cue, you flip the book open to a chapter titled “The Wedding and Bedding of Aloisa.”

You bite back a laugh and look up at him. “It’s a romance novel.”

“Precisely my point,” he says. “To think that this is on the same shelf as Nielsen and Auber.”

“That’s kind of how libraries work,” you say, flipping further into the book. The phrases “throbbing length” and “eager moans” draw your eye and you have to tamp down another laugh. “Oh, and it’s a sexy romance novel.”

“It appeals to the lowest common denominator, yes.”

“What, so you’re too good for a bodice ripper?”

He scoffs. “I prefer to do the bodice ripping myself, not read some overwrought description of it.”

You are glad you’re looking at the book because you’re pretty sure you’d disintegrate if you had to make eye contact with him while he delivered that line. “Oh spare me,” you say lightly, snapping the book shut and drawing it to your chest. “I’m gonna read this.”

He blows out a puff of air. “It’s a waste of your time.”

“I’ve got lots of time, I can afford to waste it,” you say cheekily. “Besides, I’m curious to see what kind of book turns the god of mischief into a pearl clutching prude.”

Loki sputters. “Prude? Darling, let me assure you, I’m no prude—”

“I’ll leave you to browse,” you say with a grin as you turn away from him. “Come find me at the front when you’re ready to go.”

You’re a few chapters into the book when Loki rejoins you at the front of the library, a small stack of books tucked under his arm.

You close your book with a snap. “This book is a delight. I think your real issue is just that you’re no fun.”

He scoffs. “I’m very fun.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

You bicker playfully back and forth as you check out your books and leave the library. A quick glance at your watch tells you that you spent much more time there than you’d planned. You can’t quite bring yourself to worry about that, though, not with the memory of Loki’s wonderstruck expression burning so bright in your mind.

There’s a bit of a lull in the conversation as you wait for the elevator.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

“For what?”

“For showing me that.”

“Of course. I’m sorry you didn’t know about it sooner.”

He looks at you, lips parting slightly like he’s about to say something. His tongue swipes briefly over his bottom lip and you would swear that his gaze drops to your mouth for just a second.

For just a second—one heady, slightly irrational second—you think he might be about to kiss you.

The ding of the elevator arriving breaks the spell, startling you just a little. You run a hand through your hair, trying to give off the impression of composure even as your heart beats wildly in your chest.

Loki gestures to the elevator doors. “After you.”

There is a group of analysts in the elevator already, chatting animatedly and completely obliterating any chance you may have had at recapturing that moment.

You try not to dwell too much in contemplating what ifs or timeline branches—often, it feels too much like work, something Mobius might assign you.

But you know that the possibility of that moment—what if the elevator had been a hair slower, what if those analysts had taken a different route, what if you were braver—you know that’s something that’s going to haunt you for a while.

You wouldn’t give up that time in the library for anything—it’s one of those moments that feels formative, something that you’ll return to again and again for one reason or another.

But it’s also true that it’s time that you probably could have used for sorting files and as Saturday ticks on, you can’t help but wish you had a way to pull another hour out of somewhere.

“We’re not going to be able to make this deadline, are we?” you say with a sigh.

It’s getting late into the evening and the cart of files still to be sorted still remains depressingly full, despite the fact that you’d brought both lunch and dinner back to your desk so you could continue working.

Loki eyes the remaining files. “I think we might. We made good progress today.”

You rub your eyes. “My brain feels like it’s about to leak out my ears.”

Loki takes the file you are working on and sets it back in the stack of unsorted files. “I think that might be a sign it’s time to turn in,” he says.

“There’s still so much left.”

“There’s still tomorrow.”

You reach for the file. “Well, let me just—”

He pulls your hand away from the pile. “You can come back to it in the morning. Besides, if you’re this tired, you’re not going to do good work anyway.”

He squeezes your hand and drops it. It’s brief enough to still be friendly, but unusual enough to make you wonder and send your mind racing back to that moment by the elevator.

You shake the thought away. It’s late and you’re tired.

You heave a world weary sigh and slump back in your chair. “I hate it when you’re right.”

To his credit, he only smirks a little. “Come on. I’ll walk you back.”

Once again, there’s no reason for him to do this, but once again, you’re inclined to let him.

You pack up for the evening and walk out of the office side by side. You’re trying very hard not to think about the fact that this is likely the last night that you’ll do this, that tomorrow the assignment will be over.

As you near the residential wing, you start to hear distant shouts. If you inhale deeply, you catch a very faint whiff of explosives—you’re not sure what kind.

“I think someone brought work home,” you say with a sigh.

This happens from time to time—things get out of hand in the field or something happens when retrieving an asset or a target and all hell breaks loose at the TVA. Mobius had once referred to it as “bringing work home” and the name had stuck.

“Wasn’t there an incident in this wing not long ago?” asks Loki.

“Yes.” You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I had to call off the next day—I got no sleep that night.” You listen carefully, trying to determine the source of the noise and the status of the problem. “But maybe it’s almost over,” you say with an optimism you don’t fully feel. “Sometimes these things are resolved really quick.”

Your heart continues to sink the closer you come to your home. The acrid burn of explosives only increases and you think you catch the low, dull roar of something not quite human.

And indeed, when you turn the final corner, you are immediately stopped by an electric blue barrier being monitored by a hunter. G-21–you’ve worked with her on a couple of missions before.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” slips out of your mouth before you can stop yourself.

“There’s an ongoing incident in this area,” says G-21 and you almost want to laugh because no shit.

“How long do you think it’s gonna be closed off?” you ask.

She shrugs. “We’re at a code 54 right now, but it’s probably gonna escalate.”

With pitch perfect timing and before you can even try to remember what a code 54 means, there’s an almighty crash and a low bellow.

“Go!” she yells before running toward the commotion amid frantic calls for backup.

Loki is grabbing your wrist and pulling you into a run.

Your standard issue work shoes are comfortable enough on a day to day basis, but you certainly want to have words with whoever decided that leather soled shoes with absolutely no grips were a good choice for a building floored almost entirely in linoleum. In a low stakes situation, it’s meant occasionally you wipe out in the cafeteria and hurt nothing but your pride. In this situation, it means that Loki’s firm grip on your hand is the only thing keeping you upright.

But there’s a small mercy in that while you can still hear distant crashes and shrieks, whatever is happening down that hallway doesn’t seem to be following you and eventually, you both slow to a brisk walk and Loki drops your hand.

You haven’t even had a chance to consider where you are going to sleep tonight. You could probably curl up on that terrible couch in the office and just plan on getting up early enough to run back to your place for a quick shower and a change of clothes…assuming the incident resolves by then—

“You can stay with me,” says Loki, as though he can hear you trying to sort this out.

“Oh, that’s okay, I’ll just—”

“If you say you’re going to sleep on that terrible couch in the office, I will personally take you to the most boring governmental proceeding I can find and leave you there until you come to your senses.”

“Sounds like a great place to fall asleep,” you say.

His eyes glint, but his tone brooks no arguments. “You’re staying with me tonight.”

You sigh, but you can’t think of a counterpoint. “When did you get so bossy?”

“Darling, I’m a prince,” he says with a bit of a wry smirk. “It’s my birthright.”

Loki lives on the opposite end of the residential wing and his place looks quite a bit like yours—he’s got an extra window in the kitchen but the floor plan is otherwise the same. A lot of his furniture is standard issue, but there are little details that make it seem more personal: an area rug with a bit of fraying on the edges, a painting of what you think is an Asgardian landscape, a vase filled with dried flowers so delicate they look like they might disintegrate if you were to touch them. And books—so many books. Books on shelves, stacked on the coffee table, tucked into the little rack that you know is meant to hold magazines. Hardbacks, paperbacks, leather bound, dog-eared, well-worn and brand new. It’s no wonder he was so excited about the library.

“Have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the couch. “I’ll get some things for you.”

You sit down and he disappears down the hall. You idly examine the books stacked on the end table next to you. Many are quite clearly from Asgard and it sparks a pang of sympathy—it’s like his homesickness is on full display in his living room and there’s something sweet and sad about seeing that vulnerability laid so bare.

He returns a few minutes later with a pair of pajamas, a toothbrush, and a hand towel.

“Here,” he says, handing you the pile. “Bathroom’s just down the hall. I’ll make up a bed for you.”

“Thanks.”

In the bathroom, you realize that the pajamas he’s given you aren’t the standard set you can order from the TVA. These are made of a dark emerald silk that ripples over your skin like water, and somehow, that makes it feel a thousand times more personal than if he’d loaned you a standard set. They don’t fit quite right on you, but they’ll work well enough for tonight.

You brush your teeth and attempt to get through as much of your evening routine as you can before collecting your clothes and exiting the bathroom.

When you return to the living room, you expect to find that he’s made up a bed for you on the couch. These living units only have one bedroom—it would be quite reasonable to have you sleep on the couch.

You do not expect to find a pajama clad Loki stretched out reading on the couch, a blanket over his lap and his head propped up on a pillow like he intends to sleep there.

You exhale slowly. “Please tell me you are not giving up your bed.”

“Don’t be absurd, of course I am,” he says without even looking up from his book. “The point of this was to prevent you from sleeping on a couch, not simply put you on a couch in a different location.”

You wish you had something to throw at him. “You don’t even fit on that couch.”

“Luckily, my knees bend. Besides, you’re a guest,” he says, as though that settles it.

You roll your eyes and plunk yourself down in the armchair across from the couch, setting your pile of clothes on the floor. “I’m not moving until you give up the couch.”

He finally looks up from his book. “You’re really going to do this?”

You examine your fingernails, flicking away an invisible speck of dust. “I’m not the one being unreasonable. I’m simply meeting you at your level.”

“If you think that I’m being unreasonable and you’re also saying you’re meeting me at my level, does that not mean you are admitting that you are being unreasonable?”

“It’s nearly one o’clock in the morning. I’m not arguing semantics with you.”

“Fine.” His eyes glimmer as he sets his book down and slowly rises to his feet. “But you’re still not sleeping on the couch.”

“Oh, you’re going to be so disappointed when you realize how wrong you are,” you say. You think you see your opening and you try to play it cool.

He’s walking toward you, leaving your path to the couch wide open. In your head, you can see exactly how this works: you’ll spring from your chair and dart around the coffee table before diving onto the couch like a baseball player sliding into home plate, soundly defeating Loki. Easy peasy.

Instead, what happens is that you spring to your feet and Loki moves with inhuman speed, grabbing you around your waist and pinning you to the front of his chest, stopping you in your tracks almost immediately.

“I suppose I should have expected that,” he says. Your back is facing him, but you can almost hear the dry, sardonic look he’s giving you.

“Probably,” you say. “God of mischief and all.” You struggle fruitlessly against his iron grip. “You can let me go now.”

He laughs. “I’m afraid I can’t. It was clearly a mistake to trust you. I won’t be making that error again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, trying again to squirm away from him. “Let me go.”

“The interesting thing about all of this is that you’ve made a rather substantial tactical error,” he says, continuing as though he can’t hear you.

“You’re bluffing,” you say with more confidence than you feel.

“Fascinating theory,” he says, “but I don’t think it’s going to work out for you.”

With that same ridiculous speed, he’s suddenly spinning you around and lifting you, tossing you easily over his shoulder.

“Hey!” you shout in protest.

“I warned you,” he says, his voice full of mirth as he carries you toward the bedroom.

This is not exactly how you’ve imagined being carried off to bed by Loki.

Though, admittedly, you do have a nice view of his ass.

“This is ridiculous,” you say.

“You brought this upon yourself.” He’s walking into the bedroom and a moment later, he’s lifting you from his shoulder and tossing you unceremoniously onto his bed.

You scramble to your feet and try to lunge toward the door, but he’s clearly expecting that. Before your feet even hit the floor, he catches you around the waist and hauls you back to the bed. Your back hits the mattress and you try to leverage the momentum to propel yourself back onto your feet.

He catches you immediately and you find yourself back on the bed again.

“I don’t mean to be patronizing,” he says, failing to bite back a laugh, “but it’s adorable that you think you can outmaneuver me.”

That is deeply offensive and the only way you can earn my forgiveness is by letting me take my rightful place on the couch.” You can’t quite keep the laugh from your voice.

He grins. “Not a chance.”

You attempt to dive off the opposite side of the bed, only to have him grab you by the ankles and pull you back. You manage to dislodge him and lunge in the opposite direction, only to be immediately thwarted.

It becomes increasingly hilarious the longer it goes on and soon your sides are aching from laughter. Loki is laughing too, but it doesn’t seem to affect his strength or speed at all.

Eventually, he wrestles you back down onto the bed and you are fairly certain there’s no way out of this one—he’s got your wrists pinned above your head and his legs locked around yours. You’re both a little out of breath.

“Yield,” he says.

You shake your head. “Never.”

His gaze flicks to your lips and back to your eyes. “Yield.”

“No.”

Something has changed. There’s an electricity and intensity that crackles in the air between you, possibilities blooming in both of your gazes. It feels a little like that moment by the elevator, but you’re afraid to hope, afraid to even wish because the idea of him wanting you still feels as impossible as capturing smoke with a net.

But the way he’s looking at you, the way his gaze keeps drifting between your eyes and your lips…that’s not nothing.

“Yield.”

You lick your lips, your heart beating wildly. “No.”

Is it just your imagination, or did his breath hitch when you licked your lips?

“Yield.”

God, he’s so close and you want him so badly.

“No.”

He looks again at your lips and this time, he closes the distance between you.

They call him Silvertongue—you’ve heard the jokes, you’ve rolled your eyes at all of them. But as he kisses you, you realize that there’s an element of truth there because only seconds in and you’re ready to sign away your soul to live under the power of Loki’s tongue. The slow, warm slide of it against yours, the way he guides your mouth against his, the way he lets out a soft sigh as he tastes you—you would give up everything if it meant you could stay like this.

“Yield,” he breathes against your lips.

“No,” you say.

He deepens the kiss, catching your lower lip between his teeth and gently tugging until you whimper and arch against him.

He still has your hands pinned against the bed, his grip unyielding when you try to wrestle them away.

“Let me touch you,” you say when he draws back. You want to touch him everywhere—run your hands along every muscle you’ve admired from afar.

“Then yield,” he says with a grin, his eyes flashing with devilish intent.

You consider this for a moment. You could give in—there aren’t really any stakes at this point and you’re pretty sure you’re both going to end up sleeping in his bed tonight anyway. But that glint of mischief in his eyes also promises some intriguing possibilities if you stand firm.

“No,” you say.

“Such a pity,” says Loki, though his expression is one of hungry delight.

His hands slip free of your wrists then, but they stay pinned to the bed by some invisible force.

“Cheater,” you say.

“I think this is only fair,” he says, his hands sliding to your hips. “I’m clearly the victor, am I not entitled to my prize?”

You shiver. “Your prize?”

“Yes.” He kisses down the column of your throat. “My lovely, lovely prize.”

“How can I be your prize if I’m also your competitor?”

“You think too much,” he mumbles against your neck.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Generally, it’s not.” He sits back on his heels between your legs, looking you over with satisfaction. “But in this case, it’s distracting you from more pressing matters.” His hands creep under the hem of your shirt, stroking the small of your back, thumbs tracing teasingly along the waistband of your pajama pants.

“Have I mentioned how much I enjoy seeing you in my clothes?” he asks. There’s a husky depth to his voice and a hunger in his eyes that sends a flood of arousal to your cunt.

“You have not,” you say.

“A casualty of too much thinking,” he says solemnly, his thumbs gently grazing the skin at your hipbones. “You look utterly delectable. I almost want to leave them on.” His eyes glitter with mischief. “Almost.” His hand strays to the bottom button on your pajama top. “May I?”

You nod. “Yes.”

He slips the button free and slowly makes his way up until your shirt is open. He carefully pushes the fabric aside, baring your breasts to his sight and touch.

You’ve never felt more beautiful seeing Loki stare at you, lips slightly parted, eyes wide and hungry. He trails one hand up your stomach and rib cage and slowly brushes a thumb over your nipple. You gasp and the sensitive skin puckers and stiffens as he palms your breast, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs as he lowers his mouth to your breast, his tongue and lips taking up the role of his hand, while his other hand moves to cup your other breast. You whimper, wishing you could run your hands through his hair. “That’s it,” he purrs, “I want to hear all the sounds you can make, my love.”

You rock your hips forward and arch your back as he lavishes attention on your breasts. It’s the most delicious kind of torture, having him so close, but not being able to touch him.

He’s taking his time, which you both love and hate. He feels so good, but you need him to touch you, you need to touch him, you need him inside of you. You wait until you can’t take it any more and breathe his name like it’s a prayer.

You wonder if this is what he was waiting for because with little more than a brief smirk and a wicked look, he starts kissing his way back up your chest and neck. You whimper when his lips meet yours and you can feel him grin as he kisses you. He fits his hips against yours, angling himself so that his cock rubs up against your clit just right and you moan into his mouth. You can tell that he’s big and part of you wants to savor the anticipation even though you feel like you might go mad if he doesn’t fuck you now. You rock your hips against him, trying to feel that friction.

His large hands frame your face, one hand sliding to cradle the back of your head so he can draw you deeper, the other trailing from your cheek to your throat.

Both hands soon stroke down your sides, lingering teasingly at the waistband of your pajama pants. He hooks his thumbs underneath the waistband and you lift your hips. He slides your pants down maybe an inch and you can feel him smiling as he kisses you. You lift your hips again and your waistband creeps down another inch.

“Loki.” His name falls from your lips with a sigh.

“What is it, my love?”

“Touch me,” you breathe. “Please.”

You lift your hips again and this time, he pulls the fabric fully down and off your legs. He guides your legs apart and stares appreciatively at your bare cunt, his teasing expression replaced by a rapt awe.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs.

You believe him.

His hands stroke your thighs, seemingly in no hurry, despite your pleading whimpers and the way you arch against the mattress. He draws his thumb gently along your slit, barely grazing your clit.

“Do you know what an utter distraction it’s been sitting behind you?” he asks, tracing your clit in the slowest, lightest circle.

You arch upward, hands still bound by his magic. “Tell me,” you breathe, your hips rising to chase his hand.

“Every time you stood up, I could only think about bending you over the desk.”

You manage a sly smirk. “And here I thought you didn’t like me much at all.”

His thumb presses a little more against your clit and you moan.

“I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you,” he says, rolling his thumb in a slow circle. “I kept you at arm’s length partly as a matter of protection.”

For who?”

“You,” he says. “I’m not fully redeemed in some eyes and you being involved with a dangerous variant—”

“You’re not,” you say.

“Some would disagree.”

“Well, they’re wrong,” you say. “You’re not a dangerous variant. You’re Loki Laufeyson and I want you just as you are.”

There’s something unreadable in his expression and it makes you wonder how many people have told him that he can just be himself.

“You should be careful saying such lovely things to me, you know,” he says solemnly.

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh really? And why is that?”

“Because it makes me want to do very wicked things to you.”

You’re surprised you’re not shaking, you want him so badly. “What kinds of wicked things?”

“Oh, all manner of wicked things.” He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, his tongue swiping briefly against your skin. “Things with my mouth...” His thumb rolls over your clit again, his index finger teasing your entrance before retreating. “…my hands…” He drags his gaze over your naked form before locking eyes with you. “My cock.”

A shiver works its way up your spine. “So if I talk about how I think you’re really clever and funny and I find it unbelievably sexy, what sort of wicked thing would that merit?”

The intensity of his gaze makes you shiver again. He crouches down and presses another kiss against the inside of your knee, slowly moving upward. “If you keep talking like that, I’m not going to let you leave my bed for days.”

“You know that’s not a disincentive, right?” you say, sucking in a sharp breath as he nips at the soft skin of your inner thigh. “I’ve wanted you for such a long time, Loki.”

“I’ll make it weeks if you’re not careful.”

“Again, not a disincentive.” You gently tug at your bound wrists and find that they’re still firmly secured. It’s exhilarating, even though you really wish you could run your hands through his hair, especially if he ends up where you think he’s going.

“What else should I tell you?” you muse as he continues his agonizingly slow path along your thigh. “You know, half the reason I kept to myself was that I wanted you so much I was certain that I’d make a fool of myself.”

That earns you a few circles of your clit with his thumb, but his progress up your thigh remains slow. You have a theory about what might move the needle, though.

“I know you like to act like you’re this sort of barely reformed villain, but I think there’s more good in you than you’d like people to believe.”

This time, he moves up to the crease where your thigh joins your hip, close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath ghosting along your labia. His tongue traces a line along your skin and you briefly wonder if you’ll be able to hold it together enough to deliver the last part.

“And,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “yesterday and today made me want you even more because I feel like I finally saw who you really are and you’re even more wond—”

Your words abruptly give way to a breathy moan because his perfect, skilled tongue has finally found its way to your clit.

You had a plan from here, but whatever it was has dissolved into nothing under the skilled caress of Loki’s tongue. You suspected he would be good at this from the way that he’d kissed you earlier, but you could not have imagined that it would feel like this.

“Oh my god, Loki.” Your thighs are already quaking. You tug again at the invisible bonds on your wrists, but they hold fast. Something about the way the bonds are keeping you gently stretched along the bed combined with how his large hands have your thighs spread open seems to heighten every sensation. There’s no wiggling away from him or adjusting yourself so that you feel more or less of the onslaught of his tongue on your cunt. You are completely at his mercy and you’re not entirely surprised that you fucking love it.

He slides a finger into your aching channel and your cunt shudders around the thick intrusion. The warm, roiling center of your orgasm starts builds in your hips with every stroke of his tongue, spinning faster and faster, like ocean winds whipping up into a hurricane. Your back arches and his tongue presses flat against your clit, and suddenly you know that this is going to be what takes you over the edge.

Loki seems to know it too, at least from the way that he presses his tongue more firmly against you, one arm slung across your hips to hold you in place. His other hand slides two fingers inside you, rocking and curling against that aching, tender spot.

You whimper, your hips bucking wildly. It’s so good and so much and you are almost there.

You look down at him then, his hair wild, hollowed cheeks flushed pink as his tongue works you over, his eyes closed like he couldn’t imagine anything more blissful than being in between your legs while you come undone.

This is ultimately what tips you over the edge. The storm that has been forming inside you is finally let loose and you arch your back and cry out in a wordless scream as your climax crashes into you.

Only then do the bonds around your wrists release and your hands fly down to grab his hair as your body shakes with pleasure.

It takes a moment for you to get your breath back and reacquaint yourself with the concept of speech, but when you do, you find Loki looking up at you, his expression pure mischief.

“And to think you wanted to sleep on the couch.”

“It wasn’t that I wanted to sleep on the couch, it’s that—” Your voice cuts off as his tongue starts stroking your clit again.

“It’s what?” he asks in between strokes, his smirk obvious in his voice. The lingering ripples of your orgasm are coalescing around the path of his tongue, tightening that coil in your belly again.

“Fuck—you’re not playing fair, you can’t just—” You lose your sentence to a low moan that rises up from your chest. “You can’t just—fuck, yes—you can’t…oh god, yes, just like that.”

His laughter rumbles against you as your hips start rocking against his mouth. How are you already so close?

“You can’t just—fuck—win an argument by—”

You’re trying to say that he can’t expect to win an argument by making you come and you think he might understand this based on how determined he seems to be to prove you wrong. His fingers curl again until he finds that soft, tender spot that is so often the key to your unraveling.

You have stopped trying to complete that sentence—you moan, your hands tangling in his hair, urging him on as the swell of your climax rushes up, inevitable as a tidal wave looming over a seaside village.

You cry out as it crests and breaks, falling down over you in a rush of tingling pleasure that feels like champagne and fireworks all at once.

“Now, what was it you were saying, my love?” he asks as he releases your clit a moment later. “Something about how I can’t just win an argument by making you come? I couldn’t quite hear you over the sound of you coming completely undone on my tongue.”

“Oh, you think you’re so smart,” you say, giving him a stern look as he crawls up your body.

“You know what I think?” he says, settling himself on his side next to you. “I think you liked submitting to me.”

You shiver before you can even think about hiding it and his smile turns decidedly vulpine.

“You did, didn’t you? You liked having your hands bound and being completely at my mercy while I licked your pretty cunt until you came undone in my mouth.”

“You are enjoying this far too much,” you say.

“I am enjoying it the correct amount.”

You realize your hands are now free to explore his body and you tug at his pajama shirt. “I think you’re wearing too many clothes,” you say.

He gives you a wicked grin as he lets you pull his shirt over his head. “Yes, perhaps it’s time we even things up.”

You pull the shirt away and rake your eyes over him greedily, your hands following the path of your gaze. He is as perfect as you imagined, unfairly beautiful in the dim light of the bedroom.

You hook your thumbs into the waistband of his pajama pants and lower them an inch, a cheeky parallel of how he teased you earlier. His lips curl into a sharp smile when he realizes what you’re doing.

“Interesting strategy.” There’s a bit of a growl in his voice, a rough desperation that makes your cunt clench. “But I think you forgot that I have the upper hand here.”

He raises his hand and with a twist of his wrist, his remaining clothes dissolve in a shimmer of green and he is bare before you.

Your breath catches in your throat. His cock commands your immediate attention, nudging up against your thigh—he’s big, as you suspected, but completely bare and rock hard, he somehow seems longer and thicker than he had when he was grinding against you.

He pulls you into a slow kiss as you reach for his cock. You wrap your hand around him, delighting in the silky hardness of him, the way he throbs in your hand and the low groan he makes as your hand moves from base to tip and back, the way his hips thrust along with you. Your cunt clenches in anticipation.

After a moment, though, he places his hand over yours, slowing your movements.

“I need to be inside you,” he rasps.

“Yes,” you breathe.

He rolls on top of you and you’re not sure that you’ve ever felt anything quite as wonderful as the heat of his bare skin and yours pressed together. This feeling means intimacy, a closeness that you’d longed for but never expected even in your wildest daydreams.

He pulls you into a kiss, slow, soft, and languid, like you have all the time in the world and he intends to take it. It’s decadent and dreamy and perfect.

But the heavy weight of his bare cock resting against your stomach combined with the ache between your legs—an ache that would be so perfectly soothed by the hard column of flesh currently throbbing against you—proves to be a force too powerful to resist for very long.

You cant your hips against him, snaking one leg around his waist, hoping he’ll get the hint.

He does.

He braces himself on one hand, the other sliding between your bodies to rub his cock along your slick folds. He positions himself at your entrance, waiting for your breathy plea to begin to ease himself slowly into you.

He fills and stretches you in the most wonderful way, but even more than that, he feels like home. The thought strikes you quite suddenly and you’re not entirely sure about everything it means, but you know it’s good and right.

He pauses for just a moment, seeming to savor the feeling.

“You feel better than I ever imagined,” he says.

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “You imagined?”

He gives you a hungry smile as he leans in to kiss you. “Like I said: it has been an utter distraction sitting behind you.”

His rhythm is slow and easy, like he wants to take his time learning every inch of you and memorizing how you react to his touch. His mouth moves over yours in a slow kiss that’s somehow both languid and demanding, his tongue gliding in and out of your mouth in the same rhythm of his hips rocking into you. His cock bumps up against that sweet spot inside of you that his fingers had teased earlier, each stroke inching you closer to bliss.

He shifts the angle of his hips so that his pubic bone grinds against your clit and it feels so good you almost see stars. You can feel your orgasm building, your cunt growing slicker and tensing around his thrusting cock.

He draws back to look at you, eyes hazy with a loose, dreamy kind of pleasure.

“Do you have any idea how good you feel?” he breathes.

You are shaking. “Loki, I’m gonna come.”

“I know you are,” he purrs. “Let go for me, let me feel you, my love.”

With two more thrusts of his hips, you unravel.

He groans as you tremble around him, but mostly, he watches your face, rapt by the way you throw your head back against the bed and gasp his name like it’s the only thing that will save you.

“You’re beautiful when you come,” he breathes. “Absolutely stunning.”

He waits until you catch your breath before he kisses you again, slow and sensual. His hips are still rocking in that beautifully slow rhythm and you don’t know how it can still feel so good.

He keeps moving against you, his touch and his low murmurs of praise invoking a symphony of sensations. He presses deeper and your body sings with every thrust, your muscles tensing and tightening around him like you never want him to leave. Your climax swells again and you come with a whimper, your whole body shaking as he fucks you through it.

You want him to come, want to hear the sounds he makes and feel his sweet, hot release burning inside of you.

“I want you to come for me,” you breathe.

He grins at you. “Oh, I will, but not yet. You’re not done yet.”

You whimper. “Loki—”

“Two more, my love, two more and then I’ll come for you.”

Somehow, you give him three. By the second one, he’s panting and his words have become rough, his voice a growl as he utters some of the filthiest praise you’ve ever heard. The third builds quickly after that and you know instinctively that you’re going to take him over the edge with you this time.

You fight to keep your eyes open against the tidal wave of pleasure blooming again in your hips. You need to see him come undone.

As in everything else he does, he’s unfairly beautiful—he throws his head back, letting out a low groan that you can feel all the way to the tips of your toes. His cheeks are flushed, a few ink dark curls plastered to the light sheen of sweat on his forehead. You can feel him emptying himself inside you, his release hot and hard won.

It seems to last a long time and it’s another minute before his hips slow to a halt. He kisses you, so soft and sweet it would almost seem chaste were it not for the fact that his cock is still throbbing inside of you.

After a moment, he slowly eases out of you, rolling over onto his back, his arm snaking around your waist and pulling you to him like he can’t bear to be parted from you even for a moment.

You curl up against his side, your legs tangling with his. He takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours before resting your clasped hands on his heart.

You could fall in love like this, you think sleepily to yourself.

You don’t know it then, but you’re right.

Time moves differently at the TVA, but a couple years later, there’s a ring in a box on your desk.

Loki likes a spectacle and you’d daydreamed about a traditional wedding, but when you talk it over, you both agree that you want to do something different, something quiet, something just for the two of you.

“I do think we should tell Mobius beforehand,” you say to Loki.

“Isn’t the point of eloping that no one knows until after it’s done?” says Loki.

“Yes, but I feel like we could make one exception,” you say. “If we’d done a full wedding, I would have asked him to give me away.”

Loki’s gaze softens a bit then and he pulls you close. “All right. But we only tell him right before we leave. The man can’t keep a secret.”

But Mobius doesn’t seem terribly surprised when you tell him—in fact, he seems far more concerned about your wedding gift.

“I didn’t have a chance to wrap it yet,” he says. He’s retrieved a large picture frame that had been propped against his desk, though he keeps it turned away from you. “So…this also requires a bit of an overdue confession for context.”

You raise your eyebrows. “A confession?”

“A confession,” says Mobius.

“Will I be angry about this?” asks Loki at the same time you say, “Is this like a go to jail confession or a misdemeanor confession?”

Mobius gives a good natured chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “God, the two of you. Always so dramatic. No wonder you ended up together.” He takes what feels like an unnecessarily long drink from the coffee mug on his desk. “It’s not bad, I promise.” Another sip of coffee.

Loki sighs. “He always does this,” he says to you. “Have you noticed? Whenever he has something that you want to know, he stalls and drags it out just to torment you.”

“Okay,” you say, “but you jumping in to bicker with him probably doesn’t help.”

“I’m not bickering,” says Loki. “I’m simply pointing out that he’s stalling—”

“What was it you were saying, Mobius?” you say brightly, nudging Loki with your elbow.

Mobius’ eyes twinkle. “See,” he says to Loki, “I always liked her. It’s a good match.”

You don’t have to look at Loki to know he’s rolling his eyes, though he also makes a point of surreptitiously pinching your ass, a detail you hope Mobius doesn’t notice.

“Anyway,” says Mobius, taking a deep breath, “it was pretty clear to me from the start that you liked each other. And you also seemed absolutely determined to get in your own way.” He points to Loki. “Especially you with your whole stilted Asgardian prince thing.”

Loki frowns. “What are you talking about?”

Mobius sighs. “Anytime you like someone, it’s like your brain gets a factory reset and you get all overly polite and courtly.”

Loki scoffs. “I don’t do that at all.”

“You do. It’s deeply weird. You’re like a mannerly robot.”

Loki turns to you. “Darling, tell him he’s being absurd.”

You reach over and squeeze his hand. “You did call me ‘my lady’ a couple of times in the early days.”

Loki sighs and looks back at Mobius. “What was your point in mentioning this?”

“Well,” says Mobius, “you seemed pretty determined to get in your own way, so nothing was happening. And eventually I got sick of all of the pining, so I decided to take matters into my own hands.”

“What do you mean?”

Mobius pauses, a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “There wasn’t a breakthrough with Berlitz that weekend. What there was was a surplus in the overtime budget and a high priority indexing project for Archives.”

Your lips part as your brain slowly puts the pieces together. Mobius’ eyes twinkle.

“Wait,” you say, “you lied to us?”

“I did not lie,” says Mobius, his demeanor suddenly becoming very serious. “That would have been wrong.” He nods at Loki. “Also, it would’ve tipped him off and that would have ruined the whole thing. I simply failed to mention that the cart of files that I gave you needed to be sorted for indexing for the Archives department and I peppered in a couple of unrelated things about Berlitz.”

“But the office was empty that weekend,” says Loki.

Mobius snaps his fingers. “Right. I did make some adjustments to the schedule that weekend.”

“And the disturbance that prevented her from returning home on Saturday night?”

Mobius spreads his hands wide and grins. “All me, buddy. Paid G-21 five hundred bucks for that one.”

Loki pauses for a moment and then looks at you. “I don’t think I can be mad about this. I’m genuinely impressed.”

“I mean, I can’t argue with the results, but Jesus, Mobius, you could’ve just set us up on a blind date,” you say.

“Ah, but that’s not as fun,” Mobius says. “Plus, it wouldn’t have made for as good a wedding gift.” He turns the frame around and hands it to you both.

It’s both your timecards from that pay period, neatly framed side by side. Your eyes well with tears and Mobius smiles.

“Honestly, I’m just relieved it’s not a jet ski,” says Loki.

“He's deflecting,” you say to Mobius in an exaggerated whisper.

“I know,” he whispers back.

But you can’t help but notice that Loki’s eyes are brighter than normal.

“Okay, now get out of here,” says Mobius. “You’ve got a wedding to get to.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re wearing a simple white dress and standing with Loki in front of a time door, your hand clasped in his.

“Technically, we don’t have a supervisor’s approval for this,” you say with a wry smile.

He looks at you, eyes dancing with mirth. “I had Mobius sign off on the paperwork while you were getting ready.”

Your heart swells and your smile is so wide that you feel like your face might split in two. “Then hurry up and marry me, Laufeyson.”

He grins and tugs you through the time door.

-------

But wait! There's more: I don't have a masterlist for this, but if you enjoy these idiots, check out Daylight, a sort of sequel.

#loki smut #loki x reader #loki x reader smut #loki laufeyson smut #loki x female reader smut #loki x female reader #loki laufeyson #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #tva loki x reader

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whimsiwitchy · 4 months ago

Text

he's hooked (oneshot)

hugh jackman x actress!reader

summary: y/n is an actress in her early 20’s. after having the best night of her career, Hugh Jackman introduces himself. the two stars hook up in the venue's bathroom and for y/n it was nothing but a one night stand. However, Hugh becomes obsessed and can’t let her go so easily.

warnings: use of y/n, she/her pronouns, age gap (22/55), smut, protected vaginal penetration, dirty talk, reader is kinda cocky, hugh is very persistent, reader mentions age gap a lot, oral (f receiving), one use of daddy (in a playful way), bathroom sex.

authors note: y'all I am trying my absolute best to write smut. this is my second attempt and while i'm not super proud of it, I am proud of myself for trying. practice makes perfect I guess lol. anyways, I hope you enjoy. (sorry if it sucks butt) love y'all <33

Tonight felt like a dream. It was the 97th Academy Awards and you had won your first Oscar for best actress. When your name was called, you were completely shocked. The category was filled with nominees that you had looked up to your entire life and you genuinely thought you had no shot of winning. You were completely honored to win such an award so early into your career. After the ceremony was over, most of the attendees made their way over to the Oscars Governors Ball, which was one of the few after parties that are held annually after the event. It felt surreal to be in a place full of Hollywood's biggest names and it was even crazier that you were now one of them. You were currently sitting at the bar waiting for a drink when a deep accented voice spoke. “Congratulations on your big win tonight. You deserve it.” When you look over to see who was speaking, you’re met with a very handsome Hugh Jackman. “Oh thank you. Congrats to you too, best actor.” Your tone is teasing yet sincere. “I’m Hugh.” He offers his hand to shake, which you take. “I know who you are, Mr.Jackman. I’m y/n.” You shake his hand firmly, letting it go right after. “I know who you are, Ms. y/l/n.” He joked back and you let out a small laugh. You look forward as the bartender sits your drink in front of you and you give him a quick thank you. From the corner of your eye, you can see Hugh’s eyes trail your body. “Did you just check me out?” You turn your head to face him. “It’s hard not to when you look that good.” Hugh says without missing a beat. “Aren’t you married? I don’t think your wife would appreciate you hitting on a twenty two year old.” You give him an accusing look. He lifts his left hand, showing off his bare ring finger. “I'm divorced, babe.” You almost miss the smirk that rests on his bearded face.

“Hm. Well in that case, there are plenty of beautiful women here your own age here that would happily go home with you tonight. Maybe you should flirt with them.” You turn back to your drink, taking a long sip through the skinny straw. “None of them are as pretty as you. You’re the most gorgeous woman here by far.” You let out a laugh of disbelief. “Bye Hugh Jackman. It was nice meeting you.” You slowly climb down the tall ball stool and grab your drink. Before you can walk off, Hugh calls your name, causing you to turn back towards him. “I’d love to take you out to dinner sometime.” He smiles and you’d be lying if you said the sight didn’t make your heartbeat stutter. “You know that Real Steel was my favorite movie when I was like eleven. Does that make my age more apparent to you or do you not care?” He furrows his brows, pretending to think for a moment. “Hm. I don’t think I care very much.” You laugh, dropping your head. “You’re unbelievable.” He smiles. “So is that a yes?” “No.” You smile and walk away.

—

Your friend Kayleigh was ranting to you about a technical issue that happened during her performance earlier in the night and you were trying your best to pay attention. Sometime in between the chat you had with Hugh and now, he had removed the black suit jacket he had on. The sleeves of his white button up dress shirt were rolled up, showing off his large forearms, his biceps peaking out slightly. It was overly distracting. “Girl what the fuck are you staring at?” She moves her head around trying to match your staring gaze. “Y/n please don’t tell me you're staring at that old man right now.” You give her a sheepish look. “God, straight people are so fucking weird.” She sighs. “It’s not weird. He’s kinda hot.” You admit. “Whatever you say. Why don’t you just go talk to him? I’m almost positive he’d fuck you if you ask.” You look back over to where Hugh is talking to some older woman, just like you had suggested. “I kinda already turned him down. Well, not for sex. He asked me to dinner.” Her face scrunches up. “Ew. He’s like older than your parents.” You laugh. “Is it bad that I find that hot?” She nods. “Yes y/n. That’s like really fucking weird dude.” You ignore her. “Should I go try to get him to fuck me?” You ask, genuinely wanting her opinion. “If that’s really what you’re into these days, go for it. I’m highly disgusted by you right now though.” You stand up and grab the small clutch you had with you. “Eh. You’ll get over it. You’ll be okay on your own for a little bit?” She gives you a thumbs up and you make your way over to Hugh and the woman he was speaking to.

“Hi, sorry to interrupt.” You apologize and turn to Hugh. “Could I talk to you alone for a moment?” He looks confused and completely caught off guard. “Uh, yea.” He turns to the woman. “It was nice to catch up with you.” She says something back that you don’t catch, too busy staring at the vein that is basically jumping out of Hugh’s arm. “You wanted to talk to me?” His words bring you out of your thirsting trance. “Follow me.” You grab his hand, dragging him through a door and into a hallway. “Where are we going?” He asks, taken aback by your lack of plan. “I’m not sure.” You say as you continue to drag him. “Y/n slow down, we can talk here. There’s no one out here.” He stops walking and it makes you tumble back, his grip on your hand stopping you from continuing forward. “We need somewhere private.” His confused expression only deepens. “I don’t know how much more private this can get darling. If it’s really that much of a secret, we can stop talking if someone comes by.” He offers and you huff. “I don’t actually wanna talk Hugh.”

“You’re confusing me here darling.” You wiggle your hand out of his and raise it to your head in frustration. “I want you to fuck me.” You look at him and his eyes go wide. “I’m sorry…what?” “If you don’t want to, that's fine, we can go back.” Your confidence began to falter. “Wait, that’s not what I'm saying.”

“So you want to fuck me?” He takes a moment to think before answering.

“Yes.”

“Then help me find somewhere private.” The two of you make your way down the never ending hallway, checking every door you see. Hugh opens a door and closes it, making his way down the hallway. Seeing as it was the only door that opened so far, you went to check it yourself and saw that it was an empty bathroom. “Why’d you keep going, this is perfect.” You shout at him. “I’m not fucking you in a bathroom.” He looks at you like that was obvious. “Well it’s not like we have any other options. Come on.” You go inside and wait for him. Once he’s inside you motion to the door. “Lock it.” You tell him. “We’re really doing this?” He asks, confirming. “Unless you don’t want to.” He takes a pause before speaking again. “Get your pretty ass over here.” He growls.

You walk over to him slowly. He pulls you close to him once you’re in arms reach and you look up at him through your lashes. “Too damn sexy for your own good.” He whispers before leaning down and locking his lips with yours. The feeling of his beard against your skin was addicting. The kiss was slow at first, both of you testing the waters with each other. It was you who begged to enter his mouth, tongue sliding against his lips. You didn’t want to come off so desperate but you needed more from him. His large hands slid down to your ass, giving it a tight squeeze that has you gasping. His tongue dives into your mouth, exploring every crevice. It’s messy but it’s hot. “Jump.” He commands and you listen. His hands grab the back side of your thighs and he walks you over to the counter, sitting you down inbetween two of the sinks. His lips are back on yours the moment your body touches the cold surface.

“You sure you want to do this baby?” He asks. “Positive.” You breathe out. Hugh bends down, sitting on both of his knees. Grabbing your ankle, he gives kisses to the skin that your heel doesn’t cover. He moves upward, leaving long sensual kisses up your calf and thigh, raising the end of your dress as he goes. As simple as the gesture was, it felt erotic, never having a man take this kind of care with you before. His lips move higher, curving with your leg until he’s hovering above your pussy. “You’re wet already baby?” His voice is cocky and if it weren’t for the heat of his breath making your mind foggy, you would’ve called him out on it. He gives the wet spot on your panties a shy kiss. The act has you letting out a quiet moan, sounding louder from the echo of the bathroom. He slips a finger behind the cotton of your underwear and tugs at it while looking up at you. “Can I take these off?” He asks, finger still tugging the fabric dangerously close to where you need him the most. “Yes.” It’s breathy but it gets the job done because Hugh moves his head up, grabbing the top of the fabric with his teeth. He starts to tug your panties down, using one of his hands to help the other side. You lift your body slightly as Hugh pulls them down farther. When they’re all the way off, Hugh sits back with your panties hanging from the big toothy smile he's wearing. The sight was definitely going to be what you pictured the next time you touched yourself.

“Oh fuck me..” He grabs your panties from his teeth and slides them into his back pocket. “Mhm. not yet, baby. Wanna eat your pretty pussy first.” He leans back in between your legs, lips ghosting over your heat. “So perfect.” He whispers as he kisses each pussy lip three times before finally kissing your clit. “Mhmm, please Hugh.” His tongue slides from your opening to your bud teasingly slow. You can feel his beard scratching the sensitive skin but it only adds to the pleasure. He swirls his tongue around your clit a few times before sucking it into his lips, the feeling causes you to jerk your hips. His hands, that were gently holding your ankles, moved up to hold your hips down. His mouth moves down to your opening, tongue plunging in and out a few times before moving back up to your clit. You hadn’t even noticed that one of his hands moved from your hip until you felt one of his fingers dip into you slowly. He curls the finger and moves it back and forth at an unexpectedly fast pace. Before you can adjust to it, he’s adding another finger and it all becomes too much. “Fuck..I’m gonna cum.” Your words are mixed with moans. He doesn't let up, his tongue and fingers speeding up and it has you cumming hard around his fingers, loud moans feel the air. He gives your pussy one last kiss before leaning back and removing his fingers. When you can fully see his face, it is a sight to see. His salt and pepper beard is covered in your slick, lips glossy.

“Want you to see how good you taste darling.” He says while moving his two fingers to your lips. You open your mouth and stick out your tongue, taking his fingers in your mouth slowly. Hugh hisses as you suck around his fingers, tongue swirling around each one. Once you're confident that they’re clean, you grab his wrist and take his fingers out of your mouth with a pop. “You still gonna fuck me old man or did you already cum in your pants?” You joke with him. He stands up, both knees popping in the process. Just as you're about to laugh and make fun of him some more, he grabs you off of the counter to stand you up. He turns you around and bends you over the counter. “You keep talking like you weren’t the one staring at me for an hour before asking me to fuck you.” He goes to undo his belt buckle and you shiver at the sound. You're looking back at him through the mirror. “Whatever.” You reach over to your clutch and open it, grabbing a condom. You reach back and hold it back to Hugh. “Here, put this on.” He grabs it with a questioning look. “Why were you carrying condoms?” You roll your eyes and rest your head in your hands, elbows propped up. “Can you mind your business and fuck me already. I’m getting bored.” You were lying right through your teeth. You were far from bored but you wanted to keep the whole ‘hard to get’ game going a little longer.

You watch him open the condom and see his arms move as he rolls it down his cock. As bad as you wished you could see him fully but it was kind of exciting- not knowing what you were about to get. “How do you want me baby?” He asks, looking at you through the mirror. You get a small glimpse of his dick as he slaps it across your ass. “Give me all you got daddy.” He smirks and shakes his head at the name. He lines up his member with your entrance and slides in slowly. Once he’s bottomed out, he doesn’t wait long before he’s slamming back into you. The stretch stings slightly and you hadn’t expected him to be so big. He slaps your ass hard and you yelp in response. You drop your head down at the pleasure. “Nuh uh. Look at me while I fuck you baby.” You raise your head to look at Hugh through the mirror again. “That’s it. Look at how pretty you look getting fucked by an old man.” You couldn’t help but listen to him. Hugh was fucking you dumb and you couldn’t think straight. His balls hitting your clit was what sent you over the edge for a second time. “Please don’t stop Hugh mhmmm fuck baby. I’m cumming, please don’t stop, baby.” Your moans match the rhythm of his hips, each thrust knocking the air out of you with its force. “Just like that sweet girl. Fuck not gonna last much longer.” Even after your high, the pleasure continues as Hugh chases his own. You push your hips back, meeting his thrust. The act makes Hugh moan. “Mhm, I'm gonna cum baby.” His hands squeeze your hips, thrusts getting sloppy as he cums.

The two of you stay quiet as you both freshen up and try to make it less noticeable that you two left to have sex. You push yourself up onto the counter, sitting lazily as you watch Hugh toss his hair around. “Can you kiss me again?” You ask Hugh. He smiles and walks over to stand in between your legs. He grabs your cheeks and kisses you. “Mhm. You're a good kisser.” The compliment is sincere. You could kiss his lips for hours if he’d let you. He hums. “So, are you gonna let me take you out now?” You look in his eyes and smile. “Hugh we can’t. This was fun and it was good sex but that’s all it was.” “Why can’t we?” He’s quick with his words. “It’s just not practical Hugh. I think you're handsome and you seem like a sweet guy but I'm too young for you. The press would tear us apart quicker than we got together.” You explain. “Fuck the press. Let me take you out and get to know you at least.” You sigh. “I’m sorry Hugh. I can’t.” You offer him a small smile. “I’m not gonna stop trying. You’re too good to lose.” He kisses your cheek. “I should get back out there. I have a friend waiting for me.” He steps back, letting you hop down from the counter. “Bye Hugh Jackman.” You give him a small peck on the lips before leaving the bathroom.

—

A few weeks later, you were on set for the newest film you were working on. You’d just arrived an hour earlier and were sent to your trailer to get ready for the first scene. When you walked through the door, you were greeted with a bouquet of wildflowers and a note that read:

I can’t stop thinking about you. -H.J (xxx) xxx-xxxx

tag list: @prettycoolgirl, @nonamevenus, @godlypresley, @pedroscurls, @evasmlp, @bluetimeombre, @sue8724, @princessanglophile, @kellyxo1, @ccmoonshine, @hughverine, @chronicallybubbly, @realhotgirlshitah, @aurlavr, @almosthumongousfunsblog, @wolviesgirl, @flirtyjen, @lilgrinchbitch, @majesticalcocoa, @liamdasimp, @needz1nk, @squishyfruitloop, @afra-ww, @veru-boom

#hugh jackman #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman fanfiction #hugh jackman fic #hugh jackman fanfic #hugh jackman smut #hugh jackman oneshot #hugh jackman x female reader #hugh jackman x actress!reader #hugh jackman x y/n #hugh jackman x you #hugh jackman x younger!reader #hugh jackman age gap fic #hugh jackman age gap

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netherfeildren · 2 months ago

Text

Busy, Dying. Part 1;

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: In an in-between place called his life, Joel Miller is alone. In search of a cure. In need of a miracle. In want of God.

Can I interest you in a cure for loneliness? She'd asked him in a language without words. Taking it is the easy part. Letting her go is impossible.

-OR-

an a/b/o soulmates AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No Outbreak AU, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Soulmates AU, Infidelity, Cheating, HEA!!!!!, Angst, Fluff & Smut, Mating Bites, Knotting, Heat Sex, Breeding Kink, Group Therapy, Social Experiments, Basically puppy training for unsocialized Alphas, And by God that man will be house trained by the time she’s done with him!, Complicated family dynamics, Discussions of self harm, Depression, Existential Angst, Author returns not with a whimper but with a KNOT, I wrote this in a very unserious state of mind beware

A/N: Gray November, I've been down since July - but we're so back, baby. I’ve missed this so bad. I’ve missed you all, I won’t drone on and on. I hope you enjoy, and please talk to me in the comments. Update me on what I’ve missed, let me know how you’ve been and what’s happening in your life.

A great heartfelt thank you to all of my wonderful friends who so supportively cheered me on while I struggled to write this. Sincerely the best people I know.

Love you all madly.

Word Count: 6.5K

Read on AO3

Part 1;

The old linoleum tiles are the most peculiar shade of puce, and Joel has realized that there is someone sitting at the back of the room who smells… strange.

More brown than purple—an ugly color. There’s something about it that fascinates him.

The woman that is currently speaking tells of her husband; it’s the only tale she has to tell. She’s been doing it for weeks, and they all know it well by now. Older, omega, the woman, and at the latter and less comely stage of life. Most of them here can say the same. They usually give their names, those that get up to share—although it’s never a requirement when you attend, it is highly encouraged—the sharing, he means—but he never pays much mind to them—the names, that is. That’s not what he’s here for after all—to make friends. Although, he does see how that’d be the initial assumption.

Joel Miller is here for something more specific.

Six weeks he’s been showing up to these things now, and he’s yet to take a turn. He tells himself he’s working up to it.

What that specific thing is…he hasn’t quite figured out. He’s listening for it, though, and intently, even if he does skip over the names. It’s the details of what they’re telling that matter to him. The hows and intricate whys of what it is that brought them here today.

Her youth had been spent on a drunk, the woman is saying—her husband—and he’d been cruel to her in those days when there was still currency to spend in the form of her vitality. Joel nods at the puce—yes, he thinks, that’s usually the way of it. But later, there’s more to the story she reminds her audience, he drank himself into a fit, and had never been right since. The cruelty had been taken away from the marriage after that, and she’d been put in charge.

“But I wonder,” she says, “If sometimes I don’t miss it, the way he’d been,” —if the reason she was here now, with all of the rest of them that were just like her in their own unique ways, was that she’d been left lonely after her cruel husband had been exchanged for a sick one.

Joel nods again and wonders what sort of face the woman wears as she confesses but doesn’t bother to check. No matter, he knows they’re the same. If not in designation, then in heart.

It’s easy, that thing, he does it too, to wish for the bad. To want to hold on to it, the thing that hurts. Addictive, even, in some cases. Missing it is easy.

It’s why he’s here.

And it’s what they promise you. In their flyers and pamphlets, when they stand on the corners of streets talking people up wearing that look in their eye and that slouch in their step, when they smell it on you—or in the lack there of—a mate or a purpose.

Welcome to our meeting. We’re here to find the cure for loneliness.

That’s what they promise you when you come here.

It’d been that word: loneliness, actually, that had caught him. L-O-N-E-liness. There was something attractive about it to him. Not a label but a state.

You see, it was like this: Joel had seen a therapist once, several years ago, against his will and at the behest of another, who’d said all the wrong things in all the wrong ways.

“You sound depressed, Joel,” the therapist had told him.

He’d worn horn rimmed glasses and had a shiny bald head he could see the reflection of the overhead lights in. And worse—the non-scent of a beta which told him they’d never understand each other in the ways Joel longed to be understood. He’d—not hated him, necessarily—but felt an immense apathy for the man; more so than the regular apathy he felt for most things in his life.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Very, very sad,” was the official diagnosis.

Joel hadn’t liked the sound of the word. The label. He did not like that a word so succinct could be ascribed to him and all that had happened to him in his life. There was no word for it. It just was.

But there was something different about a state of aloneness, which if attributed to himself, he could accept. He had been left alone, in ways. It was a tangible thing he could look around a room inside of himself and recognize.

They’re meetings, is what this place is—encounter groups this coalition offers where lonely demi humans can come to congregate, discuss their aloneness, what had led them to such a state; their lack of attachments, connections, mates—alpha, omega. Held in the basement of the Emmanuel Episcopal Church on Newbury street, right between his shop and house, although they never talk about religion which he likes because he doesn’t believe in religion.

God is still under review.

He wonders if the Catholics wouldn’t have them.

Sitting forward in his seat, the metal folding chair that always leaves his back aching something fierce, he presses his elbows into his knees to distract with alternative pressure. Focusing on his fingers woven together between his spread legs, he tries to pay attention to the man who’s stood up to speak now. Older than himself, late sixties, no children, no family, no nothin’; he’d run them all off.

But Joel is distracted.

The smell is stronger now. Stranger too. Something full bodied, but metallic like rust, astringent bleach, built in a way that forces saliva to pool heavy between his suddenly aching gums. A mask that sits atop something of a much different chemical architecture—that’s the strange part.

Or—no. The back of his neck itches, and Joel lifts a palm to cup his nape, quell the sting, feel the tender mark. No. The strange part is not the illusion of the smell. What it is, actually, is that he’s fairly certain what he’s smelling is someone else's blockers. Something which he’s positive he’s never consciously noticed on another person in the thirty plus years since he’d presented as an alpha.

He has, suddenly, the quite intense urge to peek over his shoulder, certain that he’ll be caught smelling things he has no business smelling. That there will be someone just there, breathing down the nape of his neck with accusation on their tongue—boo!

Silly. But he’d known today would not be a good day.

It’d started off wrong. The milk had gone sour overnight, the check engine light had come on in his truck, all his socks were suddenly mismatched with not a single pair to be found, and his usual route to work had been waylaid by some freak accident. A tree split in half, one side into a house, the other into the road. Not a sign of lightning in the sky all night long.

Perhaps he might be compelled to believe in God after all.

Joel does not like it when things are out of order or out of the ordinary. His life was organized in a way that never caused him strife or excess. And it was not that he was stuck in his ways, only that he enjoyed his routine and disliked when things were not as they should be. And this—whatever it is he’s smelling, whoever—is not as it should be.

The older gentleman, an Alpha too, is still speaking. He had a daughter, has, who no longer speaks to him. Won’t even take his money. He’d had a long career in government that’d filled him with greed and paranoia and a radical view of life that refused to align with the way young people saw the world now. Perhaps he’d tried to change at certain times, but he was old and set in his ways. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to change as badly as he should have when he still had the chance to. Happily stuck in the past. His wife had died, and his daughter had gone away from him. Too tired of his mediocrity as a father to give him another chance.

The man sounds like he feels sorry for himself. Like he thinks himself the victim, and this one, Joel does look up at. He looks old and worn down, heavy beer pouch and thinning hair and sagging jowls. A sad and lonely man. Joel wonders if that’s how he looks to the other people in this room, as well.

“No man knows how bad he is until he has tried very hard to be good.” Joel blinks, looks at him more closely, tries very hard to find similarities between themselves. But no—not quite right, not the thing he’s looking for. Their plight is different. This man is not alone, he’s got his weakness to keep him company.

The one thing Joel had fought like hell to keep out of his repertoire of issues. He’d run from even the possibility of it as soon as she was dead, left Texas straight for the Northeast and from thereafter, everything he’d done, he’d done with a staunchness of character. If at the end of it, that staunchness was made up of apathy or numbness or dissociative fury, well, then at least he wasn’t still that man who’d been too weak to save his daughter.

That counted very much in Joel’s book.

An overabundance of cold numbness, little anger, everything a static haze—an abstinent winter. That was his whole life. But then, look at him now, he was here, wasn’t he? He’d taken that brochure handed to him on that last warm Tuesday weeks ago as he’d headed back to the shop from lunch.

Hello, sir. Could I interest you in a cure for loneliness? The young omega had said.

It’d started like anything—an experiment or a desperate ploy. The monotony had been steady going the past few years, getting older, colder. He’d grown hard and solitary around his wound, loneliness spread like a fungus, and he’d longed for any sort of change.

“A cure…how?” The terrible shrink had come to mind.

“Oh, nothing to fret over.” The young man had a nice smile, Joel remembers. Kind and straight toothed. Honest in the way that a stranger knocking on your door to sell you a Bible seems honest. “We call it an encounter group. People come, share, tell the tales of their designation and their lives. In the end, the result is different for different people. Some move on to a second step if they need more. Others find what they’re looking for just through the connection of sharing. But no matter the result, you’ll see, you’ll be cured. Promise.” He’d winked, smile deepening, giving him an appreciative once over at the end of his spiel. Joel had blinked back, surprised, confused, but curiosity peaked enough he’d obsessed over it for three short days before he’d found himself stepping into the molted incense smell of the belly of a church so dimly lit he was sure not even God peaked in this sad space any longer.

“It’s that easy?” Joel had asked, childlike in his throat-strangled hope.

“That easy.”

It seemed the smile had been honest enough to sell him the Bible.

The scent insists upon itself as the older gentleman finishes up, and Joel’s nose tickles with whatever it is it’s whispering at him. He wants to get up and walk out, run away, but suddenly his gut is tight and hot, and he isn’t sure he can actually stand up without disgracing himself in front of all these people. A wash of agonized heat moves through him, confused at what’s suddenly happening to his body.

“We have a newcomer today sharing for the first time,” Maria, the woman who leads the group, says at the front of the room. “Everyone give her a warm welcome, it’s her first day and already she’s brave enough to jump on up here.”

There’s the shuffling of bodies in their seats, a cleared throat, the man sitting behind Joel breathes so loudly he thinks he’s gotta have some sort of medical condition, the puce turns more hideous by the second, and his own heart is beating so hard in his ears the rush of blood is dizzying. He feels each thump of the thing against his breast bone in some sick imitation of a fist begging to be let out.

The new voice begins as nothing but a murmur.

An introduction—he misses the name. His breathing goes shallow, he’d tip over in his seat if he didn’t have both boots planted firmly against the puce. The voice gains strength and with it, Joel wishes he’d been paying attention from the start. He didn’t get to hear her name.

It’s a girl.

She’d run away from home in the spring of her sixteenth year to join the opera, she tells them. Had come upon the city in roaring spring and thought the rest of her life would be exactly like that, pure novelty in bloom, nothing like what she’d left behind. And was deeply disappointed when the reality was nothing such.

And Joel hears it, that disappointment in her voice at what she’d not been able to find after searching for it so religiously. This is what makes him look up at her. This, unlike all the others, he thinks he can relate to—just by the sound of her voice. The search for a thing lost which can never again be found. The fruitlessness of it all.

At that first vulnerable, terrified glance, she’s already staring at him, eyes catching like hooks.

He blinks once, twice—color—is sure he can hear the movement of his eyelashes passing through the air, the stick of his lids meeting—color—bright. This is it.

That wash of heat turns into a blaze, every single bead of sweat blooming on his brow is a tell evaporating into the ether. This is what he’d sensed from the start of the evening. Maybe even from the moment he’d seen that split maple.

“My mother always said I needed to be stronger, bolder, not so sensitive.” She looks away from him now. “I grew up in an angry house where you had to fight tooth and nail not to be overrun. Because of this, I left it at a very young age, and it was the greatest fight I could muster, abandoning that house of anger. I found myself something to bring me what I thought would be joy, a job and a city, and for a time, it was enough. But starting your lonely life so young…it’s hard.” After a pause of breath, “It’s been hard.”

“And it’s made me never want to have to—exert myself,” she says, searching for the right words, smiling when she finds them, and Joel has the urgency to smile back. “Now, I never want to have to be strong. I never want to have to try. I want to only be the way that I am. If that’s weak or sensitive or whatever it might be at any given moment, I don’t care. I don’t want to have to fight. I never want to be in an angry house again. I want someone who’ll see this in me and understand and never make me work for it, that they would give it to me willingly, easily, without me having to ask. Do you understand?” She looks about the room, and he hopes her eyes will land on him again, and even though they don’t, he feels she’s speaking directly to him. He nods, the hook of her temptation cast beneath his chin. “This is a fantasy. And it makes for a lonely existence. This idea of how I need it to be for it to be right—love.” She looks down at her hands folded atop the podium where they go to stand at the front of the group and share, and he wills her gaze to find him amidst the crowd again. “It’s so difficult. And this might seem very bad to you, weak willed, but it’s not. It’s only very honest. Which can never be a bad way to be.” That’s why she’s here, she tells them.

Finally, she looks back at him, and it’s that loneliness of two people amidst a crowd, facing one another, knowing themselves mirrored against the other and yet still disparate. There’s something indecent about the way she looks at him in front of all these people, the way he, in turn, looks back. A little bit like finding your own face on a stranger's body in a crowded room. Color rises to his face, and she gives him that same elusive smile from before.

He’s the one to look away this time.

As the crowd disperses for coffee and pastries after the last of the speakers, he searches for her. He needs to ask her name, feels as if he’s some blighted creature without it, swears he’ll never forgo attention during a meeting again if he can fish it out of her.

He finds her at the dessert table, Maria at her side and a hand at her shoulder. Something of a thank you is being imparted between the two women. The girl is saying she’s grateful for the welcome, grateful that they’d found each other.

Joel has things to be grateful to Maria for, too. His brother, mainly. It’d been pure chance that Joel had met her here, that she knew Tommy also. She’d met his brother on a summer trek to Wyoming where they’d become friends and had kept in touch afterwards. The woman has a thing about her that ingratiates people by sheer force of will. Perhaps it’s that she’s an alpha, too. Perhaps it’s just the charisma and wide smile. The fact that she has a countenance that takes no shit from anyone, that makes demands of a person whether they’ve got any give or not. But whatever the case, they’d realize their connection through Tommy, and she kept Joel updated on his brother whom he’d not spoken with in many years.

Watching the two women stand together and share that easy thanks that Joel so urgently owes, and yet which he cannot voice, he feels, suddenly, so angry. So awkward. So humiliatingly inexperienced. So unable to grapple with the pain of human contact, the fascination of it, the humiliating necessity.

That decade old anchor weighing him in place and the guilt of even thinking of it as such.

I feel decrepitly alone and odd, he thinks. And how strange, no? He was a normal man. He has a normal job. He lives in a normal house. Unexceptional in every sense. Everything in his life had been ordinary up until that one great tragedy. And then, as if none of the before had ever existed, it was as if everything afterwards was one great landslide of wrongness. The filth of it slinging mud all over his life so that nothing had ever been right after her.

So that now he cannot even approach this girl whose name he needs to know, and Maria, to whom he owes the last surviving connection to his brother.

As Maria turns to go, she gives him an encouraging nod, sending him into an agony of shyness. She’d sensed him hovering.

The girl remains at the dessert table, perusing the pastries. He can see her fingertips dancing over the golden, sugared confections, before she settles on a plain, glazed donut. He watches the bend of her elbow, bringing it to her mouth and thirty seconds later, the empty hand reaching for a napkin. He can’t help the huff of laughter it draws from him.

Watching the unknown creature with her back turned, he peers down the length of himself. Wood stain marred t-shirt, old work jeans and scuffed boots, he’d come straight from the shop. Looking back at her, she seems perfectly packaged and pristine. The two of them, different as chalk and cheese. He tells himself he shouldn’t do it, turn around and go, leave her alone, as he steps up beside her at the table.

Immediately, there’s the heat of her skin, the smell of her shampoo, and he realizes, and it’s silly because it should’ve been obvious from the get go, she’s an omega. The epiphany, not that she is one, but that he’d been too stupid and oblivious to notice, leaves him feeling vulnerable and angry.

Any sort of hello that’d been coming alive on his tongue immediately dies. And he’s about to make a run for it once again when she speaks up from beside him, “Would you like a donut?” Her small fingers are dancing over the pastries, searching once again. “I haven’t had one yet,” she lies, “I can’t decide which looks best.”

The dancing hand pauses over a golden brown puff pastry, seemingly coming to a decision, when she turns to look up at him. The scent of her isn’t just shampoo, not just the blockers he’d shockingly picked up on before, sharp, burning his nose. It’s her skin now, too. The dry sweat from hustling under her coat to make it to her first meeting on time salted along her limbs. Hot, sweet almonds. The shocking vermillion of the morning’s split maple comes to mind. He can smell her.

“A puff pastry?” She presses, quizzical crook to her brow at his silence and glower. “I think you really need something sweet. It’ll make you feel better.”

He wants to agree, to say he also thinks he needs something sweet. All he can manage is a short grunt because she smells…indescribable. Honeyed musk, something heady, like she herself had just got done baking, straight out of the oven and full of sugar into his waiting mouth.

That earlier anger, it kicks up a notch. Why isn’t he fucking saying anything?

She shrugs, as she lifts the puff pastry to her mouth he finally manages sound.

“You stink.”

He doesn’t know when he became such a liar.

A pause, mouth open, straight, white teeth ready to bite into the fluffy sweet bread. He can see her small, pink tongue, and it makes him go a little woozy.

He might be losing his mind.

She’s got elegant eyebrows that shoot straight up her smooth forehead. The look of her skin is glorious. “Excuse me?”

Now, there seem to be too many words spilling out of his mouth. “You need better meds or somethin’. Need to sort your shit out. Can’t go gallivanting about the world smellin’ like that.” Oh god, shut up.

“Excuse me!” She takes a huge bite of the pastry. “I do not gallivant,” she shoots back, mouth full of sugar and Joel goes hot everywhere. “What is wrong with you?” she demands, the pursing of a prim little mouth as she chews, eyeing him maliciously.

He hasn’t the damndest clue.

She is not wary of him in the slightest, which in turn tells him he needs to be wary of her.

Another large bite, inexplicably she extends her free hand towards him—potentially going into shock and entirely out of his depth when he takes it, the vulnerability of tendon and muscle soft beneath his strength—offering him a firm shake. She gives him her name.

In that moment, she has a look about her that tells him she’ll bite back if he isn’t careful, even if she hurts herself in the process.

And now he knows you.

“We might as well acquaint ourselves if you’re going to insult me. Don’t you think?” Peering up at him, he’s tall, well over six feet, and broad shouldered. Older, distinguished, but in a rough way, hewn oak, gray. “Are you typically this rude? Or is this a special occasion?”

Incredibly handsome.

“I’m being serious.”

“I do not stink. No one has ever said that to me, and my blockers are quality. It must be a you problem.” The puff pastry really is very good. And this man really is very handsome. Coming here today was a good idea.

One of the girls from the theater had suggested it, handing you a pamphlet with Looking for the Cure for Loneliness? emblazoned across the top, and even though she’d done it kindly, any other person would’ve taken the implication as an insult. Hey girl! No offense, but we all in the company think you’re super weird and have you heard about this support group for losers? Kind of like Omegas Anonymous!

Those hadn’t been her exact words, and you hadn’t taken offense. After the initial agony of embarrassment, you’d warmed to the idea. You’d heard of groups like these before. Congregations of demi humans where one could come to find community or connection. Be it socializing or support for people struggling with their designations and all that they implied, they served their purpose. And anyways, you weren’t in a position to be nitpicky.

It’s true, you’re alone.

So alone, in fact, that even the people around you could tell. Strangers, coworkers, your roommate and her girlfriend. Like some noxious cloud of loneliness following you around virtue signaling the desperate need for love and companionship and understanding you’re so in need of.

You increasingly saw yourself as a dancer on her toes, trembling delicately all over, vying desperately to survive to the end of the song. A monster with too many heads. A Cerberus of the richest caliber.

Two or three would’ve been acceptable—heads—but you'd long surpassed that and moved on to something unrecognizable and unpleasant. Desperately in need of a solution.

“Maybe you’re the one that stinks. Maybe it’s your upper lip.” And voila, the monster makes her debut.

“My—” The rude alpha, obvious, that one, lets out a choked sound, a deeper wash of color immediately flooding his cheeks. You dip your head sideways, appraising him as you polish off your second pastry. He has pretty bone structure, masculine, and after he’s done choking and spluttering, he can’t help but laugh a little bit. You see it.

Beneath a mouth that looks forbidding, perhaps even a little cruel, you can sense that he is not an unkind man.

Yet you’re not so green that you can’t recognize the gnawing hunger of loneliness in others. There’s always a reason people find themselves in places like these. His face, edged with the weariness of age, makes this obvious. He has good reason for subjecting himself to this.

Reaching for the lovely eclair you’d been deciding between earlier, you take a large bite of it. Almond cream and a thick layer of icing on top, humming happily as you chew while he stares at you like the three headed dog.

You hold the dessert out towards him, offering. Palm up, he shakes his head no, slightly disgusted look on his face.

“So. You come here often?”

He blinks. “Really?” Patronizing look on his face now.

“Why not? I am actually interested to know if this is worth my time.”

He rolls his eyes. Oh, he’s fun. “Yes, I come here often. Every Friday, for the past two months just about.”

“And you like it?”

“Is this the sort of place one likes?”

“Oh, come on. You never know what you might find.” He watches your mouth as you finish the eclair, swallowing hard. “Anyways, I think the world is kind of over out there. Don’t you? Might as well make the best of it in here.”

Thumb pressed against the edge of the table, he looks down, suddenly awash with shyness once again. A shy alpha, who’d of thought.

“What did you used to do?” He asks, motioning at the crowded room full of chatting alphas and omegas. You wonder how many of them will go home together for a fuck after this.

“When?” You ask, sure he means in lieu of this group, if you’d ever had another form of demi human community.

“Before this.”

“Before this? Nothing.” Smiling at him, certain he isn’t picking up on your teasing.

“Nothing?”

“Nope. I’ve always been here.”

“But— Don’t you…I thought...” He’s cute, shaking his head like you’re just too confusing to sustain. “You sing, right?” He pivots.

“Sing? Me? Whatever made you think such a thing?” The sly look on your face goes completely over his head and slides to the rest of the sweets. If he wasn’t watching, you’d have another.

“You said. You said you’re in the opera,” he gruffs back, looking visibly aggravated now.

Such fun.

“I’m a supernumerary,” you concede as you turn, making your way to an old relic of a pew along the far wall, tragically abandoning the desserts.

He follows as you go, sitting a respectful distance beside you.

“I don’t know what that is.”

“We’re the actors that fill the stage at the opera.”

“No singing?”

You shake your head, flirting with him. “I’m a wench, I’m a courtesan,” You bat your lashes, fingertips pressed coquettishly beneath your chin, “Part of a harem. I’m every woman you’ve never known. It depends on the opera.”

“I’ve never heard of that before.”

“I started as a stagehand when I first got to Boston. Worked my way up.”

“How’s it work? Lines or somethin’?”

“No lines. No anything. I’m a background actor—an extra, basically. If anything, I’m given some simple choreography direction, laugh, sigh, show fear, horror, shock. Whatever. I’m playing pretend without actually having to do anything.”

“No working for it.”

Your smile melts to blandness. So he’d been listening, then.

“Did you want to sing?”

“No. I wanted to be a supernumerary.”

“Strange. I’ve never heard of that,” he repeats.

“You did say, yes.” Now, the smile turns auspicious. Everyone’s here for something. “What do you do?” Perhaps this is it for him.

You eye the rest of the congregation, at the far exit, there’s a large alpha helping an omega into his coat.

“Got a shop, furniture, woodworking and such.”

“You make things?” He nods. “Ah, a man of creation.”

Sitting back to take him in, he’s got the beginning insinuations of silver speckling the dark hair at his temples, a well groomed beard, and large, intimidating hands.

His small huff of laughter is bashful, tinged with something disappointed. “No, nothin’ that grand.” And he’s got an accent heavy at the ends of his words, not Bostonian. Southern.

“But you know, I wanted to say…”

“Yes?” You press when he loses his courage, leaning towards him, inhaling deeply.

“Well, that I know what you meant earlier. Sometimes I can be the angry house.”

You blink once. Sit back. “I see.”

“It’s hard work. I have to try every day at it.”

Hard work being the house, or not? Two opposite sides of the same coin.

“How do you stop yourself?” You cast a line, fishing for his character.

“Don’t know. Keep myself cold, I think.”

“That’s no way to be.”

“No. It’s not.” He sounds amused. You want to bite him.

Everyone’s here for a reason.

“Ah, well. Perhaps that’s what’s brought you here then,” you say, twisting the toe of your sneaker against a scuff on the old hardwood, leaning forward on your palms wrapped around the edge of the pew.

“Maybe,” he says, but a sort of pained, exasperated sound follows it. Your hung head turns to peer at the handsome face, and he’s already looking at you.

There’s something animal afoot. Perhaps in terms of designation, sure, of course, like the rest of the alphas and omegas here. Your designations weigh heavily in the air. But also intrinsic to your two personalities. You feel you know him. That the two of you might have the same sorts of problems, desires. And as you stare at him, you think you may be equally measuring each other’s character, finding that similarity in one another.

His eyes move quickly between yours, over your face, and you can tell that prolonged eye contact isn’t his norm.

He has the most surprising set of bright hazel eyes like river stones.

Suddenly, you feel desperate to pull out a flicker of sexuality in the man, hear it in his voice. Sure, that with him, the experience would be entirely different, exhilarating. Perhaps a challenge. He seems to be more quiet and more patient than any other man you’d ever come across, but also more stern—taking in that soft mouth held so firmly. Far more remote too, by the far away look in his gaze. You want to see how he could be moved and what the sight of it would look like.

“Maybe not,” he finally continues. “I’m looking for something, I think.”

“Something like what?”

“Someone like me.”

“An alpha?”

“No,” he looks away, cringing. The word out loud seems a shock to him. “Did you listen to the woman at the start—missing the bad thing? I struggle…with that. Holding on, not letting go even when I know I should.”

You’re at an age now which sometimes makes it hard to realize or accept that what you’re living is your life. That it’s been time to grow up. That you have to remember to move forward when it’s your turn in line.

Which is to say, that you understand him—the difficulties of knowing when to hold on and when to give up.

“Sometimes you hurt yourself because you don’t have anything else to do. Sometimes, because the alternative is much worse.”

“Holding on ‘cause there’s nothing else to do?”

“Sure. Or you’re used to it.” You’ll be gentle with him, you decide. He’s in need of gentle handling despite the stern face; not a puzzle so arbitrarily solved. And those eyes are still so bright, he doesn’t seem like he needs any more hardship.

“Don’t know why I’m tellin’ you this,” he says, accent heavy.

“Well you did come here for a reason. Didn’t you?” Discreetly, you slide closer to his side, but he doesn’t notice. Apparently lost in the realization that perhaps this was what he’d come here for, to talk to someone, to have someone listen and relate. You’re almost positive he’s never gotten up to share with the group before in all his time coming to the meetings; doesn’t look like the type.

“I came here because I’m going to take better care of myself,” you tell him. “I’m going to try harder.”

“Harder at what?” He blinks as if attempting to come out of a dream.

“Everything. I don’t want to end up like my parents; drunk, angry, alone. I’m scared of it. I’ve avoided at least two of them.”

“I’m afraid of getting older,” the dream moves in his eyes. “That I’ll forget,” he says, but you don’t ask what.

All of a sudden, he seems very real. The swells of grief and loneliness moving through him so similarly, so close to the surface.

Springing up, you turn to face him and he follows to stand too. You can hear the crack of his knees unfolding, and when he lifts his left palm to stifle a gruff cough, the band of gold around his finger is paralyzing.

All of a sudden, he’d seemed like what you’d been looking for here too. There’s laughter coming from the church rafters.

“You’re a widower?” He wants to forget, he’d said he wants to let go.

Hadn’t he?

But instead, “What? No.” You stare pointedly at the ring, and he looks down at it also. “No,” he repeats.

“So’re you looking for a fuck, or what?” You try and hold back the bite it comes with, but you can’t.

“No. No. That’s not what I’m looking for.”

You don’t understand, impaired by your youth, you forget you’d chosen to be gentle with him. “Maybe it’s what you need,” you tell him, turning towards the exit before you can watch him cringe.

He follows at your heels, grabbing his coat from the hook by the doors before he’s stepping out after you into the fall blister. It’s cold and wet and glorious out.

“Don’t you have a coat?” He demands.

“Nope.” You start walking towards Arlington Street and the park.

“Did you walk here? It’s freezing out.”

“I did,” you turn back towards him, still moving, and he starts to follow.

“From where?”

“Downtown.”

“Where?” He scowls at your uncooperation, the married man. Alpha. The truth was that he’d smelt strange to you too. Like no one ever had before. As glorious and shocking as the cold. Like if snow had a scent. Disappointment churns in your gut alongside the excitement at the sight of him stalking after you.

“I don’t think you know it.” Your backward walk is interrupted as a hurrying stranger bumps into you, sending you staggering. Watch it, the Boston snark spits. The alpha turns to scowl, heavy boot forward like he’s half a mind to follow after the person you’ve just inadvertently assaulted.

And it occurs to you, “You didn’t tell me your name.” How silly of you. You’d been so distracted you’d forgotten to ask, and what if you never see him again after this? What if you can’t muster the courage to come back again next week? What if he can’t?

“It’s Joel.”

You think it sounds right.

“I might—know it.” Where you’re headed to. You smile at the dog with a bone. The disappointment pulses. “Is it far?” He presses. You shrug, looking over your shoulder. You’re going to lose yourself in the garden for a few hours, forget about him. “Why don’t you drive?”

“I like to walk,” you tell him, turning back.

He looks at you like he doesn’t like the things you say much less the way you say them much less the way you’re grinning at him. Perhaps he can see the disappointment and is disturbed by the sight of it, but the possibility seems too altruistic.

“You should try it sometime, Joel. You might like it too.”

His huge body seems to be shivering in the cold.

“I think…” The look on his face has turned suspicious now. He takes a step towards you. “You’re very strange. And you’re very young. I don’t think we should be friends.”

Your heart gives a demanding thump. “We’re not going to be friends.” When you’d first spotted him in the crowd, the strangest feeling had come over you. A tug behind your belly button, a scalding heat at the back of your neck, at your wrists. Perhaps it’s merely imagination, the look of disappointment you think you see on his face right before you turn away from him to continue on walking. “And I’m not that young anymore.”

You’d known today was going to be a good day. Extra cinnamon in your latte, a late start to your morning, warm in bed, no rain in the sky despite the cloud cover. And your director, late for rehearsals after some freak accident had befallen the roof of his house.

“That’s what all young people say.”

Part 2;

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girllblogging777 · 3 months ago

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𝑊𝑂𝑅𝐷𝑆 𝑈𝑁𝑆𝑃𝑂𝐾𝐸𝑁

↳ theodore nott x fem!reader (fluff)

↳ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 : 0.8k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 : in a moment of loneliness and feeling misunderstood, theo finds out you also speak italian

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

theodore nott didn’t enjoy crowds. he didn’t particularly enjoy loud gatherings, or the constant buzz of chatter that came with being around people all day. he preferred the quiet, a good book, an empty common room, a silent walk by the black lake. but somehow, he always ended up where people were, dragged along by his friends or because avoiding them would be too much effort.

tonight was no different. though the common room wasn’t packed, there were enough people to make it feel a little too alive. a few were studying and some others were caught up in conversation, it was too noisy for theo. his patience wore thin as he sat near the back, a book open in front of him, though he hadn’t read a single word.

across from him, you were sitting quietly with your own book. you weren’t much of a distraction, unlike the others, and that was part of why theo didn’t mind you being there. you didn’t force conversation, didn’t push for attention. you were just… there. it was calming, in a way.

but tonight the room felt too small and theo’s mood was slipping. the weight of things he didn’t say, things he didn’t know how to say, felt heavy. he let out a quiet sigh, running a hand through his hair as he closed his book, his mind spinning.

"what’s bothering you?"

your voice was soft, not pushing, just curious. theo looked up, his gaze meeting yours. he hadn’t even realized you were watching him.

"nothing," he muttered, trying to keep the facade up, though the irritation in his voice gave him away. "just tired of… all this."

you raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "all this?"

he gestured vaguely at the room, at the people, the noise. "everything. it’s all pointless. no one really cares about anything important. they just talk to hear themselves."

there was a pause, and theo half-expected you to drop it, to go back to your book and leave him alone. but you didn’t.

"maybe they do," you said quietly, "but it’s hard to hear it sometimes."

he looked at you, a bit surprised. your words weren’t confrontational, but there was something in your tone that made him stop. "they don’t," he muttered, leaning back in his chair, feeling the frustration build again. "it’s all surface-level. no one actually understands."

there was a moment of silence, and then you said something that made him freeze. "io ti capisco." (i understand you.)

theo blinked, staring at you in disbelief. italian. you had spoken italian. he hadn’t expected that, not from you. not here.

"what—" he began, his voice quiet. "you speak italian?"

you gave a small nod, a soft proud smile playing on your lips. "yeah. my family’s italian. we spoke it at home growing up."

theo was silent for a moment, trying to process this new information. it felt strange, hearing those words from you—words that felt like they belonged in another world, a world far removed from the one he lived in at hogwarts.

"why didn’t you ever say anything?" he asked, his voice quieter now, less guarded.

you shrugged lightly, as if it were no big deal. "you never asked."

he couldn’t help but huff a small laugh at that, running a hand through his hair again. "yeah, i guess not."

there was something in the air now, something different between the two of you. it wasn’t just the fact that you spoke italian, it was the way you had said it, the way you looked at him now. like you really understood. and for the first time in a long time, theo felt like he didn’t have to explain himself.

"parli bene," (you speak well) he said after a moment, his voice soft as he switched to italian, testing the waters.

you answered with a small smile, in a light but sincere tone “anche tu” (so do you)

and that was it. the connection had been made, something unspoken but understood between you both. it was strange, how a few words in a shared language could shift everything. the tension in theo’s chest eased, the frustration slipping away as he realized that maybe, for once, someone actually got it. got him.

"i didn’t think anyone else here would understand," theo admitted, his voice almost a whisper. “i only ever spoke it with my mother,” he added hesitantly, staring down. “so, it’s been a long time.”

you looked at him, your expression soft, understanding. "you’re not as alone as you think, theo."

he swallowed, the weight of your words hitting him harder than he expected. he hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear that—needed to know that someone, anyone, saw him. really saw him.

"thanks," he added quietly, and for the first time in what felt like forever, it wasn’t laced with sarcasm or bitterness.

you smiled at him, that same gentle smile that made the world feel a little less heavy. "anytime."

and just like that, the noise of the common room faded into the background. the two of you went back to your own books and the weight of everything else, the pressure, the expectations, the loneliness all seemed a little more bearable for theo. because he wasn’t alone.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

a/n : thanks to @pintrestgrl for the request ! this is my first time writing for theo so i don’t really know what to think of it

reblogs, comments and likes are appreciated !!! don’t hesitate to leave requests too xx

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tearsof-scarlet · 2 months ago

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situationship - carmy berzatto x reader

situationship

noun

a romantic or sexual relationship that is not considered to be formal or established.

Where one person wants a relationship, but the other person doesn't and they're having sex with each other.

Carmy and you have begun seeing each other after both of your late-night shifts. You both share each other passion for the culinary arts, him in cooking and you in baking. While you have been enjoying his company, the thought of what the two of you were bubbled in the back of your mind. You both lead very stressful lives and the idea of being in a relationship scares you too much to ever consider it. But when Carmy admits he’s falling for you, the vulnerability between you both becomes undeniable. Faced with the possibility of something more, you wrestle with the fear that it might pull you both apart

Contains: Angst

Words: 3680

A/N: yes, the reader is a baker. yes this storyline is one of many similar stories but honestly, I've never loved a dynamic more don’t @ me.

After another long night at the bakery, you slide off your apron, still dusted with flour and the faint scent of freshly baked bread clinging to you. As you locked up the bakery you felt his presence behind you. Carmy’s waiting for you outside, leaning against the wall with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his face shadowed in the streetlight glow. The small glow from his cigarette dangling from his mouth lightened his face. You know he’s tired too, worn from the brutal hours at the restaurant, but he gives you a small smile when he sees you. You’ve fallen into a routine—meeting up after your shifts, talking in the quiet dark, sharing pastries and leftovers from the night, finding comfort in the company of someone who gets it.

You walk down the street together, sometimes talking about the night’s chaos, sometimes in a companionable silence. Tonight, you asked him about the outcome of his chicken piccata as he talked through changes he made to perfect it. You reach his place, and without words, you both step into his barely-furnished apartment. The emptiness is a familiar comfort. Carmy kicks off his shoes, and you pull a couple of leftover pastries from your bag, placing them on the counter. You would never ask Carmy to cook for you, even though he has persisted many a times. There’s no real plan—there never is—but somehow it works for both of you.

You pull out a plain brioche from the bag and hand it to him, watching as he takes a bite. His eyes flutter shut, and he lets out a low groan, the sound slipping out as if he’d forgotten you were there. You can’t help but smile as he leans back against the counter, savoring each bite like it’s the first real food he’s had all day.

“You added more eggs?” he asks, looking at you through half-lidded eyes, his voice softer, like he’s savoring more than just the bread. There’s a warmth there, something rare in him, almost tender.

You nod, still smiling. “Thought it’d give it a little more richness. Guess it worked.”

Carmy lets out a small laugh, shaking his head in that way he does when he’s impressed but doesn’t want to admit it. “Swear, you make the best baked goods in Chicago,” he says, his voice carrying a rough sincerity that catches you off guard.

You raise an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter opposite him, crossing your arms as you meet his gaze. “Coming from you? That’s high praise,” you tease, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. But you also feel a knot tighten in your chest—this thing between you two feels good, too good. And you’re not sure where that leaves you.

He looks away for a moment, the casual confidence flickering, replaced by something a little darker, a little hesitant. “Nah, I mean it,” he says, his voice softer. “You know, if I could bake like you…” He trails off, his eyes downcast, as if he’s lost in a thought he’s not sure he wants to share. His words crush you, the blindness to see how talented he is.

Carmy’s eyes linger on you, something unreadable flickering beneath the exhaustion. Then, without a word, he steps closer, his gaze fixed on you like he’s finally found the courage to say what he couldn’t before. Slowly, deliberately, he leans in and brushes his lips against the corner of your mouth. The kiss is barely there, light as a whisper, but it sends a pulse through you, both familiar and brand new.

You let out a soft breath, and for a heartbeat, you’re both suspended in this moment, standing there in the quiet intimacy of his dim kitchen, the glow of streetlights casting faint shadows on the walls. He pauses, his forehead resting lightly against yours, his breaths shallow. His eyes find yours, intense yet hesitant, and you see the silent question lingering there—Is this okay?

Without waiting for him to overthink it, you tilt your head, closing the gap between you again, this time more certain, more wanting. Your hands rise to his jaw, your thumbs brushing against the stubble as you pull him in. He sighs softly into the kiss, letting his guard slip, the tension melting from his shoulders as his hands settle at your waist, gentle but grounding.

He tastes faintly of cigarettes and coffee, rough around the edges, but it only makes him feel more real, more him. His fingers curl slightly into your shirt, pulling you closer, and his kiss deepens, a quiet intensity beneath it, as if he’s pouring everything he can’t say into this single, shared breath. You feel his exhaustion in every movement, in the way he clings to you just a little tighter, like he’s afraid this moment will disappear if he lets go.

He pulls back, just enough to look at you, his face softened, his eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them. He’s breathing hard, but his expression is raw and open, a rare vulnerability slipping through his guarded exterior.

“I—” He stops, as if he doesn’t trust himself to keep going. You can see the struggle in his eyes, the effort it takes him to let down even a fraction of the walls he’s built. His thumb traces small, absentminded circles along your side, grounding himself.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you whisper, gently running a hand through his hair, letting him know that he doesn’t have to be anything other than what he is, right here, right now.

“This… us…,” he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse. “I want this to be more than… whatever we’re doing right now.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, and a part of you aches at his honesty, his vulnerability. But there’s a knot of doubt tightening in your chest, one you can’t ignore. You pull back, just enough to create a sliver of space between you, and shake your head.

“Carmy, I don’t… I don’t think it’ll work,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “We’re both too wrapped up in our own worlds. You’re at that restaurant every waking hour, and I’m at the bakery. It’s—this isn’t workable.”

He stares at you, his brows knitting together, a flash of hurt crossing his face before it hardens into something more desperate. “No. No, I don’t buy that,” he says, a raw edge to his voice. “You think I don’t know how much you love what you do? I get it. I’m the same way, and I’m still here, wanting this.”

You shake your head, frustration and a pang of sadness welling up inside you. “You don’t get it, Carm. It’s not just about wanting it. We’re both so… driven, so wrapped up in what we do, that there’s no room for anything else. We’d be pulling each other apart.”

His jaw tightens, and he takes a step closer, his hands still gripping your arms, holding on as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “I don’t believe that,” he insists, his voice trembling. “I know I’m all-in with the restaurant, but I’m not blind to this. I know what we have here, and I’m not ready to just walk away from it. Don’t… don’t tell me it wouldn’t work without even trying.”

You close your eyes, your heart pounding, his words striking at the walls you’re trying to put up. “Carmy, you’re already on the edge. You’re exhausted every night, and so am I. How much more can we take on? If we get closer, if this turns into something serious, it’ll just… complicate things. And I don’t want to be another thing that drains you, that wears you down.”

He lets out a frustrated breath, his hands dropping to his sides as he steps back, his face contorted with a mixture of anger and hurt. “You think you’d drain me?” he says, practically begging you to see things his way. “You’re one of the few things that makes any of this worth it. Do you get that? I spend all day, every damn day, feeling like I’m just barely keeping it together, but when I’m with you, I actually… I actually breathe.”

His words hang in the air, raw and exposed, and it’s clear how much he’s putting on the line. You want to reach out, to take his hand, but the doubt won’t let go. “I’m not saying I don’t feel something for you, Carm,” you say softly, trying to keep your voice steady. “I just… I’m scared that this will just become another thing you end up resenting when it gets hard. And you and I both know how that goes.”

Carmy’s fists clench at his sides, his gaze locked on yours, his eyes almost pleading. “Please. Just… please, don’t shut this down before we even have a chance. I’m trying here. I know I’m a mess, but I’m trying.” His voice breaks a little, and he shakes his head, his expression desperate. “You think I don’t worry about this too? About what it could do to us? But I’d rather try and make it work than regret not even giving it a shot.”

You shake your head, the weight of his words lingering in the air, but the reality of what you're asking him to do presses down on you. Your heart aches as you step back, putting space between you two, as if distance will make this easier. But it doesn’t. It only makes it harder.

“I can’t do this right now, Carmy,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, strained, the words leaving your mouth like they’re coated in regret. “I just… can’t.”

The look in his eyes is like a punch to the chest—hope and desperation all tangled up, like he’s waiting for you to change your mind. But you can’t. You already know how much this will hurt both of you. You take a shaky breath, pulling yourself together even though it feels like you’re falling apart.

Without waiting for him to respond, you grab your bag, trying not to meet his gaze. “I’ll see you around,” you manage to say, voice shaky as you step toward the door. But before you reach the handle, you hear his voice, quieter this time but still full of that urgency.

“Don’t walk away from this, please.”

You don’t look back. You can’t. You step out into the cold night air, the door closing softly behind you.

As you make your way home, your chest feels heavy, like you’re carrying an anchor. It’s hard to breathe, and your mind keeps replaying the last few minutes—the kiss, his words, the way his face twisted with hurt, desperation, and longing. But you couldn’t—you couldn’t—let it happen, not when you know how much it could destroy.

Once you’re home, you try to shake it off, try to ignore the way your heart aches. But the ache doesn’t go away. In the silence of your room, you crawl into bed, trying to sleep. You manage to close your eyes, but sleep doesn’t come easily. And then, your phone buzzes—one message. You pick it up, and it’s from Carmy.

“you are my favourite person. you make everything worth it”

Your heart stutters. You clutch the phone to your chest, feeling the weight of his words hit you all over again. You don’t know how to respond. How could you? He’s asking you to step into something that could break you both. And yet… his words cling to you like they have their own gravity.

Eventually, you force your eyes shut and try to sleep, but it feels impossible. Every time you start to drift off, his face pops into your mind, and you’re back there again—back to that moment in his kitchen, the rawness of his words, the hunger in his eyes.

The next morning, you wake to the harsh sound of your alarm ringing at 4 AM, your body aching from exhaustion but knowing you have to get up. The bakery won’t open itself, and the hours of work ahead of you keep your mind busy. You roll out of bed, washing up quickly before pulling on your apron and heading downstairs. The familiar smells of dough, sugar, and flour fill the air as you prepare for the day’s bake. Your hands move through the motions, mind drifting despite your best efforts to focus.

But when you walk into the bakery, you freeze. There, standing in the doorway, is Carmy. He’s leaning against the wall, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, looking just as worn and exhausted as the night before. But there’s something else there now—a determination that cuts through the exhaustion, a silent resolve.

"Can we talk?" he asks, voice softer than you expect.

You swallow hard, staring at him for a long beat before nodding. You don’t know what else to do, and despite everything, there’s a part of you that wants to hear him out.

You step aside, letting him into the dark, deserted bakery. The kitchen lights flicker on as you walk past him, the quiet hum of the refrigerator and ovens filling the silence. He follows you in, his steps tentative, unsure.

Once inside, he leans against the counter, hands still deep in his jacket pockets, looking out of place in the quiet emptiness of the bakery. You begin your prep—kneading dough, measuring flour—but you’re acutely aware of his presence, the air thick with things unsaid. Finally, when you can’t stand the silence any longer, you look up at him.

“What is it, Carmy?” you ask, your voice unsteady.

He’s quiet for a long moment, his eyes not quite meeting yours, studying the counter like it holds all the answers. Finally, he takes a breath, running a hand through his messy hair.

“I don’t want to push you into something you’re not ready for,” he starts, his voice low but clear. “But I don’t know how to walk away from you. I know we’re both stuck in our worlds, but…” He pauses, his gaze flicking up to meet yours. “I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something here worth fighting for.”

Your heart twists. You feel the weight of his words, the sincerity that bleeds through even as he stands there, vulnerable and unsure. You keep your focus on the dough, pretending to be absorbed in it even though you can feel his eyes on you, waiting.

“I don’t know what to think,” he continues, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m asking for a chance. Just a shot. I know what it’s like to want something so bad you can feel it, but I don’t want to live the rest of my life wondering what would’ve happened if I hadn’t tried. Please, just… just tell me I’m not crazy for feeling this way.”

His voice falters, and it feels like the room shrinks around you. You can hear the vulnerability in him, the way he’s baring himself just for you. Carmy’s breath catches in the silence, and the weight of his gaze presses on you until it feels suffocating.

His words hang in the air, like a challenge you don’t know if you can meet. You feel your heart tug in response, the truth of what he’s saying pulling you in even though your mind is screaming at you to be cautious, to keep the distance. The space between your bodies feels impossibly small, but you remain still, your hands working the dough almost mechanically, as if you can control the moment by staying focused on something—anything—else.

But Carmy doesn’t give you the space you’re looking for. Without warning, his hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist firmly, pulling your arm away from the dough. Your breath hitches in surprise as his fingers curl around you, the warmth of his touch searing through your skin.

“Look at me,” he demands softly, his voice a breathless plea.

You lift your eyes to meet his, and the vulnerability in his gaze is more than you can bear. He takes a slow breath, his chest rising and falling with the effort, before he finally says the words that you’ve been dreading, and yet somehow needing to hear.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” he says, his voice thick, almost cracking. His words are out before he can stop them, and you can see the rawness of them—how much he means it. “But I think the day I saw you, I knew something was going to change.”

The air between you is charged now, electric. Your heart races in your chest, and for the first time, you’re no longer fighting the pull between you. His eyes are searching yours, looking for some kind of answer, some reassurance that this isn’t all just a fantasy to him. The room feels impossibly small, the weight of the moment pressing down, but it’s not a weight you want to escape.

Before you can say anything, your hands move on their own, pulling him toward you, your lips crashing into his with a force that surprises you both. His hand slides into your hair, the other slipping around your waist, pulling you closer, as if he can’t bear even a sliver of distance between you. The kiss is hungry, desperate, all the words neither of you can say poured into it, all the fear, the longing, the possibility of something more.

You taste the rawness of him—coffee, cigarettes, the trace of exhaustion—and it only makes him feel more real, more human. Your hands tangle in his shirt, pulling him tighter, as if you could make the moment last forever, as if you could erase all the doubts that have lingered between you.

The kiss deepens, and you feel his body pressed against yours, the heat of him seeping through the space between your clothes. There’s no room for anything else now—no bakery, no restaurant, no walls between you. Just this. Just him.

When you finally pull back, both of you panting, eyes searching each other’s faces as if trying to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions rushing through both of you, you realize that this is it. There’s no turning back now.

“I’m not crazy, am I?” Carmy whispers, his voice shaky with something close to hope, but tinged with doubt.

You shake your head slowly, your heart in your throat. “No,” you whisper back, barely able to breathe. “You’re not crazy.”

He laughs, the sound low and rich, burying his head into your neck as his arms wrap around you, pulling you close. You feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, and for a moment, everything else fades away. "I’m going to make this work, I swear, baby." The words are soft but firm, wrapped in the kind of sincerity that makes your heart ache with a gentle kind of joy.

You smile, feeling his words settle deep in your chest, and kiss him gently on the cheek, your lips lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “Now get out, I’ve got ten dozen croissants to make before 7am.” Your voice is teasing, but there's a tenderness behind it, a quiet promise that everything will be okay.

He lifts his head, his dark eyes searching yours, a playful spark dancing there. "You don’t need help?" he asks, eyebrow raised, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, like he's already planning to do whatever it takes to stay by your side. Without waiting for your response, he’s already rolling up his sleeves, his movements so effortless, so sure.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t suppress the laugh that escapes, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep inside. “Fine," you concede with a mock sternness, but your heart is fluttering. "But follow my instructions and don’t change any of the ingredients, Berzatto." You half threaten, the words playful but laced with affection, like a gentle challenge.

He smirks, "Yes, ma’am," his voice rich with amusement, before he turns toward the sink. The soft sound of water running fills the kitchen, but all you can focus on is the way he moves—confident, but somehow always a little clumsy in the best way. When he turns back, you can’t help but laugh softly at the sight of flour already dotting his clothes and smudging his face from your make out session.

You watch him, your heart warming at the sight of him trying so hard, his smile a little sheepish but full of that genuine joy that you’ve come to love. There’s something about him in this moment—so real, so raw, and so undeniably him and it makes you feel like the luckiest person in the world.

You shake your head, unable to stop your own smile from spreading wider. He looks like a mess, but in the best way, and for the first time in a long while, everything feels so right.

And as you stand there, the soft hum of the bakery in the background, the smell of fresh dough filling the air, you realize that despite the chaos of your worlds, despite the unknowns that lie ahead, you wouldn’t change a thing. And you know, without a doubt, that this is only the beginning.

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