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My poster and keychain design are finished woo!1!!,
all the face shading gone cuz of the protection glass thingy ugh sjjsjsj
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Something something 5 times lance didn't realize the blade member he was hitting on was keith
+ 1 time keith finally said something about it (im not drawing thatđđ)
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DADDY, YOU DUMMY â IV
SYNOPSIS: One moment, Wayne Manor is calm. The next, thereâs a toddler standing in the dining room with a Red Robin plush, and a very familiar pair of blue eyes None of Bruceâs sons have children. Only one of them is even in a relationship And that is most definitely not Timothy Jackson Drake PAIRINGS: Tim Drake x Fem! Reader TAGS: Time Travel, Slow burn, Strangers to Lovers, Original Female Character
đŒ :: the restraint i showed aksksks i wanted so badly to make this fluffy and domestic. if you have anything you want to see from this series, let me know and, if it interests me, i'll try to incorporate it as much as i can
đŒ :: if you're not already part of the permanent and/or series taglist, check comments
âMommy!â the little girl gasped, darting across the floor.
Her shoes hit the stage with soft thuds, the plush toy bouncing against her side with every determined step. The crew scattered out of her way in surprise as she made a beeline past speakersâheading straight for one person.
The little girl skidded to a stop right in front of her, head tilted back, eyes shining with joy.
âHi!â she said brightly, like they were not strangers. âMommy, I found you!â
[Y/N] froze.
Her lips parted. She looked down at the girlâand then up again, spotting Tim, looking like he was half-apologizing, half-panicking.
But the girlâGiaâwas already talking. Launching into a breathless, excited ramble like her heart had just spilled wide openâwords spilling out like sheâd been holding them in for days.Â
âI knew youâd come! Daddy said you were working far. I waited really good, and Aunt Cass played with me. I made drawings andâand I didnât cry today, not reallyââ
[Y/N] blinked, her expression caught between confusion and disbelief.
Her gaze drifted from the little girlâs eager face back to Timâsilently begging for context. For any kind of explanation.
Her eyes met his, wide and unguarded, asking him without words:
What is happening?
Is this a prank? A mistake? Some kind of trap?
âIââ [Y/N] started, her voice thin with disbelief. âI think⊠thereâs been a mistakeââ
But before she could take a step back or even gather her thoughts, Tim had crouched beside the little girl, placing a steadying hand on her small shoulders.
âGia,â he said softly, like he was trying to ground them both. Her name fell from his lips like a lifeline, gentle and warm.
The little girl paused, mid-sentence, eyes flicking toward him with all the innocent trust in the world.
And [Y/N], still frozen, realized she had no idea what to say.
No publicist briefing, no media training, no pre-interview flashcards had ever prepared her for this.
Sheâd handled press ambushes, persistent paparazzi, even that one award show collab stage where her co-artist had proposed on stage unprompted.
Sheâd been coached on how to smile through invasive questions, how to steer conversations away from controversies, how to cry artfully in interviews about rising fame and artistic integrity.
But nothingânothingâhad taught her how to respond when a strangerâs child ran into her arms and called her âMommy.â
Beside her, her manager stood frozen tooâone foot slightly angled like they werenât sure whether to step in or step away.
But [Y/N] didnât move either. Couldnât.
The moment Gia broke away from his side and took off running, his stomach dropped.Â
His brain stuttered through at least ten different reactions in the span of a secondâtoo many eyes, too many questions, too fast.
She darted across the venue floor, plushie tucked under one arm, curls bouncing behind her, her little voice echoingââMommy!â
His feet were already moving before he realized it. But he didnât call after her. Couldnât.
His throat was tight, and the shock hit him like a punch to the ribs.
[Y/N] was here.
He hadnât expected to see her yetâcertainly not now, not like this. Not standing mid-stage with a clipboard in hand and confusion etched all over her face.
Tim felt like his own world was spinning.
The moment Giaâs little voice rang outââMommy, I found you!ââit was like the ground had shifted beneath him.
Not in the way it had when he first realized she was his daughter from the future. Not even in the way it had when she looked at him and called him Daddy for the first time.
No, this was different.
This was [Y/N], standing under stage lights and looking like someone had just handed her a live bomb with no instructions. Frozen. Unmoving.
Her eyes wide, lips parted, staring down at Gia like the girl had just materialized out of thin air.
Because to her, she had.
And GiaâGod, Gia was beaming. Pure joy radiated off her, unfiltered and certain.
Sheâd found her mother. She was so sure.
Her hair bounced as she shifted on her feet, her little hands clutched around her plushie and her heart plainly visible on her sleeve.
She just kept talking, voice bubbling and sweet and painfully sincere
âI knew youâd come! Daddy said you were working far. I waited really good, and Aunt Cass played with me. I made drawings andâand I didnât cry today, not reallyââ
Tim could see it all playing out and felt completely helpless to stop it.
He didnât call out. Didnât shout for her to wait or come back. Because part of him didnât want to.
Because part of him wanted to see what would happen if this workedâif somehow, impossibly, Gia could have both her parents in this time, too.
But reality caught up to him, fast.
[Y/N] was standing under the stage lights with confusion in her eyes, looking at Tim not like heâd orchestrated somethingâbut like she couldnât quite comprehend what was in front of her.
Because to her, Gia didnât exist.
She didnât know about the girl with her smile and Timâs eyes. Didnât know about the way she cried asking for when Mommy was coming back.
Didnât know that somewhere in the folds of time, she and Tim had built a lifeâone so strong and full of love, it birthed this impossibly brave child now standing in front of her.
Timâs hands trembled.
She doesnât know. She wouldnât understand. She wouldnât believe.
Timâs thoughts raced.
Should he tell her? Could he?
How do you look a person in the eye and explain, âHey, surprise, thatâs our daughter from a future you havenât lived yetâ?
Would she think he was crazy? Would she push Gia away?
Would she hurt herâwithout meaning to?
âIâI think⊠thereâs been a mistakeââ
Tim couldnât risk it. Not when Giaâs whole world was balanced on this fragile moment of recognition.
He could tryâhad to tryâto soften the fall.
He crouched beside the little girl, placing both hands gently on her arms. âGia,â he said softly. âSweetheart, listen to me.â
She blinked up at him, wide-eyed and patient, waiting for what she didnât yet realize would hurt.
âI know youâre excited,â Tim continued, his voice as steady as he could manage. âBut⊠she isnât your Mommy.âÂ
Giaâs face scrunched. She turned back toward [Y/N], who was still frozen.
The little girl pointed insistently.
âDaddy, you dummy,â she said, not unkindly, just confused. âItâs Mommy! See?â
Timâs heart cracked just a little. He didnât know what to say. He didnât know if there was a right way to say any of this.
She was just so certain. And still so small.
How do I tell her that her mom doesnât know her yet?
How do I look into those eyes and make her understand that the woman standing in front of her is a stranger to her?
She doesnât know you. Weâre not together. You havenât even been born.
He crouched lower, his voice calm and gentle, like he was trying not to spook her or himself.
âGia, listen to me. Thatâs⊠thatâs not Mommy.â
âYes, she is,â Gia said immediately, her chin tilting up. âYou said Mommy was working far. But sheâs here now. I found her.â
Tim shook his head slowly. âI know you want her to be here. I do too. But she isnât Mommy, baby.â
Giaâs face twisted, the first tremble of disbelief beginning. She was looking at him, then back at [Y/N], then back at him.
The doubt had crept in nowâreal, quiet confusion that made her eyes shine in a different way.
âButâŠâ she started, voice softer. âBut she looks like Mommy.â
Tim swallowed hard. âI know, baby. I know she does.â
Gia was beginning to unravel. Her little face was pulled into a frown as she searched his for a correction. Her mouth twisted. Her brows pinched.
She turned back toward the woman on the stage, confused and already scared.
âMommy!â she called out again, louder now, more uncertain. âDaddyâs being mean again!â
Her voice trembled. Her eyes welled.
âWhy are you guys making fun of me? Itâs not funny! Did I do something wrong?â
Timâs heart cracked.
âNo,â he said quickly, pulling her into a hug, holding her tightly against his chest. âNo, sweetheart. You didnât do anything wrong.â
He held her there, tight and close, while [Y/N] stood just a few steps awayâwatching, overwhelmed, and still not knowing.
His chest ached.
Because of course Gia didnât understand. Of course she thought she was rightâbecause in her world, she was. [Y/N] was her mother.
But this wasnât her [Y/N]. Not yet. Not here.
âItâs okay,â Tim said, gently brushing her curls back from her tear-streaked face, his voice soft and careful like glass might break if he raised it even a notch.
âMommyâs gonna come home soon, okay? We can wait for Mommy. Right?â
Gia shook her head before he even finished, the first real sob catching in her throat.
âBut Mommyâs right here,â she cried, voice cracking. âWhy canât we just go home now?â
And TimâGod, Tim wanted to say yes. Wanted to pull [Y/N] into the picture and make the timeline bend to their will.
The silence that followed was thick. Even the crew had paused, like theyâd all collectively sensed the weight of the moment unfolding on the stage floor.
And in the middle of it,
ââŠWe can go home after Mommy finishes her work, okay, baby?â
What the hell is happening?
âDo you⊠know this kid?â her manager whispered tightly, sidling up beside her like they were watching a slow-motion car crash.
[Y/N] shook her head once, slow and deliberate, eyes locked on the tiny figure currently trying to convince her father that she was her mother.
âNo,â she breathed.
âOkay. Fantastic,â her manager muttered. âWanna run away?â
âTentative,â she muttered.
Because she should. She really, really should. Every rational, PR-trained neuron in her brain was lighting up in alarm.
She was a public figure. This had headlines written all over it. This could turn messy. It already was messy. Butâ
âShe really thinks Iâm her mom,â she whispered.
âYeah,â her manager replied flatly. âLooks like it.â
The air shifted.
âMommy!â the girl cried again, louder this time, her voice suddenly more uncertain. Wobbly.
[Y/N] flinched.
âDaddyâs being mean again!â the girl shouted.
âWhy are you guys making fun of me?â Her voice cracked, trembling. âItâs not funny! Did I do something wrong?â
The sound of her voice was like something tearing inside [Y/N]'s chest. No child that small should sound that heartbroken.
Tim pulled her in immediately, wrapping his arms around her.
Tim DrakeâTim Drakeâwas crouched on the ground, cradling the child like she might break apart if he let go. His face looked torn. Wrecked.
âNo,â he said quickly, his voice low, but steady. âNo, sweetheart. You didnât do anything wrong.â
[Y/N]âs throat tightened.
Because this wasnât a tantrum. This wasnât some prank or media stunt. This wasnât delusion or confusion.
This was a child. A child who missed someone deeply and had convinced herself sheâd found them.
âI donât think I can run away,â she whispered to her manager.
They sighed beside her. âYeah. I kinda figured.â
The words were out before she could stop them. Theyâd leapt from her mouth like instinct. And the moment they did, the little girl froze, all blotchy cheeks and shimmering eyes, staring up at her like sheâd just made the world spin back into place.
ââŠWe can go home after Mommy finishes her work, okay, baby?â
Tim looked up so fast you could almost hear the whiplash. âWhat?â
[Y/N] had no idea what sheâd just agreed to.
A beat of silence. Thenâ
âMommy?â Gia whispered.
Her heart thudded painfully.
The word hit harder than it should have. Something about the way she said itâquiet and wobbly, as if afraid it might vanish if she said it too loudâlodged itself deep in [Y/N]âs chest.
The girlâs eyes were huge, still shining from the weight of unshed tears. And she was looking at her like she hung the stars. Like this moment, right here, decided whether or not the world was safe again.
[Y/N] didnât know her. But standing there on that stage, beside a child who was so clearly unraveling and trusting her to make it betterâshe couldnât bring herself to say no.
[Y/N] blinked down at her. Her lips curvedâsoft, unsure. âYeah?â
Gia sniffled, brows scrunching. âDaddyâs being so mean to me.â
[Y/N] barely hesitated. She crouched down too, right beside them, her expression so calm she startled even herself. âShould we punish him?â
Timâs jaw dropped.
Gia considered this with all the seriousness of a Supreme Court ruling. Then gave a decisive nod. âYeah.â
[Y/N] smiled softly, brushing a thumb under Giaâs eye to wipe a lingering tear. The skin beneath her fingertip was warm and slightly damp, and Gia didnât flinchâif anything, she leaned in. The kind of instinctual trust only children had.
âOkay then,â [Y/N] murmured. âMommyâs got your back.â
And Tim, still kneeling on the ground, could only stareâutterly stunnedâas his daughter and the woman who didnât know she was her mother teamed up against him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
[Y/N] at her conspiratorially, brushing a lock of hair behind the girlâs ear. âWe can punish him later, okay? After Mommyâs done with her work.â
Tim made a small noise of protest. âPunishâ?â
âShh,â [Y/N] said, smirking. âItâs a secret punishment, okay? He doesnât get to know.â
Gia nodded with renewed purpose. âYeah.â
Then her expression softened. Her hand curled around [Y/N]âs hand that was brushing her hair, as she asked, in the smallest voice yet,
âAre you coming to Grampaâs home with us?â
[Y/N] hesitated. Her eyes flicked to Timâwho looked about as useful as a broken compassâand then back down at Gia.
âWeâll see later, okay?â [Y/N] said gently. âBut first, go play with Daddy while Mommy works, okay?â
Giaâs mouth opened in protest. âI wanna watch.â
[Y/N] gave her a firm but kind look. âYou still have to go with Daddy so Mommy can focus.â
Gia considered this, clearly displeased but not wanting to break whatever fragile sense of magic had just stitched her little world back together.
ââŠOkay,â she said finally.
Tim gave [Y/N] a lingering lookâpart awe, part disbelief, all tangled with the very real sensation that the future had just crashed headfirst into the present.
She met his eyes, her expression unreadable but steady now, like sheâd managed to find a foothold on the edge of this surreal cliff.
âYou can explain later,â she said quietlyâless an invitation, more a command softened by curiosity.
Tim exhaled. A breath he didnât know heâd been holding.
ââŠYeah,â he replied, voice just as low. âI will.â
Gia tugged on his hand then, her other arm still wrapped tightly around her plushie, the moment already shifting forward in her mind like children often did.
And [Y/N], still standing center stage, turned her attention back toward the clipboardâher grip just a little tighter.
Her manager stepped up beside her again, keeping their voice low. âDo you know what youâre doing?â
[Y/N] didnât look up from the clipboard. Her thumb ran absently along the paperâs edge.
âHell no,â she muttered.
Gia sat perched on top of a large black equipment box, her tiny feet swinging back and forth with unbothered ease, the Red Robin plush cradled in her lap. She hummed to herselfâoff-key but earnestâwhile the stage crew moved around her, careful not to disturb the child whose presence had quickly become the elephant in the rehearsal room.
Tim stood beside her, only half-focused on the files the event coordinator had handed him. His eyes flicked down the list of setup specifications, audio channels, lighting grid positions. Nothing stuck.
Why the fuck did she do that?
He replayed it in his mind over and overâ[Y/N] stepping in, voice warm and soothing, wiping Giaâs tears like it was natural.Â
Why? Why say that? Why take on something so impossible, so sudden, so terrifying?
A small voice broke into his spiral.
âMommy looks pretty.â
Tim blinked. âWhat?â
Gia looked up at him with a bright smile, kicking her feet against the side of the box. âMommy looks pretty,â she repeated.
He looked across the stageâ[Y/N] was conferring with a tech, pen tapping her clipboard again, sharp but calm. Her stance was grounded. Professional. A little tense.
Tim ran a hand down his face. âYeah,â he murmured, helplessly. âYeah, she does.â
Gia giggled and went back to humming. Like nothing had happened. Like this was just another Tuesday.
Tim looked like he was either going to faint or throw himself into the Batcaveâs abyss.
[Y/N] exhaled as the final light cue was tested and approved, the last of her notes scribbled across the corner of her clipboard. âOkay,â she muttered, stepping off the stage. âWhatâs next?â
Her manager, already flipping through their schedule, answered without looking up. âYour press briefing. With the other performers.â
She slowed, gaze drifting across the room to where Gia still sat on the equipment box, feet swinging, plushie in hand. Tim was beside her, explaining something gently as she nodded with exaggerated seriousness.
[Y/N] didnât realize she was smiling until her manager sighed.
âIs there any way I can opt out of that?â she asked, voice dry but hopeful.
âNope,â they said, already walking. âIn your contract.â
She groaned softly, tearing her eyes away and falling into step behind them.
Of course it was.
MeanwhileâSometime in the Future for @luc1dw0rld
The kitchen was warm with the smell of garlic and butter, the soft hiss of something sautéing in the pan filling the quiet.
The door slammed open. âIt happened!â
[Y/N] stood barefoot at the stove, hair tied loosely up, a spatula in hand as she stirred. âYouâre home early,â she called over her shoulder, glancing at the clock above the sink.
Tim stood thereâstill in his jacket, hair a mess like heâd run through a wind tunnel, eyes wide and wild. âIt happened!â
[Y/N] turned away from the stove completely now, brow furrowed, spatula still in hand. âHusband, youâre not making sense. What happened?â
âGia,â Tim said breathlessly, pointing to absolutely nothing. âShe time traveled!â
There was a beat of stunned silence.
ââŠShe what?â
âSheâs in the past!â he rushed out. âRemember when Gia came to us before we were even dating? Yeah, thatâs happening now.â
[Y/N] froze. Her jaw dropped, and she actually stumbled a step back against the counter.
âYou left her with Bart, didnât you?â she said slowly, voice rising with each word.
Tim hesitated. ââŠOnly for a bit.â
Her eyes widened. âTim Drake, you IDIOT!!!â
The spatula clattered onto the counter as she stormed toward him, apron fluttering behind her like a cape of wrath. âSheâs four! You left our daughter with a walking Red Bull can!â
Tim threw his hands up. âIâm already fixing it!â
âYou better fix it faster,â she snapped.
Tim paused. ââŠYeah, about that. How long was Gia with us back then again?â
She froze.
âTIMOTHY!â
âIâM FIXING IT!â
ARCHIVE PART THREE | PART FIVE
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DADDY, YOU DUMMY â III

SYNOPSIS: One moment, Wayne Manor is calm. The next, thereâs a toddler standing in the dining room with a Red Robin plush, and a very familiar pair of blue eyes None of Bruceâs sons have children. Only one of them is even in a relationship And that is most definitely not Timothy Jackson Drake PAIRINGS: Tim Drake x Fem! Reader TAGS: Time Travel, Slow burn, Strangers to Lovers, Original Female Character
đŒ :: as much as i want to post at least one fic per day it's just not realistically possible since i am busy. i do hope this makes up for the wait
đŒ :: is it obvious yet that i love cliffhangers? if u wanna be tagged on part four, please check comments
The morning light had climbed higher through the windows, casting warm gold across the table and soft shadows along the floor. Breakfast was mostly done, plates pushed aside in favor of quiet conversation and the occasional sip of lukewarm coffee.
Gia had wandered back over from her napkin-folding with Cass, arm reaching up to tug at Timâs sleeve.
âDaddy?â she asked, peering up at him with wide eyes. âWhen is Mommy coming?â
The question made the room still again, tension slipping back into the spaces it had briefly vacated. Dick froze with a spoon halfway to his mouth. Damianâs arms folded tighter across his chest. Even Cass, still seated on the floor, looked up.
Timâs brain kicked into overdrive.
She doesnât know. She doesnât understand she traveled through time. She doesnât know her mother hasnât arrived yet because, right now, her and I arenât together. Hell, we barely know each other!
But Gia was looking at him with her eyesâhis eyes.
So Tim forced a gentle smile and crouched beside her.
âHey, sweetheart,â he said softly, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. âYou know how Mommy sometimes has to sing in really big places far away?â
Gia nodded slowly, uncertain but listening.
âWell,â he continued carefully, âI think this might be one of those times. Sheâs probably getting ready for a concert somewhere. Thatâs why sheâs not here right now.â
She blinked. âSheâs working?â
âYeah,â Tim said, voice steady despite the tightness in his chest. âBut you know Mommyâshe always comes back after the show, right?â
Gia frowned, lip jutting out slightly, but didnât argue. âShe didnât tell me,â she mumbled, crossing her arms.
He watched her closelyâthe way her brows pinched together, the way her bottom lip trembled just a little before she bit it back. She was trying to be brave. Trying not to cry again.
And Tim⊠he didnât know how to fix this. Not really.
So he sat with her. Just sat, quiet and still, as her tiny frame leaned into his side.
Hoping that, for now, the lie would be enough to keep her heart from breaking.
Just until they figured out what the hell to do next.
âSheâs probably getting ready for a concert somewhereâ
Suitcases lay open across the bed, half-full of carefully folded clothes and crumpled papers. A half zipped dress bag hung from the closet door, shimmering faintly under the soft afternoon lightâa custom piece, sleek, beautiful, and still comfortable.Â
In the middle of the room, [Y/N] moved back and forth with practiced ease. Phone tucked between her shoulder and cheek, she was currently on her second cup of tea and third mental checklist, eyes flicking between the mirror and the soft carry-on that always seemed to be missing something.
âOkay, Iâve packed the chargers, the throat spray, the allergy meds.â she muttered, only half to herself. âWhat am I missing?â
âSleep,â came her managerâs voice crisply through the phone.Â
âDonât I know that,â she said, exhaling, tucking a smaller jewelry pouch into the case. âAnything else I should know?â
âYour call time is eight sharp tomorrow for rehearsals, soundcheckâs at four, and you havenât replied to the Wayne Foundationâs RSVP coordinator about the dinner after the benefit.â
âI thought that was optional?â
âEverythingâs optional until itâs not,â her manager said dryly. âYouâre not just there to sing. Youâre there to be seen.â
She didnât answer right away. Just zipped the side compartment of her carry on closed, her fingers on the zip.Â
Gotham wasnât exactly her usual tour stop. She wasnât even sure why sheâd agreedâwell, okay, she did know.
It was Wayne Enterprises. It was a charity concert. It was good press.Â
And for some reason, part of her had wanted to go.
She didnât know yet that the city she was about to land in held more than just another gig.Â
That the man sheâd met once in Metropolis would soon become unavoidable.Â
That somewhere in the same skyline, a little girl with her smile was waiting for a mother who did not know her yet.
She just knew she had a show to put on.Â
She had no idea that the most important act of her life was already waiting for her in Gotham.
Wayne Manor had settled into a lullâconversations had dwindled into quiet, and even Jason had disappeared somewhere, muttering something about needing air.
Tim stood in the foyer, phone in one hand, messenger bag slung over his shoulder. Three missed calls from Lucius blinked back at him. At least five emails were flagged as urgent.
âWhere are you going?â a small voice asked.
He looked up.
Gia stood partway down the stairs, one hand gripping the banister, the other clutching her Red Robin plush. Her curls had started to come loose from the braid Cass had tied for her earlier.
She had been in the library, pestering Damian. She mustâve gotten bored and wandered off to find him.
âJust work, sweetheart,â Tim said, keeping his tone light. âI wonât be gone long.â
Her bottom lip began to wobble. âBut Mommyâs not here,â she said. âYou never leave when Mommyâs not here.â
âI know,â he said gently. âBut Iâll only be gone for a little bit, and Uncle Dick and Grampaâs going to stay with you, okay? You guys can play games or do cartwheelsâremember? Uncle Dick is really good at those.â
Right on cue, Dick came in from the hallway leading to the kitchens, holding up a juice box. âHey, Munchkin. You ever tried building a cave out of couch cushions?â
âBut Mommyâs not here,â she repeated.
Timâs heart twisted. âI know, baby.â
âCanât you stay?â
âIâd love to. But Iââ
He didnât finish. Because she was already running the rest of the way down the stairs and into him, wrapping her small arms around his legs, face pressed into his knees.
âDonât go,â she whispered.
Tim looked down, at the tiny arms wrapped around him. In the corner of his eye, Dick hoveredâjuice box forgotten, his usual easy grin replaced with something quieter.
Tim let out a breath.
ââŠOkay,â he said finally, his voice low. âOkay, kiddo. You win.â
Gia peeked up at him, hopeful. âReally?â
He nodded, brushing a stray curl from her cheek. âWhy donât you be my assistant at work today?â
She grinned, eyes bright through the tears. âReally? Okay!â
Before Tim could move to hold her in his arms, a familiar voice cut in smoothly from behind.
âIn that case,â Alfred said, appearing in the hallway like he'd been summoned, âwhy donât we change into something more appropriate, Miss Gia?â
Tim blinked. âI didnât even know we had toddler clothes.â
âWe do,â Alfred replied, utterly unfazed. âStarting yesterday. I had it arranged.â
Of course, Alfred did
Tim could only stare as Alfred offered a gloved hand to Gia, who took it solemnlyâlike a tiny dignitary being escorted to wardrobe.
Alfred was already leading her up the stairs when Gia paused at the landing to wave at Tim. âIâm gonna go look fancy!â
Tim raised a hand weakly in return.Â
âYou sure?â Dick asked quietly, having moved beside him.
Tim nodded. âItâs obvious sheâs not used to being left anywhere without at least one of her parents. Letâs not push it today.â
The soft patter of footsteps signaled their return.
Gia came down the stairs holding Alfredâs hand, still hugging her well-loved Red Robin plush with the other. She had been changed into a pale blue houndstooth blazer and matching skirt, her outfit completed by a sheer dotted bow tied at her neck. A matching padded headband pushed her hair neatly back, giving her the unmistakable air of someone important on her way to a very serious meetingâdespite the fact that her legs still barely cleared the stairs.Â
Dick gave a low whistle. âWayne Enterprises is not ready for this.â
Gia looked up at him proudly. âGranpa Alfred says I look very professional.â
Tim couldnât help the small laugh that slipped out. âYou absolutely do.â
He reached down, brushing some invisible lint off her sleeve, then gestured toward the plush in her arms. âBut why donât we leave Red Robin here for now?â
âNO!â Gia hugged the toy tighter like it had just been threatened with exile. âDaddy, you dummy! He protects me from bad guys. You said so!â
Tim blinked. âI did?â
âDuh.â She squinted at him like it was the most obvious thing in the world. âMommy wouldnât say that. She doesnât like heroes.â
That earned a snort from Dick, who was already leaning against the door, watching the exchange with far too much glee. âOh, she doesnât like heroes, huh?â
He elbowed Tim with a grin. âYou sure know how to pick âem.â
Gia added, matter-of-factly, âMommy says heroes need naps and better hobbies.â
Tim rolled his eyes but couldnât fight the small smile tugging at his lips.Â
He took Giaâs hand. âLetâs go run the company, partner.â
Gia nodded solemnly. âYes, Daddy. But can we also get snacks?â
âSnacks are absolutely part of the deal.â Tim said, adjusting his bag over his shoulder and squeezing her hand.
She mightâve not had much sleep but the sharp Gotham air was definitely helping keep her awake.
[Y/N] stepped into the car waiting for her outside Archie Goodwin International Airport, her manager close behind, phone already glued to their ear as they issued rapid-fire instructions to someone on the other end.Â
The city skyline loomed in the distance, a familiar silhouette of steel and cloud, greyed by the always-hovering overcast.
Gotham wasnât exactly her comfort zone.
It was grittier than what she was used to. Less forgiving. The kind of place where you kept your bag close and your head lower.
A complete 180 from the sparkle of the life she lived.
âOkay,â her manager said, ending the call and slipping their phone into their pocket. âSchedule todayâs tight. Weâve got a press briefing at five, and the Foundationâs rep moved your walkthrough to three.â
âWhy?â she asked.
âWayne Enterprises requested it,â they said. âApparently, the concert floor plans had a last-minute update.â
She raised a brow. âSo I have to go to the venue?â
âIn a bit,â her manager said, matter-of-fact. âYou need to approve the layout for staging, acoustics, lighting anglesââ
âGot it,â she muttered, rubbing her temple. âLabor it is.â
Her manager shot her a wry look. âHey, you said yes to this gig.â
She sighed. âYeah, I did.â
Y/N glanced up at the skyline, unaware of just how close she was to a life she hadnât lived yet.
âLunch first?â
The doors opened and closed with a soft thud, and every eye in the executive lobby turned.
Tim Drake didnât exactly go unnoticed on a regular dayâhe was a company executive, a Wayne, and irritatingly young for someone who could run boardrooms in his sleep. But today?Â
Today, he had a tiny hand wrapped tightly in his own and a very serious toddler at his side.
âGood morning, Mr. Drake,â the receptionist started automaticallyâonly to falter when her gaze dropped.
Gia peeked around Timâs leg like she was assessing the perimeter. Her bright eyes scanned the space, landing on everything from the polished floors to the high glass walls.Â
âOh my god,â someone whispered near the break room.
âIs that a child?â another assistant asked.
âDid he kidnap her?â someone muttered, clearly joking, but not entirely sure.
âMorning,â Tim said dryly, already regretting this.
Gia tugged on his arm. âDaddy,â she whispered, âtheyâre staring at me again.âÂ
Again?
Tim bent down slightly. âItâs âcause youâre just cuter than everyone else here.â
Gia considered that for a moment, then nodded solemnly. âOkay.â
He bit back a laugh as several interns nearby overheard and choked on their lattes.
They continued across the floor, Giaâs little shoes clicking in tandem with Timâs longer strides. The lobby buzzed with quiet disbelief in their wake, but neither of them paid it much mind. They reached the elevators, doors sliding shut behind them.
Gia was already pressing her face against the mirror-lined wall, inspecting her reflection with mild interest.
âHey, sweetheart?â he asked, hands in his pockets as the elevator began to rise. âHave I brought you here before? To work, I mean.â
âUh-huh,â she chirped, not looking away. âOn Bring Gia to Work Day.â
Tim blinked. âAnd when exactly is Bring Gia to Work Day?â
âEvery time Daddy needs hugs at work,â she replied matter-of-factly, turning to beam at him like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
He couldnât stop the huff of laughter that escaped him. âThat sounds about right.â
The elevator dinged. The doors opened.
âSir,â his assistant stammered, rushing forward, tablet in hand, âyour inbox has three emails from Legal flagged urgent, and the Events team needs you in-person to inspect the newly approved concert floor plan before noon. Should I let themâsir?â
âThis is Gia,â Tim introduced, completely unbothered. âSheâs shadowing me today.â
Gia puffed up proudly.Â
âIâm sorry?â
A beat of stunned silence. Thenâ
âHi, Gia,â his assistant said, slowly recovering. âItâs lovely to meet you.â
âThank you,â Gia said primly, and then turned to Tim. âCan I go in your spinny chair when we get to your office?â
Tim smiled. âOnly if you promise not to spin fast.â
âPromise.â she lied cheerfully.
And just like that, Tim Drake walked past a half-dozen stunned employees with Gothamâs most adorably unexpected assistant at his side, leaving chaos (and soft coos) in their wake.
Timâs office was one of the few places in the tower where silence was usually only broken by taps on the keyboard and pings from his desktop.
Today, that quiet was peppered with the sound of markers uncapping and little hums of concentration from the small girl sitting cross-legged on the floor.
Gia had set up shop on the plush carpet just under the wide windows, a pad of paper in front of her and an array of crayons and highlighters sheâd âborrowedâ from Timâs desk. The Red Robin plush sat beside her like a sentry, upright and alert, a silent partner in whatever masterpiece she was currently drawing.
Tim, meanwhile, sat behind his desk with one hand on his mouse and the other holding a coffee he had been taking occasional sips from. His eyes flicked between emails, floor plan, and the increasingly colorful corner of his office.
Gia didnât interruptâat least not much. Every now and then, sheâd hold something up to him.
âDaddy! Look, itâs us. Youâre wearing your sleepy shirt and I gave me a tiara.â
Tim glanced up, smiled. âIncredible,â he said, and meant it.
She beamed, then went right back to drawing.
They had settled into a rhythm.
Tim looked up just as the door openedâbecause people usually waited for permission around hereâand in walked Lucius Fox.
He paused mid-step when he saw Gia.
âI thought the rumors were spreading fast, but I didnât think they were true,â Lucius said, his eyebrows rising. âYou brought a kid to the office, Tim?â
Before Tim could answer, Gia perked up.
âMister Fox!â she chirped brightly.
Lucius blinked. âWell⊠hello.â
She scrambled to her feet and ran to him without hesitation, arms wrapping around one of his legs in a brief but enthusiastic hug. âYou have a cool voice.â
Lucius looked down at her, clearly caught off guard. âI⊠do?â
She giggled like it was the most obvious thing in the world. âOf course!â
Lucius turned to Tim, startled. âShe knows me?â
Tim just stared for a second, lips parted. âApparently.â
Gia gave an exasperated sigh and looked up at Lucius with both hands on her hips. âMister Fox, you dummy. Itâs me, Gia!â
There was a beat of silence as that sentence hung in the air. Lucius raised an eyebrow, clearly unsure what to say.
Tim coughed behind his desk, clearly floundering to process yet another moment of impossible familiarity. He still hadnât gotten used to how at ease Gia is hereâhow she already knew every corner of his world, and everyone in it.
Lucius glanced his way with a slight smirk. âSheâs very comfortable here.â
âYou have no idea,â Tim muttered.
Lucius returned his attention to Gia. âAnd what brings you to Wayne Enterprises today, Miss Gia?â
âIâm Daddyâs assistant,â she declared, puffing her chest. âBut I donât touch daddyâs computer. Just colors and snacks.â
Lucius laughed. âSounds like a good deal.â
âDo you want to see my drawing?â she offered.
âIâd be honored.â
As she darted back to her paper pile to pick out the âbest one,â Lucius leaned in toward Tim and said quietly, âI donât know whatâs going on. But she looks like you.â
Tim didnât answer right away. Just stared at Gia across the room.
âItâs a long story,â he said quietly.
Gia rifled through the stack of papers beside her like it was the most important mission of her day. âThis one,â she declared at last, pulling out a slightly crumpled page and trotting back over to Lucius.
He took it gently, glancing at the childlike scrawl of bold marker lines and glittery stickers.
The drawing showed two figuresâone unmistakably Gia, labeled in shaky crayon as âMe,â and beside her, a taller figure in a long sparkling dress, arms raised. A stick microphone hovered nearby, and the background was a riot of colored dots that looked like stage lights.
Lucius raised a brow, intrigued. âAnd whoâs this?â he asked, pointing to the glittery figure.
Gia beamed. âThatâs Mommy!â
Tim went still.Â
 âYour mom⊠sings?â Lucius asked, expression shifting.
âMister Fox, you dummy!â Gia giggled, shaking her head like it was the silliest question in the world. âMommy sings all the time.â
She twirled slightly as she said it, arms flopping like ribbons, the hem of her dress swishing as she spun.Â
Lucius glanced over at Tim, who was frozen, staring at his keyboard like it might swallow him whole.
âAnd where is your mommy?â Lucius asked gently, voice calm, but the question hung in the air like a thread pulled too tight.
Timâs eyes snapped to him, a faint glare behind them. Thatâthat was exactly what Iâd been trying to steer Gia away from all morning.
Sure enough, Giaâs smile faltered. Just slightly. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her skirt.
âDaddy says Mommy has work far away,â she mumbled.
But Gia didnât crumble. Not this time.Â
Her eyes lit up again, small and proud, as she continued, âBut you know, sometimes I get to sit backstage and help. I give her hugs before she goes on stage 'cause she gets a little nervous, but only a little. And she always says she sings better when she knows weâre watching.â
Lucius blinked slowly, as if absorbing every word. He handed the drawing back with reverence, like it was something fragile.
âShe sounds special,â he said.
Gia nodded solemnly, clutching the paper to her chest. âDuh,â she said, her voice soft but certain. âSheâs Mommy.â
Gia had finished showing off her drawing and was now hunched over the carpet again, diligently scribbling with a purple crayon clutched in her tiny hand. Her tongue poked slightly out of the corner of her mouth as she concentrated, clearly in deep creative mode.
Lucius took a step closer to Timâs desk, lowering his voice as he crossed his arms. âSo⊠her mom.â
Tim didnât look up.
âI wasnât even aware you had a girlfriend,â Lucius added carefully.
Tim sighed, eyes flicking to the side before he finally met Luciusâs gaze. âI donât,â he said simply.
Lucius arched a brow. âAnd yet, somehow, youâve got a daughter.â
Tim pinched the bridge of his nose. âItâs complicated.â
âThat much is obvious.â Lucius lowered his voice even further, glancing once toward Gia before continuing. âDoes Bruce know?â
Tim gave a tired nod. âEveryone at the manor does. Weâre still figuring it out.â
Lucius watched him for a beat, then followed Timâs line of sight toward the little girl humming to herself at the coffee table. âShe certainly seems like she belongs here.â
âYeah,â Tim said quietly, almost to himself. âThatâs the problem. She does belong hereâjust not here.â
Lucius gave him a long, knowing look. âLetâs pretend I understand what that means. Whoâs her mother?â
Tim hesitated, thoughts drifting to the drawing Gia had shown them earlier. âWe thinkâitâs [Y/N],â he said slowly. âGia has a picture. Looks like her, just⊠older.â
Luciusâs brows rose. âThe singer?â
Tim nodded once.Â
Lucius was quiet for a moment. Then, with the barest hint of amusement in his voice, he said, âWell. Youâre in luck.â
Before Tim could ask what that meant, there was a soft knock at the office door. His assistant poked his head in, tablet in hand.
âMr. Drake, sorry to interruptâbut the Events team is waiting for you to inspect the new concert floor plan. You asked for a walkthrough?â
Tim stared at her for a beat, then sat up straighter. âRight. The concert.â
The assistant nodded. âWeâll need to head down to the venue soon if you want time to review it all before the performersâ soundcheck tomorrow.â
âI guess weâre going to the concert hall,â he muttered.
Tim glanced at Giaâstill happily coloring, oblivious to the quiet storm her presence had caused.Â
The concert hall was bigger than she expected.
[Y/N] stepped inside, arms folded loosely, her manager a few paces behind her juggling a clipboard and three back-to-back calls.
The space was grand but in that sterile, unfinished kind of wayâmetal scaffolding still tucked into corners, cables trailing along the floor, half of the lighting rigs aimed at the wrong places.
She tilted her head, eyes scanning the stage where a few tech crew were arranging risers and testing the sound system.
The floor had been cleared for the new layout. Mostly. Some markings were already in place with tape, but the spacing felt different than sheâd imagined.
She took a step closer, mentally switching gears.
The center group wonât have room to breathe.
A few more steps forward. Her boots echoed slightly against the floor.
She crouched near one of the taped spots.
âItâs too close,â she murmured under her breath, already visualizing the choreography. âIf Trixie lands a split there, sheâll knock the mic stand.â
One of the event coordinators approached with a tentative smile, offering a printout of the floor plan. [Y/N] took it with a âthanksâ, her eyes never leaving the stage.
âThe cross from stage leftâs gonna be a mess,â she mumbled, half to herself. âWeâll need to shift the formation up and cheat the front row just a little right. It wonât look even, but itâll work better.â
Her manager, now off the call, appeared beside her. âYouâre in full function mode already,â they said dryly. âWant to pace yourself?â
âIâll rest when my dancers wonât elbow each other in the face.â
She turned back toward the stage, already ticking through the checklist in her headâsoundcheck, lighting corrections, entrance cues. The concert was days away, but her brain was already moving in counts of eight.
She didnât notice the elevator doors open on the other side of the hall.
Didnât see the man walking in.
Or the tiny figure beside him, swinging a Red Robin plush by the arm.
Not yet.
Two figures stepped into the venueâsecurity escorting them briefly before peeling off. One was immediately familiar: dark hair, suit jacket, face locked into a business-like calm even from across the room.Â
The other was far smaller.
A little girl, maybe four or five, skipped beside him, a plush toy tucked firmly under one arm and her other hand clutched in his. Her expression was all curiosityâwide-eyed and beaming at the sheer size of the concert hall.
âTim Drake?â her manager muttered under their breath. âWhatâs he doing here?â
[Y/N] turned instinctively, âHm?â
They watched as the pair made their way in further. The little girlâs head swiveled slowly, taking it all inâthe high rigging, the instruments being unpacked, the risers, the taped marks on the floor. Everything seemed to capture her attention for half a second at a time. Untilâ
Her eyes found [Y/N].
She stilled. Then, slowly, her mouth opened in wonder.
âMommy!â she gasped, voice bright with delight and something deeperârelief, recognition.
Tim froze.
So did [Y/N].
Her heart jumped painfully in her chest, though she had no idea why. Her lips parted, confused.Â
The little girl was already moving, breaking into a run.
ARCHIVE PART TWO | PART FOUR
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DADDY, YOU DUMMY
SYNOPSIS: One moment, Wayne Manor is calm. The next, thereâs a toddler standing in the dining room with a Red Robin plush, and a very familiar pair of blue eyes None of Bruceâs sons have children. Only one of them is even in a relationship And that is most definitely not Timothy Jackson Drake PAIRINGS: Tim Drake x Fem! Reader TAGS: Time Travel, Slow burn, Strangers to Lovers, Original Female Character
đŒ :: i am not very familiar with the canon material, please forgive me. i just got into this fandom recently cause of the edits with the bubble guppies songsâyou know what iâm talking aboutâbut i can't resist writing when i get an idea. i did read up the lore as much as i can so i hope that's enough of a crash course.
đŒ :: i really wanted to introduce the reader this chapter but it was getting loo long and i hate to end it short but i had to. next chapter, for sure. lemme know if you wanna be tagged for part two
Wayne Manor was not the kind of place where surprises went over well.
Bruce liked his routines. Alfred had his cleaning system optimized down to a science. And the Batkidsâwell, chaos followed them often, but even they liked their chaos scheduled. So when a child appeared out of nowhere, no one was quite sure what protocol applied.
It was just past nine in the evening when the silence in the Wayne Manor dining room was fractured.
The long dining table was actually being usedânot for mission briefings or post-patrol first aid, but for something bordering on domestic. Plates were half-full, conversations across the tableâmild teasing, half-finished stories, arguments over who had the worst form on a grappling hook. Damian sat near the end, posture too straight, silently judging every word coming out his brothers' mouths. Jason occasionally grinned, the scar near his mouth twitching with each bite of sarcasm. And Dick, ever the glue of the family, kept the mood light.
It was a rare moment having allâmostâof the kids over for dinner. The kind of gathering that only happened a handful of times a year.Â
But peace never lasted long with the Waynes.
The lights flickeredâjust onceâthen the air shifted. A stillness that felt charged. Like the hush before a thunderclap, or the space between heartbeats when something goes wrong.
And thenâshe was just there.
No door opened. No footsteps. No warning.
She appeared near the head of the table, close to the dining room door. Dressed in a red dress and a black cardigan, ponytailed, carrying a small black bag, and hugging a Red Robin plush. She blinked wide, curious eyes up at the room full of people staring back at her like she was a time bomb.
âHi,â she said, voice soft and light. âPlease donât tell Mommy.â
A beat.
The little girlâs lip wobbled.
And then she burst into tears.
Damian tensed, already halfway into a defensive stance. Jason blinked like heâd forgotten how his eyes worked. Bruce looked vaguely horrified.Â
It was Dick who stepped forward, calm through the rising confusion. He crouched low, arms open, and scooped her up like it was the most natural thing in the world.
âHey, hey, itâs okay,â he murmured, gently rocking her. âYouâre alright. Youâre safe.â
The sobs quieted, just a little. Enough to breathe. Enough for the shock to start setting in.
Twenty minutes later, the rest of the family was assembled in the drawing room. Bruce, Jason, Damian, and Dick were all watching the small girl now wrapped in a blanket on the couch, holding a juice box and kicking her feet. The Red Robin plush she carried now sat beside her like a silent bodyguard.
Bruce stood in front of the fireplace, arms folded, eyes fixed and unreadable. Damian leaned against the far wall near the door, keeping his distance. Dick sat on the armrest beside her, elbow on his knee, one hand propping up his chin. Jason had taken to standing behind the couch, watching the child with intrigue.Â
âI didnât just hallucinate that, right? She just appeared?â Jason finally asked, cutting through the silence. âLikeâpoof?â
âNo alarms or sensors were triggered,â Bruce said, frowning slightly. âOne moment the room was empty. Next, she was standing right here.â
Dick let out a low whistle. âSheâs tiny. Like, whatâthree?â
âFour,â the girl corrected, holding up four fingers with mild exasperation. âAnd Iâm not tiny. Youâre just giant, Uncle Dickie.â
Dick blinked, taken slightly aback. âUncle Dickie?â
Jason snorted from behind the couch, grinning. âWell, sheâs not wrong.â
âShe knows you, Grayson,â Damian muttered, his eyes narrowing.
Before anyone could respond, the little girl rolled her eyes with theatrical flair.
âUncle Dami, you dummy,â she said, completely unfazed by his glare. âOf course I know Uncle Dickie.â
The room stilled for a breath.
Jason choked on a laugh. âDid she justâ?â
Damianâs jaw twitched. âI am no oneâs uncle.â
The child gave him a judging look, like sheâd heard this line before. âYes, you are. Youâre my grumpy Uncle Damiâ
Jason doubled over, wheezing. âThis kidâs killing me.â
Damian glared, but it had less bite than usualâmore confusion than fury.
Bruce, meanwhile, hadnât moved from his place by the fireplace, but his gaze had sharpened. He was watching the girl closely now. Familiar. Intimate. Confident in the truth of every word she says.
âWhat's your name?â he asked, voice low.
The girl gave him a patient, very unimpressed look.
The girl huffed and crossed her arms. âGrampa, youâre also a dummy,â she said, frowning with all the authority a four-year-old could muster. âYou already know me.â
A few seconds passed. Nobody moved.Â
She paused, blinking at them like they were the ones being ridiculous.
Then she pointed to herself with both thumbs and declared with exasperated prideâ
âIâm your granddaughter,â she said. âDuh.â
âIâm Georgina Drakeâ She beamed. âBut you always just call me Gia.â
The room fell silent.
âDrake,â Jason echoed. âAs inâŠ?â
âAs in Tim.â Bruce confirmed, voice steady and low.
Across the room, Damian looked as if someone had insulted him personally.
âNo,â he said immediately, folding his arms. âImpossible. Drake doesnât even have a girlfriend.â
âCould be a prank,â Dick offered, though his tone was more tentative now. âOr a clone. Wouldnât be the weirdest thing weâve seen.â
âIâm not a clone!â she said primly, chin lifting in defiance. âIâm a princess, like Mommy.â
Jason raised a brow. âOkay, princess. Whoâs your mom?â
Before she could answer, her head turnedâeyes catching on movement by the door.
Tim had just stepped into the room, phone in hand, brows drawn in confusion at the unusually quiet gathering.
The girlâs face lit up.
âDaddy!â she squealed, voice echoing off the walls as she launched herself off the couch like a missile.
Tim was late. Naturally.
He'd been held up in a meeting at WE and was still reading the message from Dickâ
come home now. emergency
âwhen he stepped into the room, still in his blazer, earbuds in, looking confused.Â
âHey. Got your text. Whatâs the emergencyâ?â
Then he saw the child.
And the child saw him.
With an ear-splitting squeal, Gia launched herself across the room with terrifying speed.Â
âDaddy!â
Tim had precisely two seconds to process that before she crashed into his legs, arms wrapping around his knees like sheâd known him her whole life.
He froze.
Every pair of eyes in the room turned to him.
Tim looked down. She clung to him like a koala, babbling in excitement with enough energy to make his brain short-circuit.
âI missed you!â she chirped. âYou were gone forever! I thought maybe you got lostâUncle Bart said you do that sometimesâbut we told Mommy weâd be back before dinner so you can't get lost!â
Tim stood frozen, blinking. âWhat.â
âBut then Uncle Bart had to go tooâ she went on, not missing a beat, ââcause Mr. Jon called him on the commy thing and he told me, âDonât touch anything, Gigi, not even a little bit!â and I didnât, âcause I was being super good.â
She paused, looking up at him, pouting and looking guilty. âBut then I got kinda bored⊠and I maybe touched the glowy thingy just a little bit. And it was really shiny! And thenâpoof!â
She flung her hands out like fireworks, eyes wide.
âAnd then I blinked and I was here with Uncle and Grandpa and theyâre being weird and dummies and Uncle Damian is grumpyâagain.â She rolled her eyes like that was the most annoying part of her day.
Then she looked back at Tim and grinned, soft and warm, like everything was finally right again.
âBut itâs okay now!â she said, with absolute certainty. ââCause youâre here.â
Timâs jaw slackened. No words came out.
He looked like his entire operating system had crashed. Eyes wide. Mouth slightly open. Breath caught somewhere in his chest. His hands hung uselessly at his sides as he stared at the tiny girl still hugging his legs like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Tim looked to Bruce, looking for answers. âWhat the hell is going on?â
âHer nameâs Gia,â Dick supplied, still perched on the arm of the couch, grinning like this was the best thing that had happened all month.
âCongrats, Replacement. Sheâs yours.â Jason said, far too casually, visibly trying not to burst into laughter at the sight of Timâspeechless, wide-eyed, completely out of his depth.
âShe says sheâs yours,â Damian corrected with a scowl, arms still folded. âWe havenât confirmed anything yet.â
âSheâsâsheâs mine?â Tim sputtered. âI donâtâwhaâwhat?â
âShe does have your eyes,â Bruce said mildly from his place near the fireplace.
Before Tim could respondâor fall overâGiaâs expression shifted.
Her eyes flicked past him to the doorway, searching. âBut whereâs Mommy?â she asked softly, her voice losing some of its earlier bounce. Her smile faltered just a little. âIs she outside?â
The room stilled. That single question cut through the noise like a blade.Â
Timâs heart stopped. âMommy?â
She looked at him, confused. âYeah,â she said. âMy mommy. Whereâs Mommy?â
Tim swallowed hard. âWhatâs your mommyâs name?â
Gia scrunched her nose. âYou know her.â
âSweetheart,â he said gently, lowering himself to her level, his blazer wrinkling at the knees. âI donât think I do.â
Around them, the room held its breath.
Her eyes stayed locked on him, her little face scrunching even more like she didnât understand why he was asking such a silly question. âYes, you do,â she said with the kind of unshakable confidence only a child could carry. âSheâs my mommy. And sheâs your favorite person.â
Timâs breath hitched. Behind her, Jason made a soundâhalf laugh, half breathâbut didnât speak.
âSweetheart, can you tell me her name?â Tim tried again. âCan you tell me what she looks like?â
Gia tilted her head, like he was playing a very weird game sheâs still not understanding. He could see her small brain working behind her eyes, wondering why her Daddy was being so weird tonight.
âIs she not here yet?â Her brows furrowed. âBut Mommy said donât be late for dinner.â
Tim swallowed hard, forcing himself to speak carefully. Softly. âSweetheart⊠I donât know who your mommy is.â
She only blinked at him, like heâd just said the sky was green. Her mouth opened, then closed again.Â
âYes, you do,â she insisted, but the certainty in her voice wavered. âShe kisses you on the cheek every single time you go to work with Grampa. And she gets mad when you donât sleep. And she calls you âTimothyâ when youâre in trouble.â
âAnd she does your ties for you,â She continued, rambling, âbecause you always get distracted when youâre talking and then you mess it up. And she always says, âCome here, dummy,â and fixes it.â
The room had gone completely quiet. Even the shadows in the room felt still. The fireplace crackled softly. A phone pinged once in the background but no one looked away.
âYou know Mommy, Daddy. Sheâsheâs gonna be mad if you say you donât.â
Her voice cracked on the last word.
Timâs heart shattered. âHey, hey, no,â he said quickly, reaching for her hands, small and shaking. âSheâs not gonna be mad. No oneâs mad.â
But she wasnât listeningânot really. Her eyes darted around the roomâsearching for her mother in every corner, every shadow. She saw the people she knewâGrandpa, Uncle Jay, Uncle Dickie, even grumpy Uncle Damiâbut not Mommy.
âMommy always says,â she mumbled through hiccuping breaths and tears that have begun to flow down her cheeks, âthat youâre really smart, and you forget stuff thatâs not importantâŠâ
Her tiny shoulders shook.
ââŠbut you never forget me and Mommy.â
Timâs chest tightened. The world was closing inâwhat was going onâtoo fast, too much. He didnât know what to say. He didnât know how to breathe.
âDaddy, you dummy,â she whispered, and it broke him. âYou canât forget Mommy.â
And that was it. She crumpled, falling into him fully, sobbing now with hiccuping breaths and clenched little fists. She pressed her face to his hand holding hers and cried like her whole world had gone sideways.Â
Tim didnât know what to do.
He didnât know how to hold her. He didnât know if he should.
But his arms moved anyway, instinct more than thought, wrapping around her small frame and pulling her in tight. Her weight, so light and yet overwhelming, settled against him like she belonged there.
His throat burned. He opened his mouth, and he whispered the only thing he could think of, even though it was a lie.
âIâm sorry, baby.â His voice trembled. âDaddyâs only joking. Of course I know Mommyâ
She sniffled once. Lifted her head from his chest just enough to look him in the face. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes red and shining, but there was a flicker of hope in them nowâsmall, but it made her eyes bright again.
ââŠYou do?â
Tim hesitated. And in that half-second, he hated himself.
âYeah,â he lied again, smiling through the crack in his heart. âOf course I do.â
She stared at him for a moment longer. Then let out a tiny, hiccupy breath and buried her face in his shirt again.
âDaddy, you dummy,â she whimpered, pouting into his chest. âIâm telling Mommy youâre a meanie.â
That nearly undid him.
A broken laugh caught in his throat, and it sounded more like a gasp. He hugged her closer, eyes squeezed shut.
âYeah,â he whispered. âYou should. She might yell at me, thoughâ
âSheâll ground you,â Gia mumbled, and though she was still hiccuping, there was a smile in her voice now. âNo phone time.â
Tim let out another shaky breath. âBrutal.â
Her little arms curled tighter around his neck.
âYou better say sorry,â she said seriously, one last sniffle escaping.
Timâs laugh broke through this time. âDaddyâs sorry, baby.â
Behind them, no one spoke.
Tim held Gia a little closer.
He didnât know her mother. Didnât remember having a daughter.
But the child in his arms believed in him.
So he kept holding her.
Gia had cried herself to sleep.
Alfred had taken her from Tim the moment they realized she was too tired to stay upright. Heâd carried her gently past the quiet hallway and into the sanctuary of Timâs bedroom. The others hadnât followed.
Now she lay in Timâs room, small and still, her arms wrapped tight around the Red Robin plush like it was armor. She was asleep within minutes, curled into the center of the bed like she belonged there. Her cheeks were blotchy, her breathing soft and uneven from exhaustion.Â
Down by the drawing room, the heavy silence left behind still lingered.Â
They didnât know what to make of her. Neither did Tim. He didnât know who she really was. He didnât know who her mother was. Didnât even know how she got here.Â
And still didnât know why she called him âDaddyâ.
The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting shadows over wood and marble. Tim, seated, sleeves rolled to his elbows, fingers locked together. Focused. Trying to make sense of the impossible.
Dick was the one who broke the silence.
âYou didnât see her when she appeared,â he said gently. âOne second the room was empty. Then, she was just there.â
âNo alarms,â Jason added. âNo signs of breach. Nada. It was like sheâd teleported.â
Timâs brows pulled together. âNo signs of a Zeta Beam?â
âPossible.â Bruce said. âHighly likely considering she mentioned Bart earlier.â
âGia said,â Dick began, âthat he told her not to touch the âglowy thingâ. Then she blinked and ended up here.â
Timâs mouth felt dry. âAnd she knew all of you?â
âBy name,â Damian grumbled.
Tim exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. âShe could be a clone. We canât rule that out.â
Jason raised a brow. âShe said before that she wasnât.â
âWe canât assume sheâs telling the truth. Not yet.â Bruce said, voice firm.
âSheâs a child.â Jason shot back. âA weird one, sure, âcause she didnât even flinch when the Demon Spawn glared at her, but still a child.â
âChildren can lie,â Damian said coolly, arms still folded. âEspecially when taught to.â
Jason scoffed. âSheâs four,â he said, throwing a hand in the air. âYouâre telling me a four-year-old can lie well enough to fool us? All of us? At the same time?â
Damian didnât flinch. âAge doesnât guarantee innocence.â
âShe could be telling the truth,â Tim said quietly, voice barely above a whisper. âWe need⊠something. Something to believe her.â
There was a beat of silence.
âWhat kind of proof could a four-year-old have?â Dick asked, frowning. âCrayon drawings? An imaginary friend who vouches for her?â
Damian didnât miss a beat. âThe kind that bleeds,â he said coldly. âDNA. Unquestionable data.â
Jason grimaced. âJesus, demon spawn. Sheâs not a threat.â
Damian turned to him. âShe could be. And if she is, we donât have the luxury of sentiment. You think just because she calls you âUncle,â that makes her real? We donât know what she is.â
âSheâs a kid,â Jason snapped, pushing off from the wall. âShe cried when Tim said he didnât know her mom. You think that was a performance?â
Tim flinched.
âWeâll run the tests,â Bruce's voice cut in. âAlfredâs already prepared the labs. Weâll have answers by morning.â
Jason muttered something under his breath.
Dick leaned back in his seat, eyes flitting towards Tim. âIf she is⊠that means you and someone elseââ
âDonât,â Tim said flatly. His voice was too raw for argument. âNot yet.â
Tim wasnât able to sleep.Â
He barely sleeps on a regular dayâtoo much on his mind, too much to do, and not enough hours to do it. But tonight, there wasnât even the illusion of rest.
Not with the childâs words echoing in his head.
Tim sat in the corner chair of his room, one leg folded under him, fingers wrapped around a now-cold mug of coffee. Heâd changed out of his dress shirt hours ago. He hadnât turned the lights on. He didnât dare.
In the middle of the bed, Gia was still asleepâhands curled around the Red Robin plush like it was her most precious thing. She hasnât stirred much. Her tiny form was buried in the blankets, hair messy, mouth slightly open in the softness of sleep. One of her feet had slipped out from under the comforter and now peeked over the edge, small toes wiggling with a dream.
The clock on his nightstand glowed past 3:00 AM.Â
Still no word on the DNA.
Tim hadnât expected results until breakfast but every minute that passed in silence stretched the knot in his chest tighter.
He kept stealing glances at the child in his bed.
She looked so safe.Â
Like she belonged there.
The sun was rising by the time something happened.
There was light peeking through the windowsâthin and gray, the kind of morning only Gotham could manage. It cast long shadows across the floor, faint gold lining the edges of the curtains, the dresser, the empty coffee mug cooling on the table beside him.
Tim hadnât moved.
His back ached. His eyes burned. But he didnât move.
The soft click of the door made Tim lift his head.
Alfred stepped in, silent as ever, a man who had crossed thresholds in this house with worse news in the pastâbut somehow, tonight felt heavier. He held a single envelope in one hand, the edges crisp.
Tim straightened in the chair, setting the untouched coffee aside. He didnât ask. Didnât breathe.
Alfred looked at him with something that wasnât quite pity, but close enough to make his stomach turn.
He offered the envelope forward.
Tim took it, hands slower than they shouldâve been.
It had already been opened.Â
Of course it had. Bruce wouldnât wait for him. Not with stakes like these.
He stared at it for a long moment.
He didnât know what he expected. Maybe a warning. A delay. A chance to prepare himself for the answer.
He didnât get one.
His eyes dropped to the top of the first page. A simple heading:
WAYNE BIOTECH Genetic Identity Verification Report Report ID: WE-FSD-PAT-22341 Requested By: Bruce Wayne Analysis Type: Paternity â DNA Comparison Subject Information Child: Georgina Drake Alleged Father: Timothy Jackson Drake
His eyes skimmed the paper to the only line that mattered.
Probability of Paternity: 99.997%
The paper crumpled slightly at his tight grip.
Alfred didnât speak. He didnât need to.
The bed creaked softly behind him as Gia shifted in her sleep, clutching her Red Robin plush a little tighter.
The world didnât shatter or explode.
It just shifted.
He still didnât know how the hell she got here. He still didnât know who the mother was. But now he knew one thing with absolute certainty:
She wasnât lying.
She really is his daughter.
He swallowed hard. âWhat did Bruce say?â he asked, voice barely audible.
Alfred stood a few steps away, hands folded neatly in front of him. âHe read the report. Twice.â
âAnd?â
A pause. Then:
âHe did order secondary testing. Just to confirm. The result was the same.â
Tim let out a short, humorless breath. âThat sounds about right.â
âDoes the rest of the family know?â he asked after a beat.
âMaster Richard saw the report with Master Bruce.â Alfred replied gently. âMaster Damian is pretending not to care. Master Jason had opted to not stay at the manor, heâll likely find out later todayâ
Tim dragged a hand down his face, exhaling shakily. âThis isnât real. It canât be. I meanâit is. The test says it is. But how?â
He looked over at Gia againâher face half-buried in the pillow, tiny fingers still curled tight in the plushâs arm. Her lashes fluttered with sleep, mouth slightly open.
She looked so at peace. Unlike the anxiety he was feelingÂ
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice low. âI donât know how to do this.â
âI imagine no one does,â Alfred replied. âNot at the beginning. But youâre not alone, Master Timothy.â
ARCHIVE PART TWO
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Swear jars and tiny titans
Pairing: dad!clark kent x fem!reader
⥠Main Index | ⥠Archive for Earth-181938


A/n: Posting something extra this week!
Summary: When Kryptonian DNA and science collide, one thing becomes clear: parenting just got a lot more complicated.
Classification: Fluff
Word count: 3k
Divider by me ;)
The morning had been quiet in that deceptively sweet way only weekends could be. Sunlight warmed the hardwood floors of the apartment as your daughter sat plopped in the middle of her soft play mat, babbling to herself in between stuffing an unreasonably large plastic block into her mouth and furrowing her brows when it didnât quite fit.
She was almost one, her soft curls still sparse and eyes bright and mischievous with fingers constantly grabbing, exploring and throwing. She wasnât walking yet, not really talking either and while part of you sighed in relief that she hadnât developed powers yet, you both knew that moment could come and likely wouldâŠeventually.
Clark was nearby, folding tiny shirts and onesies into neat piles on the couch with a domestic precision that somehow didnât rob him of his ridiculous otherworldly charm and you were pacing slowly behind the coffee table, one eye on your child and the other glaring at the TV screen currently filled with faces you didnât like at a panel of politicians and pundits. All shouting over each other while throwing around words like âmeta-human dangerâ, âgenetic unpredictabilityâ and âpublic safety risks,â all while their faces remained calm and composed, pretending the entire conversation wasnât built on paranoia and ignorance.
Your arms crossed, uncrossed and then waved in frustration.Â
âThey keep talking like itâs a disease,â you said, gesturing toward the screen like the people behind it could see you. âAs if powers make someone dangerous by default and as if everything good Superman has done can just beâŠerased because one of them got scared of someone who can fly.â
Clark looked up from the laundry, his hands stilling on the tiny shirt heâd been folding, watching you with that almost-smile he got when you said something that hit him right in the chest. It wasnât pride exactly, it was deeper than that, warmerâŠlike the look of a man silently confirming to himself, âYeah⊠I married the right person.â
âAnd you know what pisses me off?â you continued, louder now, voice shaking just slightly, not from fear but from frustration that had been slowly curdling in your chest for weeks. âThey never talk about the people who get saved, or how the government fails its citizens until someone like you has to step in. They only talk about the âthreat,â never the source of the danger. Itâs not the powers, itâs the people in power who are the problem. Jeez, itâs like weâve been through this a hundred times and theyâre stillâŠstillââ
Your hands flew out in an exasperated motion, fingers splayed and trembling slightly as you gestured at the screen, your heart hammering in your chest so loudly that Clark drowned in the sound, a rapid, insistent drum that made him instinctively want to step closer and tell you to take a breath but before he could say a word, a soft clatter that hadnât come from your mouthy toddler echoed through the room and objects began to lift, hovering in the air.
He turned slowly, now with the soft fabric of a tiny sock half-folded in his hands. His eyes darted toward the block that had been in your daughterâs grip just moments agoâŠsuspended now, mid-air with no visible support, rotating slowly. But then it wasnât just the block, no, now it was the stack of clean laundry still unfolded that slowly rose beside him, a few pens on the nearby side table and even the edge of the area rug drifting upward like caught in a soft breeze that didnât exist.
You kept talking, not even noticing, so caught in your own momentum that you didnât realize the world around you was bending. âI swear, if one more senator uses the word âmutationâ like itâs a death sentence, I willââ
Clark stood up cautiously, like one wrong move might scare the whole scene away or make it worse, his eyes flicking from your daughter to the floating toys and laundry, then back again.
He approached the nearest object, a stuffed giraffe lazily bobbing in the air and poked it with one careful finger. It drifted in a slow circle before sinking and plopping to the floor beside her.
With a furrowed brow, he bent to pick it up, then tossed it gently upward, almost like a basketball free throw. It sailed⊠and promptly dropped right back down at his feet. Now he was frowning in full, grabbing a block next and trying again before facing the same result.
âSweatheartâŠwe have a situation,â he said softly, but you didnât hear him yet.
âIt wonât be anything illegal, I assure you. I know I'm not above the law, Iâm usually quite literally under itââ
âSweatheart?â
âYes, baby?â you answered first without looking but then when you finally turned, you followed his gaze to the toys, the laundry, the everything hanging motionless in the air. Your gaze settled on the block, now spinning lazily midair in defiance of gravity and just bellow it, your daughter was sitting calmly, watching with her mouth still open around the corner of another toy.
Your heart stopped.
âIs that her?â you asked, a little too loudly, looking down at your child like she'd just grown wings.
Clark was already crouched next to her, brows knit as he studied her expression. She blinked up at both of you, curious and maybe a little confused, but completely still. Not even reaching for the toy she'd just lost.
Thatâs when you finally lowered your arms, your hands falling to your sides with the heavy weight of disbeliefâŠand just like that, everything dropped.
The toy clattered back onto the play mat, rolling until it bumped against your daughterâs foot. Socks fluttered down to the couch and the pens clicked against the coffee table before rolling out of sight. Then, almost comically, a tiny lavender onesie drifted in the air for a beat longer than everything else before plopping right onto Clarkâs head like it had chosen him on purpose.
There was a beat of stunned silence until your daughterâs whole face lit up and she let out a full, bubbling belly giggle, the kind that came from deep in her tiny chest and made her wobble over on her hands. She smacked the play mat with both palms like sheâd just witnessed the greatest slapstick comedy of her short life, her little squeals filling the room.
Clark froze, the soft fabric obscuring his eyes and you stared at him trying hard not to smile at the ridiculous picture he made with baby laundry on his head, your heart still thudding from the realization of what just happened.
âHoly shit,â you blurted without thinking, the word slicing through the moment like a stone in a still pond and thatâs when your daughter, still watching the both of you with open amusement, kicked her little feet, clapped her hands like sheâd just been given the best show of her life and repeated, clear as day, in a proud little voice:
âSheeh!â
Clark slowly stood to his full height then reached up, grabbed the shoulder of the onesie and peeled it off his face. He looked at you with a raised brow, his mouth twitching between a smirk and a lecture before pressing into a thin line and then, without saying a word, he pointed toward the swear jar sitting on the kitchen counter.
You groaned, already leaning over to snag his wallet from where it sat on the arm of the couch and flipping it open like this was the most normal thing in the world. Clark didnât even blink, just stood there pointing and holding the onesie in one hand while you thumbed through his cash, plucked out a bill and crossed the room to shove it into the swear jar with practiced ease.
âHappy?â You asked.
He didnât have to say a word; his expectant silence was enough to make you roll your eyes and fish out a second bill, also from his wallet, for the baby. She let out another delighted squeal at the sight of the green paper disappearing into the jar, as if she somehow knew she was part of the joke.
Clarkâs arms dropped to his sides, shoulders slack, making you want to bite back the laugh threatening to bubble up but letting it slip only as a quick, quiet chuckle that you immediately smothered behind your hand before straightening your posture and trying to look like the composed parent in the room.
âShe said her first real word!â you defended softly, marveling that it wasnât just another âmamaâ or âdada.â
âWhich was profanity,â he replied flatly, the faintest twitch of his brow betraying that he was not amused, at least not yet.
âSheâs a genius then, wise beyond her years.â You turned to him, arms crossed like you were ready to die on this hill. âThis feels like a parenting win to me.â
He just shook his head, letting a slow grin spread across his face, the warmth behind it melting away the last frayed edges of your nerves. âWeâre gonna need a bigger jar,â he said, voice soft but amused, eyes flicking to you with a teasing glint.
Then he scooped your daughter into his arms, still giggling and kicking like she hadnât just mimicked your cursing and possibly witnessed the laws of physics bend around her parents.
âWhen I said we needed to start saving for college,â he murmured to her, still grinning, âI didnât mean it like that.â
You stayed rooted near the kitchen, heart slowly returning to its normal rhythm with your hands pressed to your hips like they might hold you together. âSoâŠare we sure that wasnât her?â you murmured, almost hoping heâd say yes just so the world would feel normal again.
Clark glanced at you over his shoulder, one eyebrow arched in that really? way. âUnless sheâs secretly channeling your stress hormones like a tiny Kryptonian lightning rod, no.â
You blinked, trying to find humor in the sudden swirl of confusion, awe and cosmic implications. âCool, cool, coolâŠâ you murmured finally, the words tasting odd in your mouth, like trying to talk with a mouthful of marshmallows. âYou could also lie to me⊠itâs fine, you know?â
Clark didnât reply at first, just crossed the room in that unhurried, steady way of his, to press a gentle kiss to the crown of your head before plucking the car keys from the counter. With a slight tilt of his head toward the front door, he shifted your daughter in his arms, bouncing her gently as she blew spit bubbles, blissfully oblivious to the fact her parents were quietly recalibrating their entire understanding of reality.
âWhere are we going?â you asked cautiously, your voice somewhere between curiosity and wariness.
âTo see Uncle Terrific,â he said with a small grin, brushing a thumb over your daughterâs tiny fist before tickling her belly. She squealed and kicked her legs, giggling like nothing in the world had changed because, for her, it hadnât. âAnd maybe run a few tests.â
You nodded slowly, letting the words settle. âSo⊠just a normal Tuesday, then.â
âJust a normal Tuesday, my love,â he assured, voice warm and certain in that way that always made you believe him, even when the air still felt charged from whatever had just happened. âEverything will be okay.â
The lab was all smooth chrome, glowing screens and quiet humming tech, the kind of place where even a sneeze felt like it might cost thousands.
You sat on the edge of the exam bed, legs swinging while watching your daughter sit contentedly in the middle of the lab floor, chubby legs splayed and tiny hands busy in her own little world. One of Mr. Terrificâs T-spheres hovered nearby, its soft LEDs blinking like a tiny planet within reach. She leaned forward in that wobbly toddler way, tongue poking out in concentration and let out a delighted babble as if sheer will alone could draw it closer. The sphere drifted an inch too near and she clapped, ecstatic, fingers stretching with fearless curiosity that you recognized as equal parts of both of you.
âSheâs going to find a way to get drool on that thing,â you warned without moving, half a laugh stuck in your throat because nothing about the day had been normal.
âItâs fine,â Mr. Terrific said without looking up from his console, voice dry. âTheyâre durable. Also waterproof.â
âSheâs teething, so itâll be a lot more than you think.â Clark added from beside you with one hand sliding across the small of your back and up between your shoulder blades in a slow, steady stroke designed to ease the jitter in your ribs without breaking whatever tiny spell of composure you were clinging to.
âIâm the one who spends hours cleaning them after your visits, Clark, itâs always bad,â Mr. Terrific grumbled but even his complaint had softened at the edges as your daughter squealed and reached again.
You smiled faintly, the nervous flutter still lodged somewhere in your chest. You wanted answers, wanted clarity but werenât entirely sure you were ready for the implications. âWill this take long?â you asked, voice small over the gentle hum of the lab and the hovering T-spheres your daughter was mesmerized by.
âI hope not,â Mr. Terrific replied dryly, not even glancing up from his console. âIâve got work to do, and I donât exactly make house calls.â
He then leaned back, folding his hands together and launched into an explanation that sounded like a lecture from a university youâd never attended. âGiven the inheritance of kryptonian genome vectors interlaced with retained paternal DNA post-partum within your own cellular structure, it is plausible that latent metahuman potential was both preserved and modulated in your genome, resulting in a phenotypic expression triggered by acute emotional stimuli.â
You and Clark exchanged a look, Clark raising an eyebrow as if to say here we go and you cleared your throat.Â
âAnd for people with an average IQ?â you asked, half-smiling.
Mr. Terrific leaned forward, tapping a pen against the console. âIn more accessible terms, what weâre seeing is a form of microchimerism. Cells from one individual persisting in another long after birth. In your case, paternal cells remained within your system and under the right stress or stimuli, they manifested in ways that produced metahuman abilities. Essentially, the leftover DNA from Clark acted like a latent switch, waiting for the right signal to activate. Smaller activations may have happened before but they were beneath the threshold of detectability.â
You swallowed, feeling your pulse still trying to catch a normal rhythm and Clark gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. âSo⊠Iâm basically a Kryptonian-powered mutant now,â you murmured, half in awe, half in disbelief.
âExactly,â Mr. Terrific said, tilting his head with a small nod. âWelcome to the club.â
Clarkâs brow furrowed slightly as he glanced at you, concern mixed with curiosity. âYou said mutation⊠so itâs not going away?â
Mr. Terrific shook his head slowly, folding his hands over his lap. âNo, not at all. In fact, itâs likely to continue evolving over time, adapting in response to both internal and external stimuli. Think of it as a dynamic trait rather than a static one.â
You felt a shiver of awe and a hint of nervousness at the idea and Clarkâs hand found yours, giving it a gentle squeeze as if silently promising, weâll handle this together.
Thatâs when it happened.
The T-sphere hovered a little higher, drifting just out of your daughterâs reach yet she didnât seem to notice. Her tiny hands reached up again and suddenly she wasnât on the floor anymore.
She was floating a few feet above the ground, her hair lifted gently as if underwater and her round cheeks flushed with delight. She giggled, kicking her legs while lazily spinning in a slow, carefree circle.
Clark straightened instantly, eyes wide, while you stayed frozen on the edge of the exam bed.
All three of you just stared at her and then at each other. Clark and Mr. Terrificâs gazes found you at the same time, their expressions a mix of disbelief and that slight âwhat did you do?â tension.
âThatâs not me,â you said quickly, raising both hands in surrender before rapidly lowering them just in case.
Your daughter clapped her hands and that tiny movement made her twirl a little more, laughing fully with pure joy.
Clark reached up carefully, catching her midair and lowering her gently into his arms, his smile breaking into a wide grin. âLook at âer, flying already,â he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. âWhoâs daddyâs best girl?â
The baby responded with a full, belly-deep giggle, her tiny hands waving excitedly in the air as if she knew exactly what she had just accomplished. You shook your head, half-laughing, half-panicked and jabbed Clark lightly in the ribs. âWipe that grin off your face, mister. We are so in over our heads.â
He just chuckled, bouncing her lightly. âAnd I'm loving every second of it.â
You turned to Mr. Terrific, arms crossed and voice steady despite the adrenaline still humming through you. âWhatever you had planned today? Cancel it. We need to figure out how to baby-proof the sky.â
Clark added with a smirk, still holding your daughter, âAnd of course, baby-proof the apartment again for our newly powered toddler.â
Mr. Terrific groaned dramatically, running a hand down his face before nodding, clearly conceding to the chaos. He started pulling a tablet from his workbench then. âFine, fine⊠now that this happened, as a late push present, here are the initial designs for your daughterâs super suitââ
Both you and Clark yelled in unison, âNope!â
Instinctively, you raised your hand and a faint, shimmering aura radiated from your tingling fingertips, bending the light around it ever so slightly. The tablet lifted gracefully, hovering toward you as if drawn by invisible threads, until it settled securely in your grasp, a visible confirmation that your powers were evolving exactly as Mr. Terrific had predicted.
âNot even as a Halloween costume?â Mr. Terrific asked, amusement sparkling in his eyes, clearly enjoying the display.
âToo soon,â you said firmly, eyes narrowing in mock seriousness. âNow letâs get to work before I start to panic.â
Clark let out a soft laugh, resting a hand on your back as he watched you and in that moment, it hit him: you were very much in over your heads.
A/n: Telekinesis inspired by a conversation with @fire-joestar :) thanks for sparking the idea!
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Ù àŁȘâ bye bye baby
âpairing: clark kent x reader (3.2K words)
summary: when you invite the daily planet to come see your newborn baby, how do your coworkers handle it? and more importantly, how do you and clark handle it? (â anon request!)
warnings & content: female reader, this is easily the fluffiest fic i've ever written, idk that much about kids so detail is a little loose here, characters are represented as they are in superman 2025, i love cat grant so much, i also love lois so much, i love my dp girls
If someone had told you and your lovely husband, Clark Kent, that inviting the Daily Planet crew over to meet the baby would feel like hosting both a diplomatic summit and a circus, he probably wouldâve still said yes. He just wouldâve baby-proofed the ceiling fan first.
The day started quiet, which shouldâve been the first warning. You were bouncing your daughter gently in your arms, wearing a sweatshirt that used to belong to Clark and had since been claimed by baby spit and late-night feedings. Clark, ever the multitasker, was warming a bottle with his heat vision while simultaneously using one hand to fix the crooked drawer under the sink.
âAre you nervous?â you asked, watching him with a half-smile. You were certainly nervous. After all, all of your friends were coming to meet the new addition to your family. You hadnât been this nervous since your wedding.
âAbout seeing Perry White try to figure out how to hold a baby? No,â he said, tightening the drawer hinge. âAbout Jimmy Olsen treating this like a tactical mission? Absolutely.â
The knock that came from your door was soft. Almost cautious. You instantly knew who it was and that it was meant to not disturb the little one cradled gently in your arms.
âAnd so it begins,â you murmured, headed to the door.
Jimmy Olsen entered like a man on a mission.
âNobody breathe on her unless youâve Purelled from the neck down,â he barked, stepping inside with a canvas bag that looked suspiciously like military-issued gear. âShoes off at the door. No strong perfumesâyes, Cat, Iâm talking about you. I also brought masks if anyone forgot theirs.â
âJimmy,â you said slowly, blinking at him from the living room. âSheâs not in a NICU. Sheâs just a baby.â
âJust a baby?â Jimmy gasped, offended as if it was his own flesh and blood. âSheâs your baby. And sheâs got, like, zero immune system. I watched a documentary. Or three. Babies donât have good immune systems until theyâre like.. sixteen. Canât be too cautious, can we?â
He proceeded to set up a small sanitation station by the kitchen counter, complete with disinfectant wipes, gloves, and a spare swaddle he claimed was "just in case she doesn't vibe with the current one." You werenât so sure Jimmy understood babies, but the gesture wasnât unkind.
Clark, who had been holding back laughter since Jimmy crossed the threshold, offered with a chuckle, âI think youâre the only person here more prepared than me. And that might be saying a lot.â
Jimmy beamed. âDads gotta stick together.â He bumped Clarkâs shoulder with his own. Clark almost went to reply, his face scrunched up in confusion, before he was cut off.
âHeâs not a dad,â Cat Grant said, sweeping into the apartment like a gust of luxury and intimidation. But to you, Cat was no more intimidating than a small kitten. You knew her heart better than her looks. âHeâs an overachieving godfather with anxiety. Crippling anxiety.â
Jimmy frowned. âNot godfather. Yet.â He looked at you pointedly.
You smirked. âYouâre on the list.â Pa Kent was currently the baby's godfather, with Ma being her godmother. Jimmy and Lois were up next.. if there was a next one.
Cat Grant had shown up with one gift bag and zero tolerance for nonsense. By the time she reached the baby, she had already removed her heels, applied a dab of hand sanitizer, and told Steve Lombard that if he tried to cradle the baby like a football, sheâd cradle his head like a bowling ball.
When you passed her the baby, she cooed once. Once. Then shifted her grip expertly, supporting the head and rotating the blanket with the kind of finesse that made even Clark stare.
âYouâve done this before,â he said suspiciously, almost as if he were waiting for the punchline of a joke that wasnât going to come. âYouâve done it before and youâre.. really good at it.â
âIâve done everything before,â Cat replied, gently rocking the baby. âIncluding a brief stint as a nanny for a high-powered family that will remain unnamed. The baby liked me better than the mother. Obviously. Why I gave up that kind of money for being a reporter? Still unsure.â
The baby stared at her with wide, blinking eyes. Her eyes were as blue as Clarkâs. Bright, beaming, and kind.
âSmart girl,â Cat whispered, gently booping her nose with her finger.
Steve Lombard, to no oneâs surprise, was terrified. Not just terrified, no, Steve was practically petrified as Cat cradled her softly. He looked at her like she was an alien. Which, technically, she sort of was. Half-Kryptonian DNA and everything, not that Steve knew that part.
âSheâs just.. really small,â he said, standing near the window like the baby might explode into confetti if he got too close. âAnd she made a sound. Like a.. like a frog? Should she sound like a frog? Iâm very sure that normal babies donât sound like frogs.â
âThatâs a hiccup,â you deadpanned.
âOh.â Steve looked at Jimmy. âIs that normal?â No, not Clark. Jimmy. As if Jimmy was the baby expert in the apartment.
Jimmy, currently laying out six different pacifiers like he was analyzing forensic evidence, nodded. âNormal. Totally normal. Unless sheâs hiccuping all day and night. Is she? Maybe you could take her to the doctor just to be sure. But we should keep her upright. And maybe dim the lights. Actually.. Clark, how's your black-out curtain game?â.. Maybe Jimmy was a baby expert in his own, weird way.
Clark gave you a look that screamed: Is this real life?
You mouthed back: Yes. I think.
Perry White arrived late, holding a bottle of wine and looking vaguely like heâd rather be anywhere else until the moment he saw the baby.
Then, something melted in a way you didnât know could even happen to a man like Perry.
He didnât say anything at first. Just stood next to the couch while you gently placed your daughter in his arms. The tough editor-in-chief who once yelled so hard a desk shook was suddenly silent. Fragile. He stared down at her with a gaze you could only describe as sweet.
âSheâs got your eyes,â he said finally to Clark. âAnd your wifeâs cheeks.â
Clark blinked.
Perry smiled. âDonât look so shocked. Iâve been watching you since you were a twenty-three-year-old stringer in flannel. You donât think I know those bright, doe-eyed eyes when I see them? Sheâs gonna be just like you, Kent.â
The party settled into its own kind of rhythm. Cat fed the baby a bottle while humming something in French. Jimmy lectured Steve on how to hold a swaddle correctly while Steve fumbled with one of the practice dolls Jimmy brought "for training." You were certain Steve would never come this close to a baby again after today. Perry sipped wine and told Clark stories you had never heard about his first days in Metropolis.
You stood back, leaning in the doorway of the nursery, watching all of them.
Your family. Your chaos.
And in the center of it all: a tiny girl wrapped in a yellow blanket with a curl of dark hair and a yawn that made Cat Grant swoon.
Clark came up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist. âSheâs gonna grow up surrounded by a newsroom,â he murmured. âAnd people who Iâm half convinced are an array of very, very different personalities.â
You smiled. âInk in her veins.â
âWeâre not naming her after your first ever boss in the city.â
âI wasnât suggesting that.â
A pause.
âOkay, maybe a little.â
He laughed into your neck, warm and safe.
Later, Clark held your daughter in his arms and sat beside you on the couch. The others had insisted in bringing dinner back with them; a gift to celebrate the parents rather than the baby, even though they all had brought gifts for her, too.
âShe didnât cry once,â you murmured, brushing a finger down her cheek.
âSheâs used to weird,â he said. âSheâs ours.â
And in that soft quiet, filled with warmth and leftover laughter, you knew something for sure: If it took a village to raise a child, then yours was loud, neurotic, and a little bit super.
Perfect.
The newsroom had never been quiet. Not really. But the moment Clark cleared his throat from beside your desk, and you stood up with both hands resting over your stomach, there was a stillness. Like the eye of a storm.
Lois Lane was the first to notice.
She turned, eyes narrowing suspiciously. âOkay. Whatâs going on? Youâre never this quiet unless someone died. Or got engaged. Or got engaged or then died.â
âNo one died,â you said quickly.
âYet,â Clark muttered, too softly for anyone but Lois to hear. She arched an eyebrow at him.
âWe, um,â you began, and your fingers curled in Clarkâs. âWe have some news.â Ironic, considering they were in the newsroom.
There was a pause.Everyone was holding their breaths.
Cat, lounging in the breakroom doorway, narrowed her eyes like she was clocking a poker game. Like she was trying to clock whatever secret you had before you even spilled it. She was good at that.
Jimmy set down his camera with a small frown. âAre you moving?â
âYou got promoted?â Steve guessed. âAnd I didnât?â
âIâm pregnant,â you said all at once.
The room exploded.
Lois blinked. âSeriously?â Then she broke into a grin. âSeriously? About damn time. I had five bucks riding on you two beating me to it.â Lois was the first to come over and hug you softly, making sure to give your stomach some room, even though you werenât even fully showing yet.
Cat Grant didnât say anything right away. She just walked over, looked you up and down, then reached out and adjusted your collar. âGood. Itâs about time this place got a little humanity back in it. Ever since Steve got too cocky I swear this placeâs dignity dropped by at least fifteen percent.â
Jimmy nearly dropped his camera. âDoes that mean I get to be an uncle? Can I be an uncle? Honorary? I have swaddling charts. I have Pinterest boards.â
âYou had those before we were even dating,â Clark teased.
Steve stood frozen. âWait. Wait wait wait. Like, pregnant pregnant? Not like.. a food baby? Like Clark Kent put a whole baby inside of you?â
Lois smacked him.
The soft noise of the babyâs sleepy sigh pulled you out of the memory. A great memory. You looked across the room and met Lois Laneâs gaze as she entered the nursery quietly.
âSorry I was late,â she whispered. âHad to cover a rally across town. But I wouldnât miss this for the world.â She stared down at your baby like she was the most precious being in the whole universe. âThe others just got back with food, too.â
You smiled. âYou want to hold her?â
âObviously.â
She scooped the baby up with gentle arms and years of quiet strength, resting her on her shoulder. The baby cooed. She stared up at Lois with stars in her eyes. The kind of look that told you Aunt Lois was going to not only be a great role model, but also your most prized babysitter in all of Metropolis.
âYouâre going to break hearts one day, you know that?â Lois murmured. âJust like your dad. Except hopefully less clumsy. Maybe you should be more like your mom instead. Save us a couple of broken mugs.â
Clark appeared in the doorway, mock-offended. âI heard that.â
âOh, yeah. You were meant to.â
The three of you laughed. And in that moment, your daughter opened her eyes, yawned once, and sneezed. It was honestly the most precious thing youâd seen since she was born.
Jimmy, from the other room, went into a full on meltdown. His head popped around the corner faster than popcorn popping. âOh my god, she sneezed! Is she okay? Is she crying? Steve, where the heck is my camera?! â His voice was a soft whisper yell, careful to not disturb the little one.
And everything was, in the strangest, loudest, most beloved wayâperfect.
Which was exactly why you all decided to capture the moment as it was. A family photo of sorts. One you were sure Perry would put on his desk.
âAlright, everyone!â Jimmy clapped his hands together so sharply that even the baby flinched. âLetâs make history. Time for the first official photo of the Daily Planet family with the next generation of journalistic greatness!â
You had just settled the baby down in her bassinet. She was drowsy, warm, full, and blissfully quiet. It had been a big day for someone as small as her, and you just werenât sure this was the greatest idea in the world. You opened your mouth to object.
Clark beat you to it. His gaze was a little worried and a little hesitant. âJimmy, maybe we let her napââ
âNo time for hesitation!â Jimmy cut in, already adjusting the lighting by the window with dramatic flair. âThis is legacy in motion. Perry, find your good side. Cat, whatever side youâre on is the good side.â
Cat didnât respond, but she did preemptively fluff her hair.
Steve peered at the camera setup. âHow do you do a photo with a baby? Am I supposed to look at her or the camera? Because if we all look at her, it might look weird. Like some cult formation or something.â
âJust sit and smile like a normal person!â Lois snapped, already arranging throw pillows like she was staging a magazine shoot.
The baby, for her part, was still asleep. Thank god. For as sweet as she was, she cried like a full grown adult with big, strong lungs. Clark was sure it was the Kryptonian in her.Â
âEveryone squeeze in,â Jimmy directed. âClark, hold her. Noâwait. Actually, no, Perry should. Itâll look historic.â
âJimmy,â you warned, eyes narrowing. âYou wake this baby up and you are not on the godparent list anymore.â If he woke up your baby, Jimmy Olsen was a dead man to you. Youâd hunt him down like Batman hunts down his enemies in Gotham. Or, youâd give him a little message to help your personal cause. Yes, waking the baby was that deep.
âCopy that,â he whispered, backing away like a man diffusing a bomb. âEveryone smile on three. One.. two..â
The baby hiccuped again. Loudly. Steve broke into a wheezing laugh.
âDonât you dare move!â Jimmy snapped, his head whipping over to look at Steve in an instant.
âIâI can't help it!â Steve gasped. âShe sounded like a whoopee cushion!â
Cat Grant rolled her eyes and held up her wine glass like she was on the red carpet. âFrame this. Itâs the most honest moment of the day.â
You started to giggle, your shoulders shaking as Clark leaned over and kissed your cheek.
âOkay, for real now,â Jimmy begged. âThree.. two.. oneââ
At that exact moment, the baby stirred, opened her mouth, and let out a high-pitched wail that echoed off every surface in the apartment.
Everyone froze. Jimmy deflated like a balloon.
âGuess thatâs a no on the smiles,â Lois muttered, bouncing the baby in her arms again. âItâs okay, sweetheart. They do this to all of us eventually. Just wait until you pay some bills and see how much tax costs at the grocery store.â
âIâll try again in ten minutes,â Jimmy said, adjusting the tripod. âMaybe fifteen. She just needs to reset. We all need to reset.â
âOr,â you suggested gently, âwe call this what it is: a beautiful disaster. Because, in all honesty, sheâs gonna cry like this for the next hour until she falls asleep again. Itâs sort of her thing.â
Jimmy sighed, defeated. âFine. But Iâm editing in some smiles. But no one tell Perry Iâm doing that.â
âIâm standing right here, Olsen.â
Click.
The camera flashed.
And in that single blurry, chaotic, imperfect photoâCat with a wine glass mid-sip, Steve with tears in his eyes from laughter, Lois trying not to smile, Clark looking down at you like you hung the moon, and the baby caught mid-wailâyou saw it for what it really was: family.
By the time everyone had left, the apartment felt both quieter and warmer than it had all day. You stood in the doorway after closing the door behind Perry, leaning your forehead against the frame for a moment as Clark came up behind you.
âWe survived,â you said, your voice muffled.
Clark pressed a kiss to the side of your head. âBarely.â
âI think Jimmy tried to sanitize the remote.â
âI know. I saw him label it âhigh-touch surface.ââ
You let out a tired laugh as you turned around, melting into his arms. He hugged you tightly, both of you rocking slightly as the last golden hints of sunlight slipped past the curtains.
In the nursery, your daughter lay in her bassinet again, this time fully asleep. Her little fists were curled up under her chin, and one of her legs had kicked the blanket off just enough to make her look like a tiny dramatic actress mid-monologue.
Clark picked her up gently, cradling her against his chest as you turned off the overhead light and switched on the soft glow of the nightlight. The room turned lavender-blue, dim and peaceful.
You sat on the edge of the rocking chair, rubbing your eyes, and watched him sway with her.
âYou know,â you murmured, âI used to think I knew what love looked like. All the usual thingsâflowers, long walks, the way you looked at me when I beat you to a story.â
Clark raised an eyebrow. âThat only happened once.â
âAnd it was glorious.â
You both smiled.
âBut this?â you whispered, nodding at the tiny bundle in his arms. âThis is the kind of love I didnât even know how to dream about.â
Clark looked down at the baby. She yawned, and a moment later her little hand splayed out against his chest like she was reaching for his heartbeat.
âI was terrified,â he admitted. âWhen you told me. Not because I didnât want her. I did. I just.. didnât know how to do this. I grew up in a quiet place. Parents who were saints. But I always knew I was different. I never thought.. I never thought Iâd be allowed something this good.â
You reached out and brushed his arm with your fingers.
âYouâre more than allowed,â you said. âYou deserve it. We both do.â
The baby stirred again, her lips parting in the beginning of a cry. Clark instinctively bounced her, humming low and quiet.
You closed your eyes, recognizing the tune: it was that old Kansas lullaby Martha used to sing whenever she visited. Soothing, simple. Home. After a minute, her breathing evened out again. Clark leaned down and kissed her forehead before carefully lowering her into the crib.
The two of you stood there in silence, hands brushing, watching her sleep. âWe should sleep too,â you said softly.
Clark smiled. âYou first. Iâll check the doors and finish the bottle you left out.â
You turned, kissed his cheek, and whispered, âDonât forget to switch to dad-mode patrol.â
He grinned. âAlways.â
And as you walked down the hall, hearing the soft sounds of your husband settling the house and the even softer breaths of your daughter behind you, you felt it in every cell of your body:
You werenât just building a life.
You were living it.
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pretend until forever â clark kent
word count : 22.6k words pairing : clark kent x f!reader synopsis : you have a problem, and it involves showing up to your sisterâs wedding with a fake fiancĂ© to keep your family off your back. the plan is simple enough, except clark kent agrees to play the part, calm and infuriatingly perfect, and suddenly nothing feels fake at all. how long can you survive the day without your carefully built lie unraveling completely? content warnings : fake fiancĂ© trope, fluff, angst, sexual tension, smut-adjacent scenes, public embarrassment, emotional spirals, family drama, mild language, messy feelings, teasing, romantic tension, workplace interactions, fake relationship scenarios authorâs note : okay so yes, this oneâs long, i know, but please take it as my silly little sorry gift because iâll be taking a break for like two to three weeks with uni tests eating my soul, but also, because i genuinely love you lot, i ended up scribbling this whenever i could anyway. also, heads up, there are probably some grammatical errors because iâve been learning more about american english, so itâs kind of a mix of british and american english throughout. also, some parts might be a bit confusing because i literally had no time to proofread properly, with everything else iâve got going on, so i basically just sneaked it off as it was. anyway thank you for sticking around and seeing me through my chaotic mind, and see the comment below for the full authorâs note if youâre curious for more rambles!!
masterlist
âPlease, Jimmy, I am begging you!â
âI told you that I have a strict âno deals with the devilâ policy. NO.â
âYouâre my only hope, Olsen, please!â
âI am not Obi-Wan Kenobi!â
Youâre doomed, completely and stupidly doomed, not in a poetic sort of way, not in a funny way either, just in that sinking, slow, full-body ache sort of way where you already know the damage is done and thereâs absolutely nothing you can do to un-say the words that came out of your mouth, not when your sister had called you before the sun had even risen and your voice was still heavy with sleep and your brain hadnât caught up yet with the concept of reality or consequences.
All she said was something about table arrangements and final numbers for the caterer and how excited she was to finally meet the boyfriend youâve apparently been dating for four years, and instead of stopping her, instead of correcting her gently or pretending the call had dropped or even saying something mildly coherent, you just said, âOf course,â and that was it, that was the beginning of your undoing.
Because now youâre engaged, and not just vaguely in a cute, Pinterest board kind of way, but fully, publicly, logistically engaged to a man who doesnât exist, who has never existed, who you made up months ago to get your mum to stop setting you up with her friendâs nephew whoâs a dentist and plays the trombone.
And now itâs too far gone to fix.
Thereâs a ring involved, a fictional proposal at a cafĂ©, something you vaguely remember muttering about lavender lattes, and apparently heâs vegetarian now, because that somehow came up during brunch with your aunt last month, which means thereâs a custom meal waiting for him at the reception and the sheer scale of the lie, the details, is making you feel slightly ill.
And yes, you know you did this to yourself, you know that nobody told you to keep going with the story or build him a backstory or describe his terrible driving and love of crossword puzzles, but you also know that it felt good at the time, it felt safe to be able to nod along when everyone else was talking about their partners and it felt good to have an answer for once instead of just a tight smile and another glass of wine.
You thought Jimmy would help; you thought if anyone would understand the desperation of the situation, the sheer absurdity of it, it would be him, and for a second you thought maybe he would say yes, maybe heâd pretend for a few hours, hold your hand during dinner, say something mildly charming during speeches, and let you get through the evening with your dignity barely intact.
But no! Jimmy Olsen, your last shred of hope, has looked you square in the eye and said absolutely not, and now youâre sitting at your desk with four days to go and not a single person you can reasonably ask to stand next to you in a suit and pretend to be in love with you for an entire night, not just in passing, but with the kind of history and weight that four years of fiction apparently carries.
And you know, deep down, that you should probably come clean, probably tell your family that you made the whole thing up and accept the embarrassment and pitying looks, but you also know how thatâll feel, how itâll sound when your mum asks why you lied and when your sister gives you that smile that means sheâs not surprised, just disappointed, and when your ex looks at you across the room like youâre still the same person you were when you let him walk away without fighting back.
Youâre spiralling; you can feel it in the base of your skull, in your chest, in the weight of your hands where theyâre curled too tightly around the edge of your desk, and you donât know how to fix it, but you do know one thing for certain: you are not walking into that wedding alone.
You just need to figure out whoâs walking in with you.
âJimmy, please, I swear thereâll be foodââ
âLook,â Jimmy let out a deep sigh, turning to you with an exasperated look, clearly frustrated with you asking him the same question for about twenty-three times now, âI would really love to help you, but not that kind of helpâŠyou know what I mean?â
âWhat exactly do you mean, Jimmy?â
He let out a groan, dragging his hands down his face like just speaking to you physically aged him, âYou know what I exactly mean. I donât do that. I am not a liar, and certainly not someone whoâs good at it.â
âYou literally fake-laughed through a conversation with my aunt about antique doorknobs last Christmas.â
âThat was different, that was me trying to be polite while she showed me photos,â he pointed at you like that made some kind of moral distinction, âand I didnât have to kiss anyone or pretend to be in a deeply committed relationship in front of multiple people.â
You blinked, âYou wouldnât even have to kiss me.â
âOh, great, so you want me to pretend to be in love with you coldly, that sounds really convincing.â
âItâs not like anyoneâs going to test us,â you snapped, âItâs not a hostage situation, I just need someone to show up in a nice suit and look like theyâve heard me snore before!â
Jimmy narrowed his eyes, âDo you snore?â
âNot the point, James!â
He crossed his arms, clearly done with entertaining the idea, even though you could see the part of him that was starting to feel guilty, the part of him that always looked a little bit like a kicked puppy when someone asked for help and he couldnât give it, but also, unfortunately, the part of him that had enough self-preservation not to get dragged into your absolute car crash of a lie.
âIâm not doing it,â he said, firm this time, like heâd made peace with it, like he was trying to coach himself through the boundary in real time, âIâm not going to your sisterâs wedding and pretending to be your long-term, deeply devoted fiancĂ©. Iâm not good under pressure, I have a very obvious tell when I lie, and your family terrifies me!â
You squinted at him, âWhatâs your tell?â
âI start talking in third person,â he said, dead serious, âand I sweat through my shirt.â
âSo? Wear black.â
âOh, my God, are you listening to yourself right now?!â
You slumped dramatically in your chair, letting your head fall back with a groan that felt like it came from your soul, âDo you have any idea how bad this is going to be? I told them we got engaged. Engaged, Jimmy. Thatâs not something you can backpedal from gracefully. Thereâs a ring involved. There was a cafĂ©, and a latte, and I mightâve said he cried.â
Jimmy looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. âYou said what?â
âI donât know why! I panicked! Mum looked so happy!â
âYou are actually insane,â he said, pointing at you again, like saying it out loud would make it any less true, âand for the record, I still think you should just tell the truth and face the music like a normal person.â
You glared at him. âIf you think Iâm walking into a wedding alone with three exes in the guest list and a whole table of aunties who think I need to freeze my eggs, then youâve clearly never known true fear!â
He opened his mouth, probably to make another point about morality or dignity or whatever other trait youâd long since abandoned, but then paused, squinting at you in that way he does when heâs trying to be delicate about something stupid, âOkay, but, if not me...then who?â
You stared at him, brain empty, mouth slightly open, the same low buzz of panic beginning to climb your spine again like static electricity, because you hadnât actually gotten that far yet, hadnât planned anything beyond âbeg Jimmy until he caves.â
And the worst part is, he could see it.
âOh, Christ,â he said again, voice full of dread, âyou donât have a backup plan, do you?â
âI didnât think Iâd need one,â you muttered, and even you heard how sad it sounded.
Jimmy sighed, already regretting asking, and shook his head like he was trying to physically shake himself free of your chaos. âYouâre on your own, dude. I mean it.â
âOn your own for what?â came Loisâs voice from behind you, curious and immediately too aware, and you didnât even have time to flinch before she was rounding the corner of your desk with a coffee in one hand and that look on her face, the one that meant youâd been talking loud enough to be heard from Mars.
Jimmy blinked at her, looked at you, and then immediately bailed with a muttered, âNothing. Itâs nothing. Donât get involved. I need to live.â
And then he was gone, the coward, vanishing into the newsroom like he hadnât just abandoned you at your lowest.
Which left you sitting there, clearly distressed, clearly unravelling, and now with the added bonus of Lois Lane, a Pulitzer-winning journalist and very inconveniently perceptive human being, standing over you with narrowed eyes and that tilt of her head like she was already ten steps ahead of whatever story you were about to try and sell.
You tried to recover. âItâs fine. Iâm fine. I justâJimmyâs being dramatic. Itâs really nothing.â
âMm,â she said, noncommittal, sipping her coffee like she didnât believe a single syllable of that. She sat on the edge of your desk, legs crossed, one eyebrow raised. âSo what are you actually spiralling about?â
You groaned and buried your face in your hands, already regretting every decision that led to this exact moment. âItâs my sisterâs wedding.â
âAndâŠ?â
âAnd,â you mumbled into your palms, âI mightâve told my family Iâve been dating someone for four years and that weâre now engaged, and that heâll be coming with me to the wedding this Saturday, which is in four days, and also completely not true, because I made him up.â
Lois paused. âYou made up a boyfriend whoâs now your fiancĂ©?â
âYes.â
âFour years ago?â
âYesssssssss.â
âAnd kept it going all this time.â
âI panicked, okay?!â you cried, finally looking up at her, your hands flailing a bit too dramatically for the office setting but at this point, who cared,
âMy mum was giving me that face, and my other sister had just told me she was pregnant again, and everyone was being so smug and fulfilled with their real relationships and real lives and I justâŠsaid it. And then I had to keep saying it. I donât even remember what lie I told about how we met. There was a cafĂ© involved and I think he drinks oat milk.â
Lois blinked. âYouâre unwell.â
âThank you, Lois, very helpful!â
âOkay, but like, genuinely,â she said, shifting a bit on the desk, her tone softening just slightly in that way she sometimes let slip when she wasnât in full reporter mode, âyou should just tell them the truth.â
You let out a strangled, deeply unconvincing laugh. âYeah, Iâm sure thatâll go over great. âHey everyone, sorry, the love of my life Iâve been raving about for years doesnât exist, I just invented him so youâd stop looking at me like Iâm a broken microwave.ââ
Lois sipped her coffee again. âYou know your family will still love you, right? Like, yeah, they might be weird about it for five minutes, but theyâre not going to exile you to the woods for being single.â
You frowned. âYou donât know my family. My cousin Monica live-tweeted her boyfriend proposing and now my entire family uses it as the standard for public affection. My sisterâs second baby is already booked for a baptism before itâs even born. My mum bought a hat for this wedding, Lois. A hat. She doesnât wear hats unless sheâs going to cry in them.â
Lois snorted. âOkay, so your familyâs insane.â
âThank you!â
âBut youâre still not actually solving the problem. You either tell the truth and deal with the fallout, or you find someone willing to be your fake fiancĂ©, which, frankly, sounds like a logistical nightmare.â
âI tried that,â you said, slumping further into your chair like the embarrassment might kill you through posture alone, âJimmy said no for like twenty-nine times.â
âOf course he did. The guy folds under pressure if someone just asks him what he wants for lunch. Youâre telling me you trusted him with a full-on social deception at a family wedding?â
You groaned again. âHe was my best shot.â
She looked at you for a long moment, eyes narrowed like she was scanning you for weaknesses, and then, in the most casual voice in the world, said, âWhat about, uh, Clark?â
Your heart stopped.
âNo.â
Lois grinned. âWhy not?â
âNo,â you repeated, firm, terrified, already mentally spiralling into the void, âHeâsâno. Heâs too nice! Heâd never agree. Heâd probably short-circuit and start apologising to my mother for existing. And also, I barely talk to him. We talk about coffee and copy deadlines. Thatâs it!â
âExactly,â she said, like that was a point in his favour, âHeâs sweet and reliable. Iâm pretty sure he wouldnât embarrass you. He might even be convincing.â
âLois!â
âWhat?â She leaned in, voice low and smug. âYou said you needed someone!â
You buried your face in your hands again, because if she said one more word, you might actually have a breakdown in the middle of the bullpen. And worst of all, you were already starting to picture it.Â
And that was the problem. That was exactly the problem.
Because part of you didnât hate the idea at all.
And that was far more dangerous than anything you'd invented so far.
âąââââââââąÂ°âąââąÂ°âąââââââââą
You knew you shouldnât be doing this, you knew it from the moment Lois leaned in with that smug little glint in her eye and said his name like she was handing you a loaded gun, like she wanted to see if youâd actually pull the trigger, and you knew you shouldnât have stood up, shouldnât have taken a single step in this direction.
But you did, and now here you were, standing right in front of Clark Kentâs desk, heart racing in a way that felt both ridiculous and completely deserved, because there was no possible version of this where you came out the other side with your pride intact, and yet your mouth was already open and your voice was already forming syllables like you werenât about to launch yourself headfirst into the most humiliating conversation of your life.
He looked up at you, smiling a little like he was happy to see you, even though you were very visibly deranged right now, and he just tilted his head a little and said, âHey.â
And you panicked.
âYes,â you said, immediately, before heâd even asked anything, and he blinked, confused but not alarmed, just blinking up at you with those stupid kind eyes like you werenât seconds away from asking him to fully fake a relationship with you in front of your entire extended family.
Then he raised his eyebrows slightly, in a polite, concerned sort of way, like maybe you were short-circuiting, and said, âAre you okay?â
âYep,â you said, lying through your teeth, too quickly, voice way too high, âfine, totally fine, Iâm justâokay, so, uh, weird question, and Iâm really, really sorry in advance, but are you doing anything this weekend?â
His brows pulled together in that thoughtful, in a way he did when he was trying to give a sincere answer to a weird question, and he said, slowly, âI think Iâm free on Saturday... why?â
And that was when you knew you were too far gone to turn back.
âUh,â you said, already wishing you were dead, âwould you possibly, hypothetically, in a completely fictional and non-legally binding sort of way, want to get engaged?â
He blinked.
You then winced. âOkay, that sounded worse out loud than it did in my head.â
âEngaged,â he repeated as if heâd misheard.
âYes,â you said, then immediately regretted it, âwellânot engaged engaged, Iâm not asking you to marry me, Iâm asking if youâd pretend to marry me, or at least pretend that weâre going to get married, which is somehow worse, I know, but I swear I can explainââ
Clark was still just looking at you, blinking slowly like he was trying to figure out if this was a prank or a cry for help, and you wouldâve felt bad if you werenât already spiralling straight into the seventh layer of humiliation.
âMy sisterâs getting married,â you said, breathless now, already waving your hands like that would help slow your brain down, âand I may have told my entire family that Iâve been in a long-term relationship with a very real and definitely not made-up person, and that person may have also become my fiancĂ© at some point, and I didnât think it would ever come back to bite me, but now sheâs getting married on Saturday, and Iâve been explicitly told to bring him, and theyâre all expecting to meet him and coo over our engagement story and ask invasive questions about our future children!â
You paused, dragging in a deep breath like you were about to dive underwater, âand Jimmy said no, like very firmly no, and then Lois said your name, and now Iâm here, and you can absolutely say no too, in fact you, uh, probably should, because this is crazy and embarrassing and possibly the worst thing Iâve ever said to another human being, and I am fully prepared to fake a concussion to get out of it if I have toââ
âCan I wear a tie?â Clark asked, suddenly, with that tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth like this was actually funny to him.
You stared. âWhat?â
âWell, I feel like a fiancĂ© should wear a tie,â he said, shrugging a little, like this was a completely rational conversation, âIâve got one that makes me look like I know things about property taxes.â
âYou already look like someone who reads real estate blogs on purpose?â
âI donât,â he said, smiling fully now, âbut itâs nice to know I could.â
You stared at him, still half-convinced your ears were lying to you. âYouâre saying yes?â
He nodded, still way too calm. âSure.â
âYou donât even know what kind of unhinged family youâre about to walk into.â
âI grew up on a farm,â he said, âIâve seen some things.â
âThis is not that,â you said, trying not to sound panicked again, ïżœïżœthis is five generations of nosy women with group chats and opinions and a frankly dangerous amount of curiosity. Someone is going to ask you about our sex life before appetisers! This is an actual social war, Clark, and youâre agreeing to walk into it as my fake fiancĂ© for the price of one piece of cake and a lot of emotional damage!â
Clark adjusted his glasses, still smiling in that mild, impossibly steady way that made your brain feel like it was glitching.
âDo I get to pick the cake flavour?â he asked.
âOh, my God,â you muttered, burying your face in your hands, âthis is going to end in flames.â
He leaned in a little, voice lower now, amused but serious enough that it made your spine go weird.
âDonât worry,â he said, âIâll make us very convincing.â
And you felt that line in your bones, because you were unwell in the worst way, because you had just asked Clark Kent to be your fiancé and somehow, impossibly, he had actually said yes.
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âJesus Christ, you absolute idiot,â you hissed at yourself, elbow propped on the sink as you dragged the eyeliner across your lid for the sixth time and of course it smeared into a crooked little tail that had no business being there.
âBrilliant plan, really, fake-engage the most obvious man in the world, theyâll never suspect a thing,â you muttered, scrubbing at it again with the corner of a tissue until your skin stung.
You leaned back, squinted at your reflection, and nearly laughed because your eyes were already going red and watery like youâd been crying, which was just perfect, exactly the sort of look you wanted to bring home to your family when you announced that Clark Kent had miraculously agreed to marry you.
âTheyâre going to find out in five minutes, tops,â you said to the mirror, pointing at your own face like you were scolding a misbehaving child. âThey know you, they know you canât lie to save your life, they know youâve never kept a boyfriend past a month, and you think you can walk in there with Clark bloody Kent and pull this off? You are insane.â
The eyeliner pen slipped out of your grip and clattered onto the counter and you wanted to throw it in the bin. You slammed your palms on either side of the sink, leaning forward until your forehead nearly touched the mirror, and whispered, âYouâre going to die, youâre going to actually die when they start asking questions.â
Then louder, like that might help, âWhat were you thinking?!â
Your heart was hammering against your ribs like it was trying to escape, your hands wouldnât stay steady long enough to finish one simple wing.
You grabbed the mascara instead, hands shaking, and muttered, âFine, weâre just going to have lopsided eyes. Whatever. Clark said yes, somehow, impossibly, and now youâve got to make it through dinner without collapsing.âÂ
And then, quieter, almost pleading, âOh please, God, donât let me sweat through this dress.â
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The doorbell went off and you nearly jumped out of your skin, the mascara wand slipping straight out of your hand and rolling into the sink like even your own things were sick of you.
You groaned, properly loud, because of course it was already happening, of course youâd run out of time, and you were still standing there staring at eyeliner wings that didnât even belong to the same face. The left one was drooping, the right one was flying off into space.Â
It was bad.
It rang again, longer this time, like whoever was outside already knew you were falling apart and wanted to make it worse. You looked at the clock. 6:41. Which had to be wrong, because there was no way morning was allowed to arrive this fast. But there it was, blinking at you, reminding you that you were officially out of time.
You muttered at yourself about being stupid, about how your family were going to bury you alive, and then you stomped down the hall in your robe like some gremlin dragged out of a hole, you always did, and then your stomach dropped out completely because it was Clark.Â
Except it wasnât Clark like normal, not with his crooked tie and hair that looked like the subway had bullied him. No. This Clark looked like he had been styled. His shirt was fitted properly, his sleeves rolled, his hair slick in a way that made you want to cry.
You opened the door and almost choked.
âHi,â Clark said, easy, like he had not just wrecked your entire morning.
âWhat the hell are you wearing?â It fell out of you before you could stop it, because if you didnât say something you were just going to stand there like an idiot.
He glanced down at himself and then backed up. âClothes?â
You pointed at him, furious. âDo not. You look like some dream guy out of a film and it is offensive. You were supposed to show up looking like you.â
He blinked at you once instead, calm as ever. âThanks? You look great.â
You nearly combusted. âSay that again and I will hit you. I mean it. I cannot deal with that right now.â
He almost said it again, you could see it, but then he softened and shrugged with that tiny smile that was somehow worse. âAlright. I will not say it again.â
âGood,â you muttered, arms crossed so tight you thought you might pass out. âBecause this is already a disaster. My eyeliner is criminal, my hair is tragic, and then you have the nerve to turn up like that.â
He leaned against the doorframe, calm as ever, and said, âSo, do I get to come in? Or are you just going to roast me from the hallway?â
You glanced at the clock again. 6:43. You sighed so loudly it rattled your chest. âFine. Come in, but do not touch anything. And stop looking at me like that.â
âLike what?â he asked, grinning, stepping inside.
âLike that,â you snapped, slamming the door shut a little harder than necessary, because maybe the noise would drown out how fast your heart was going. âThat thing where you look like you know something I donât. Stop it.â
Clark glanced around your flat like he was taking mental notes, slow and polite, like he hadnât just wandered into the lionâs den. He set his overnight bag by the sofa like he belonged there and then turned back to you with that maddening calm. âI donât know anything,â he said.
You squinted at him, still clutching your robe closed. âYes you do. Youâre smug. Itâs smug, thatâs what it is.â
He raised his eyebrows, pretending innocence in a way that made you want to throw something. âWhy do you think Iâm smug?â
âI think youâre enjoying this too much,â you muttered, stalking back toward the bathroom because if you stood in front of him another second youâd combust. âAnd I donât know why. You should be terrified. My family is going to eat you alive.â
Clark followed at a slower pace, leaning in the doorway as you picked the mascara back up like it might save your life. âIâm not really worried,â he said, and you nearly dropped the wand again because how was he like this, how was he so calm when you felt like your organs were about to start a mutiny?
âYou should be,â you told him, catching your reflection and grimacing. âThey will ask you questions. They will interrogate. They will want dates and names and embarrassing stories. Someone will ask about the proposal. Someone will ask about the honeymoon. Someone will ask aboutâŠâ You waved the mascara at him. âThings.â
âThings,â he repeated, trying not to laugh.
âYes, things,â you said, stabbing it back toward your lashes. âPersonal things. They donât know what boundaries are.â
He watched you for a moment, arms folded now, and then he said, easy as anything, âSo youâll tell me what they need to hear.â
You whirled on him. âMe?â
âWell, yeah,â he said, smiling like this was all so simple. âYou made him up, didnât you? Youâve already got the backstory. Iâm just here to play the part.â
You stared at him, mascara still in your hand, and wanted to scream. âOh, my God. Youâre going to be useless.â
Clark laughed, actually laughed, and it was so warm and low that you forgot what you were about to say next. He pushed his glasses up his nose, still smiling, and said, âDonât worry. Iâll keep up.â
And you hated it, you hated how much you almost believed him.
By the time youâd shoved half your wardrobe into a suitcase and burnt your tongue on instant coffee, Clark was still just⊠there. Carrying your bag down the stairs without breaking a sweat. Opening the passenger door for you like it was normal. Sliding behind the wheel like he wasnât about to impersonate your fictional fiancĂ© in front of five generations of relatives who could smell fear a mile away.
The car was quiet for all of thirty seconds before you broke.
âTheyâre going to ask about the cafĂ©,â you blurted, gripping your coffee cup like it was the only thing tethering you to earth. âThe one where he proposed. I said it was by the river, I said there were lavender lattes, I said he got down on one knee and cried. Theyâre going to want details. Theyâre going to want to know the exact date. What the weather was like. What he said.â
Clark glanced at you, then back at the road, and said, âAlright. So what did he say?â
You blinked at him, throat tightening, because of course you had never thought that far. âI donât know,â you admitted, voice cracking on it. âI just said he cried.â
Clark smiled a little, eyes on the traffic ahead. âThen I guess Iâll have to improvise.â
You nearly spilled your coffee. âClark, no, do not improvise!â
âWhy not?â he asked, all innocent.
âBecause youâll make it sound sincere and then Iâll die.â
He chuckled, soft and low, and you wanted to throw your coffee out the window.
âThis isnât funny,â you said, turning in your seat to glare at him. âWe need to get our story straight. You canât just stroll in there winging it.â
Clark kept his eyes on the road, maddeningly calm, hands loose on the wheel like you werenât both heading toward disaster. âSo we build it. Isnât that what we do?â
âWhat?â you asked.
âStories,â he said, glancing at you with the faintest smile. âWeâve both made a career out of getting the details right. Same principle, just personal. Itâs not exactly breaking news, but itâs still a narrative. We just⊠write it.â
You gaped at him. âYouâre actually suggesting we treat my fake fiancĂ© like an article?â
He shrugged. âWhy not? Youâve got the bones already. We fill in the rest. Motive, timeline, quotes, anecdotes. Keep it consistent. No contradictions.â
You groaned and slumped against the seat. âOh, my God. I canât believe youâre enjoying this.â
âIâm not enjoying it,â he said, but he was smiling, and you knew he absolutely was.
âFine,â you muttered, shoving your empty coffee cup into the holder. âTimeline. Four years. We met atâŠâ You stopped, wincing. âGosh! I canât even remember what I said anymore!â
Clark hummed thoughtfully, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. âLibrary?â
You shot him a look. âDo I look like the kind of person who meets people at libraries?â
âAlright,â he said, still calm. âBar, then. You spilled a drink on me?â
You narrowed your eyes. âThat sounds like a clichĂ©.â
âYou made up lavender lattes,â he reminded you. âWeâre already past clichĂ©.â
You shoved a hand through your hair, heart pounding. âOkay, fine, bar. I spilled a drink. It was rum and coke, not wine, because wine is too obvious.â
Clark nodded like he was taking notes in his head. âAnd I saidâwhat? That you owed me a replacement?â
âYes,â you said quickly, leaning into the lie before you could second-guess it. âAnd you hated me at first. You said I was rude and clumsy and distracting.â
He smirked at that, eyes still on the road. âSounds about right.â
âDonât,â you snapped, pointing at him. âYou donât get to enjoy this.â
âNoted,â he said, but the corner of his mouth twitched and you wanted to scream.
You slumped back again, muttering under your breath. âProposal was last spring. CafĂ© by the river. Lavender latte. You cried. I donât know why, but apparently you did. Honeymoon is booked for Italy, Tuscany maybe, I canât remember which part I told them. Vegetarian, crosswords, terrible driver.â
Clark repeated it under his breath, like he was memorising lines. âTerrible driver?â
âYes,â you said. âYou almost hit a dog once and we argued for a week. My cousin remembers that. Donât mess it up.â
He glanced at you again, amused. âYou realise youâve basically been running a four-year con, right?â
You groaned into your hands and dragged your palms down your face because of course this was happening, of course he was going to ruin everything by pointing out the one detail you had not thought through.Â
âI know, do not remind me,â you muttered, muffled and pathetic, like you could somehow smother the entire problem with your own skin if you just pressed hard enough.
There was a silence, and it was the kind that sat heavy enough to make your ribs ache, the kind that made you look up because you could feel him staring at you.
Clark had that careful expression, the one he always got when he was about to drop something you were not going to like, and you felt your stomach twist before he even opened his mouth.
âWhat?â you snapped, sharper than you meant to, but he was still gripping the steering wheel.
He hesitated, the pause stretching long enough that you wanted to scream, and then he said, almost cautiously, âYou donât⊠have a ring, do you?â
Your entire chest caved in. You clutched your robe tighter out of pure reflex even though you had changed into actual clothes an hour ago, because suddenly you were naked, you were exposed, and your heart dropped so fast it made you dizzy.Â
âOh, my God. Oh, my actual God, Clark. I donât! I never bought one. Theyâre going to see it immediately, theyâre going to stare at my empty finger and itâs over, itâs done, theyâll know Iâve been lying for four years and then Iâll have to fake my own death and disappear to the mountains because that is the only way out of this.â
âHey,â he cut in, calm and steady like his voice alone might anchor you before you spun yourself into oblivion. âBreathe. Itâs fine.â
âIt is not fine,â you hissed, shoving your hand directly at him like evidence in a trial. âLook. Naked finger. Do you see this? They will see this from across the room, they will drag me into the kitchen, and then theyâll demand answers, and then its social execution. They will bury me alive in the garden!â
Clark pressed his lips together like he was trying not to smile, which only made you want to throttle him, and then he let out a small, sheepish laugh. âOkay⊠so I mightâve thought of that.â
You blinked at him, wild, your voice climbing. âWhat do you mean, you thought of that?â
Instead of answering he flicked the indicator and pulled the car over, gravel crunching under the tyres, the sound loud enough that it scraped at your nerves. When you finally looked up the sea was spread out in front of you, pale and endless and stupidly beautiful, the kind of view you might have cried over if your brain wasnât on fire.
âClark,â you said slowly, suspicion crawling over you as he shifted in his seat, âwhat are you doing?â
He cleared his throat, awkward, his hand dipping into the inside pocket of his jacket, fumbling in a way that made your stomach drop further, and then he pulled out a small velvet box.
Your heart lurched so violently you actually gasped. âOh my God. Is thatââ
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but you, his ears already going pink. âYeah. Itâs⊠itâs a ring.â
You stared at him, properly stared, your brain stuttering and blank. âYou⊠you got me a ring?â
Clark finally met your eyes and for a second he looked so nervous you almost forgot how to breathe. âI figured it would come up. People notice rings. I didnât want you to panic more than you already were.â He held the box out with both hands, hesitant, like he was afraid youâd shove it back into his chest. âThis is⊠this is the one.â
Your fingers brushed his when you took it, your chest too tight, and your voice cracked. âThis is a ring?â
His laugh was soft, embarrassed, so quiet you had to lean closer to hear it. âYeah. Kind of obvious, right?â
You opened it and the air left your lungs in one violent sweep.
It was beautiful, and not in the flashy gaudy way that wouldâve been easier to shrug off, but in the kind of way that hurt to look at.
A gold band, simple but solid, with a diamond that caught the weak morning light and scattered it across the dashboard like it was mocking you. It looked old, and it looked like it had been waiting for years.
âClark,â you whispered, throat burning, unable to stop staring, âI canât wear this.â
He swallowed, his voice dropping into something softer, almost fragile. âIt was my maâs. Her mother gave it to her. She wanted me to have it. Said it was for when I met⊠you know. The one.â
Your head snapped up so fast it almost hurt, your eyes wide, panic spilling everywhere. âClark, no, absolutely not. I cannot wear this. This isnât a prop, this isnâtâthis is family, Clark.â
He gave a tiny shrug but his jaw was locked tight, his whole body saying he meant it. âSheâd want it used. Not left in a drawer.â
You shook your head, clutching the box like it was a live grenade, because this was insane, it was so far beyond the boundaries of your fake plan you could hardly process it. âClark, this is wrong. Weâre lying, weâre faking it, weâreâGodâweâre tricking everyone, and you want me to do it wearing something that actually matters?â
His gaze held steady, nervous but immovable, like he was bracing himself to take the hit. âIt means something if you let it. Otherwise, itâs just a ring.â
You wanted to tell him no, to shove it back into his hand and demand he find you something cheap and plastic, something that could never feel heavy in your palm. But your throat was thick, your eyes stung, and the diamond kept catching the light like it was laughing at you for ever thinking you could control this.
You sit there gripping the box so tightly it feels like your knuckles might split, like if you loosen your hold even slightly it might detonate right there between you, and he just sits steady the way he always does, like nothing in the world could shake him, and it only makes you feel worse, because youâre sitting here on the verge of combustion while Clark Kent looks like Clark Kent, calm and patient and maddening.Â
The silence stretches and stretches until it feels like a weight pressing down on your ribs, so thin and fragile it could snap at any second, and you canât take it anymore, your breath breaking out of you in a shudder, and all you manage is a single word, low and wrecked, âFine.â
His shoulders drop in that instant, a subtle easing, relief softening the set of his jaw, and before you can swallow the word back or decide youâve made a terrible mistake he reaches forward, so slow, so deliberate, giving you every chance to pull away even though you donât, and his fingers brush yours, warm, steady, achingly gentle, and itâs ridiculous how that single touch is what undoes you more than anything.Â
He takes the box from you, cradling it like it isnât a bomb, like itâs nothing more than a box, and then, without a flicker of hesitation, he opens it. Pops it open like heâs just unwrapping something ordinary, not stepping with you into something that feels like walking into fire.
He slides the ring out, holding it between his fingers, turning it once, the smallest movement, and then he looks at you, properly looks at you, and your chest twists, your pulse stumbles, because thereâs something in his gaze you canât read, something heavy and intent, and it makes everything so much worse.
âClark,â you breathe, your voice breaking with the panic already clawing up your throat.
He clears his throat, quiet, unhurried, but steady enough to make your stomach lurch. âWill you marry me?â
Your head jerks, eyes wide, your mouth open but empty, because what the hell, because itâs insane, because you know this is supposed to be fake and yet hearing it out loud like that is nothing you were ready for. âWhy are you asking me like that?â
âBecause,â he says, calm on the surface but a thread of something else tugging underneath, almost sheepish in the way he meets your stare, âyouâll have to get used to it. People are going to want the story. Theyâll ask, over and over. And if I canât even say the words to you, then how am I supposed to convince anyone else?â
The laugh that rips out of you is half-choked, almost hysterical, and you clutch at the seatbelt across your chest. âGosh. Youâre rehearsing? Youâre actually rehearsing this? In a car by the sea, Clark? Are you serious?â
His lips twitch, the smallest crack in his composure, and he says it so simply it drives you mad. âPractice makes perfect.â
Your head falls back against the seat, and youâre laughing because thereâs no other way to survive the absurdity of this, because heâs insane, he has to be. âYouâre insane,â you tell him.
But he doesnât look away and just holds the ring, like itâs not just part of a scheme, his gaze steady on yours, and when he says, âWill you?âÂ
It doesnât sound like a joke, it doesnât sound fake at all, in fact.
It should be easy, it should be light, it should be nothing more than a game you both agreed to play, but your throat is tight and your chest aches and you can barely force the words past the knot inside you. âYes,â you laugh, except itâs wet at the edges, breaking against the tears youâre fighting, âyes, Iâll marry you, Clark Kent.â
Something flickers in his eyes then, something raw and unguarded that you canât pin down before itâs gone, shuttered away so neatly you almost convince yourself you imagined it. Almost.
And then he takes your hand, sliding the ring onto your finger with a gentleness that makes your heart cave in, slow and deliberate, like it belongs there, as if this isnât fake at all.
The church was already spilling over by the time you pulled up, cars lining the road, people milling about in their best clothes, voices carrying in that bright early morning air, and your stomach dropped right through the floor because this was it, no more rehearsal, no more time to prepare.
Clark cut the engine, and for a second neither of you moved. You stared at the heavy wooden doors, the crowd of relatives and neighbours and people you barely knew but who all knew you, and your hand was already clammy before his even found it.
He reached across so simply, fingers brushing yours, and then he was holding on, steady, grounding, like he hadnât just put a family heirloom on your finger minutes ago.
You wanted to pull away but you didnât.
Walking up the path, hand in hand, you could feel the stares already, the whispers barely muted. Your aunt glanced down at your joined hands and her brows went up, sharp as anything, and you knew this was going to spread through the pews faster than the organ could get through the first hymn.
And then there was the sting, sudden and sour, when you saw your sister flanked by her best friends, all satin and flowers and cameras flashing, and not a spot for you amongst them. It should have hurt more. It didnât. You werenât here to be her bridesmaid, you were just here to stand and clap and smile when she said her vows, and that was fine. This was her day, not yours.
Except Clarkâs thumb brushed your knuckles, light as a whisper, and it dragged you right back into the absurdity of it all, because while your sister was about to marry the love of her life, you were standing here pretending, your pulse hammering like youâd stolen someone elseâs story.
Someone called your name, your cousin maybe, but you couldnât tear your eyes from the glint of the ring under the church lights, sharp and cruel, and all you could think was how in the hell you were supposed to carry this off when you already felt like the lie was carved into your skin.
Clark leaned down, close enough that his breath brushed your ear. âYou okay?â
You swallowed hard. âDo I look okay?â
âYeah,â he said, quiet, almost amused. âYou look like youâre about to faint.â
âGreat,â you muttered, dragging yourself forward because there was no other option, the ushers were already funneling people inside like cattle and you couldnât exactly dig your heels into the church steps and refuse to move. âExactly the look I was going for.â
And of course, because the universe hated you, they were there, all of them, like theyâd set up camp at the doorway purely to catch you. Your mum saw you first and her whole body jolted, hand flying to her chest like sheâd just witnessed a miracle.
âOh, heâs finally here!â she gasped, eyes bright as she turned that beam on Clark like sheâd conjured him into existence through sheer force of will. âI was beginning to think youâd been keeping him hidden from us.â
âMum,â you hissed, low, desperate, but it didnât matter, she was already reaching for Clarkâs hand, smoothing her hair like she was about to meet the Pope.
And then your brother, because obviously it had to be him, crossed his arms and gave Clark the slowest, most infuriating once-over, like he was appraising cattle. âSo heâs actually real then? Thought maybe youâd rented him from the internet.â
Your hand flew out on instinct, smacking his arm hard enough to make him flinch. âYouâre such an idiot.â
He grinned, rubbing the spot with exaggerated pain. âWhat? Iâm just saying. We were starting to place bets. Months of âBoyfie said thisâ and âBoyfie did thatâ with no actual proof? Pfft suspicious.â
âChildren,â your dad cut in, sharp enough that the word cracked through all the noise, that exact tone that used to send you lot scrambling when you were kids. âBehave. This is your sisterâs wedding, not the playground.â
But of course your brother leaned in anyway, muttering, âShe hit me first,â before ducking away with that smug grin that made you want to strangle him right there in front of God and everyone.
Meanwhile Clark, the traitor, menace, perfect bastard, just smiled all calm and polite, extending his hand like this wasnât a firing squad. âSir,â he said, warm, steady, with that faint drawl curling the edges, and your dad, your dad, who hadnât smiled in weeks actually looked impressed.
âOh, isnât he charming,â your mum breathed, practically glowing, like Clark had just solved all her problems by existing. âWhat a lovely young man! I like him.â
You gawked. âYou just met him.â
âThatâs all it takes,â she said matter-of-factly, and then turned her entire focus back on Clark as if you werenât standing there, as if you hadnât just combusted into flames. âWeâve been waiting a long time to meet you, young man. She talks about you all the time. More than she realises.â
âMum,â you snapped, heat crawling up your neck, but Clark was already glancing down at you with that infuriating glint, the one that meant he was eating this up, every humiliating second of it.
And because the devil works fast but your younger brother works faster, he leaned in on your other side, voice low but enough for Clark to hear. âHe seems too good for you, sis.â
You spun, teeth bared. âSay that again and Iâll murder you in this church. I donât care if Godâs watching.â
Clark had the audacity to laugh, soft and low, disguising it like a cough, which only made you crush his hand tighter, knuckles white. He looked down at your grip, then back up at you, maddeningly calm, and murmured, âEasy there.â
Before you could even open your mouth to snap at him, there was another voice, cutting clean through the thick awkwardness, and there she was, your other sister, striding across the tiles, balancing her son on her hip as if the chunky little weight was nothing at all.
Her eyes swept over you first, then Clark, and the curve of her mouth shifted into that smile, the one that always meant trouble, the one that made your stomach sink because it was far too knowing already and she hadnât even opened her mouth yet.
âSo this is him,â she said, her tone light and casual, almost airy, but her gaze sharp enough to make you bristle on instinct, like she was cataloguing everything about him now so she could interrogate you later over wine.
âApparently,â you muttered under your breath, ready to roll your eyes skyward, but of course she didnât even bother acknowledging you, adjusting her son higher against her shoulder before sticking her free hand out toward Clark.Â
âIâm her sister. The normal one. Nice to finally meet you.â
Clark, bloody saint that he was, smiled with that soft politeness of his and shook her hand with the same steady warmth heâd used on your dad, which only made you want to groan, because of course he was going to charm her too, wasnât he, and as if that wasnât bad enough, your nephew suddenly lunged toward him with both grabby little hands, chubby fingers stretching, babbling complete nonsense like Clark was the most exciting person in the world, like heâd just spotted the sun and wanted to pocket it.
âOh, for crying out loud,â you hissed, glaring at the child who only grinned wider, cheeks dimpling like he knew exactly what he was doing. âHe doesnât even do that with me.â
Your sister laughed, shifting the boyâs weight easily, bouncing him once on her hip before tilting her head toward Clark with that amused gleam in her eyes. âHeâs a good judge of character. Kids always know.â
Clark chuckled softly, not helping matters in the slightest, and brushed a fingertip over the babyâs tiny fist when it latched around his thumb with surprising strength. âHeâs a strong one,â he murmured, his whole face lighting up with genuine delight.
You could feel heat crawling up the back of your neck, the tips of your ears burning, because this was ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. âDonât encourage him,â you snapped, crossing your arms tighter across your chest like that would somehow shield you from the scene unfolding right in front of you.
âWhy not?â Clark said simply, like he genuinely couldnât understand the problem, like it was the most natural thing in the world to let a baby cling to him as if theyâd been best friends for years. Your nephew squealed in sheer delight at his voice, tiny fingers tightening their hold, refusing to let go, drool collecting at the corner of his smile.
Your sister raised her eyebrows at you, clearly enjoying every second of this. âLooks like he likes him. Honestly, I was expecting⊠I donât know. Someone rougher around the edges, maybe, but youâve done well.â
âI didnât âdo wellâ,â you snapped again, your voice climbing louder than you meant it to. âIâm not shopping at a bloody market stall!â
Clarkâs lips twitched, his whole expression shifting as if he was desperately trying not to laugh, which only made it worse.Â
Your sister just rolled her eyes in that superior way she always had, switching your nephew onto her other arm as if to punctuate her point. âWhatever you say, but heâs definitely family-approved already, whether you like it or not.â
You groaned, dragging your hand down your face, trying to cover the mortification burning across your skin, muttering through your palm, âI hate all of you.â
âLove you too, little sister,â she sang back without missing a beat, her heels clicking away as she disappeared down the hall, her son still babbling and giggling happily, his little hand stretched out toward Clark until they were both out of sight.
For a moment there was silence, the kind that pressed in on you, the kind that made your grip on Clarkâs hand tighten without you even realising. He glanced down at you, his thumb brushing gently over the back of your knuckles, grounding in that soft way only he managed. âYou okay?â he asked quietly, voice pitched just for you.
You tilted your head up at him, glaring through the flush on your cheeks. âDonât start.â
The wedding begins slowly, almost shyly, like the air itself is holding its breath, the music soft at first and then swelling, filling every inch of the church with something grand and holy and terrifying, and it is the shift in the crowd that makes your skin prickle, the way voices drop, the way chairs scrape faintly before everyone rises at once, all heads turning toward the doors at the back.Â
You turn too, though your stomach has been clenched tight for what feels like hours, your lungs pulling shallow air that does not seem to reach deep enough, because you already know what is waiting, you already know the weight of it before it even happens.
And then she appears. Your sister, your baby sister, framed in the doorway in a dress so impossibly white it almost blinds you, the fabric catching the light like it is spun out of something celestial, her hand looped carefully through your dadâs arm, her steps hesitant and trembling in a way that breaks you even before she is halfway down the aisle.Â
Her face is soft and shaking, the kind of trembling that comes from joy too big to carry and fear too sharp to hide, and your dad looks so steady beside her, proud in a way that makes your throat close, his back straight and his jaw set like he is holding himself together for her sake.
The sight of them hits you harder than you thought it would, almost violently, like a hand pressing straight into the middle of your chest, because it is not just the image of your sister in a dress and your father walking her toward her future, it is the realisation of what this moment means, what it promises, and how far it feels from anything you could ever touch.Â
You cannot stop the knot in your chest, that ugly twisting, the whisper that tells you this kind of fairytale is not meant for you. Not the dress, not the aisle, not the someone waiting at the end with eyes already wet because you exist, because loving you is enough to undo them.Â
Not the story that makes entire rooms cry just from watching.
Your chest aches like it is hollow and your throat burns like you swallowed something sharp, and you hate yourself for it, for being so pathetic, for daring to feel grief in the middle of her joy, but it does not matter how much you tell yourself to stop, the sting behind your eyes rises anyway, hot and impatient and unforgiving in its timing.
And then Clarkâs hands. They appear suddenly, folding around yours with such warmth and steadiness that it startles you, like you had forgotten you even had hands until he anchored them. His palms are firm, his fingers curling over yours with intention, as though he is tethering you, pulling you out of the spiral before you can vanish into it completely.Â
You glance up at him, startled, and he is looking at you the way he always does, but sharper now, more piercing, that gentleness too much, that patience too unbearable when you are crumbling in silence beside him.Â
His expression is open, impossibly kind, too soft for what this is supposed to be, and it only makes the ache worse because you know you do not deserve it.
You sniff hard, forcing your mouth into something that might pass as a smile, tight and fragile like cracked glass, nodding quickly as though you can tell him without words, I am fine, I am fine, do not make this worse, do not look at me like that.Â
His thumb brushes against your knuckle once, slow and grounding, not insistent, just present, and it is enough, somehow, to keep your chest from splitting entirely open in the middle of the ceremony.
When you force your gaze back to the aisle, your sister is already halfway to the altar, her bouquet trembling in her hands the same way her lips tremble when she blinks too fast.Â
And then she reaches him, her husband-to-be, standing there at the end of the aisle with his whole world written across his face, his expression undone in the most devastating way, his tears catching in the light, his mouth trembling open as if the sight of her is too much to contain. He is not composed, not stoic, not trying to hide how much he feels, and it cracks him wide open right in front of everyone.
Your dad takes her hand so carefully, almost reverently, and places it into his. The gesture is simple, tradition etched into every movement, but it lands inside you like a blow, the lump in your throat so sharp it forces you to swallow hard, your vision blurring just as the two hands meet, as her life folds into his.Â
And all you can do is stand there, blinking against the burn, anchored by Clarkâs grip and undone by everything else, watching your sister step into a story you are certain will never be yours.
The murmurs died down and then the officiant began, voice soft and steady, guiding them into the moment that was supposed to be sacred and contained and almost unbearably beautiful. You could feel the tension in the room stretching through you, every seat in the church suddenly pressing against your ribs as if the air itself were waiting.Â
Your sister inhaled, her chest rising under the delicate fabric of her gown, her eyes locking on him, her hands trembling slightly even as they held onto his.
And then he spoke, his voice quiet at first, but every word carving through the church like it belonged there, like it could not be stopped. âI never thought Iâd be standing here, marrying you, because I never thought anyone could make me feel like this, like I was home for the first time in my life, like everything else fell away when I looked at you.â
Your chest clenched immediately, instinctive and sharp, and your hand tightened around Clarkâs without thinking, your knuckles whitening against his.
It was such a simple, human reaction, a tether to the world that didnât feel like it was going to rip apart under the weight of this moment, because even though you knew it wasnât about you, even though it was your sisterâs day, hearing those words made everything inside you combust in ways you werenât prepared to name.
From the corner of your eye, you saw Clark glance down at your hand, the faintest flicker of something in his eyes, a question, a warning, an acknowledgment, but you did not allow yourself to meet it.Â
You had to keep your gaze forward, had to keep watching her, had to keep pretending that this distance, this air between you and the raw ache in your chest, could be managed. Your eyes stayed locked on your sister, on the way her lips parted in that tiny, unguarded smile that made everything else feel sharp and impossible.
Her husbandâs words continued, each one carefully measured, filled with everything he had kept in his chest for years, and you felt the pulse of it, the way it settled deep under your skin, and you knew you were holding your breath, holding onto Clark because it was the only thing that made the ache bearable, the only thing that let you stand upright without collapsing entirely in front of all these people, because the world was collapsing inside your chest and this hand, warm and steady, was the only anchor you had.
You forced yourself to blink, to nod ever so slightly, just enough to convince the world you were present, just enough to convince yourself that you werenât dissolving entirely, and even as you did, the words continued to land, quiet and devastating, a tide pulling at something you hadnât wanted to admit was there, a part of you that had always wanted that kind of certainty, that kind of love, and yet you had never, and would never, have it.Â
And still, the hand in yours squeezed just enough to say weâre here, weâre holding, weâre surviving, and for now, that was enough.
You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly, because suddenly the room felt too bright, the polished pews too shiny, the quiet sniffles too loud, and you were hyperaware of everyoneâs eyes, even though they werenât on you. You could feel Clarkâs gaze lingering, steady but soft, like he was reading you without needing words, like he knew you were unraveling and he wasnât going to let go.
Your sisterâs voice wavered slightly as she replied, her vows trembling but full of that raw, unpolished honesty that made people lean in, made your stomach twist in ways you didnât want to admit. And your hand squeezed Clarkâs without thinking, your grip tightening as if holding onto him could somehow hold the world together.
You stole a glance at him from the corner of your eye, just a flicker, and he gave you that small, almost imperceptible nod, letting you know it was okay, that he was right there, that he had you. And then you had to look away, focus forward, because her words, beautiful, unguarded, full of that impossible hope, were searing right through you, and your chest felt too tight to breathe normally.
He spoke again, low but steady, recounting memories you knew only she could understand, and you felt that familiar ache flare up again, sharp and quick, because here she was, standing in the kind of love story youâd been convinced youâd never get to have, and yet you were tethered to it, through the hand in yours, through the warmth and calm of Clarkâs presence.
The officiantâs voice cut in softly, directing them through the last pieces, and your sisterâs hand slid into his completely, her fingers lacing through his, and for the briefest moment, your chest unclenched slightly, not because it was easy but because it was complete.
The moment was absolute, and while the world spun around you, the tightness in your stomach, the fluttering of your pulse, it was almost bearable because his hand was there, grounding you, reminding you that you were still tethered, still whole, still managing to exist in this impossible, perfect chaos.
And then, as they spoke their final words, promising themselves to each other, the whole room seemed to exhale, and your shoulders finally loosened just a fraction, your grip on Clark easing, but not letting go, because even in the midst of their story, even while your own chest ached, you realised that holding onto this small, solid connection was the only thing keeping you upright, the only thing keeping you from tumbling entirely into the kind of longing youâd spent years burying.
After the wedding, the reception was chaos and glitter and flowers and everyone trying too hard to be polite while quietly evaluating every single detail as though the entire day depended on them, and you could feel the tension and excitement vibrating in the air like static electricity, your heels pinching at the wrong places, your dress slightly itchy in all the wrong ways, and Clarkâs hand never leaving yours as you navigated the sea of relatives and distant acquaintances you mostly pretended to remember.
âDo you want a drink?â he asked, leaning close so his breath brushed your ear, calm and steady in a way that almost made you forget you were still about to combust from sheer social panic.
âI need water,â you muttered, dragging him toward the drinks table, your voice low enough so no one could hear, though somehow everyone probably did anyway, because you were you, and subtlety had never been your strong suit.
He handed you a glass, watching you with those ridiculous eyes that seemed far too focused, far too kind, and you took it like it was a lifeline. âThanks,â you said, and immediately felt like an idiot for the dryness in your throat, because of course your voice had gone all shaky again.
âPeople are staring,â he said quietly, nodding toward the crowd that was definitely noticing the two of you, which only made your stomach twist further because yes, they were looking, and yes, it felt like everyone could read every thought and panic bubbling under your skin.
âI can feel them,â you hissed under your breath, glancing around, and then muttering, âThey know, they all know, they can smell the lie on me, I can feel it in the air.â
Clark chuckled softly, a sound that made your chest tighten in an entirely different way, and he squeezed your hand. âTheyâre just looking,â he said, calm as anything, and you nearly rolled your eyes. âItâs a reception, not an interrogation.â
âSure,â you muttered, voice dripping with sarcasm, âexcept everyone here is judging every breath I take, and I have to smile and nod like a normal human being while my eyeliner is sweating and my shoes are stabbing my feet.â
He leaned closer again, smirk tugging at his lips. âYouâre doing fine,â he said, quiet but firm, and you could feel the weight of his certainty like a grounding force, and it was almost enough to make you believe it for half a second before your cousinâs laughter nearby reminded you that you were still very much on display.
âDo you want to dance?â he asked suddenly, tilting his head toward the band, and you froze, because of course, yes, dancing. That was an excellent idea, entirely going to be a disaster.Â
âI canât dance,â you said immediately, panic rising in your chest, and Clark tilted his head, patient but amused, and you had to explain, because apparently that was necessary, âI mean, I literally cannot dance. I trip over flat surfaces, and if you think Iâm going to sway gently and gracefully like some romantic movie character, you are dreaming. I canât do it. I just canât.â
Clarkâs lips twitched, that little amused lift at the corner, but he didnât say anything, just waited, which made you continue, spiraling faster, âAnd yes, Iâve thought about it, okay, Iâve tried to fake it in the privacy of my room, spinning around like a human windmill, but it never works. I always end up dizzy, tangled in my own arms, muttering nonsense, and frankly, itâs better for everyone if I just stay put, sway awkwardly in a corner, or pretend Iâm just really into observing the dĂ©cor. Thatâs the safest option.â
You pressed a hand to your forehead, exhaling sharply. âSo donât ask me to dance. I cannot, I will not, and this is not negotiable. I know what youâre thinking, that Iâm just nervous, but this is not nerves â â
You hadnât even finished your tirade about your catastrophic dancing skills when Clarkâs eyes flicked toward the edge of the room, that faintly mischievous glint in them making your stomach sink.Â
âSomeoneâs coming,â he murmured, just low enough that you could hear, and before you could ask who, your eyes went wide and you knew immediately.Â
Your nosy aunts. The ones who could smell a lie from a mile away and whose sole purpose in life seemed to be monitoring everyoneâs social behaviour with surgical precision.
You froze for a second, panic threatening to take over, and then your brain, working at full chaotic speed, fired off a plan. You set your glass down a little too firmly, grabbing Clarkâs hand with a grip that was both desperate and decisive, and yanked him toward the centre of the dance floor.Â
âOh babe, come on, letâs dance!â you called out, loud enough for your aunts to hear, forcing a fake giggle that sounded far too shrill for comfort, and immediately cursed yourself internally because now you were fully committed and there was no turning back.
Clarkâs eyebrows rose, but that familiar soft smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He didnât protest. Instead, he slid his hand into yours and led you toward the first slow song of the evening, the band swelling in that way that made every bride, groom, and their unfortunate guests look like they were part of some cinematic moment you had no right to be in.
As soon as you were on the floor, you realized just how unprepared you were. You tried to sway gently like people in films did, but your knees went stiff, your feet refused to cooperate, and every attempt to move in sync with the music ended in what could only be described as flailing. You were convinced that if someone filmed this, it would be used as evidence against you in some future court of humiliation.
Clark, sensing your rising panic, didnât let go. He kept his hand on your waist, guiding you with a patience that was infuriatingly perfect, murmuring, âHey, itâs fine, just follow me, look at me, donât think about anything else.âÂ
His voice was calm, a soft anchor in the storm of your nerves, and you tried to focus on it, though your limbs still insisted on moving like they had a vendetta against you.
You laughed nervously, half-groaning at your own lack of coordination, and he tilted his head, still patient, guiding your steps, âThere, see? Youâre doing fine, just trust me.â
âFine?â you echoed, eyes wide as you nearly tripped over your own feet, âFine is catastrophic, I am a danger to everyone on this floor.â
He chuckled, tugging you slightly closer so you wouldnât fall, âNo, youâre doing fine. Just donât stop moving and donât think, just follow my lead.â
And somehow, impossibly, it started working. Not perfectly, not smoothly, but enough that you werenât dragging anyone into disaster. Your arms were still stiff, your steps awkward, and you were acutely aware of your auntsâ sharp eyes from the sidelines, but Clarkâs presence grounded you.Â
His hands were steady on your waist, guiding your turns, soft murmurs in your ear making you relax just enough to stop panicking, and every small movement you managed to pull off felt like a tiny victory.
You kept your voice loud enough for the nosy aunts to hear, âOh babe, youâre amazing at this, I donât know how I got so lucky!â forcing another fake giggle, and Clark laughed quietly, eyes glinting with amusement, holding you steady, making you feel like maybe, just maybe, this disastrous dance could somehow pass.
You stumbled slightly, foot catching his, and your breath hitched, but he didnât let go.Â
He adjusted your hold, murmuring, âItâs okay, youâre fine, really,â and somehow, despite every instinct screaming that you were about to collapse, you found a rhythm, messy and imperfect, but real, anchored by him, and for the first time since youâd set foot on the floor, you allowed yourself to forget the crowd, forget your aunts, and just follow.
You blinked up at him, breath still shaky, and whispered, âAre they gone?â
Clarkâs lips curved into that maddeningly calm smile, and he shook his head just slightly. âTheyâre watching,â he murmured, low and steady.Â
Your stomach lurched and you opened your mouth to say something, some panicked protest about public humiliation or the sheer absurdity of it all, but before a word could escape, his hand on your waist shifted, and he swayed you gently against him. Just a little, a teasing, impossibly smooth motion that made your chest tighten and your pulse spike in ways that were far too loud in your own ears.
The music then slowed, the band easing into a soft, lingering song that made the room shrink to just the two of you, the laughter and clinking glasses fading into the background. His other hand found yours, holding it lightly but with enough pressure to steady you, and you realized that even with a dozen eyes on you from somewhere out there, none of it mattered.
You wanted to protest, to pull away, but every instinct that normally screamed disaster in social situations was muffled under the sheer weight of how close he was, how careful and deliberate his touch was.Â
Your cheek brushed against his shoulder when you turned slightly, and you caught the faint scent of him, clean and familiar, like this was home and you werenât allowed to panic.
âClark,â you whispered, voice tight, âthis is⊠too close.â
He tilted his head, that little smirk curling the corner of his mouth, but didnât let go, didnât break the sway. âItâs fine,â he said, soft, almost tender. âJust follow me.â
And so you did, more because you had no choice than any kind of skill, letting him guide you, the gentle rhythm of his movements anchoring you to the moment. Your heart hammered, loud enough that you could feel it against his chest, and every so often your eyes flicked to the edge of the crowd, half-expecting to catch your aunts with smug expressions, but somehow you didnât care.
The song stretched on, slow and sweet, and for a few moments you let yourself sink entirely into it, into him, into the absurdity of standing on a polished floor, swaying poorly to a song that somehow felt like it was written just for the two of you. Your fingers squeezed his hand reflexively, your grip tight, and when he murmured a quiet, âRelax,â it was enough to make your chest unclench just a little.
Then your eyes met his, and suddenly the rest of the room disappeared entirely. The soft glow of the chandeliers, the distant chatter and laughter, the clinking of glasses, none of it existed.Â
Just him, just you, and the space between your faces shrinking impossibly fast.Â
Your gaze flicked involuntarily, catching the curve of his lips, imagining the way they would feel against yours, and heat surged through you in a way that made your palms sweat even as they clung to his.
He held your gaze, steady and calm, but there was something in his eyes now, something unspoken, something that made your stomach twist and your breath hitch in ways you hadnât expected. You had to fight not to tilt your head closer, not to close the distance that your body was already craving, because the tension was thick, palpable, and dizzying, pressing in from all sides.
Every sway, every tiny step, felt electric. The faint brush of his chest against yours, the way his thumb traced little circles on your hand, it all pulled you closer, made your heart hammer like it was trying to escape your ribs.Â
You caught yourself staring again at his lips, daring not to breathe too loudly, because God, the thought of what would happen if you just leaned in, if you let it happen even for a heartbeat, made your pulse spike until you could barely think.
You werenât sure if he noticed, or if he did and was just as tortured, but the way his eyes lingered on yours, the smallest twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth, it was enough to make the world tilt dangerously, wonderfully, and terribly.Â
You wanted to step back, to remind yourself of reason and the absurdity of being caught in the middle of a wedding reception, but your body refused, glued to him, and the moment stretched impossibly, deliciously long, suspended between what was allowed and what neither of you could stop wanting.
You both finally eased away from the polished floor, the music fading behind you as you sank into your chairs at the head table with the rest of your sisterâs family, your dress still warm from the frantic movement and your pulse stubbornly racing.Â
Clarkâs hands found yours again on the table, folding over them the same way he had when heâd anchored you on the dance floor, and for a moment the noise around you; the laughter, the clinking of cutlery, the faint chatter of other guests blurred into a soft hum that didnât reach you.
You glanced at him, another tight-lipped smile curling reluctantly at your own lips, the kind that said Iâm surviving, barely, and he returned it with that soft, patient expression that made everything else fall away, like he was deliberately slowing the world just so you could breathe.Â
Your fingers squeezed his in answer, tentative, a silent acknowledgment that somehow, despite the ridiculousness of all this, you werenât completely alone in it.
The maid of honour wrapped up her speech, applause rippling through the hall, and you watched the bride smile, her eyes gleaming, her cheeks flushed, and you tried not to flinch at the way the happy chaos pressed against your chest, the reminder that this was her day, that you were here only as part of the backdrop, and still, with Clark there, warm and steady and impossibly close, it didnât feel entirely like a stage you were forced onto.
He tilted his head toward you, soft enough that only you noticed, and murmured, âYou okay?â
You blinked at him, trying to play it off, letting a breath you hadnât realised youâd been holding slip out. âYeah,â you said, voice quieter than usual, not entirely believable even to yourself, and gave him a tighter smile, the kind that didnât quite reach your eyes.
Clark just nodded, thumb brushing along your knuckles once, slow and grounding, and you realised you didnât have to answer because he could read the tension anyway, and somehow that was enough to keep the world from collapsing around you for just a little longer.
The applause from the maid of honourâs speech was still settling when the microphone shifted to your father. He cleared his throat and began, voice steady and deliberate, carrying easily across the hall.
He started with your sister, telling stories that painted her in all the right lights, stories that made the crowd laugh, murmur, lean in, the kind that made your chest tighten because the pride and warmth in his voice was impossible to ignore.Â
He spoke about her childhood, scraped knees sheâd worn like badges, late nights full of whispered secrets, the stubborn streak that had got her into trouble more times than he could count, and the small victories that had shaped her into the person everyone now admired.Â
He talked about the friends sheâd chosen, the way she had grown, the moments she had fought for herself, and you felt each word pressing into your chest like a weight you werenât ready to carry.
He slowed, careful with his pauses, choosing words that made you notice his glance wander around the room, until it finally rested on you. âAnd oh, our other daughter there,â he said, and the pause stretched long enough to make your stomach lurch, âsheâs getting married too.â
Your heart stopped, panic tightening in your chest. Eyes turned, murmurs ran across the crowd, and your hands immediately found his, gripping, holding like it was the only lifeline in the room. Your pulse jumped, but he didnât move.
His thumb traced circles across the back of your hand, soft, steady, and the warmth of him there stopped the world from tipping over entirely.
Your fatherâs voice continued, now directed at him, the stranger to your family until today, the one youâd been keeping at armâs length but who now occupied the centre of everyoneâs gaze. âI havenât had the chance to meet you properly until today,â your dad said, a little hesitant, âbut I can see sheâs found someone who respects her, who cares for her in the ways that matter. Youâve already made an impression, and I am grateful for that. I am grateful that she has someone steady by her side, someone she can count on, someone I can trust to stand with her through lifeâs moments. Welcome to the family, Clark.â
He pressed closer, just a little, leaning down to brush his lips softly against your temple, and your chest both sank and seized. The intimacy of it, the weight of everyoneâs attention, the fact that you were standing here pretending through every approving glance, pressed into you like fire.Â
You clutched his hand tighter, the heat rising behind your eyes, and for the first time all night you let yourself notice how absurd it felt, how real it looked, and how much you hated the lie you were living even as your fatherâs words kept echoing in your ears.
The reception had settled into its usual rhythm by then, laughter bouncing off the walls, glasses clinking, people shifting in and out of conversation. You had been planted at your seat by your mum, who insisted on filming everything, and you were holding your drink like it was a lifeline, trying to blend into the chaos. She kept nudging the phone in front of your face. âSmile, darling, everyone will want to see this later,â she said brightly, like your life was a highlight reel. You groaned into your hand, muttering that no one would want to see your panicked, frozen expression, but she ignored you entirely, adjusting the camera so you could be seen in full, upright terror.
Clark had positioned himself beside your father, leaning casually against the chair back, one hand resting lightly on the table, his posture loose, amused, like he wasnât a part of this social storm at all. Every so often, his gaze found you, that faint smile tugging at his lips, and you returned a glare sharp enough to send sparks, which he met with nothing but a calm shrug, and the weight in your chest tightened a little because somehow that look made you feel like the entire room had dissolved down to just the two of you.
Then the energy shifted. Your sister raised her bouquet high, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling with nerves and joy, and called out, âAlright ladies, get ready!â
The circle of single women stiffened, bouncing on their toes, hands poised, whispering to one another, eyes flicking between each other and the flower held aloft.
Your mum leaned over, practically poking you in the side. âGo on, love, catch it, donât be shy,â she said loudly enough for half the room to hear. You groaned, rolling your eyes, muttering that this wasnât some desperate teenage ritual, but she ignored you completely, already filming every twitch of your expression.
Clark leaned closer, voice low and steady in your ear. âItâs just a flower,â he said, calm as anything, like the world wasnât spinning a mile a minute around you. You shot him a glare sharp enough to sting, muttering that he clearly didnât understand the stakes.
He just raised his hands innocently, giving a small shrug, and murmured, âAlright, Iâll stand here and make sure no one throws anything worse at you,â as if that made everything better.
Your sister swung the bouquet back, and the world slowed. You could hear the collective intake of breath from the circle of women, feel the tension stretching across the room like it had weight.
Everyone leaned forward, eyes wide, arms out, the air thick with anticipation. You froze in the middle of it, your mind screaming that you could move, that you should move, but your body betrayed you, rooted to the spot.
And then it happened. The bouquet sailed through the air, not to the side, not to someone else, but straight at you.
Time stretched impossibly as it arced toward your hands. You blinked, frozen, and then instinctively, fingers closing around it. Your chest hammered so violently you could feel it in your throat.Â
Your mum was behind the camera, shrieking, âSheâs got it! Sheâs got it!â and you could hear the chaos of laughter and cheers, the whooping and the shuffling of feet, but all of it was muffled, distant, because your brain was registering nothing but the bouquet and the weight of it in your hands.
Clarkâs eyes found yours immediately. That same calm amusement lingered in them, soft but infuriating, like he knew exactly what was happening inside your head, and you glared at him, willing him to look away, but he just shrugged, tiny smile playing at his lips, as if he was silently saying, âWell, congratulations.âÂ
Your fingers tightened around the stems as if holding it harder would ground you, your pulse hammering in your ears.
You forced a smile for your mumâs phone, the edges tight and trembling, because your mind was already spiraling, imagining the whispered comments, the eyes following you, the absurdity of standing there with the bouquet in your hands as if it had been meant for you all along.Â
And Clark, still leaning slightly against your father, still calm and amused, gave you that look, the one soft, fond look that made your stomach twist, like he actually saw you in the middle of all this chaos, like none of it mattered except for you, and somehow, just for a second, it grounded you, even though your chest was still on fire, and your brain was still screaming that none of this was real.
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The room had thinned out considerably by the time you even noticed, the bride and groom long gone in their shiny getaway car, and most of the guests either lingering with plates of leftover cake or helping stack chairs and sweep up confetti. You were still standing near the edge of the dance floor, staring down at the bouquet in your hands like it held all the answers to some impossible puzzle, your fingers curling around the stems, trying not to crush them.
Clark came up behind you quietly, his footsteps soft against the polished floor, and before you could even turn he was there, close enough that you could feel the faint warmth radiating from him.
âYou look like youâre solving the worldâs problems with that thing,â he said gently, his voice low so no one else could hear, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
You didnât look up at first, just muttered, âIâm trying to figure out how this ended up in my hands instead of floating off into the abyss where it belongs.â
He chuckled, soft and warm, and knelt slightly so he was level with you, tilting his head. âYouâre meant to catch it,â he said, and for a moment the simple statement hung in the air, too quiet to be noticed by anyone else, but heavy enough that your chest tightened.
âI didnât ask for it,â you whispered, and finally let your eyes meet his. There was that same calm, unshakable look in his gaze, the one that somehow made you feel safe even when your brain was still screaming at you that everything was wrong.
âYou didnât ask for a lot of things,â he said softly, fingers brushing against yours before he took the bouquet gently from your hands, holding it between the two of you. âBut you got them anyway.â
You blinked, caught off guard by the intimacy of it, the closeness of him, the way his hand lingered just a fraction too long. âClarkâŠâ
He smiled, that faint, fond curl of lips that made you forget to breathe properly. âHey. Itâs just a bunch of flowers,â he said lightly, but there was a weight under it, a meaning he didnât have to say aloud.
You shook your head, a small laugh escaping, shaky but genuine. âYeah, just a bunch of flowers. And yet somehow it feels like⊠like more than that right now.â
He tilted his head, watching you carefully, patient and steady, like he could hold the world in place if he just focused hard enough. âItâs only what you let it be,â he said softly. âOr maybe⊠itâs only as big as you let it feel.â
You blinked at him, breath catching, because that sounded so simple and yet it made your chest ache all over again. He gave a small, knowing smile, and then, before you could even process it, he took your hand and said, âCome with me.â
âNow?â you asked, voice a little breathless, half from surprise and half from the lingering adrenaline of the wedding.
âYes, now,â he said, patient, but there was a spark in his eyes, the kind that made it impossible to refuse him.
You let him lead you out of the hall, weaving past stacks of chairs and the last of the confetti-covered tables, until you reached a small path that curved up toward the back of the property. You didnât even notice how steep the climb was, just followed him because he was right there, and something in the quiet insistence of him made your legs move without protest.
Eventually he stopped, and you realised he had found a bench tucked just off the path, hidden slightly by a row of tall bushes. You hadnât even noticed it from the reception side. He gestured toward it, and you sank onto it reluctantly, still holding his hand, still trying not to let the tension in your shoulders betray how much your heart was hammering.
The view hit you before you could even speak. The city stretched out below, lights flickering in colours that seemed impossible, reflected in the water of the river that cut through the middle. The night air was cool, but not cold, and the silence around you was so complete it pressed against your eardrums. Somewhere far below, a car horn sounded, faint, distant, reminding you that the world still existed beyond this quiet bubble.
Clark settled beside you, just close enough that your arms brushed. You didnât move, didnât need to. You both sat there for a long moment, simply watching the city, letting the weight of it all sink in. Finally, he broke the silence, voice quiet, careful, as though speaking too loud would shatter the calm.
âItâs beautiful,â he said.
You nodded, but you couldnât bring yourself to look at him yet. âYeah,â you whispered, letting your gaze drift to the city lights instead.
Another long pause, then he let out a soft chuckle, eyes crinkling at the corners. âYouâre overthinking again,â he said.
âIâm not,â you muttered, though your lips twitched into a small, guilty smile.
He laughed again, soft and easy, and it was contagious. You felt the tension in your chest loosen just a little.
âYou go first,â he said suddenly, nudging you gently with his shoulder, âsay whatâs on your mind.â
You took a deep breath, letting your fingers tighten around his. For a long moment you just stared down at your hands, gathering courage, before finally letting your voice spill out, soft, sincere, almost trembling.
âI⊠I just⊠I donât even know where to start,â you said, blinking rapidly as you swallowed the lump in your throat. âIâm so grateful for you. For everything. For just⊠being here, for all of it. Even when itâs ridiculous or hard or completely impossible, you somehow make it⊠easier. And I donât know how to explain it without sounding insane, but Iâm⊠Iâm just really grateful.â
Clarkâs hand squeezed yours, a quiet anchor. He didnât interrupt, just let you talk, and that made it easier to keep going. âI-I donât say it enough,â you continued, voice barely above a whisper now, âbut I notice. All the little things. And I hate that I canât tell you all the time without it being a mess, but⊠thank you, Clark.â
He shook his head slightly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear with a fingertip. âItâs nothing,â he said softly, almost dismissively, but the warmth in his eyes told you he meant it differently. âYou donât have to overthink it. You donât have to do anything but be you.â
There was a pause, heavy in the quiet night. Then his voice cut in again, tentative, careful. âSo⊠what happens now?â
You blinked at him, startled by the sudden shift. âWhat do you mean?â you asked, voice tight, unsure.
He looked at you, really looked at you, and there was that faint tilt of his head that always made your chest clench. âI mean, uh, after tonight? After all of this? What happens to us?â
You swallowed hard, heart hammering in your ears. The city stretched out below, all lights and colour, but somehow it felt smaller, impossibly intimate, like it was just you two up here, suspended. âI⊠I donât know,â you whispered, your hands tightening around his, âI guess⊠we just keep going. We just⊠exist, together or apart or somewhere in between. I donât know how it works.â
Clarkâs thumb brushed along the back of your hand, slow and steady. âThat doesnât feel like an answer,â he said, quiet, almost hurt in the gentlest way. âI mean⊠I know tonight isnât real. I know itâs all a game, a show. But for me⊠I donât want to just stop at tonight.â
He leaned a little closer, still holding your hand, and a suggestion slipped out before you could even stop him. âWe could⊠just keep doing this. Just us. See where it goes.â
Your eyes widened slightly, caught off guard, and your fingers twitched in his. âWait. What do you mean?â you asked, genuinely confused.
Clarkâs expression shifted for a fraction of a second, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and then he shook his head, as if deciding better of it. âOh, never mind,â he said lightly, brushing it off too quickly, though you caught the hesitation in his eyes.
You frowned at him, still holding onto his hand. âNever mind?â you echoed, tone sharper than intended, curiosity and frustration mingling. âYou canât just say that and leave it there.â
âI didnât mean to,â he said softly, and there was a hint of amusement in his voice, but also uncertainty. âIt sounded silly, maybe. I just⊠I donât know how to explain it right now.â
âWell, try!â you snapped gently, exasperated, but not angry, just flustered, because you didnât like the way his words had made your heart flip over. âIâm confused enough already, you donât have to disappear halfway through the explanation.â
Clark blinked at you, that calm, unreadable look still plastered on his face, and for a moment you thought he might actually get flustered, which made your chest tighten even more. âI didnât disappear,â he said finally, voice soft, careful, but there was a teasing edge there that made you grit your teeth. âI just tried to not make it more awkward than it already is.â
You huffed, glaring at him, though there was no real heat in it, just that mix of exasperation and something tighter, something that always crawled up your spine when he looked at you like that. âAwkward? Clark, youâre the one who throws ideas at me like weâre already a real thing when weâre standing on a hilltop pretending at a wedding. Iâm the one whoâs supposed to know how to react.â
He tilted his head, lips twitching, eyes scanning yours like he was trying to measure exactly how much of your frustration was real and how much was performative. âAnd what do you want me to do? Wait until you figure it out?â His voice was calm, but you could hear the faint edge of something impatient under it.
âI donât know! Yes! I donât know anything!â you shot back, hands tightening slightly in his. âYou just say things like âoh, we could tryâ and then vanish before I can even figure out if you mean it or if youâre just messing with me.â
He let out a quiet laugh, the kind that made your ears warm and your chest ache in all the wrong ways, and shook his head. âIâm not messing with you,â he said, almost insistently. âI mean it, I just⊠didnât know how to put it into words without sounding like a fool.â
âWell, congratulations,â you muttered, rolling your eyes and trying not to let your voice shake, âyou sound like a fool anyway.â
Clarkâs smile softened, those familiar, gentle eyes locking on yours in a way that made your heart do the thing where it lurches and forgets rhythm. âYeah, probably,â he admitted quietly, and then leaned just slightly closer, fingers brushing yours again, âbut at least itâs honest.â
You blinked, letting out a shaky breath, and muttered, âI canât believe weâre standing here, pretending I have a boyfriend, pretending Iâm engaged. All this⊠this whole fake thing I made up, itâs ridiculous. I should just tell them the truth, wipe the slate clean and admit itâs all a lie.â
Clarkâs fingers brushed lightly against yours again, calm and grounding. âItâs not a lie if it makes things easier for you,â he said softly. âAnd maybe⊠maybe itâs not just for them. Maybe itâs for us, in a way, even if itâs messy.â
You let out a laugh that was too choked to be pure, and then it turned into a few tears breaking through. You sniffled, trying to push them back, but the laughter and crying mixed and you could feel your shoulders shaking. Clark immediately froze. âOh no Iâm sorry,â he whispered, his hands cupping your face gently, thumbs brushing away the tears. âI didnât mean to make you cry.â
You hiccupped a little laugh through the tears. âYouâre ruining my make-up,â you said, half-teasing, half-smiling. Clarkâs lips twitched into a grin. âGood,â he said softly. âTears over make-up seem⊠fair.â You laughed again, a little louder this time, the tension of the day loosening in your chest.
For a long moment, you both just stopped, his hands still cradling your face, and you looked up at him, finding yourself smiling even through the remnants of tears. He smiled down at you, quiet and gentle, and for a second it was just the two of you.
âHow come we never talk like this at work?â you asked softly, tilting your head. âI mean, really talk. Like weâre⊠I donât know, human.â
Clark chuckled quietly. âI guess we never made the time,â he said, voice low. âOr maybe we were too focused on all the chaos and deadlines and pretending everything was normal.â
You shook your head, smirking through the lingering tears. âWe should have hung out sooner. Like, seriously, months ago, maybe even last year.â
âYeah,â he agreed, still holding your hands. âWe should have. Maybe weâd have avoided some⊠complications.â
You laughed softly, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. âComplications? Oh, you mean like fake weddings and ruined make-up?â
Clark laughed, warm and quiet. âExactly like that. But maybe itâs better this way. Because now⊠now we actually get to talk. And not just about work, not just about deadlines.â
You smiled, letting the warmth of the night settle around you, watching the city lights glitter below, thinking that maybe, just maybe, some things had a way of working out even if they took their sweet time. âYeah,â you said, soft. âWe should have met earlier.â
âNext time,â Clark said, leaning his forehead lightly against yours, âwe wonât wait.â
Clarkâs forehead stayed lightly against yours for a few seconds, warm and steady, and you could feel the faint rise and fall of his breath. When he pulled back just enough to look at you, the city lights framed his face like it was its own little stage, his eyes soft, almost glimmering, like he was about to admit something daring but didnât need words. âYou know,â he said, quiet, hesitant, like he was testing the waters, âI like your eyes.â
You blinked, caught off guard, trying to process if he was serious or just teasing. âWhat? You want to write a poem about it?â
He shrugged, a little awkward, muttering under his breath, âMaybe I didâŠâ
You frowned, squinting at him. âWait, what?â
âNothing,â he said quickly, but the corner of his mouth twitched in that infuriating way that told you he was definitely hiding a grin. âStop teasing me.â
You shook your head, a mix of disbelief and amusement twisting your lips into a crooked smile. âIâm not teasing you. Just saying, I donât know what youâre on about.â
Clarkâs hands stayed on your face, warm and steady, thumb brushing lightly across your cheek. He nodded, soft and patient, his smile unwavering, and it made your chest tighten in a way that was dangerous and familiar all at once.Â
You let out a little laugh, the sound soft, like you were trying to ground yourself. âTonight has been⊠insane. Fake everything. Fake engagement, fake family impressions, fake dancingâŠâ
Your words barely left your mouth before a voice cut sharply from behind, heavy with disbelief.Â
âFake?â
You and Clark immediately turned, your heads snapping toward the sound, and your stomach flipped like someone had punched it. Your eyes locked on the figure standing just a few metres away, and your breath hitched.
Jake.Â
Your ex.
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âWell, well, well,â Jake said, smirking as he took a step forward, hands shoved casually into his pockets. âLook at this. Didnât think Iâd actually see you playing house. And with him, of all people.âÂ
His eyes flicked to Clark, lingering far too long, sharp and mocking, and then back to you. âThought you were smarter than this.â
You froze, gripping Clarkâs hands a little tighter, trying to ignore the heat rising in your chest, the way your stomach twisted. He leaned against the doorway, that grin still plastered on like heâd rehearsed this, like he lived for this kind of discomfort.
âYou always did have a flair for the dramatic,â Jake continued, voice low but cutting, âmaking everyone think your life was perfect when reallyâŠwell, we all know how that ends, donât we?â He laughed, short and cruel, and it made your teeth clench.
âFuck off, Jake,â you spat, voice sharp and low, but trembling anyway because, of course, he always knew exactly how to get under your skin. Your hands tightened around Clarkâs without even thinking, knuckles going white, but he didnât say a word, just stayed there, letting you handle this.
Jakeâs grin widened, sharp and smug, like he was feeding on your reaction. âOh, donât be like that,â he said, voice mocking, slow, dragging the words out. âYou always get so serious. Itâs hilarious. Look at you, all fire and fury, still pretending youâve got it together.â He leaned slightly closer, too close, smirk still in place, eyes glinting like he was daring you to do more than yell.
âYouâve really done well for yourself, havenât you?â he continued, like he hadnât just crossed every line. âNew boyfriend, fancy clothes, smiling like nothing ever went wrong. It must be exhausting keeping up the act, no?â
Your jaw tightened and your teeth ground together. âYouâre a complete asshole, you know that?â you snapped, voice rising now despite yourself, heat crawling up your neck. âHonestly, how do you live with yourself?â
Jake chuckled, low and cruel, eyes flicking to Clark like he was testing boundaries. âLiving? Nah, I manage just fine. But you, sweetheart, youâre still as predictable as ever. All fire and fury, exactly how I remember.â
You took a step toward him, chest heaving, ready to launch into a tirade, but Clarkâs hand on yours was firm, grounding, stopping you from lunging. His silence was infuriating in its own way, but somehow it made you feel a little safer, like a line was being held even as Jake tried to push everything over it.
Jakeâs smirk didnât waver. âOh, donât glare at me like that,â he said, leaning back slightly but still far too smug for anyoneâs comfort. âIt suits you, makes this little performance of yours even more entertaining.â
Clark finally stepped forward, one hand half-raised, calm but firm. âJake, I think you should just leave us alone,â he said, voice polite, but carrying a weight that made you hope it would stick.
Jake tilted his head, the smirk never leaving his face, like he was genuinely amused. âLeave?â he echoed, voice slow, teasing. âWhy would I leave when I basically own this place? I mean, come on, this is entertaining.â
You couldnât help yourself. âYouâre an absolute nightmare,â you snapped, voice sharp and low, trying not to let anyone else hear the edge. âJust go, now.â
He laughed, short and cruel, before his eyes flicked between you and Clark. âYeah, I will, eventually,â he said, smiling at you first like you were part of the joke, and then at Clark, sharp and calculating. âBut first, letâs set the record straight. Iâm the boyfriend, right? Six years.â
You cut him off immediately, voice rising, disbelief cracking through it. âEx, Jake. I said ex.â
He shrugged, still grinning, like it didnât matter at all. âEx, sure, whatever you want to call it. Doesnât change the fact that I knew, you know, everything youâve been doing. All these little acts, all this performance. Must be hilarious to see you squirm while everyone believes it. Imagine if your family found out. Imagine the embarrassment, and the sheer horror of it all.â
Clarkâs hand tightened on yours slightly, and he spoke, calm but firm, voice low. âItâs not fake. None of this, me, us, it isnâtââ
Jake cut him off with a sharp laugh, leaning just slightly closer, eyes glinting. âNo need to deny anything. I can see it all perfectly well. The handholding, the looks, the smile you try to hide. Donât bother. Itâs all screaming âperformanceâ. Donât tell me otherwise.â
Jakeâs smirk didnât falter, almost like he was savoring the moment. âAnd imagine what would happen if your family actually found out,â he said, voice low, deliberate. âThe truth. That everything youâve been showing them, all those smiles, the âperfectâ life, itâs all been made up. Just think about the fallout. The shock. The shame.â
You couldnât stop it anymore. âYou donât get to do that!â you shouted, voice raw, catching on the edge of tears, and before you could even think, they were sliding down your cheeks, burning and warm.
âYou have no idea what youâve done! How much youâve messed with everything; my life, this night, everything, and you just stand there smiling like itâs funny!â
Jakeâs grin didnât falter, that infuriating, smug smile, like he was tasting victory.
âYou think this is a joke?â you yelled, finger shaking, pointing straight at him, trying to puncture the smugness, trying to make him feel a fraction of what you were feeling. âYou think itâs funny to ruin everything for me, for everyone, just to make yourself feel clever?â
He leaned forward, closer, eyes glinting, like he wanted to push whatever line you had left.
Clark didnât even hesitate. His hands were on your shoulders before you knew it, pressing you slightly behind him like a shield, his height and presence immediately asserting itself over the small, smug figure in front of him.Â
His eyes didnât leave Jakeâs for a second, and when he spoke, his voice was low, calm, but it carried a weight that made it impossible to ignore. âEnough,â he said, and it wasnât a request.Â
âYou have no right to come in here and try to tear her apart, not tonight, not ever. She doesnât need your approval, your judgement, or your interference. You step away, or I will make sure you regret it.â
Jakeâs grin faltered, just slightly, the sharp amusement in his eyes dimming under Clarkâs quiet intensity. Clarkâs fingers tightened slightly on your shoulders, just enough that you felt grounded and safe, and he didnât let go.
âDo you understand me?â he asked, voice steady but hard, and the cold edge was unmistakable now.
You pressed closer to him, chest still racing, as Jake opened his mouth, but Clark didnât give him the chance. âGo on,â Clark said, more softly now, not breaking eye contact, âget out. Leave, because sheâs not yours, sheâs never been yours, and youâre not going to ruin her night or her life.â
Jake let out a sharp huff, the sound more like a sneer than actual exasperation, and his eyes flicked to Clark with a mocking tilt. âOh, I see,â he said, low and venomous, âthis is your little hero routine, isnât it? Protecting her like some knight in shining armour.â
Your stomach twisted as his gaze shifted back to you, and then he leaned in slightly, voice dropping so only you could hear. âEnjoy tonight,â he said, âbecause next time, everyoneâs going to know. Every little thing, all of it. Theyâre going to see exactly what youâve been hiding.â
Your eyes went wide, your pulse spiking, and you could feel your hands clench involuntarily. Clarkâs fingers stayed firm on your shoulders, grounding you, and you could feel the tension radiating off him as he held his stare on Jake, unblinking.
Jake straightened back up, smirk curling again, and with one last glance that promised chaos in the future, he turned and walked away, leaving a cold emptiness in his wake, the echo of his threat lingering between you and Clark.
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After everything, after Jake had stormed off and the echoes of his voice were still crawling in your head, you ended up in the hotel room theyâd set aside for the wedding chaos, your dress wrinkled and soaked with your own tears, your chest heaving like it might split open.
Clark didnât even hesitate, he just came close and wrapped his arms around you and you collapsed into him, face pressed to his chest, shoulders shaking, and he didnât pull away, didnât flinch at the wet, didnât even say a word, he just let you cry, let the sobs spill out like they had been piling up for years and years and finally had somewhere safe to go.
You thought about Jake while you cried, about every year heâd spent making your life a calculation, a trap, how he had smoothed himself into every corner of your world like he belonged there and somehow youâd let him, and the way he had whispered that smug little warning tonight, the way heâd claimed he knew, how he had smiled when you got angry and scared, like it was a game heâd already won.
And it wasnât just tonight, it was everything heâd taken from you, every little piece of confidence, every friend heâd pushed away, every time you second-guessed yourself because of him, and it all hit at once and you let yourself fall apart into Clarkâs chest because he was real, and right, and steady, and you could breathe, barely, but you could.
He rubbed your back slowly and patiently, thumb brushing your shoulder like he knew where the knots were without asking, and you whispered, almost strangled, âHe ruined everythingâŠâ
âNot tonight,â Clark said, low and soft, voice shaking slightly like he was holding it together for both of you, and it was like a lifeline, because suddenly your brain could stop spinning, your chest could stop splintering, because right here, right now, you were safe, and he was keeping it that way.
You let the tears keep coming anyway, because there was still so much to get out, so much poison to wash off, and Clark just stayed there, holding you, steadying you, letting you fall apart and somehow making it okay, somehow making it feel like maybe, for the first time in forever, you could actually breathe without looking over your shoulder.
You then hiccuped into his chest, shaking like you were made of glass, and for a second it felt like the panic might swallow you whole, the tightness in your lungs clawing its way up and you couldnât even think straight, couldnât even make the words come out right.Â
Clarkâs arms didnât tighten more as he just held you, and somehow that made it just a little less sharp, the edges of your panic softening enough that you could breathe.
âWhy are you so afraid to tell them the truth?â he asked gently, fingers brushing through your hair like it was the simplest, most natural thing in the world to care about you, like he didnât even know how much it should be shocking, like it was justâŠobvious.
You pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes, and it was all panic, all shame and adrenaline, all the weight of your life pressing down on you at once. âBecause⊠because I feel like Iâm⊠Iâm always the last one,â you started, voice trembling, âthe last one to graduate, the last one to do anything right, like Iâm just⊠I donât know⊠a footnote in everyone elseâs story. Like I have to prove that I even matter at all, and if I justâif I just live my life, theyâll forget Iâm here.âÂ
You choked on the last words, eyes stinging, chest tight, and you didnât even try to make it sound neat, didnât even try to hide the spiral of shame and fear and exhaustion.
Clarkâs hands stayed over yours, warm and steady, and he didnât try to talk over you, didnât try to smooth it out or say some perfect line that would erase it. Instead, his voice was low and patient, careful, like he was leaning into the edges of your panic without trying to sweep them away.Â
âI get it,â he said softly, eyes locked on yours. âI get how it feels to be last, to feel like you have to scream to be noticed, to prove you exist in the spaces everyone else fills. And I donât⊠I donât want to tell you itâs not true, because I know it feels real, but I need you to hear this. Youâre not invisible. Youâre not a footnote. You matter, even when it feels like the world is forgetting.â
Clarkâs thumb brushed along your cheek, carefully, and then he pulled a clean handkerchief from his suit pocket and dabbed gently at the streaks of tears. âSee,â he said after a moment, voice soft but teasing, ânow youâre just a little bit glamorous. Weddings bring out the inner celebrity, apparently. Youâve got the dramatic tears down perfectly.â
You blinked at him, caught between wanting to scowl and laughing, and then the corners of your mouth cracked as a snort escaped. âYouâre ridiculous,â you said, the tension in your chest loosening just a fraction, your laugh shaky but genuine.
Clarkâs grin widened, soft and warm, eyes twinkling as he tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket. âI know,â he said lightly, nudging your shoulder gently with his. âIâve been practicing. Someoneâs got to keep you laughing when the world decides to suck, right?â
You shook your head, still smiling despite yourself, and for the first time in what felt like hours, the panic seemed to retreat just a little, leaving you with that weird mixture of relief and warmth that only he could manage.
You wiped at the last remnants of tears, sniffling, and Clark just let you do it, thumb brushing lightly across your cheek now and then, tracing gentle circles like he was memorising you.
âYou know,â he said, voice quiet but teasing, âitâs weird, isnât it? That weâve been at the same office for three years, and I basically only know you from emails, meetings, and the weather report.â
You blinked at him, smirking through the lingering dampness on your cheeks. âYeah, hilarious. Three years of water-cooler nods and barely a sentence beyond deadlines and project updates, and now weâre⊠here. This.â You gestured vaguely at the room, at yourselves, the messy, loud, complicated aftermath of the wedding.
Clark chuckled, eyes softening as he leaned in just slightly, holding your face gently between his hands, fingers against your jawline. âI know. And to think our first real conversation, not as colleagues obviously, started with me awkwardly holding your hand in a fake engagement at your sisterâs wedding. Three years in the making, and somehow⊠thatâs how I got to know you.â
You laughed, small and incredulous, shaking your head. âItâs absurd. Absolutely absurd.â
He smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. âYeah, and also kind of perfect, in a weird way. We basically spent three years in parallel universes at work, and then one day, we get a whole lifetime crammed into a single afternoon.â
The smirk lingered on his face, but his eyes softened, and you could feel the shift, subtle but undeniable, like the air between you had changed temperature. He held your gaze, patient, watching, and it wasnât teasing anymore.
âYou know,â he began, almost hesitant, âIâve noticed things about you. Little things, the way you frown when youâre concentrating, the way you laugh when youâre trying not to, the way your eyesâŠthey sort of do this thing when youâre trying not to feel something, and Iâve been noticing for years without saying anything, justâŠkeeping it to myself.â
You blinked, heart thudding, because he was looking at you like heâd seen right through all of it, all the masks and the facades, and somehow it felt terrifying and safe at the same time.
âI didnât say anything because I didnât want to make it weird, or mess things up, or⊠I donât know. But after today, I think itâs ridiculous to wait. Youâre, uh, er, youâre impossible to ignore. And I mean that in the best way, ha.â
Your breath caught, chest tightening, and you opened your mouth to say something, anything, but the words refused to come. The room seemed to shrink around you, all background noise and chaos fading until it was just the two of you, and you could feel the weight of everything unspoken pressing against your ribs.
He shifted slightly closer, hands still holding your face, thumb brushing lightly against your cheek, and you caught yourself leaning in, just slightly, drawn in by the intensity in his gaze. âI donât expect anything,â he added quickly, as if reading your mind. âI just⊠wanted you to know what Iâve been thinking, what Iâve been feeling, because itâs been there a long time, and I canât not say it anymore.â
You swallowed hard, pulse racing, and for a moment all you could do was stare at him, trying to process, trying to find words that didnât exist, feeling like the entire universe had contracted to this one, impossible, heart-stopping truth.
You blinked again, trying to make sense of it, your chest tightening so much it felt like you couldnât breathe, and then he laughed softly.
âI know,â he said, smirking lightly now, âthis is probably a lot. And youâre probably thinking, wow, three years of barely talking about anything besides deadlines and the weather, and now heâs telling me heâs been watching me the whole time. Ridiculous, right?â
You let out a strangled laugh, more from shock than anything else, and your hands instinctively found his, gripping tightly like an anchor. âRidiculous doesnât even cover it,â you muttered, voice trembling, but a little laugh escaped anyway, shaky but real.
He tilted his head, that familiar mix of amusement and gentleness in his expression. âYeah, but also⊠true. I mean it. Youâre remarkable, even when you donât realise it. And not in some generic, office-comment kind of way. I mean you, exactly as you are, with everything you try to hide or shove down or pretend isnât there. Thatâs the part I canât ignore.â
Your stomach twisted, heat creeping up your neck, and for a moment all the panic and the guilt from earlier faded just a little, replaced by this dizzying, nerve-shredding awareness that heâd been noticing, paying attention, and now he wasnât looking away.
You swallowed, voice barely audible. âClarkâŠâ
He shook his head gently, thumb brushing against your cheek. âDonât say anything yet. Just⊠let me finish,â he murmured. âI wanted you to know because you deserve to hear it. And because I⊠Iâve been stupid keeping it to myself.â
You blinked, heart hammering so fast it was almost painful, trying to find words but your throat had gone completely dry. âClarkâŠâ you breathed, voice trembling, barely a whisper.
He gave a tiny, almost shy smile, still holding your face gently. âI know,â he said softly. âI just needed you to hear it. No expectations, no pressure, just⊠me being honest.â
You swallowed hard, your pulse spiking, and somehow the words tumbled out anyway. âItâs⊠itâs a lot,â you admitted, voice catching. âAfter today, after everything⊠I donât know what to do with it.â
âThen donât do anything,â he murmured, leaning just a fraction closer. âJust⊠let it sit. Let it feel like it should feel. Nothing else matters right now.â
Your chest tightened as your eyes met, and then his gaze drifted lower for a heartbeat, to your lips, before flicking back up to your eyes. You could feel it too, the pull, the tension stretching between you so thin it hurt, that dangerous, delicious kind of tightness.
You licked your lips without thinking, suddenly aware of how close he was, aware of the heat of him, the warmth in his hands, the way he smelled like everything safe and wrong at the same time. âClarkâŠâ you whispered again, breath shaky.
He didnât answer, just leaned a little closer, and your lips almost touched, that teasing, electric moment where everything else dropped away, and then, finally, you couldnât hold back. You closed the gap, pressing into him, hands clutching at his jacket as his lips met yours, soft and tentative at first, testing, tasting, and then urgent, all the frustration, the panic, the years of unspoken thoughts spilling into that desperate, messy, perfect kiss.
You wrapped your arms around him instinctively, heart racing, chest pressed against his, and he deepened the kiss, hands sliding from your face down to your waist, holding you close, grounding you, and still the world outside ceased to exist, nothing but the heat, the movement, and the impossible feeling of finally, finally being noticed completely.
Your hands traced the lines of his back, memorising the feel of him through his suit, fingers threading through the fabric, tugging him just slightly closer, trying to absorb him like he could somehow fill all the empty spaces youâd been carrying. He moved with you, matching your grip, one hand cupping your face while the other stayed firm on your waist, and the friction of his palms against your body sent sparks of heat crawling along your skin.
Every small shift of him was enough to make your knees weak, every brush of his thumb across your cheek or along your jaw leaving you dizzy, your chest tight and fluttering all at once. Your lips moved against his, following the rhythm he set, slow and questioning at first, then more insistent, more certain, like he was finally allowing himself to take what heâd been feeling silently for so long.
Even the way he held you; the tilt of his head, the small press of his body into yours made you feel like you were the only person in the world that mattered.
Your fingers wandered slightly to the lapel of his jacket, gripping the fabric, while his hands traced small, careful patterns over your sides, over your lower back, keeping you tethered even as everything else in the room fell away, leaving only the heat of him, the soft press of lips, and the impossible, intoxicating certainty that for once, you were being seen fully, completely, undeniably.
The kiss pulled back just slightly, just enough for you to breathe, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling, hearts hammering in sync, and your hands lingered on his chest, palms splayed, memorising the feel of him, while his thumb brushed gently over your knuckle as if to say, silently, Iâve got you.Â
You pressed against him, hands tangling in his hair, gripping like you might never let go, heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it, and he moaned softly into your mouth, sliding his hands lower, fingers tracing the curve of your back, down to the edge of your dress, making your breath hitch in a way that felt like it had been waiting for this forever.
Your lips moved desperately against his, each kiss sharp and needy, and the warmth of him pressed into you made your knees weak, made the air around you feel thick, almost impossible to breathe, and yet you didnât want to pull away.
His hands didnât stop, roaming carefully but with intent, teasing the sides of you through fabric, tracing shapes that made your chest ache and your stomach twist.
Every brush of his fingers made your body tighten, made you shiver against him, and when you dared to move your hands down his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through his shirt, it was like discovering a part of yourself youâd been holding back without even knowing it.
âGosh,â he murmured against your lips, voice low, rough, and it made your pulse spike, âyouâre insane.â
âMaybe,â you gasped, your words barely coherent, âbut I need you, Clark.â
He groaned, a sound that went straight through your bones, and shifted slightly so your body pressed fully against his, his lips ghosting down your jaw, your neck, every touch leaving a spark that you couldnât contain. Your hands roamed with reckless abandon, clutching him, marking him like he was yours in that moment.
And then his voice, low and rough, broke through the haze. âTell me if you want me to stop.â It wasnât a demand, it wasnât a test, it was just Clark, steady even with his mouth still brushing your skin, his breath hot and his body trembling against yours, but waiting.
You shook your head too fast, desperate, your words spilling out almost in a rush. âDonât stop, please, Clark, I donât want you to stop.â
That was all he needed. His hands slid lower, palms spanning the back of your thighs, and with a firm, careful grip he lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively, the fabric of your dress riding higher as he pressed you gently against the wall.
You gasped, fingers tugging at his hair, and he kissed you hard, swallowing every sound you made, one hand cupping your jaw to steady you while the other held you secure like you weighed nothing.
The heat of him pressed between your legs through layers of fabric, enough to make you whine into his mouth, and he groaned in response, moving his hips just slightly, a tease, a warning, and it sent fire shooting straight through you.
âYou feel unreal,â he muttered, his forehead dropping to yours, his voice breaking, like he was losing control but still clinging to it for you.
Your nails scraped down his shoulders, tugging at his shirt, and you managed a broken laugh, shaky and overwhelmed. âYouâre overdressed,â you whispered, and he chuckled, soft and breathless, but he didnât waste time, tugging at his jacket, his tie, letting them fall somewhere you didnât care about because his mouth was on you again, kissing you like he needed you to breathe.
And then his hand slid between your thighs, gentle first, just a palm pressed over you through the fabric, a test, a question. He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark, pupils blown wide, and whispered, âCan I?â
âYes,â you gasped, already trembling, already arching toward him. âYes, Clark, please.â
He groaned again, softer this time, as though he was breaking apart, and pushed the hem of your dress higher, fingers brushing your bare skin, trailing up slowly, deliberately, until his hand found you, and the sound you made was muffled only because his mouth was on yours again.
The world narrowed to that as his hands, his lips, the way he murmured your name like it was holy, like it was everything, grounding you even as your body burned and your mind screamed that this was too much, too fast and real, and yet you wanted more, more, more.
His hands were everywhere now, sliding up and down your sides, brushing over skin that burned under his touch, and you pressed into him harder, your lips parting as you gasped against his mouth. He pulled back just slightly, just enough to look down at you, and his voice was low, rough with need. âI-I donât have protection.â
You froze for a second, chest heaving, and then a laugh tumbled out of you, breathless and shaky. âI donât care,â you whispered, eyes dark and wild. âIâll take the risk.â
Clarkâs lips twitched, almost a grin, but his eyes stayed soft, searching yours, and he murmured, âThen Iâll take it too.â His hands tightened on your waist, and the way he looked at you made the world outside the hotel room disappear completely.
You leaned up, pressing your forehead to his, panting, and kissed him again, slower this time, tasting him, memorizing him, letting the heat between you stretch and thrum like a live wire. His hands moved carefully, but firm, keeping you grounded, holding you like you might float away otherwise.
You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging him down to your mouth, and he groaned into the kiss, tilting his head so he could press his body fully against yours. Every movement, every brush of his skin over yours, was deliberate, making you shiver and whine softly into him, needing, needing him like it was urgent and necessary.
He pressed his forehead against yours again, voice ragged, whispering, âAre you sure?â
âYes,â you breathed, chest heaving, lips swollen, eyes wild with lust and something that felt dangerously like trust. âClark, Iâm sure. Fuck, donât stop.â
He groaned softly, letting his hands travel lower, over your thighs, over every curve, gripping you tight, and you responded, wrapping your legs around him instinctively. His lips found your neck, teeth grazing, sucking just enough to make your knees weaken, and you gripped his shoulders, fingers digging in as if holding him tighter would make it better, make it last longer, make it real.
âYouâre insane,â he murmured against your skin, voice thick, shaking with the same fire you felt, and you laughed breathlessly, hitting his chest, âI know, and I donât care.â
He smiled against you, teeth brushing your jaw, eyes dark and focused. âGood, because neither do I.â
âąââââââââąÂ°âąââąÂ°âąââââââââą
After everything, after the fire of it, after the chaos of skin and breath and whispered names, you finally settled. You laid your head against his bare chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, each pulse a reminder that he was real, that he was here, and that somehow, after all the ridiculousness of the day, you were finally allowed this moment.Â
His arm circled you, pulling you closer until you could feel every curve of his body, every line, every warmth, and it was blissful in a way that made you think maybe the world outside could wait for a while.
You lifted your gaze to look at him, hair splayed over his shoulder, cheeks flushed, and he smiled down at you, soft, gentle, eyes crinkling the way they always did when he found something worth seeing. âYouâre ridiculously cute like this,â he murmured, voice low and husky, and you laughed softly, just a whisper against his skin.
âYou know,â you said, fingers tracing idly along the ridges of his chest, still feeling the heat from him and from the memory of everything youâd just done, âI think I could get used to this. Just lying here, doing nothing exceptâŠthis.â
He chuckled, soft and warm, and pressed his lips to the top of your head. âI could too,â he admitted, thumb brushing over your hair, âI could get used to hearing your heartbeat against me, your soft little laughs, the way you look at me like youâre trying to memorize me.â
Your chest tightened, breath catching, and you murmured, âIâve never felt⊠I donât know⊠like I belong somewhere. But with you, it feelsâŠlike maybe I do.â
He tilted his head, eyes scanning your face, catching every tiny expression, every flicker of emotion, and whispered, âYou belong with me. Always.â
You could feel the weight of it, the sincerity, the quiet kind of gravity in his words, and you let yourself relax further, pressing closer. âYouâre insane,â you said softly, laughter still trembling in your voice, âand maybe a little ridiculous, but I like it. I like you, Clark Kent.â
He grinned, brushing his nose against yours, playful now but tender, âAnd I like you too, endlessly, like this is how it should have always been, if only the universe had let us.â
Silence fell then, but it wasnât awkward, it wasnât tense. It was soft and warm, filled with the sound of your breaths mingling, the occasional chuckle, and the quiet thrum of Clarkâs heartbeat beneath your ear.Â
You traced lazy circles on his chest, and he murmured little things back, confessions about silly things he loved about you, the way your hair curled when it fell into your eyes, how your laugh got stuck halfway through your throat sometimes, how your hands always seemed to find his even when you didnât mean them to.
And for the first time in a long time, maybe ever, you let yourself breathe fully, just be there, tangled in him, the night quiet around you except for the soft rustle of sheets and the warmth that had nothing to do with the room and everything to do with him.
âYou know,â Clark said finally, voice soft, teasing, âif weâd actually talked like this at work for the past three years, weâd be way ahead of everyone else. Weâd be unstoppable.â
You laughed, resting your cheek against him, âYeah, itâs kind of hilarious, isnât it? Three years of deadlines and weather small talk, and one day later, weâre here, all finally caught up at once.â
He kissed your temple lightly, hands still around you, and whispered, âBetter late than never. Besides, I like how it all happened. The timing is, I donât know, perfect?â
âYeah,â you smiled into him, letting your fingers weave into his hair, and whispered, âPerfect in a completely ridiculous way.â
Clark laughed softly, and you both stayed there, tangled, warm, quiet, letting the aftershocks of the night settle around you, knowing that outside, the world could wait, but here, together, was exactly where you belonged.
Everything else could wait. The truth, the explanations, the staring at faces that might not understand, all of it could wait. None of it mattered right now, not with his arms around you, not with your head pressed against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall like it was holding you together when everything else felt like it might fall apart.Â
What couldnât wait was this, the warmth and the softness and the way he looked at you like you were everything, the way you laughed even though your chest felt too full and your heart too fast.Â
Pretending until forever had been a joke, a lie, a trap you built to survive, and now it didnât have to be anything but real. You let yourself lean in, let yourself breathe it all in, let yourself be messy and chaotic and entirely visible, and he held you like heâd been waiting for this exact moment too.Â
Everything else could wait, but this feeling, this reckless, quiet, insane kind of perfect, it couldnât, and it wouldnât, and you didnât want it to.
It had been pretend until forever and somehow it was the only truth you needed.
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Gentle reminder: someoneâs selfship being more developed, with a character you also selfship with, doesnât make you undeserving of being in a selfship with them
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about to pop
hop little bunny, part three
a/n:Â idk what to tell you... these two are just too adorable, i can't
summary: âbut any man can become a father, but that doesnât make them a dad, it just makes them a little poke in the creation of a new human beingâŠâ you uttered, âdo you wanna do this?â you tilted your head gently, âdo you wanna be his dad?â
warnings:Â firefighter!bucky barnes x pregnant!teacher!reader, smut, firefighter!avengers, teacher!yelena belova, teacher!peter parker, roommates to lovers, pregnancy, being knocked up from a one night stand, bucky isnât the biological dad, former fuckboy!bucky, y/n teaches the first grade, nickname (bunny), third trimester of pregnancy, labour, birth, domestic fluff, breed kink, kissing, size kink, manhandling, dirty talk, oral, overstimulation, handjob, public sex, interrupted sex
word count: 3350
⌠gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here âœ
previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter [coming 30/9-25]
masterlist | join my taglist

WEEK 28
âOh my god, look at this one!â you squealed as you held up yet another thing from the bag of baby clothes that Buckyâs colleague had gifted you, this time, it was a tiny woollen sweater.
As you had been gushing over each and every item as if they were a bunch of puppies, Bucky simply murmured, âyeah, that one is cute too,â his eyes barely lifting a second from your sore feet in his lap as he rubbed them for you.
âI should really swing by the station tomorrow, thank Tony in person,â you uttered, glancing a moment at the firefighter on the other end of the couch, as the gift had simply been something thatâd been sent home with him, âoh, wait, itâs Wednesday tomorrowâŠâ it suddenly hit you, tearing you out of the blissful bubble of handed down baby clothes, âfuck, I forgotâŠâ
âWhat?â
âFreaking baby brainâŠâ you muttered to yourself a moment longer.
âWhat is it?â Bucky continued to push, âwait, itâs not a doctorâs appointment I forgot about, is it?â
âNo, no, itâs justâ, urghâŠâ you let out a groan, âI have that PTA meeting tomorrowâŠâ
âOh,â his tensing shoulders promptly dropped back down.
âNo, donât sound relieved, I completely forgot that I was gearing up to go to a battlefield,â you huffed, âandâ, oh my god⊠Willâs dad is gonna be thereâŠâ you remembered, though as you saw Buckyâs expression hastily harden, you swiftly seized his hand as you offered him further context, âitâs okay, heâs okay, heâs just gross. Itâs fine, Iâve been a teacher for a hot minute, Iâve learned how to handle the creepy dads⊠itâs fine, itâs nothing, I have the patience of a saint, I can handle itâŠâ you half tried to give yourself a pep talk, âthank fuck I'm going on maternity leave in a bitâŠâ
Raising the back of your palm up to his lips, your roommate then reminded you, âjust a few more weeks.â
WEEK 30
âOh, congratulations!â you pulled Steveâs towering frame into a hug.
âThanks, Y/n,â he smiled into the crown of your head as he momentarily patted your back.
âWowâŠâ you withdrew slightly to gaze up at him, ââŠCaptain Rogers of station twenty-three⊠has a nice ring to it.â
âYeah, itâll take some getting used to,â he chuckled faintly.
âIâm so proud of you, buddy,â you held onto him a moment longer, letting your touch rub down his arm, âyou really deserve this, truly.â
âThank you,â he pulled you into a brief embrace again, ânow all we need is to find someone to fill up the lieutenant spot that conveniently just opened up,â he uttered as you parted ways, âany chance you could join our forces and help convince Buck to take it?â
âIâll see what I can do,â you winked before you then asked, âby the way, do you know where he is?â
âYeah, I think heâs still up in the gym.â
In fact, he turned out to be the only one in there.
You were gonna announce your presence, but instead, you just froze in the doorway, unable to speak as you drooled at the sight before you. Sweat glistening upon his rippling muscles, veins bulged beneath his skin as he did some bench presses, sinful sounds flowing from his lips each time he pushed the bar up.
But then, when he finally finished his rep, he spotted you standing in the threshold and promptly snapped you out of your horny hypnotised state, âoh, hi, babe! When did you get here?â
âHuh?â you blinked, mouth still agape.
âI asked how long youâve been here,â he slowly sat back up on the bench, âdid you just come over because you remembered it was my day to cook?â
âIs it your day to cockâ, I mean, cook! Cook some big, fat, beefy meatâ, Iâ, fuckâŠâ you panted your way through your stumbled words, ââŠI hate you⊠I swear, if I wasnât already pregnantâŠâ you murmured with a sigh as the firefighter only smirked as he got up and took a sip from his water bottle, âyouâre killing me, you know that, right?â
âOh yeah?â he cocked his head teasingly, âwhat am I doing?â
âStop,â you swiftly shut your eyes to try and contain yourself and your raging hormones, âyouâre at workâŠâ you whispered before he then crossed the room and leaned in to kiss you, âmmhmâŠâ you whined against his lips, âBucky, please⊠this is so not fairâŠâ
But instead of listening to your desperate plea, he instead grabbed your hand and tugged you along with him. It was a blur of shuffling feet and stolen pecks, but at the end, he backed you into the room that housed all of the firefightersâ turnout gear.
âWhat are you doing?â you giggled as he swiftly lifted you up to sit on the sturdy table right beside where a bunch of rolled hoses were lined up.
âGiving your cute, pregnant feet a break,â he chuckled as he began to kiss down the side of your neck, âwhatâ, would you rather keep standing?â
âButâ, someone could walk in!â
Slowing down, he took a second to ponder, ââŠhmmâŠyouâre right,â before he then sprinted back to the door, twisted the lock, and then return, ânow, where were we?â he slotted himself in between your thighs, gathering up the skirt of your dress slightly in the process as he made room for himself, âoh, right, I think it was somewhere around here,â he then picked back up his peppered pecks, though this time began his dance at your mouth.
Curling your fingers in his sweaty shirt, you stretched out the cotton as the pair of you make out.
âI gotta be honest,â he murmured in between kisses as he felt you up, âIâve kind of always wanted to fuck in here,â he admitted, âor well, it didnât have to be in this room specifically, but, you know.â
âOf course you have,â you chuckled, playfully slutshaming him with your tone.
âSo,â he nudged his nose against your own, âthank you for making my dream come trueâŠâ
And as a smile began to grow on your lip, you asked, ââŠso, what happens next in your dream?â before he only smirked back at you, tongue flickering out to wet his bottom lip. Holding your eye, he then sank down to his knees before you, causing you to giggle as you began to pick up on his intentions, âoh my god, really?â
âYouâre damn right,â he uttered huskily as his touch found your knees, ânow spread those legs, mama,â except, he didnât really wait for you to shift before he cracked you open himself.
Though you couldnât really see him as he pushed up your dress and began to smother your inner thigh with kisses on a steady incline, you didnât mind too much as your eyes swiftly fluttered shut. When he reached your drenched panties, he first planted a smouldering peck over the soaked patch that decorated them, offering your covered clit a playful lick, before he then tugged the cotton out of the way.
Trapping your underwear with a hooked finger off to the side, âfucking hell,â he groaned as his stare made your pussy clench around nothing, âyes, babyâŠâ he then let himself dive straight in.
Tracing your slit with his flat tongue, he soon lapped you up as if your cunt was a melting ice cream cone, his nose nudging insistently against your sensitive pearl as he savoured your nectar.
Barely drawing back, Bucky then spat on your already glistening petals before he tilted back in with a growl, his voice vibrating against your puffy clit as he sucked down on it.
One of his hands soon stretched up towards your boobs, sliding up your frame till he cupped the swell of your tit. As he pinched your pebbly nipple through your clothing, his efforts flicked further south before he began to fuck you with his tongue.
When the thumb of the hand which was keeping your panties prisoner stretched out to strum your buzzing clit, your own palm soared over to grab your other boob, mimicking the hold he had on you as your thighs began to quiver around the firefighterâs skull.
Tumbling over the edge, your palm flew up to cover your mouth and muffle the cry that crawled out of your lungs. And though your frame trembled upon the table, Bucky still persisted as he let his tongue ride you through your high.
When you were but a quiver, the firefighter finally stopped bullying your poor pussy and began to kiss his way back up your body. His mouth danced over the curve of your belly, over your heaving chest, around your collarbone and up your neck and jaw, gradually bringing you back to life, till his lips finally found your own again.
And as you tasted yourself on his tongue, you first reached down to palm him through his workout shorts, before your hand desperately buried itself under the waistband to feel his hardness directly against your skin.
He groaned against your lips as you began to stroke his fat girth, his hips blissfully rocking into your efforts, before the unthinkable then happened, causing you both to freeze up like statues, your fingers still wrapped around his throbbing cock.
âFucking shit,â Bucky cursed at the deafening alarm that suddenly bleared out throughout the station.
âIs thatââ
âYeahâŠâ he answered you with a groan. Resting his forehead against your own a moment, he mourned the loss before he found the strength to tear himself away from you.
âSo, you gottaââ
âMhm,â he lingered in your warmth a second longer before then letting out a heavy sigh and conjuring the strength to pull your hand out of his shorts. Sucking in a deep breath to centre himself and cool back down, he then exhaled slowly, âalrightâŠâ before helping you down off of the table, your legs still too akin to jello.
But just before his feet kicked into a run, you caught the fabric of his shirt and pulled him in close to steal one last kiss, lingering just a second longer before you uttered, âgood luck,â and let him go.
âThanks,â he flashed you a bittersweet smile before bolting off.
âBe safe!â you yelled after him as the door slammed behind him.
WEEK 33
âI know Iâm not the father, I know thatâŠâ
Blinking back at him as he held his gaze averted, you then uttered slowly, â⊠BuckyâŠdo you wanna be his father?â
Meeting your eye, he then let out a long exhale before murmuring, âare you serious?â
âDo you?â you asked again as he hadnât offered you an answer.
Twisting his neck to glance off to the side, he stated, ââŠto be honestâŠI kinda already feel like I amâŠâ he shared, âand I know that Iâm not,â his eyes briefly squeezed shut at his words, âbiologically I have nothing to do with him, butââ
âBut any man can become a father, but that doesnât make them a dad, it just makes them a little poke in the creation of a new human beingâŠâ you uttered, âdo you wanna do this?â you tilted your head gently, âdo you wanna be his dad?â
âDo you want me to be his dad?â he shot right back.
âBuckyâŠâ you breathed as you gazed back at him, ââŠyouâre the only one Iâve ever wanted to do that with,â you professed, âif I had the power to somehow go back and make you the one who knocked me up, then I would do it in a heartbeat.â
âWellâŠâ brows floating up, he blinked smugly at how flattering your honied words were, âthereâs always next time.â
âOne is plenty,â you chuckled as you swiftly blocked his attempt at swooping in.
âHmâŠâ he playfully squinted, âyou sure?â
Letting yourself truly ponder it for a good minute, you soon murmured, ââŠask me again in a few yearsâŠâ
Smirking as if he was already fantasising about what it would be like to plant his seed so deep inside of you that you wouldnât just get knocked up with one kid, but multiple, he then purred, âIâll start counting down the secondsâŠâ
WEEK 37
It was bittersweet when you eventually went on maternity leave.
Though you couldnât help but shed a few tears at the reality that you wouldnât stay with your class for the rest of the school year, you were still exhausted as well as incredibly excited about the time you now got to spend prepping for your darling baby boy to arrive.
To which you really did.
If nesting was an Olympic sport, then youâd win a gold medal.
Back many years ago, when you had moved into an apartment with a guy that you had a horribly huge crush on, the impulsive choice youâd made to paint your then bedroom pastel blue turned out to not be the mistake you often questioned it to be whenever you stayed up too late, unable to fall asleep, staring at the soft shade till your eyes crossed. With the wooden crib in there and the tall window that flooded the small room with light, the calming tone on the walls made for the perfect backdrop for a nursery.Â
The folks at the fire station even pitched in where they could, and even found an area that you yourself had completely blanked on, dropping off prepared meals, enough to stock up your freezer for the first month of your childâs life, letting you soak in the bliss of bonding with your new baby instead of stressing away in the kitchen, only to end up burning down the apartment because of how sleep deprived youâd surely be.
And though you tried to finally land on a name now that your pregnancy drew to an end, that task turned out to be the most difficult of them all, especially since your favourite decided to change every single day, effectively giving your poor roommate whiplash.
WEEK 39
âHey, mama,â Carol smiled as you waddled into the fire station, âyou look like youâre about to pop.â
âAny day nowâŠâ your palm traced the edge of the front desk to aid your balance.
âYou looking for Bucky?â
âNope,â you shook your head and kept your answer brief as your feet kept on steadily shifting, âshower.â
âWhat?â Thor cocked a brow as he strolled by, interjecting your b-line towards the bathroom.
âThe water is out at the apartment and I canâtâ, look!â you snapped as you grew impatient, focusing too hard on your breathing to explain yourself, âIâve been having Braxton hicks the entire afternoon, and the other times that Iâve gotten them, hopping in the shower really helped, so I know that itâs not really protocol to have civilians do this, but can I please just borrow your shower?â
âYep, alright,â Thor swiftly squeaked, his eyes growing wide as no one in their right mind would dare to piss off a pregnant lady, âyou need help finding some towels or something?â
âNo, I know where they are,â you called over your shoulder as you kept on waddling.
Though when you hopped in the shower, the false labour pains didnât go away like usual. In fact, they kind of got worse, no matter how long you stayed in there.
By the time that you were sitting on the cool floor against the back wall, breathing deeply with the showerhead clutched in one hand and lazily spraying your chest, a soft knock sounded at the door.
âHm?â you kept your eyes shut.
âBunny? Itâs me,â Bucky gently called through the door, âheard you were in here,â a sense of caution seeped through his tone, âis it okay if I come in?â
âMhm,â you still only hummed, focusing instead on breathing through the pain.
You didnât blink your eyes back open till the door had creaked open and his footsteps had stopped. Squinting back at him as he now crouched before you on the other side of the shower, âhi, baby,â he uttered gently when your hazy eyes found his.
âHmmâŠâ
âHow are you doing, huh?â his concerned glance scanned your form.
âOkay,â you murmured as your eyes fought to stay open, âitâs just those damn Braxton hicks⊠man, theyâre really horrible todayâŠâ
âHow long have you had them?â
âI donât knowâŠâ you tried to retrace your steps, âstarted at some point before lunch⊠actually, do you have any snacks around? Iâm starvingâŠâ
âWeâ, uh,â his eyes swiftly grew with worry at that new detail, âw-we have, yeah, but, babyâ,â you felt his touch gently ghost over the top of your foot, pleading you to meet his gaze as he then uttered, âlisten, would you mind if I went and grabbed Wanda?â he tried his best to keep his tone as calm as he could manage, âjust to make sure that everything is alright.â
âSure,â you breathed, too exhausted to think too much about the fact that you were currently stark naked.
âAlright, Iâll be right back, donât go anywhere!â
âMhm,â you simply hummed after him as he zoomed out of the room.
In the short span of time that he was gone, perhaps it was because his presence had distracted and shifted you out of your zone, snapping you out of your trance, fighting stubbornly through the discomfort, but you suddenly began to notice a different kind of pain, not just the cramps that you had endured all day, but something else, something deeper, a pressure down low that kicked things up a notch.
âAlright, weâre coming in again,â Bucky announced before he and one of the stationâs paramedics entered the bathroom.
âHey, Y/n,â Wanda flashed you a soft smile as she kneeled down before you, not caring about the water she got splashed with as she sat down a large first aid bag nearby, âyou mind if I do a little exam on you?â
âGo right ahead,â you exhaled and tilted your head back against the cold tile as one of them shut off the water.
During her exam, when she glanced down at her watch to time your Braxton hicks, she promptly paused before uttering, âhuh⊠uh, Y/n?â she squinted up at you, âdo you think perhaps your water broke today?â she asked gently, âbecause you might not have noticed, itâs not always as dramatic as they make it out to be in the movies like itâs some waterfall.â
âUhâŠâ you furrowed your brows as you thought, âI donât know⊠Iâve been here in the shower for, I donât even know how long.â
âAlright,â she swiftly shot Bucky a look before she said, âwell, then I know whatâs going on. Youâre definitely in labour.â
âWhat?â you blinked back at her, âno. That canât be.â
âWait, really? Now? Itâs happening now?â Bucky nearly began to run around like a headless chicken.
âYep, so we better get you up and into our nice little ambulance right downstairs,â Wanda stated before she and Bucky grabbed each of your arms.
Though as they began to try and help you up, you swiftly yelled, âwait! No! Stop!â your eyes as wide as saucers, âI-I canât move!â everything suddenly became all too real as something deep within you, some primal instinct, screamed out.
âNo, itâs alright, weâve got you,â Bucky uttered reassuringly as he tightened his grip around your arm.
âNo, I mean it,â you stated firmly before you locked eyes with him, âIâm not fucking moving.â
âOhâŠâ he exhaled slowly, âbut, honey⊠you made me promise to take you to the hospital, thatâs where you wanna do this, right?â he sank down to kneel right beside you, âso letâs go, itâs time.â
âI know, I know, but I-I canât move, Iâ, no, no, no,â you panted as you cast a glance down at your stomach, âI can feel it, I can feel it,â you gutturally uttered as you clutched a hand to your belly, âitâs happening, heâs coming now.â

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubbleÂ
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be my baby
hop little bunny, part two
a/n:Â folks, the short wait is officially over. these goofballs are finally smashing into each other like two barbie dolls in this one.
summary:Â had he somehow gotten hotter? Because as youâd tipped into your second trimester, youâd found yourself drooling over the walking porn that was your roommate, as if you hadnât spent years building up your tolerance to his handsomeness.
warnings:Â firefighter!bucky barnes x pregnant!teacher!reader, smut, firefighter!avengers, teacher!yelena belova, teacher!peter parker, roommates to lovers, pregnancy, being knocked up from a one night stand, bucky isnât the biological dad, former fuckboy!bucky, y/n teaches the first grade, mutual pining, she fell first he fell harder, nickname (bunny), second trimester of pregnancy, domestic fluff, cuddling, love confession, kissing, dry humping, size kink (i'm a hoe, i couldn't help but give him a big fat monster cock), manhandling, dirty talk, fingering, multiple orgasms, squirting, overstimulation, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, creampie
word count: 6429
⌠gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here âœ
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WEEK 14
âOh, hey, Y/n!â Steve perked up as he was the very first one to spot you walking into the firehouse.
âHi, Steve,â you smiled back at him, readjusting the shopping bags in your hands.
Off to the side, Bucky glanced up from the book in his grasp as he overheard the unexpected sound of your voice, âY/n?â he swiftly did a double take, âBun! What are you doing hereâ,â he then spotted the bags in your hands and sprung up from his seat, âwhy are youâ, give me those!â he then stole them from you.
âHey, itâs fine, theyâre not that heavy,â you tried to argue, but the firefighter wasnât having it.
âWhat are you doing here?â he asked as your eyes flickered down to notice the open parenting book he was trying to hide behind the shopping bags.
âWell, I was in the area, just wanted to borrow the restroom,â you smile, opting to pretend that you didnât spot his book of the month, âare you okay?â
âMe? Yeah, Iâm fine, why wouldnât I be?â he spat out a bit too defensively to be convincing, âare you alright?â
âYes, Iâm perfectly fine, I just need to pee, yet again,â you once more pointed out the reason for your presence.
Only half listening in, Thor then took one look at the domestic picture before him and exclaimed, âoh, no way. Congratulations!â glancing between the baby book in his coworkerâs hand and the telling items overflowing in the shopping bags, âBuck? Why havenât you shared that you two finally got together?â
âWhat?â your head promptly whipped around, âno, no, weâ, weâre just friends, thereâs noâ, nothing going on,â you then gestured to your belly and underlined, âhe didnât have anything to do with this.â
âOh⊠uhâŠâ Thorâs face swiftly contorted before he awkwardly glanced around at anywhere but the pair of you, ââŠso, you said you needed the bathroom, right? Itâs that way,â he pointed a finger.
Once youâd returned from the lavatory and found everyone else gathered in the fire stationâs open kitchen, Tony then saddled up next to you.Â
âSo, you wanna stay for dinner?â the lieutenant asked you.
âOh,â you blinked over at him, âsure, why not?â you then cast a glance to the few settled behind the kitchen island, bustling to prep the family meal, âcan I give a hand with anything?â
âNope, you just sit right on down, relax,â Tony patted your back before he pulled out a chair for you at the other side of the counter, âlucky you, itâs Samâs night to cook.â
âOh, what are you making?â
âA little lentil soup,â Sam briefly raised his gaze as he continued to stir the pot.
And as your eyes then drifted from the stove, they couldnât help but fixate on Bucky as he stood off to the side, chopping away at Samâs command, the prominent veins on the back of his hand popping and protruding each time he sank down the heavy knife.
Had he somehow gotten hotter? Because as youâd tipped into your second trimester, youâd found yourself drooling over the walking porn that was your roommate, as if you hadnât spent years building up your tolerance to his handsomeness.
And just as you feared you might soak through your panties and slip and slide off of your seat, Natasha then settled in beside you, leaning against the counter as she courteously handed you a glass of water, âso, what have you been up to today?â
âOh, you know,â you drew in a controlled breath and tried to cool back down, âjust did a bit of shopping.â
âOh, for what? Tiny, adorable baby clothes?â she then glanced over her shoulder at Clint behind her, âitâs so cute,â she gushed, her husky voice rising an entire octave, âthe little shoes? UhâŠâ
âNo, actually, it was some more clothes for myself,â you shared, âI donât know, I just feel like my boobs in particular have just grown like several sizes overnight,â you then began to giggle, âlike, I feel like a fucking pornstar, trying to squeeze them into my regular bras. I mean, I even tried to steal one of Buckyâs shirts the other day and I still felt kinda ridiculous,â you uttered, because it was so strange to have your body change so rapidly and to no longer have his t-shirts hang on you in the same manner that they used to before whenever youâd take them.
Hearing his name through the haze of your words, Bucky perked up, âhuh?â as he wrestled himself and tried not to stare at the very subject of your babbling.
âWell, havenât you noticed?â you chuckled as you gestured to your breasts.
âThat yourâ, no⊠thatâs crazy, I havenât been staring at your tits, so why would I have noticedâŠâ he squirmed before then desperately trying to change the subject, âso! That thing you asked aboutâÂ, the thing with your studentsââ
âThe field trip?â you found the word his momentarily scrambled mind couldnât track down.
âYeah, yeah, that,â he finally settled his ragged breathing, âIâve talked to Fury about it, and heâs given the green light.â
âReally? Oh, thatâs amazing! Thank you so much,â you cheered before glancing around at the rest of the gang, âall of you, truly.â
âOf course,â Bruce smiled from his seat, already at the dining table, newspaper in his grasp. Leaning over, the firefighter then murmured to Wanda at his side, âhey, did you hear? Heâs finally doing it.â
âWhoâs doing what?â you couldnât help but ask, wanting in on the hot gossip.
âCaptain Fury, heâs stepping down,â Tony shared, âleaving Station twenty-three and retiring for good.â
âReally?â you gasped quietly at the news, âso, youâre gonna get a new captain?â
Bumping her elbow against the man beside her, Carol then uttered, âyou gotta do it, Rogers. If you donât throw your hat in the ring, then itâs gonna be some idiotic outsider theyâll hire to run our house.â
âI donât knowâŠâ Steve let out a heavy sigh and averted his gaze, âI mean, it is a ton of responsibilityâŠâ
âWell, youâre already a lieutenant,â Scott pointed out as he sneaked a little spoon down in the soup pot to steal a taste, âand isnât this what youâve always had as a goal?â
âWell, I just thought Iâd be older, you know?â Steve shared, âI donât know if Iâm readyâŠâ
WEEK 15
âOh, jesus, fuck!â Bucky quite literally jumped and stopped in his tracks when he spotted you in the dark kitchen, hunched in front of the fridge like a little gremlin.
âSorry! I should have turned on a light or something,â you popped one last strawberry into your mouth before closing the refrigerator.
âWhat are you doing up?â
âCouldnât get comfortable, and then I got kinda hungry, so yeah,â you sighed as you glanced down at the small bump that had finally popped out, though wonderful as it was, the new shape had also caused you to toss and turned all night long, âurgh, I hate to admit it, but I think it might be time to buy one of those pregnancy pillows, you know, those huge ones that you kinda cuddle, almost like thereâs just another person lying next to you.â
Gazing back at your visage on the other end of the open kitchen, you soon heard your roommate utter, ââŠI have an idea,â as a faint smile tugged at his lips, âgo back to bed, Iâll be right there, just gotta go take a leak.â
âHm,â you squinted at the lack of information, âokayâŠâ before he split off and disappeared into the bathroom.
Returning to your bedroom as per Buckyâs command, you then curled back under the duvet, your nightgown riding up a bit in the process, though you didnât lie down just yet, instead folded your legs beneath the warm covers.
âAlright,â Bucky breathed when he appeared once more, âscoot over.â
âWhat?â
âWell, the stores arenât open, itâs the middle of the night, so in the absence of a real one, Iâll be your pregnancy pillow,â he simply shrugged.
âYouâre kidding,â you giggled as he then crawled into bed with you.
âOh, absolutely not,â he smiled, âyou need your sleep, and not just when you finally go buy some pillow, but right now.â
Carefully curling into him, it took a tense moment of your heart fluttering, but eventually you settled into a position that was actually comfortable.
âHowâs that?â Bucky opened his mouth again when you stopped wiggling.
Inhaling deeply, you then exhaled, âperfectâŠâ his warmth stirring a bittersweet sensation within you that rendered you incapable of meeting his eye, âthank youâŠâ
âOf course,â he draped his other arm over your ribs to deepen the embrace, âIâve got you, mama,â a huge grin then blossomed on his lips before he uttered, âyou know, even if you were to stumble into the kind of situation where you went into labour and couldnât get to the hospital in time because of whatever,â he then proudly flexed, âI have actually done it before.â
âReally?â you cocked a brow, âyouâve delivered a baby?â
âYeah, on the job last year.â
âWell, thatâs kinda comforting,â you pursed your lips, âalthough, as much as I trust you with my life and the life of my baby, please for the love of god, get me to a hospital. I wanna give birth in a place with epidurals and where theyâre prepared for if something goes wrong,â you said, âI donât wanna give birth in some barn.â
âBunny, where in New York do you think youâd stumble into a barn? Much more realistic itâd be in the back of a taxi or somethingâŠâ
WEEK 16
Not only was Bucky infuriatingly sweet with the kids when he and Steve gave your class a tour of the fire station, but did he also have to look that distracting when he did so?
Adorably showing the first graders around and explaining various elements to them, meanwhile you were but a shadow in the back, steadily growing so flustered that one of the kids tugged on your sleeve to ask if you were okay, to which you nearly knocked over a tall shelf stocked with supplies as you stumbled your way through your answer, denying it all and hoping that your roommate hadnât noticed.
WEEK 17
âWhat about Sara for if itâs a girl?â Bucky glanced up from one of the many name books youâd picked up at the library. He was situated on the floor and leaning back against where you layed on the couch, propped up against a bunch of pillows.
âOh, no,â you grimaced as you lowered the paperback you were skimming as well, âI had a bully as a kid with that name, so itâs definitely not going on the list.â
âOh, yeah, that wouldnât be good,â he chuckled briefly before reuniting his gaze with the S pages of the book, âhmmâŠâ he then twisted a tad till his nose nearly bumped against your belly, âwhat do you wanna be called, huh? Is it⊠Simon?â he glanced between the pages and the gentle hill of your stomach, ââŠSofie?â he waited patiently for some kind of answer, ââŠmaybe Susan?â
âBuck, you do know they havenât started kicking yet, right?â
âYeah, yeah, I know,â he turned back around, âit was just worth a tryâŠâ
Smiling softly down at the back of his head, your days had grown into something so domestic, something so blurred, that at times it almost felt as if you were a real couple, or at least that was what your brain occasionally tried to fool you into thinking. Though when you then forced yourself to check back in with reality, reminding yourself how he was simply your friend who cared enough about you to abandon so many factors of his usual routine, changing his own life just because you were on the road to become a parent, the melancholy that smacked you in the face nearly brought tears to your eyes.
ââŠhey, you know, if you want the apartment to yourself for a night, you just say the word,â you soon heard yourself utter, âIâm sure Yelena would let me crash at hers.â
âWhat?â he glanced back at you over his shoulder, âwhy would I wanna kick you out?â
âWell, because Iâve kind of been ruining your game lately,â you refused to meet his puzzled gaze.
âYouâve, what?â he blinked, reeling back a tad.
âWell, I mean, Iâve just noticed how you havenât brought any girls home in a while, which I totally get, a pregnant roommate isnât exactly the sexiest thing for random women to stumble over as soon as they walk in through the door,â you rambled, âbut my point is just that if you wanna get laid, if you wanna hook up with someone in the comfort of your own home, then you just say the word.â
Squinting up at you, it took him a second before he muttered, ââŠthank you?â
âNo problem,â you let out a short exhale before forcing your gaze to reunite with the open book in your hands.
âBut, IââŠâ he slowly sat down his own small paperback upon the coffee table, ââŠyou getting knocked up didnât ruin my game,â he uttered, âor well, in a way it did, but not like that, itâ, uhmâŠâ he kept his gaze averted as he hesitantly told you, ââŠit made me finally stop hooking up with people, simply to try and get overââŠâ
âWho?â you asked as you tried to recall the names of any of his exes.
But instead, he just continued to stare down at his feet as he confessed, ââŠyou,â his frame barely moving as he kept his back turned to you, âI know the timing of this is horribleâ, fuck, I should just shut up, forget I said anythingâ,â he cursed as he swiftly rose from the floor.
Sitting up straight, âno, wait!â you called out before he could scurry off, âIââŠyââŠyou were trying to get over me?â
Stopping up, he still didnât meet your eye as he gnawed on his bottom lip, ââŠmhm...â
Mouth agape, you gasped, ây-you were into me?â
âWere?â his eyes finally found your own, âbunny, Iâ⊠you donât know? Fuck, I thought you did, and you were just beingâ, well, you about it,â he gesticulated. Staring at you for a second, he then drew in a breath before simply telling you, ââŠY/n, IââŠI love you,â keeping it so short and sweet that it nearly gave you whiplash.
âWhat?â
âIâm in love with you,â he slowly rephrased.
âSince when?â you continued to gawk back at him, utterly stunned.
âA little over a year, I donât know, maybe longer⊠I think it might have happened slowly over time after you moved in, and then one day it just sort of clicked. But I knew that I couldnât say anything, so I went from sleeping around with folks just for fun, to banging people simply to try and get over you, which, shocker, did not work,â he confessed, though when he noticed the ecstatic tears that then began to roll down your cheeks, he swiftly misunderstood them and uttered, âoh no, bunny, please donât cryâŠâ
âYou love me?â you simply panted, your bottom lip trembling.
âWell, Iâ⊠oh fuckâŠâ he bowed his head, âI knew Iâd fuck this up one day⊠Iâm sorry,â he once again began to walk away, âIâll justââ
âBucky!â you yelled, finally snapping through his haze and making him halt, âIâ⊠I fell in love with you the night that we met,â you at long last admitted through a blubbering smile, âone moment I was just minding my own business, deeply regretting the ridiculous Halloween costume Iâd chosen that year, and the next, I mean, it was like Iâd been struck by fucking lightningâŠâ
âOh, bunnyâŠâ a soft smile finally began to bloom upon his lips, âthat costume was anything but ridiculousâŠâ he uttered as he slowly began to close the distance between you two.
âWell, I know you didnât think so, you still havenât been able to let me down for it,â you rolled your eyes lightly, âjoking about where my Hugh Hefner wasâŠâ you watched as he sank down on the couch beside you, grin still glowing upon his features, âkeeping up that stupid nickname? I mean, even for several birthdays you gave me a bunâ, mmph!â your roommate then suddenly shut you up as he crashed his lips against your own.
Though stunned at first, the kiss that you had yearned after for an eternity was nothing short of magical. From the way that his palm coasted up to cradle your cheek, to how he quite literally stole your breath, to lastly the manner in which his soft lips eventually eased into light pecks, leaving you dazed when you finally parted ways.
By the time that your eyes finally fluttered back open, youâd almost forgotten your own name, âholy fuckâŠâ you dizzily blinked back at him, completely starry-eyed, making him smile even wider before he dipped back in to steal one last swift peck, âplease tell me that this is actually happening and not just some cruel dreamâŠâ
âHmmâŠâ the gentle rumble of his voice promptly warmed you from within, like a mug of hot chocolate on a cold and snowy day, âdoes this feel real to you?â he then slowly kissed one of your cheeks, âor this?â he softly pressed his mouth to the other, taking his sweet time.
âIâ⊠I donât knowâŠâ a playful grin grew at your lips, âI think you might have to try again,â you hazily uttered and caught his eye before he then smirked back at you and began to kiss down the column of your neck. His smouldering lips right underneath your jaw felt so good that your eyes fluttered at the sensation and a breathy whimper crawled its way out of your lungs.
You barely noticed when you soon began to cling to him for dear life, trying to get even closer as his wandering lips conjured soft moans from you. And as the flames inside of you roared and made it impossible for you to sit still, you found yourself desperately crawling your way into your roommateâs lap before your hands tilted up his face for you to ravenously claim his lips once more.
A low groan crackled deep in his throat and melted against your tongue as you soon began to grind down against him, the rock-hard bulge in his pants nudging so perfectly against your hot core that you theorised that youâd maybe be able to cum just like that if he let you try. Eventually, after youâd managed to tear down just the top of his gentlemanly shield, his own hands gave out and began to wander, just like your own did, soon finding your tits in a gentle squeeze, making you only that much more needy as you rocked in his lap.
Although, when you began to nearly rip his clothes off, just as your hands were halfway up his shirt, he tilted his head back and panted, âwait, wait, w-weâ, uh,â he blinked a second to try and clear his head, scrounged up enough strength to overcome what his cock was throbbing for him to do, âwe donât gotta do anything you donât want. I know you donât usuallyââ
âI donât fuck anything with legs like you do?â you teased and rolled your hips just one more time down against him.
âWell, not anymore, but, yeah,â his eyes fluttered as he stifled a groan, âI just mean, I know you usually take things slow, and thatâs totally fine with me,â he stated as you tilted in and began to plant kisses all along his neck, making it that much more difficult for him to remain his composure, âyou just set the pace that youâre comfortable with.â
âReally?â you murmured against his throat, secretly hoping that your efforts had bloomed a hickey.
âYeah, of course,â his palm slowly shifted in a reassuring pattern along your spine, âhowever long you need, whatever you wanna do or donât wanna do, Iâm cool with it,â he murmured as you sat up straight to look at him as he continued to speak, âif you need to wait weeks or months orââ
âSeconds?â you instead uttered, your big, eager eyes blinking back at him as you begged, âplease, I feel like Iâm gonna explode if you donât touch me right now.â
Though instead of ripping your clothes off like you were crossing your fingers for, your roommate just started laughing, âdamn, these hormones really are no joke,â his head tilting back against the back of the couch as he chuckled.
âBucky,â you nearly whined as your hazy expression ceased to change.
âA-alright, yeahâ, fuckâ,â he finally snuffed out his chuckle, though still grinned back at his dream girl in his lap as you swiftly began kissing him once again. But then as your fingers nearly tore the cotton of his t-shirt as you ripped it off, he began to murmur insistently in between peppered pecks, âalthough, I should probably warn first, you know, just because itâs just good to know, good to be prepared, and some people get kinda intimidated or even get their hopes up when they find out and then frustrated whenâ, you knowââ
âOh no, I already know that youâre big,â you simply uttered, no room any longer for decorum as you panted, the kiss haven stolen your breath, âfirst of all, I see your boxes of magnum condoms in the bathroom,â you listed off as if you were recalling your grocery list, âand second of all, the walls in this building are pretty thin, so I canât even tell you how many times Iâve heard random girls exclaim the same pornographic phrases about how fucking huge you are.â
âOh, so you donât think youâll scream out something pornographic, huh?â he teased as he leaned in to playfully nuzzle his nose against your own.
âNo,â you giggled, thinking that that was a ridiculous image, even though you were already rocking down against him like a desperate little whore.
âWeâll see about thatâŠâ he smirked before pushing off your already unbuttoned cardigan and letting it drop to the floor, âIâll make you yell something too filthy for school, just you wait, Miss Y/l/n...â
And with that, his arms around you tightened and scooped you with him as he then stood up from the couch, carrying you with him into his bedroom like the burly fireman that he was.
Gently setting you down near the foot of his bed, your lips stayed locked with his own as you then ripped more of his clothes off. Yanking his jeans down his legs, his boxers, however, still remained when you then offered his brawny physique a small shove, pushing him down to sit on the edge of the mattress. And even though his quick hands got to take off the flowy dress you wore and send it flying across the room, it was your own fingers that soared up to tear off your bra and kick down your soaked panties before he even had the chance.
âFucking hellâŠâ a breath seeped from Buckyâs lungs as his eyes licked up your bare form, his hand drifting up to caress your hip as he stared, âhow are you even more beautiful than I imaginedâŠâ his gaze then finally reunited with your own before the flames within him roared once more and he grunted, âcome here,â before he then yanked you into his lap, slightly askew as he cradled you close and dipped down to kiss you once again.
And when you soon ran out of patience, his one palm exploring your curves for far too long according to the way your cunt leaked against his thigh, you then grabbed his hand, tearing it away from your tits, and fervently pushed it down between your thighs, a shaky moan tumbling from your lips the second that his fingertips brushed down against your throbbing clit.
âGoddamn, youâre wetâŠâ he groaned against your lips as his touch swept through your glistening petals, âthis all for me, huh?â
âAll youâŠâ you panted fuzzily, sharing his hot breath, âalways for youâŠâ you admitted, causing him to growl before he dove back in and kissed you ravenously once again, his gentle touch rapidly growing rougher at your desperation.
And when he soon filled up your dripping hole with a few of his thick fingers, pumping them within you as he prepped you for his girth, he didnât manage to play with you for long before you creamed all over his digits, your own nails digging into the back of his neck as you clung on. Though as you buried your face in the bulk of his chest and regained your breath, Buckyâs fingers that he had ceased to withdraw slowly began to move once more, picking up a gentle rocking rhythm till the sensitivity had mostly faded and you were panting once again for him to give you more.
However, when he seemed all too comfortable, not moving in the slightest to do anything other than make you, and you alone, feel good, you seized the reins.
Pushing him back to lie down against the sheets, you haphazardly tugged down his boxers as you repositioned yourself, flinging one leg over to the other side so that you straddled his hips. Reaching down to grasp his fat girth, in your desperation, your hazy gaze stayed locked with his own and made the error of not peeking down at his size, because if you had, then you might have grown a tad too intimidated to do what you then did next.
Nudging his hardness against your glistening pussy, you essentially drooled on his length before your immense eagerness took over and led you to slip in the very tip.
âWait!â Buckyâs eyes then suddenly went wide as the warm embrace of your cunt finally clenched around the bulbous head of his cock. His hands swiftly shot out and grasped your hips to prevent them from lowering any more, âIâm not wearing a condom!â
Panting at the stretch you finally got to feel, you merely broke out into a giggle as you blinked down at him, âwhat good would that do?â you then faintly hissed as your laughter caused your walls to clamber down around him too severely, âI mean, unless you have an STD or something.â
âNope, clean as a whistle,â he told you as he raised himself to sit up more, his face getting closer to your own, âI get tested every month,â he shared, like the manwhore that youâd always known him to be, âyou?â
âYeah, no,â you chuckled once more, âthe only thing Iâve got is a baby.â
âRight,â he laughed, âsorry, force of habitâ, oh fuckâŠâ his sentence then suddenly crumbled as you began to move again.
Slowly sinking yourself down upon his cock, your thighs trembled on either side of his hips at the way his fat girth split you open.
âOh my god,â you gasped when you suddenly realised how big he truly was, as just the tip had been a small enough amount of him for you to hold onto your confidence, but when you eased your way further down, that was when you truly realised what youâd gotten yourself into, âi-isâ, fuckâŠâ your eyes rolled in your skull as you reached down to rub your clit to ease the dull burn, your shaky fingers stretched down far enough to brush against the remainder of his length that you still had left to conquer, âwait, itâs notâ, youâreââ
âWell, I tried to warn you,â he uttered gently as he saw your cockiness melt away.
âOh, shut up,â you whined as your fingertips traced the base of him.
âYou wanna stop?â
âNo!â you squeaked stubbornly, âI justÂââ
âYou want me to help?â his palms dug into the curve of your ass, denting the soft skin, âbecause, bun, youâre not even halfway yet.â
âIâ, no,â you foggily blubbered, âI donât know, justâ, uhâŠâ before you then rolled your hips lightly, maddeningly grinding yourself further down.
Steadying yourself on his broad shoulders, you retroactively pushed his torso back down flat against the bed.
And with your eyes squeezed shut, his hands caught both of yours in a supportive hold, fingers tangling as you gradually impaled yourself completely.
âAtta girl,â he panted when the entirety of his large length was finally fully buried within you.
âAnd here you thought I couldnât do it,â you jested with a smile as you finally peeped one of your eyes open to peek down at him.
âOh, never,â he uttered as he then lifted one of your palms up to his lips for a brief peck, âIâm just way too overprotective of the ones I love.â
Grinning even wider as you drew out the moment, staying completely still atop of him, âI canât believe I finally get to hear you say thatâŠâ
âWhat? That I love you?â he planted another kiss to the back of your hand, âguess Iâll just have to keep repeating myself then. Say it over and over again till those words stop turning you into a blushing schoolgirl,â he then murmured slowly between pecks, âIâŠloveâŠyouâŠâ
Blinking down at him in utter awe, still stunned at how this could even be real, you whispered, âI love you tooâŠâ nearly beginning to tear up again at the rush of emotions that crashed into you once more.
But as his eyes then drifted back up from your hand, seeming so small in comparison to his as he continued to cradle it, he then gazed up at you once more, âwell, come on, baby,â he drew in a breath as your cunt fluttered around him, âare you gonna do what bunnies do or what?â he playfully uttered, âhop.â
Mirroring his grin, you then clenched your thighs and raised yourself back up, trembling slightly as every little detail of his cock dragged against your walls, before you dropped yourself back down, each of you moaning loudly as his length carved its way back inside you.
And as you bounced on his fat dick, your juices leaking out and dripping down his balls, the way in which you felt the very tip of him gently kiss against your cervix each time your hips met his own, it nudged against you as if you werenât already knocked up.
When you soon came once again, squirting all over his cock, one of Buckyâs hands reached down between your bodies and rubbed your clit, making you gush even more as you trembled above him, eventually collapsing down to melt against his burly chest entirely.
And as your hips were now too exhausted to rock on their own, instead of bucking up into you, your roommate instead dug his grip into your ass before he rolled you both over.
Hovering above you, he propped up each of his strong arms beside your head, framing your face and caging you in as he swiftly began to fuck you once again.
His strokes were long, deep and agonisingly slow, making your pussy drool around him even more as his meticulous efforts essentially turned you into nothing but a puddle beneath him.
And though you doubted yourself as the end crept near, he somehow still managed to make you tumble over the edge one last time before he joined you in the ecstasy.
WEEK 18
âUh-uh-uh!â a cluster of kids giggled from the schoolyard as they spotted you and Bucky out on the sidewalk. Heâd let himself steal a kiss before he went on his way to work as well, âMiss Y/l/n, is that your boyfriend?â
âGood morning,â you awkwardly coughed as you rushed to withdraw from the peck, having no clue whatsoever how to respond to those students, âuh, what was it again that we said about not being late for class? The bell is about to ring,â you uttered.
Thankfully, that did the trick as the kids then scurried off.
âYou donât wanna be late either,â Bucky murmured, faint amusement on his lips as his eyes lingered a moment longer on the children as they ran inside.
âYeahâŠâ you exhaled, though didnât even shift an inch as you simply stayed rooted to the pavement before him, blissfully gazing back at him as you didnât want to burst your heavenly bubble just yet.
âWell, Iâll see you again tomorrow morning, hopefully my shift ends before you head off to work again,â he briefly glanced down at his wristwatch as he spoke, âhey, maybe I could swing by that bakery you love on my way back, huh?â
âSounds amazing,â you smiled softly, your hand still clutching his own a second longer.
âAlright,â he then grabbed a hold of your jaw and leaned in to kiss you one last time, âbye.â
âBye, Buck. Thanks for walking me to work,â you momentarily nuzzled your nose against the tip of his own as his palm dropped from your chin to find the bump of your belly in a gentle caress.
Bending down a moment as his thumb swept against your waist, he then pressed a small peck to your stomach as well before he uttered, âbe good.â
WEEK 20
âOh my god, really?â
âYep,â your doctor smiled as she watched both you and Bucky share a look before each of your eyes reunited with the scan before you.
âItâs a boy?â your voice trembled a bit at the momentous news, before you then blissfully uttered, âI donât know anything about boys,â a huge grin lighting up your face, before you then felt an ecstatic tear roll down your cheek, âohâŠâ
WEEK 21
âKnock, knock.â
Raising your gaze from the mug of tea on the table before you, you twisted around to spot your roommate suddenly leaning against the doorway to the teachersâ lounge, âBuck? What are you doing here?â you promptly rose from your seat and abandoned your streaming drink.
âForgot your lunch,â he held up a canvas bag with a little something inside, âdidnât think you or the baby should have to survive on whatever they serve in the cafeteria,â he smiled, âplus I remembered you talking about a certain craving this morning, and even though I donât know if thatâs still the case, I still went down there and picked upââ
Ripping the bag out of his hand, âoh my god,â you peeked inside, mouth already watering, âyou got me a sandwich from that spot in Williamsburg?â
âYeah, well, I had a call nearby, so I justâ, hey,â he then stopped as he noticed how tears began to well up in your eyes, his sweet gesture making your hormonal self cry lightly, âbun, are you alright?â
âMhm,â you nodded, your bottom lip swelling up into a pout, âI just love you so much,â you finally let out the sob that was welling up, âIâ, itâsâ, thank you for the sandwich,â you threw yourself into his arms.
âOf course,â he chuckled lightly as he wrapped his arms around you as well.
Though just then, as you hugged him tight and your tears steadily dried up, a sharp gasp suddenly rushed out of your lungs as you felt a flutter in your stomach, making you quickly pull back from the embrace.
âWhat?â Bucky searched your wide eyes, though you didnât answer him as you instead just grasped his hand and dragged him with you, away from the doorway to the teachersâ lounge and into an empty classroom nearby, âbunny, what is going on?â
âShh,â you hushed him as your hasty stride finally came to a stop and persistently pressed his flat palm down against your belly.
âWhat are youââ
âJust shut up and wait!â you exclaimed, staring down at your hands atop his own, before you then muttered just beneath your breath, âcome on⊠come onâŠâ
As the baby then kicked again, Buckyâs face promptly lit up like a Christmas tree, âoh my godâ, was thatââ
âYeah,â you nodded ecstatically.
âOh my god!â he gasped, catching your eye a moment before he stared back down at your bump beneath his palm, utterly and completely mesmerised, âwowâŠâ
WEEK 25
âDonât!â Bucky exclaimed as he swiftly grabbed the little box you were balancing, mere seconds after you had picked it up, and even though he already had his hands full, carrying other items, he somehow still managed to slot it under his burly arm.
âBut itâs not even that heavy, come on,â you tried to reach for it, though he quickly stopped you before you could steal it back, âweâre literally just moving this stuff from my room to yours, I donât see the big problem.â
âNo!â he insisted, âI care if itâs even just a single sock, you do not lift a thing.â
Throwing a glance to Steve and Natasha in the corner, both of them kneeling on the floor as they disassembled your bedframe, Steve swiftly uttered, âoh, donât look at us,â as they both knew that they didnât have the power to talk Bucky down when it came to such matters.
Blinking back at your roommate, you murmured, âBucky, I am just pregnant, I can still lift things,â though he still wouldnât budge, prompting you to come up with a compromise, âokay, how about this, you guys carry the very lightweight things across the apartment, and then I can unpack and organise everything in there?â
âHmmâŠâ Buckyâs ocean eyes narrowed in your direction as he deliberated, âI donât know⊠canât you just sit back and supervise from a comfortable seat?â
âNope,â standing your ground, you then leaned in to press a swift peck to his lips, âbut I tell you what, I can try and stay seated for as much of the unpacking as I can.â
Squinting back at you a moment longer, ââŠdeal,â he then uttered and kissed you once more, before he then shifted past you and disappear into the other bedroom, the one that was now yours as well, while the smaller one that was gradually being cleared out would turn into someone elseâs bedroom, a wonderful little boy that you could not wait to meet.

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubbleÂ
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not part of the plan
hop little bunny, part one
a/n: aaahhhhh i can't believe i finally get to share this story with you all!! hope you enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it âĄ
summary: âIââŠâ you blinked hard, scared that you might faint at any moment if the fear looming turned out to be true, ââŠcould you do me a favour?â you mustered just enough strength to request in a small voice, ââŠcould you go buy me a pregnancy test?â
warnings:Â firefighter!bucky barnes x pregnant!teacher!reader, smut, firefighter!avengers, teacher!yelena belova, teacher!peter parker, fuckboy!billy russo, roommates to lovers, unplanned pregnancy, being knocked up from a one night stand, bucky isnât the biological dad, former fuckboy!bucky, y/n teaches the first grade, mutual pining (but you think it's one-sided), nickname (bunny), first trimester of pregnancy, nausea/vomiting, crying, doctors' appointments, domestic fluff (except they aren't together yet), masturbation, sex toys
word count: 5588
⌠gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here âœ
series masterlist | next chapter
masterlist | join my taglist

WEEK 0
âWell, well, well⊠look whoâs sneaking in, late at night like a freaking teenagerâŠâ
âBucky!â you yelped as you spotted your roommate in the dark, âjesus fuck!â you nearly jumped out of your own skin before clutching a palm to your heaving chest, âwhat are you doing sitting here in the fucking dark?â
âThought it would be funny,â his broad shoulders shrugged as he chuckled, âand you know, it was,â he tilted his head, âdonât you have school tomorrow, missy?â
âOh, ha-ha, how hilarious,â you rolled your eyes, too weary to deal with his jokes, âIâm going to bed.â
Rising from his seat in the armchair in the living room section of the open floor plan of the apartment, âno, but seriously,â he shadowed you as you swiftly strayed into the bathroom, âwhere have you been?â
âUh⊠Iâ, you knowâ,â your eyes grew slightly as you scrambled your brain for a lie, ânowhere.â
âNowhere?â he echoed with a cocked brow, âreally?â
âFine,â you gave up with an exhausted sigh, âYelena and a few of the others from work dragged me out to a barâŠâ you shared, though still left out a few very key details.
âYou went out drinking and didnât invite me?â he then scoffed dramatically and clutched a hand to his burly chest, âI am hurt.â
Standing before the sink, you picked up your toothbrush and uttered, âit was a girls nightâ, or well, Peter was there as well, so it wasâ,â you then promptly snapped, âlook!â and slammed both of your hands down against the sinkâs edge, âwe already live together, you donât have to be a part of every other facet of my life!â you exclaimed defensively before regret instantly trickled down your spine as you caught sight in the mirror the genuine look of hurt that flashed over Buckyâs features, ââŠIâm sorry, I didnât mean thatâŠâ the alcohol in your system made the entire apartment feel like it was swaying as your poor heart shattered a little bit more than it already had managed to that night, ââŠIâm just really tired. I shouldnât even have gone out in the first placeâŠâ
Brows knitting together, he then finally picked up on how you didnât simply seem exhausted, but there was something else plaguing your weary features, ââŠhey, are you okay?â his tone was soft as he continued to stare at you, âdid something happen tonight?â
Other than the fact that youâd fucked some random bartender, someone that your friends had sworn was like a sexual sorbet, a palate cleanser to cure one of any crush. And though it wasnât exactly horrible, it still hadnât worked as the only way youâd managed to get through it was by closing your eyes and imagining that it was your roommate instead.
âNo, nothing happened, Iâm fine,â you uttered as you couldnât hold back any longer, and tears began to stream down your cheeks.
Exhaling solemnly as he gazed at you, âcome hereâŠâ he swiftly reached for your frame and closed the gap between you, enclosing you in an embrace that arguably only made things worse for you, as it truly confirmed how the desperate experiment hadnât worked in the slightest.
You were still utterly and painfully head over heels for him.
âIâm fine,â you sobbed, âI swear, Iâm just tired⊠and way more drunk than I realised⊠when did I become such a lightweight?â
âWell, youâve never really been the big party animal to begin with, so that might have something to do with it,â his broad palm coasted down the length of your spine, causing goosebumps to erupt. Â Â
As his intoxicating musk filled up your nostrils and made you even more dizzy than the alcohol, you eventually mustered up the courage to blurt out, ââŠIâm gonna go to bed,â you abruptly pushed yourself away from his warmth, though stumbled slightly in the process, prompting Bucky to catch your elbow to steady you, âdo you remember where a bucket would potentially be hiding?â
âYeah, Iâll go grab it,â he nodded faintly, though only let go of your arm when you had reached out to lean against the wall behind you, âI donât think youâd be able to reach it on your own without having to balance on a stool.â
WEEK 2
Propped up against the pillows on your bed, your head sloped back and bumped against one of the pastel blue walls in the small room, as you let out a stifled moan.
Steadily strumming your clit, your other hand slowly pumped a dildo in and out of your pussy, as your eyes fluttered and your mind floated away, fooling yourself that the silicone was somebody else.
As your roommate was out on a run that morning, you hadnât bothered to shut your ajar door before going to town. Though you must have lost track of time, as the sound of the front door slamming shut suddenly echoed throughout the entire apartment, causing you to jolt jaggedly against the sheets.
âHey, I forget, did you want company today at the farmers market?â Bucky casually bellowed as his footsteps swiftly shuffled in the direction of your room, prompting you to panic and painstakingly rip the glistening toy out of your cunt and scrabble for your duvet to cover up your bare bottom half, âitâs just, I kinda made some plans with Steve as well, but I can cancel them if we already had something, it was just a thing for fun I suggested yesterday after our shift when I thought I was free this weekend.â
By the time that he settled against the doorframe to your room, you were utterly out of breath, âuhm⊠Iâm sorry, w-what?â
âDid we have plans today?â he repeated, and you hoped and prayed that he wasnât able to notice just how flustered you were, as well as how your room surely smelled like pussy.
âIâ, uh⊠no,â you hazily shook your head, âI donât think so.â
âGreat!â he smiled before crossing his arms over his chest.
With your mind still in the gutter, your eyes couldnât help but flutter down and fixate on the glisten of sweat that gleamed across his rippling physique, the drool-worthy sight promptly causing your cunt to clench around nothing and throb for the missing toy that laid abandoned only centimetres further south beneath the sheets. Â
âSoâŠâ he exhaled as his brows suddenly furrowed, âyouâre still in bed,â he observed in a puzzled tone.
âWell, yeah, i-itâs the weekend,â you tried to say, âI wanted to try to sleep in, but naturally I couldnât.â
âSo youâve just beenâ, what? Sitting there all morning, frozen like a porcelain doll?â he squinted down at you from the doorway.
âNo! Iâve beenâ, IâveââŠâ you scrambled your brain for a lie before spotting the closed laptop on your bedside table, âIâve been prepping something for work,â you then hastily reached for the computer and dragged it into your lap.
âReally? Working from bed? Cosy,â the corners of his lips twitched, âand what have you been working on then?â he teasingly poked as a smirk lit up his features, though you didnât dare ponder if it was because heâd sniffed out the truth.
Averting your gaze, you tried to ignore his knowing grin as you began to share, âwell, starting next week, Iâll be kicking off this kind of career theme with my class thatâll last the rest of the school year,â you told him, âessentially, each one of the students will get to pick a job and then Iâll find someone with it who can come in and talk to the kids about it,â your hands gesticulated gently as you explained, âI know that theyâre only first-graders, but the point isnât at all for them to already lock in on one singular path, itâs kind of the opposite, itâs to expose them to options that they hadnât thought about before, you know, broaden their horizon just a little bit more.â Â
âOh, my first-grade teacher did something similar,â he recalled, âalthough, I donât think I remember what career I pickedâŠâ
âSo, it wasnât firefighting that you grew up dreaming about?â
âNo, that came much later,â he cocked his head.
WEEK 5
ââŠand so the only kid who hasnât thought of something yet is Laura,â you spoke, your fingers flexing around your phone as you held it to your ear.
âWhich one is she again?â Yelenaâs voice seeped through the telephone.
âCurly hair, pretty shy and has a tendency to cry a lot,â you uttered, raising your gaze from the laptop before you to cast a glance out of your bedroom window, âI think there might be something going on at home, so sheâs just very closed off.â
âOh, right,â your colleague murmured, âI remember her.â
Fiddling with one of the buckles on the denim overalls you wore, you said, âsheâs just overthinking the whole thing, which is understandable, but still, nothing Iâve tried so far has done the trick.â
âWhat have you tried?â
âWell, I took her and the other kids in the same boat to the library to see if that could give them some inspiration. I also tried to just brainstorm a bit with them, tried to find something that excites them, and it worked for everyone else except for her.â
âIâm sure youâll break through to her in no time,â the teacher on the other end of the line tried to reassure you, though soon thereafter, you heard as she let out a stifled groan.
âYou okay?â
âYeah,â Yelena sighed, âmy period just started yesterday and itâs really kicking my ass this time aroundâŠâ she winced as she presumably breathed through a severe cramp that crashed into her, âlike my uterus is going through a meatgrinder.â
Like an ice-cold bucket of water splashed in your face, it suddenly dawned on you how you couldnât recall the last time you were on your period, which was very odd as everything about you, including your menstruation, was always very punctual.
âU-uhâŠâ you scarcely breathed, âYelena? IâI gotta go⊠see you tomorrow morning.â
âYeah, alright. See you,â you just barely heard her utter before you hung up.
Slamming the laptop shut before you with a reverberating echo, you felt dazed as you rose to your feet and swiftly exited the room.
Stumbling into the living room, you nearly crashed into the back of the couch as the panicked tornado inside of your mind held you prisoner.
Though just then, perfectly timed as your nails dug into the upholstery, the door to Buckyâs bedroom swung open, and as your roommate exited, his feet promptly halted in their stride when he spotted the ashen expression upon your face.
âHeyâŠâ he cautiously uttered, âbunny, you good?â
âHuh?â you lifted your head to finally notice his presence.
Taking a step closer to your frozen form, he asked, âare you alright? Because you look like youâve just seen a ghost.â
âIââŠâ you blinked hard, scared that you might faint at any moment if the fear looming turned out to be true, ââŠcould you do me a favour?â you mustered just enough strength to request in a small voice, ââŠcould you go buy me a pregnancy test?â
At first, the firefighter began to chuckle, assuming that it was some sort of joke. Although when you remained petrified, âoh, youâre not kidding,â his laughter promptly faded once more, âIâ, uh, yeah, of course.â
With each of you thoroughly speechless, you sat side by side in shock on the bathroom floor.
âThis doesnât feel realâŠâ you eventually heard yourself murmur.
âI think itâs pretty real,â Bucky nodded to the tiny test still clutched in your hand.
âI know, but this isnâtââŠâ your sentence crumbled as you blinked back down at the stick, âit doesnât exactly fit into my plan⊠work, then meet someone and get married, then get a dog, and then, after all of that, Iâd have a kid,â you slowly listed off, âI always imagined this would be something Iâd plan meticulously, not stumble into from the one time in my life that I have a stupid one-night stand.â
The soft sound of his exhale seeping into the space hung in the air for a second before he then uttered, ââŠso,â as his eyes flickered down to the positive test once again, âwhat do you wanna do?â he asked. Though as you let out a sigh, twisting your neck to glance back at him, he reached down and caught your other hand, promptly tangling his fingers with your own as he vowed, âwhatever it is, I promise, Iâll be right by your side, every step of the way.â
WEEK 6
âHey, is the owner around?â you asked the man behind the bar, âBilly, I think his name is,â you hoped you got it right, as youâd had to ask your friend for a reminder of what the bartenderâs name was.
âYeah, one second,â the mixologist uttered before you watched him poke his head in the back to get his boss.
Strolling out of the back room, a shiver ran down your spine as the visage of the proprietor awoke too many memories youâd rather forget. Although judging by the carefree look upon his face, he didnât remember you.
âHey, what can I get you?â he promptly leaned against the bar.
âHi,â nerves began to crawl up your throat as you blinked back him, âBilly, right?â
âYeah,â he murmured before he then narrowed his dark eyes in your direction, âIâm sorry, do we know each other?â
âKindaâŠâ you exhaled, scrunching up your face as you then explained, âIâm Y/n, you know, from a little over a month ago? We kindaââ
âOh!â the lightbulb went off above his head as he then casually blurted out, âwe fucked?â
âWell, uhm, yeah,â you blinked.
âWell then, Y/n,â he promptly relaxed in your presence, savouring your name on his tongue as he uttered it, âwhat can I do for you? Are you back for more, because if so, Iâm taking my break in a little bit. Thereâs a lock on the door to the storage room,â he winked.
âOh no,â you swiftly shook your head, âI mean, no thank you,â you felt heat rise in your cheeks as you averted your gaze, âIâ, uh⊠could we talk? Maybe go somewhere else, somewhere a little more quiet?â
âSure, I mean, we could go talk out back if you want,â he briefly nodded in the direction of the back door.
âGreat,â you swiftly squeak.
âAlright,â he smirked before he then raised his voice, âhey, Jerry!â you watched as his coworker perked up, âIâm taking my break!â Billy called out, though his stare continued to be trained upon you, âman the deck till I get back!â
âYou got it, boss,â the other bartender muttered before the two of you filtered through the small storage room and into the alleyway behind the bar.
The very spot where heâd not too long ago had you up against the rough brick wallâŠ
âOkay, so,â you anxiously panted, âIâm just gonna rip the band-aid offâŠâ before you then blurted, âIâm pregnant.â
âOh,â his face momentarily stayed neutral as the news ceased to sink in, ââŠohâŠâ realisation then finally dawned on him as his cocky expression faded and he instead began to gasp, âyou meanââŠâ
âYep,â you nodded faintly.
âYou sure?â
âOh, Iâm sure,â you exhaled, his question nearly making you chuckle.
âBut like, how sure are you really?â he panted, âmaybe it isnât mine.â
âNo, it is,â you stated and shot him a look.
âHow do you know?â
Blinking back at him a moment, you then stated matter-of-factly, ââŠbecause other than that one time with you, I havenât slept with anyone for over five years.â
âOhâŠâ his brows promptly floated up, âyikes.â
âExcuse me?â you squinted back at the fuckboy.
âNo, Iâm sorry,â he swiftly raised up his palms, âI didnât mean it like that, justâ, Iâm so sorry,â he uttered as if youâd instead shared with him that one of your loved ones had just passed.
âYouâre sorry for knocking me up, or sorry that I havenât gotten any in half a decade?â
âWell, I was talking about the no sex thing, I donât know how you did that,â he tilted his head, âbut now that you put it like that, yeah, both, I'm sorry for bothâŠâ
Exhaling faintly, you then uttered, âapology accepted.â
Blinking back at you, his nervous glance then fell into a pattern of darting between you and your still unnoticeable stomach, ââŠsoâŠâ
âLook, I donât expect anything from you,â your hands floated up to gesture alongside your words, âI mean, I donât even really know you.â
ââŠis that like a trick question?â he squinted back at you.
âNo, itâs not, I swear,â you swiftly shook your head, granting him some reassurance before you stated, âIâm pregnant, Iâm keeping the baby, and you donât have to be any more involved than you want to be. We could figure out some system if you want, or you can just go on with your life as usual, whatever you want.â
âReally?â he blinked, the colour slowly returning to his cheeks.
âYeah, really,â you nodded.
âOkay, whewâŠâ relief crashed into him like a title wave, âgood, because I am really not built to be a father. Donât get me wrong, I had fun with you that night, but like, that was just it, it was just that night, it was just sex, not the beginning of a white picket fence lifeâŠâ
âI completely understand,â you offered him a genuine, but faint smile.
âCool,â he puffed out one last huff, âwell, uh, good luck, I guess.â
âThanks,â you watched as he then shifted, closing the gap between him and the barâs back door.
âAnd, you know,â he paused just as his fingers enclosed around the door handle, âif you ever want some company again, you know, if youâre in the mood for a good time,â he glanced back at you over his shoulder, âjust hit me up.â
Letting out a sigh, you simply uttered, âokay,â grateful that you simply got through the mortifying interaction relatively unscathed.
WEEK 9
Raising just your chin as you heard your roommate finally waltz through the door, âhey,â you uttered from your horizontal position on the couch after youâd finally crawled your way back out of the bathroom. And though you were already exhausted, the day haven barely even begun, you were just grateful that the sickening nausea had finally settled, âI know you just finished a twenty-four-hour shift, but please tell me that you picked up some more on your way home.â
Walking up behind the couch, he then dropped a roll of crackers in your lap, âof course I did.â
âOh, youâre my knight in shining armour,â you swiftly tore open the wrapping.
And as Bucky beamed down at you, his eyes then drifted down over the robe that still draped your frame, âhey, arenât you supposed to be out the door already? Youâre not even dressed yet.â
âItâs Tuesday, the kids have PE,â you explained as you chomped down on a saltine, crumbs raining down upon your chest, âso I get to go to work a little later and puke in my own bathroom instead of hogging the one in the teacherâs lounge.â
Reaching for him to give you a hand, Bucky swiftly tightened his grasp around your own and helped you up off the couch, even though youâd much rather just stay right there and take a nap in the morning light that streamed in through the tall windows that looked out upon the apartmentâs small balcony.
Shuffling into your bedroom, the door to which stood directly behind where the large sofa was planted, you began to get dressed, first slipping on a pair of comfortable panties and a soft bra. Although, when you reached into the laundry basket balanced on your chair and brimming with clean clothes, already folded and waiting to be put away, you plucked out your favourite pair of jeans only to discover something that broke your heart.
âOh noâŠâ you breathed as you discovered that you couldnât do up the button around your growing waist, âoh no!â
âWhatâs up?â Bucky heard your alarm and swiftly appeared in the doorway, his eyes already wide and prepared for the worst.
âI am turning into an elephant, thatâs whatâs up,â you pouted before flinging yourself back onto the bed and giving it another go, struggling with the stubborn denim before you ultimately gave up with a dramatic huff.
Sulking a moment on the mattress, your eyes traced the ceiling as your mind combed through your recollection of your entire closet, thinking of options you could wear that werenât simply sweatpants, since that might not be the most appropriate thing to show up for work in.
But then your roommate opened his mouth with a gentle sigh, âalright,â he extended a hand in your direction, âgive them to me.â
âWhat?â you twisted your neck against the sheets to blink over at him.
Pushing off the doorframe, the firefighter then sauntered over and grabbed your legs, âI am gonna hang onto these, and anything else you canât fit into, for that matter,â he uttered as he tugged the pants off for you, âput them in a box over in my closet so that you donât have to get all depressed looking at them every morning.â
âReally?â a soft smile found your lips.
âYeah,â he uttered before you scurried up to your feet and shadowed him as he crossed the home and entered his own bedroom, âand then, maybe this weekend or something, weâll go shopping,â he suggested as he opened up his wardrobe to stash away your jeans.
âYou wanna go shopping for maternity clothes with me?â a small chuckle bubbled up your throat, âseriously?â
âWell, you canât run around butt ass naked for the next many, many months,â he shot back in a jesting tone, though he still briefly glanced over his shoulder at you, his eyes fleetingly flickering down over your body, still only covered in your undergarments.
Giggling gently, you then caught sight of yourself in the large mirror propped up in the corner of the room. Shifting closer, you couldnât help but search for any changes, even if you didnât spot any, you still puffed out your belly just to imagine what youâd soon look like.
âWait!â Bucky nearly startled you as he suddenly yelped, âdonât move!â
âWhat?â you twisted around a bit, frozen with your palms still resting on your stomach, as you watched him scramble to fish his phone out of his pocket.
Opening up the camera, he then pointed it towards you and said, âturn to the side.â
âWhat?â
âCome on, Bunny, flash me that belly,â he sang as he sank down to sit on the edge of his bed.
âWhy?â you cast a glance down at yourself, âI havenât even popped yet.â
âWell, then just let me snap a picture now, and then we can see how you grow from each week.â
âSeriously?â you couldnât help but chuckle back at him.
âYou are a magical creature who is literally making another human being from scratch as we speak,â he said with a completely straight face, âof course I wanna document this.â
WEEK 10
Double-checking that all of your students were out as they clustered around you in the parking lot. With a child clutching each of your hands, you heard Laura on your one side quietly murmur, âwowâŠâ as her eyes grew, the closer the blinking sirens came into view, as a huge fire truck finally curved into the schoolâs premises.
Leaping out of the engine, you spotted both Bucky, Steve, alongside colleagues like Tony, who coincidentally had a kid in your class.
And as you watched your roommate pause in the chaos to tap his captain on the shoulder, getting his approval to stay outside while his coworkers stormed in to assess the school, you then saw as he began to march straight towards you.
Leaning over a bit, you murmured, âhey, Peter? Would you mind watching my class for a second?â Â
âYeah, sure,â the science teacher nodded before you traded off the children still clinging to you.
Weaving through the crowd of evacuated students, you met Bucky halfway before he swiftly scooped up your hand and guided you around the back of the fire truck for some more privacy.
âAre you okay?â he panted, his wild eyes scanning you, âis the baby okay?â
Taken aback slightly at the level of alarm that seeped through in his tone, you tried to keep your tone soft as you said, âIâm fine, Buck, weâre both fine.â
âYou sure?â he continued to gasp, âitâs just, when I heard that it was your school, my heart fucking stopped.â
âBucky,â you uttered, promptly clutching his hand tighter, wrapping your other palm around it as well as you tilted your chin and forced his darting eyes to meet your calm ones, âIâm okay,â you reassured him, though when he kept on hyperventilating, you then brought his touch down upon your belly, âI swear.â
Staring down at your still unnoticeable stomach, he finally let out an exhale, his broad shoulders relaxing a bit as he shifted his palm slightly over your abdomen, letting it ground him.
Curving around to the side of the truck that the pair of you were situated behind, two blonde firefighters appeared and began to pack their supplies away again.
âHey, false alarm, dude,â Carol informed Bucky as she returned the hatchet in her grasp back into a compartment on the side of the engine.
âWhat?â you twisted to look at them both, âthere wasnât a fire?â
âNo,â Steve shook his head, âturns out it was just the fire alarm that was pulled.â
âYeah, apparently Tonyâs kid was just acting out,â Carol let out a faint chuckle, âheâs over there right now, probably grounding her till she goes away to college.â
WEEK 11
âHey, Buck?â
âMhm?â he hummed when you appeared in the doorway out to the balcony, bowls of dinner balanced in your hands, the mild evening warmth still enveloping you both.
Handing him his portion of pasta, you then joined him at the small outdoor table, âthereâs actually something I wanted to ask you.â
âOkay, shoot,â he uttered as he began to dig in.
âSo, you know how Iâm doing this career thing with my class all year?â you reminded him before he offered you a faint nod in response, âwell, one of the kids, for the longest time, couldnât decide on a job to pick,â you told him, âbut then after that day with the fake alarm, when you guys came by, she hasnât been able to stop talking about it. She thought it was so cool,â you smiled before asking, âso, I wanted to see if I could maybe convince you to pop by one day and talk a bit to the kids about what itâs like, you know, being a firefighter.â
âOh, well,â he breathed, barely giving it a second thought before he uttered, âsure.â
âReally?â
âYeah,â he nodded, âalthough, I could also talk to Captain Fury, see if the whole class could maybe do a little field trip to the station,â he suggested as he caught some more pasta on the tip of his fork, âyou know, let them slide down the pole, try on a helmet or something.â
âWait, are you serious?â you promptly gasped, âthat would be amazing!â you then leaned in and nearly tackled the boulder of a man in a hug.
WEEK 12
âYou donât have to be here, you know.â
âNonsense,â Bucky squinted down at you on the exam table, âof course Iâm here,â he shrugged as a smile found his lips, âwouldnât miss it for the world.â
So far, he had tagged along to each and every one of your doctorâs appointments, even if it had just been to get your blood drawn.
âI really am okay,â you uttered, scared that he was doing all of this out of unnecessary obligation, âI can do this on my own.â
âSorry,â he simply smiled, âbut youâre stuck with me,â as the doctor then entered the room. Â
âAw, you two are so cute,â she uttered as she caught the tail end of your bantering, naturally misunderstanding the smirk on Buckyâs lips, âseems like you picked a good one to start a family with.â
âOh,â your eyes went wide, âheâs notâ, weâre notââŠâ you stammered as you promptly gestured wildly between you both, âweâre just friendsâ, roommates,â you clarified, âheâs not the father, weâve neverâ, uh, you know, u-uhmââŠâ
âOh, my apologies,â she promptly bowed her head.
But Bucky swiftly offered her a tight-lipped smile and assured, âitâs fine.â
âSo,â the doctor then tried to transition onto the business at hand, âshall we take a look at how this little bun is cooking in there?â
âSure,â you exhaled to try and cool down the heat in your cheeks.
âOkay, just lean on back and lift up your shirt a bit,â she instructed, and as you did so, she then picked up a squeeze bottle resting on the ultrasound machine nearby, âthis might be a little cold,â she warned before squirting some of the gel on your stomach. Picking up the broad wand to the machine, she then glided the tip against your belly, âletâs seeâŠâ she murmured as she redirected her glance towards the small screen, scanning it efficiently before she soon uttered, âokay,â a reassuring smile flashing on her lips, âeverything looks beautiful.â
âYeah?â you tilted your head to try and catch sight of the scan she was inspecting.
âYeah,â she then spun the screen around towards the pair of you, âif you take a look right here,â she pointed to a small flicker on the image, âthat right there is your baby.â
Blinking back at it, the only thing that left your lips was a small, âwowâŠâ as you found yourself unable to tear your stare away. And as the doctor pressed a few buttons on the keyboard and a soft rhythm suddenly began to echo from the machine, goosebumps swiftly erupted across your skin, âis thatââ
âA strong and healthy heartbeat,â the doctor smiled.
âHoly shitâŠâ you heard Bucky murmur off to your side, the reality smacking him in the face as well.
âIs this crazy? Me doing this all on my own? Can I actually do it, or am I about to be in over my head?â you finally broke the silence, your head spinning, though it wasnât because of how the subway hummed beneath your seat.
âHey, look at me,â Bucky then grasped your hand, âI canât predict the future, I wish I could, but I do know this,â he made you meet his eye, âyou are going to be an amazing mom.â
Sucking in a deep breath, âreally?â tears welled up in your eyes as you felt his fingers squeeze your own.
âYeah. I mean, I wish more parents were the kind of human beings that I know you are,â he uttered with the utmost sincerity, âyouâre so kind and patient. Youâre gonna be great, I know it,â he tilted his head slightly, âand this little kid? I mean, theyâre gonna be your child, so naturally theyâd turn out to be just a ball of sunshine, a little tree hugger, just like their mom.â
Melting down against his shoulder, you half hugged his burly frame as you murmured into him, âwhy are you so wonderfulâŠâ
âOh,â he then couldnât help but joke, âa question that I ask myself every dayâŠâ
But instead of smiling as well, you just blinked up at him and uttered, âno, Iâm serious. Youâve been so incredible throughout the beginning of all of this. But just because Iâm now becoming a parent, that doesnât mean you should be forced to be one as well,â you then averted your gaze and said, âI know I canât keep living with you after the baby comes.â
Brows knitting tighter, he asked, âwhat are you talking about?â
âI donât want you to suddenly hate me when I turn your bachelor pad into a freaking family home,â you said, âI would never want to force you into a lifestyle thatâs not for you.â Â
âIâ⊠Iâm sorry, you actually think I could ever hate you?â he continued to squint before he then cocked his head, âbunny⊠come on⊠first of all, I would never ever kick you out. Sure, I lived there first, but that apartment is as much your home now as it is mine, no matter how it may change, you can live there for as long as you want,â he continued to clutch your hand in his own, âand secondly,â he then uttered, âY/n, I love you,â making your heart momentarily flutter before you reminded yourself of his purely platonic meaning of the phrase, âand so I automatically already love this little baby to bits, purely because itâs yours,â he smiled down at your stomach, âand so just because youâre doing this by yourself, doesnât mean youâre in it alone. Iâm not going anywhere. Youâre one of my favourite people in the entire world. And I already promise that Iâll lend a hand and be there for you, and this little nugget, whenever you let me.â

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubbleÂ
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hop little bunny
a/n:Â the root of this story has been with me for so many years that it has gone through countless different versions, but then, about half a year ago, i couldn't get the fantasy out of my head and then i quickly settled on the main dude being bucky and yeaaahhh, it all just kinda snowballed after that and turned into this adorableness...
summary:Â you know what wasn't in your five year plan? getting knocked up by some random bartender in your unsuccessful attempt at desperately ridding yourself of the long-festering and devastatingly huge crush you had on your roommate...
warnings:Â firefighter!bucky barnes x pregnant!teacher!reader, firefighter!avengers (steve rogers, natasha romanoff, tony stark, thor odinson, clint barton, sam wilson, carol danvers, bruce banner, fire captain!nick fury, paramedic!scott lang, paramedic!wanda maximoff), teacher!yelena belova, teacher!peter parker, fuckboy!bartender!billy russo, roommates to lovers, pregnancy, being knocked up from a one night stand, bucky isnât the biological dad, former fuckboy!bucky, y/n teaches the first grade, found family, mutual pining, she fell first he fell harder, nickname (bunny), domestic fluff, just good vibes only, explicit sexual content, total word count is 18k
masterlist | join my taglistÂ

PART ONE:Â NOT PART OF THE PLAN
PART TWO:Â BE MY BABY
PART THREE:Â ABOUT TO POP
PART FOUR: CANDLELIGHT (coming 30/8-25)
and because i couldn't stop myself, here is a little floor plan of their apartment, made in the sims:

originally steve and bucky's, y/n moved in several years ago after steve got his own place. this spacious two-bedroom apartment opens up into an open floor plan, spacious kitchen and living room that opens out to a cosy little balcony. directly to the right of the front door is the bathroom with a shower tugged away in the corner. right next to the bathroom is the biggest bedroom, a sunny space that belongs to bucky. and lastly, in the opposite corner of the apartment is the other bedroom which belongs to y/n.
series playlist:
erase me â lizzy mcalpine, jacob collier
first time â hozier
fragile â laufey
andante, andante â abba
the river â daisy jones & the six
jealous guy â donny hathaway (live cover)
green to blue â daniel.mp3
dreams â fleetwood mac
i wanna be yours â arctic monkeys
futile devices (doveman remix) â sufjan stevens
little green â joni mitchell
important to be aware â unworn
she's a rainbow â the rolling stones
sweet creature â harry styles
(you don't know) how glad i am â nancy wilson
jackie and wilson â hozier
every little thing she does is magic â sleeping at last (cover)
blurred moon â daniel.mp3
do you belive in magic â the lovin' spoonful
a groovy kind of love â phil collins
comin' home baby â mel tormĂ©
little life â cordelia
mia and sebastian's theme (married life) â birru (cover)
j's lullaby (darlin' i'll wait for you) â delaney bailey
yeh, yeh â georgie fame & the blue flames
dancing in the moonlight â olive klug (cover)

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubbleÂ
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I feel like an underrated alive!Shannon scenario is people mistaking buck and Shannon for being siblings since they do look so much a like.
I imagine someone who knows Shannon and knows she's Chris's mom sees Buck and Chris together and makes a comment about how nice it is that he's taking his nephew out. And buck is like I'm his step-dad. And everyone is so embarrassed. The person who came up to them especially. Like she just told Shannon's husband he looked like her brother how do you recover from that?
I think Chris catches on to why his mom's friend is being so awkward first and tells her that when he's out with his dad and Buck people think Buck's his bio dad and his dad is the step-dad so she's not the only one who thinks they look a like.
Buck is still confused. yeah he and chris look alike but most people assume father and son like chris said.
It isn't until chris recounts the interaction to Shannon later that he gets it. Well chris spells it out for him really.
"Mom we ran into your friend earlier and she thought Buck was your brother.
But from then on it keeps happening but it happens when Buck and Shannon are in the same place. And I think it's the thing that finally gets them to bond. Specifically messing with people about it. And by people I mean Eddie.
One of the parents at Chris's school always looks at Eddie weird and he doesn't know why but it's because Buck and Shannon told him that they are twins and when Eddie came out as gay he went from dating Shannon to dating Buck
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