what’s sonder hearts

You yelp and jerk upright, immediately slamming the crown of your head into the shelf above you. Shocking pain explodes across your skull as you stumble backward, one hand flying to the throbbing spot on your head. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The unfamiliar voice is still going, apology after apology tumbling over itself as you blink through the stars in your vision. When your eyesight steadies, you turn towards the sound and a man is already pulling out a chair.

“Here,” he says, “Sit down.”

You follow the instructions easily, it's a sharp and startling kind of pain hitting your head, you think you’d do anything you're told until it dulls a little. The apologies don't stop coming as you try to pull yourself together. Seriously, he will not stop apologising.

You press your palm against your head and wait for the ache to dull while he hovers nearby looking increasingly distressed.

Once you’ve gathered yourself a little better, you chance a glance up at him, and immediately avert your eyes back to the floor. He’s staring at you with so much concern your stomach ties itself in knots. 

There's a couple of thoughts to sort through then. The first, how the hell didn't you hear him step into the room? He’s tall and broad and firm. You should've heard his footsteps for sure, maybe he moves like a cat or maybe you were too in your own head, it wouldn't be the first time. The second, that one revolves around how pretty he is. He is with no exaggeration maybe the handsomest man you’ve ever seen. Glasses and curly hair and bright big eyes.

“S’okay,” you find your voice, staring at the floor. “I’m okay, I'm fine.” 

You hear him release a sigh of relief, it makes your face warm.

“Okay, that's good.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I thought you’d hear me come in, but–”

He cuts himself off and you chance another look at him. The sheepish smile on his face somehow makes him even prettier.

“Gosh. Sorry. I’m being rude. I’m Clark.”

You give him a soft smile, which he returns and you murmur your name in reply. 

Clark can't believe it when you tell him, he’s heard from the others how slow and reluctant you've been to warm to anyone at all since you started and now he’s done this. He might've ruined everyone’s chance, not just his own, of getting to know you. He could kick himself. Nice going, Kent. 

“Nice to meet you,” he gestures toward the refrigerator, “what were you looking for?”

His question makes embarrassment flare up in you all over again. Clark watches as you dip your head away from him again, he has to fight the urge to reach out a hand to your shoulder to comfort you. He doesn't think he's met someone quite so shy before. 

“I, uh, just my soda,” you give a helpless little smile while your fingers worry at your cuticles. “It's fine though, it doesn't matter.”

Clark can feel his heart clench as you dismiss it. It's your soda! You should have it!

“Was it cherry?”

“Uh, yeah?” 

“Theres a cherry soda thief, I haven't figured out who it is yet though,” he puts a hand on his hip and points at you with an open hand. “Stay there a sec, okay?”

You watch open mouthed as he rushes out of the room. It's shameful to admit, even to yourself, but you'd probably do whatever Clark told you to despite having only just met him. Something is clearly wrong with you.

When he comes back into the room it's with a bit of a crash and a new can of soda in his hand from the vending machine. How strange. Then he's murmuring a Here you go and holding it out towards you. You can't come up with a cohesive response, your mind goes blank because this is really so strange.

It’s simple to Clark, he’s just making up for scaring you out of your skin. To you there's nothing to make up for, accidents just happen. That's life.

Still you reach out. What you’re sure of then is that as your finger tips brush taking the can from him, the touch fucking burns.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Week three

Your easy routine – get up, go to work, go home, maybe go for a walk before settling in for the night, all without really speaking to anyone – has been slightly tweaked.

Every morning, Clark goes out of his way to stop by your desk and talk to you.

At first, you were convinced he was doing it out of pity. (Clark would be devastated to know you thought that.) Then you decided he must just enjoy the sound of his own voice. (He'd be equally horrified to hear that conclusion.) After all, you rarely give him anything more than a one-word response. Neither explanation feels quite right, but you can’t figure out what else it could be.

Little do you know that in Clark's mind his one and only mission currently is to befriend you. He wants to know more, curiosity piqued by the pretty shy thing that lingers around.

Lately, your walks home have been plagued with thoughts of him. How kind he’s been. The slope of his nose. His dark hair and cute glasses.

 As if you’ve summoned him with thoughts alone you hear your name called from somewhere behind you. You turn and sure enough Clark’s impossible to miss.

He’s a head taller than almost everyone around him, weaving apologetically through the crowd with one hand raised so you won’t lose sight of him. As if you could. His bag bounces against his side as he finally catches up. Stopping beside you with an easy smile on his face while you frown at him in confusion.

 “Where’re you heading?” he asks, dipping his head down closer to you.

Clark likes asking odd questions but this one really throws you for a loop.

“Home?” you answer with a tilted head and scrunched brow.

He nods once, like that's exactly what he expected. You wonder if you’re so predictable that having no plans on a Friday night is just a given to other people. He adjusts the strap of the bag on his shoulder and nudges his head towards the sidewalk.

“Can I walk you home?”

What is going on?

“Uhh… sure.” you agree, taking a step in the right direction. “If you want to.”

You start walking and he falls easily into step beside you, matching your pace.

For someone who never seems to run out of things to say at work, Clark is surprisingly comfortable with silence. You half expected him to chatter the entire walk, but you suppose you can scratch likes his own voice off of your list of reasons he might talk to you.

The evening sky has melted into streaks of pink and orange, casting everything in a warm night. As you sneak glances over at Clark he almost doesn't look real.

It all makes your shoulders tense and curl forwards. You don't understand how someone can move through the world the way Clark does, so confident without seeming arrogant, so open, so completely unafraid to ask for what he wants. He talks to everyone like they're already his friend.

And he's walking you home from work. It's weird. He has friends, cool friends but he’s spending his time with you. You're… just you.

What you don't know is that Clark has spent the time between your first meeting and now trying to figure out how to become your friend without scaring you off. He hasn’t figured it out yet. Still, in for a penny, he supposes.

“What, uh…” He clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck before turning his head towards you. Somewhere during the walk he’s drifted closer without noticing, his shoulder almost brushing yours now. “What’re you doing this weekend?”

“Oh…” your mouth opens and closes as you try to come up with a lie that makes you sound less lame, it doesn't work. “Nothing, I guess.”

“Really?”

“Well,” you shrug, “I need to do my laundry, I guess. And clean my apartment.” 

Clark hums, nodding absently, “You’re not hanging out with your friends?” 

He knows it's the wrong thing to ask as soon as it leaves his mouth, he feels like he’s missed the last step as he watches you curl in on yourself again, embarrassed. 

“...I don’t really have any.” you whisper, timid.

Clark's brain seems to misfire and he can’t formulate words because how can sweet lovely, albeit quiet you, not have any friends. His silence stretches too long and you quickly take it for judgement.

“I haven’t had time to make any, okay?” You say quickly, voice sharper than you intend.

It’s maybe the most assertive Clark has ever heard you. Hell, it's probably the most assertive you've heard yourself. But you don't need Clark knowing you're a bigger loser than you probably already are in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” He blurts, shaking his head, “I didn't mean it in, like, a bad way or anything.” He sighs like he's all disappointed in himself before murmuring under his breath. “I’m such an idiot.”

You're not supposed to hear it, but you do, and it pulls a giggle from your lips before you can stifle it. Clark's head whips towards you at the sound with a great beaming smile on his face delighted by the noise. Reflexively, you smile back, the biggest one he's been on the receiving end of.

You can see your building moving closer in the distance now and it disappoints you. You don't want this walk home to end. The company is too nice.

“It’s not true anyway. You have at least one friend.”

You scrunch your face at that, maybe Clark really does have too much faith in your social skills outside of work or something, but he is dead wrong. When you turn your head to tell him as much, his upper body is angled towards you with a hand raised pointing to his face which is sporting a dopey grin. It takes a second to catch his meaning as you come to a stop outside your building. 

You feel your eyes start to sting, as wetness builds in your lashline. There's no threat of tears falling, it’s just so nice.

“Really?” you ask, sad eyes staring up at Clark. He can practically feel his heart break in his chest. 

“Yeah, I’m your friend.” he nods “if you’ll have me.” 

When you give a small nod, he reaches out a hand to your shoulder and rubs a steady back and forth to console you.

This touch is less of a burn and more of a sharp pinch.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Week five

The park is filled with people, it's a warm day with sunlight spilling over the grass in sheets of gold. Groups of friends lounge on the grass with their shoes kicked off, the basketball court is packed out and there's couples meandering along the path holding hands. It's all so nice, yet you find yourself worrying at your bottom lip as you cross the grass..

Is your outfit okay? Do you look nice enough? Is it obvious that you’ve rushed here because you left the apartment too late? 

Clark Kent, from what you can tell, is a genuine guy. Not a deceitful bone in his body, you'd bet. Really you shouldn't have been surprised that he meant it when he said he was your friend, but you were, and now he walks you home from work nearly every day and you can manage to speak more than two words at a time to him. You know, he probably won't care what you look like, but if he does, maybe a smile can win him over instead, proving he hasn’t made a mistake.

You seem to see Clark at the same moment he sees you. He’s already spread out the sweetest little picnic blanket beneath a tree that casts shadows across it. Beside him sit two grocery bags bulging with, if you had to guess, more food than two people could possibly eat at once. He's gone so over the top it hurries you forward. 

“Oh gosh,” your eyes are wide, they don't seem to settle on any one thing. “Am I late?”

“Nope,” he says easily, already getting to his feet. “I’m early. I wanted to get everything set up.”

As soon as you're standing in front of him, Clark reaches for your tote bag without seeming to think twice about it. He slips the strap from your shoulder and places the bag carefully beside the blanket. Thoughtless and sweet.

It's the first time you’ve seen him not in the slightly oversized suit he wears to work and somehow he looks more handsome. It's unfair. 

“You look really nice, honey.” 

That's even more unfair. Heat rushes to your cheeks so quickly you have to look away, hiding your pleased smile by lowering yourself onto the blanket instead.

“So do you, Clark.” you murmur.

Your quiet compliment seems to level the playing field a bit. His own smile turns unexpectedly bashful, the tips of his ears flushing pink beneath the dark curls that fall over them. To distract himself, Clark quickly kneels beside one of the grocery bags.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked,” he admits, beginning to unpack containers one after another. “So… I got a little of everything.”

“This is too much, you shouldn't have,” you giggle, shaking your head, smiling despite yourself. “You’re too nice to me.”

As he lays out the variety of picnic food, you can't help but notice how close your knee is to his. How close they are to bumping together. You wonder if that closeness is intentional or not. 

Clark shrugs, before leaning closer to you. Maybe that answers your question. “Theres no part of me that could be mean to you,” He says, earnestly. His blue eyes meet yours without hesitation. “It’s easy to be nice to you.”

There's no time to digest what that means beyond the way it makes your stomach flip and your head feel lighter before he's offering you a punnet of strawberries, like what he said was simple and easy. When you reach for one you give Clark the sweetest smile you can muster which makes his stomach flip in return.

It's hard to believe how lucky you’ve got. How the hell have you ended up sitting in the sunshine, making a life here, inches away from Clark Kent the kindest man you’ve ever met. Sharing strawberries and sandwiches while he smiles at you like spending time together is the easiest thing ever.

“I’ve never been very good with people,” you start. “And I moved here just for the job, I didn’t really think about… about all the other stuff and it's so tricky to make friends…” 

You trail off, losing steam in your confession. Your fingers find your cuticles automatically, picking absentmindedly at the skin as your nerves creep back in.

“What I’m trying to say, I guess, is thank you, for being patient with me.”

Clark’s expression changes immediately, his brows pulling together. There's something almost heartbroken in the way he looks at you, as though he's genuinely upset you’d ever think gratitude was necessary. “You don't have to thank me,” he says, quietly. “It’s my pleasure, really, honey.”

You try your best to internalise those words as soon as he’s said them, the corners of your lips lifting.

“And…” He pauses, until you look up at him, Clark wants to make sure you’re listening. “I get it, y’know.”

The words shock you so much that you let out an unattractive but entirely authentic snort. It’s so unbelieveable, you think that maybe Clark Kent is a liar after all. 

“Yeah, right.”

“No really,” he turns until he’s fully facing you, one leg tucked beneath him. “I grew up in Kansas, on a farm! All this was so overwhelming but you learn to love it, I promise.” Looking at Clark in the light, you think that, yeah maybe you are learning. 

By the time the sun begins to set, you’ve both packed everything away and Clark is walking you home. He has the picnic blanket rolled beneath one arm and a bag with food neither of you touched in that hand, leaving his other arm free to swing comfortably at his side as you both make the walk back.

It’s so sweet the effort he’s taken to make today nice, the thought of it makes your next words bubble up and out before you can stop them.

“Next time, I’ll bring the food.”

Clark's eyes widen, surprise flashing so openly across his face that your stomach immediately drops and you can't help but scold yourself mentally. Why would you just assume there would be a next time? You don’t notice his thrilled expression at you suggesting a next time until it bleeds into his voice. “Yes!” he says a little too quickly, almost laughing at himself before adding, softer, “Whatever you wanna do.” 

The enthusiasm in his voice catches you off guard. It's so genuine, so earnest. You can't stop yourself from grinning back and you're fairly certain the way you're looking at him now leaves every ounce of your affection written plainly across your face.

The rest of the walk passes quickly. Soon enough, you both come to a stop outside your building. You turn toward him, suddenly unsure what to do with your hands.

“Thank you.” you say quietly.

Clark shakes his head almost immediately.

“No, thank you.” His smile softens. “I had a really great time.”

Before you know it, Clark is pulling you in for a little side hug. Warm and solid and gentle. His arm draped across your shoulders in goodbye.

This feels like less of a pinch and more like pushing on a bruise.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Week seven

When did recipes become so hard to follow? How much salt is too much? How much isn't enough? The most important question really is, why would you offer to cook for Clark?

The answer to that, you do know. The number of nice things he’s done for you is innumerable now and somewhere along the way you figured you should return the favour. And maybe impress him a little. You always seem to want that, whether you admit it to yourself or not.

 It's easier now to not be so shy around him. Clark makes things easy. 

With two trays safely put into the oven all you need to do is set a timer and–

There's a steady knock on your door, obviously Clark being as punctual as ever. You stumble quickly through your apartment, nearly catching your foot on the corner of the rug, not wanting to keep him waiting on you now. 

You pull the door open. Clark stands there looking exactly how he always does, broad shouldered and gentle eyed with the light catching in his glasses. In his hands is a bouquet of flowers.

The arrangement is beautiful. Soft pink peonies together with pale lavender sweet peas. Somehow, despite how large the bouquet is, Clark still manages to dwarf it. The sight has you a little shocked, mouth opening and closing as you try to figure out what's going on.

“...For me?”

The corners of Clark’s mouth lift to an easy smile and a tiny furrow appears between his brows as though he's genuinely puzzled you had to ask.

“Of course they are,” he says. “My ma raised a gentleman, I couldn't show up empty handed.”

“You totally could’ve,” you shuffle to the side of the doorway, gesturing him in. “I invited you to treat you for a change, remember. They're beautiful.”

Clark gives a small shrug that suggests he doesn't entirely understand your logic.

“They made me think of you when I saw them.”

Heat rushes to your face but the instinct to duck your head away from him when he says nice things has all but disappeared. Instead you meet him head on now with a bashful but thankful smile.

Your apartment suddenly feels impossibly small as Clark follows you into the kitchen. It’s cramped enough with just one person moving around. With him leaning against the counter, close enough that you can feel the heat coming off of him, it’s tight but nice.

You crouch down, digging beneath the sink to find a vase you're sure you own. You find the slightly dusty glass vase. 

When you stand, head well away from anything you could bump it on, Clark speaks again. 

“What can I help with?” he asks, “Put me to work.”

You laugh softly as you begin trimming the flower stems.

“Nothing,” you point toward the tiny table. “you can sit and relax.”

Clark huffs, discontent with that and it prompts a faint laugh to fall from you once again. You can practically feel the energy coming off of him now. He doesn't do well sitting still, having no purpose while someone else works. He’s always in motion, a quirk of his you've learnt. 

“You’re so strange, Clark.” you drawl, arranging another stem into the vase. It's maybe the first time you’ve teased him properly, and from the wide smile and joy that basically radiates from him, you’d guess he likes it. “You can’t sit still, can you?”

“I can sit still.” he defends, though his tone wobbles, betraying the lie. 

When the flowers are finally arranged, they're even prettier than when they were wrapped in paper. Maybe it's because Clark Kent bought them for you. You place the vase carefully on the counter before leaning beside him.

“I don’t think I've seen you relax the whole time I've known you,” you say, shaking your head fondly, "You're always up to something, helping someone… helping me.”

His blue eyes flick away from you, almost shy. When they return to yours they’re softer, somehow. His face seems to filter through a number of emotions before simply settling on content.

“That is relaxing to me.”

“Yeah?” you snort, “Helping me unjam one of the printers while you had an article due was relaxing?.” 

“It was,” he replies, tone genuine. “Besides those printers are super fiddly, honey.” you roll your eyes, jovially. “I like looking out for the people I care about.”

Now that does make you duck your head away from him, too overwhelmed by him to look at him any more.

“People you care about…” you start, “Including me.” 

“Including you.”

All this vulnerability makes you fidgety where Clark stands tall finding it easy to be so open about all this. He smiles as he watches you fix your hair and brush away imaginary dirt from your clothes. The smile you wear is almost blinding, so pleased to have verbal confirmation that you mean as much to Clark as he does to you. It’s the nicest thing to hear.

The smell of fresh flowers gives way to the crisp scent of burning and both of your heads snap to look at the other alarm growing in both of you. 

“Oh no.”

You spring into action moving towards the oven but you don't get far as the handle before Clark is gently nudging you aside with your oven gloves already in hand. 

The blast of heat that escapes when he opens the oven carries the acrid scent with it. What he pulls out is beyond saving, everything blackened and charred. Your face crumples before you can stop it.

“Oh, no no no.” you groan, stepping forward like getting a better look might change it. “I forgot the timer,” You press a hand to your forehead. “I'm such an idiot, sorry.”

Clark sets the ruined trays aside and turns back to you, both hands raised, palm forward. This is such a disaster, a simple dinner you couldn’t get right. 

“Whoa,” he says gently, closing the distance until only a few inches separate you. “It’s fine, it's fine, sweetheart.” 

“No It’s not,” your voice comes out smaller than intended. “I wanted to do something nice for you.”

“You have!” he exclaims, looking over his shoulder and turning back to you. “It’s just a little… over done.” you swat at his bicep with a roll of your eyes at his teasing. “We could order takeout and pretend you made it.” 

It takes a second to think over that offer, and yes, clarks attitude is right and your evening isn't ruined.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you nod, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips.

His face lights up. Without another word, Clark lets out an amused little laugh and closes the remaining distance in one easy step, wrapping both arms around you.

“Jeez,” you mumble, though there's no real complaint behind it.

The weight of his arms around you makes you stiffen. It feels awkward and unfamiliar and what are you supposed to do? Your arms hover awkwardly by your sides. 

One of Clark's big hands sweeps a smooth arc back and forth across your back and that's all you need to relax into his hold. You move to wrap your arms around him in return. Comfort and security in his arms.

It's nothing like pushing on a bruise, all you feel is warmth.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Week ten

Clark’s apartment is nice, it’s maybe the third time you've been here. The big windows are gorgeous, spilling the last of the evening light across the hard wood floors until the whole place sort of glows. You sink into his couch, soft enough that you’d happily stay here forever. You probably would, too, if it meant spending it with Clark.

He’s very quickly become your favourite person ever. His easy touches have become frequent and you've come to love them even if you don't initiate them.

You’ve noticed Clark tends to stomp around when he's tired. Most people wouldn't notice but learning about Clark has become a wonderful thing. There's no surprising you when he appears from his kitchen with a bowl of popcorn in hand.

“Here you go, pretty.” he murmurs as he drops down beside you, placing the bowl in your lap. He’s closer than he needs to be, but that just seems to be how Clark likes it now, you won't complain. 

Another thing that seems to have changed for him is the amount of pet names that fall from his lips. Honey, sweetheart, lovely, pretty and even a babe once or twice. It’s weird because when you think about it now, all signs seem to point to Clark Kent liking you. Like liking you. Romantically. 

You turn your head to look at him while he watches the screen. The movie reflects in his eyes, they're enchanting usually but it's tenfold now. Clark hands out caring touches like it's nothing and you’ve grown to crave them. Despite this, you can’t figure out why he hasn’t tried to kiss you yet.

Clark turns towards you with concern across his face, as he takes in the way you're looking at him.

“Whats wrong?” he asks.

It takes concerningly little deliberation for you to make up your mind. You know that Clark is nice enough that if you’ve got this wrong he’ll let you down gently. But you're pretty sure you haven't got this wrong.

“Why haven’t you kissed me?” there's no hesitation in your voice.

His relaxed slouch disappears as he sits upright, eyes widening behind his glasses.

“I…” He laughs once under his breath, more startled than amused. “I wasn’t sure you'd want me to.” His gaze drops, almost involuntarily, to your mouth before flicking back to your eyes. “I’ve wanted to.”

That's all you need, with a faint fuck it you surge forward to connect your lips. For a second, Clark doesn't move, not an inch, and heat floods your face as panic creeps in. He seems to be knocked out of his shocked reverie when you start to pull away.

Before you can get far, Clark raises his hands to frame your face. Large, impossibly gentle hands cradle your jaw as he draws you back towards him with obvious care. He kisses you, slowly.

There’s no urgency in it, you both have all the time in the world. His thumb brushes softly over your cheek as he smiles into the kiss. It's contagious, you feel your own smile widen until, with all the happiness, it's unclear whether you're still kissing with all the smiling going on.

“Ass.” Y/n snarked

Eric rolled his eyes before yelling out. “Let's move out!”

Once they all got to the part of the city that they were sent out to check on. They all split off into groups, each group with one leader. It wasn’t long into their check that a group of factionless attacked Y/n’s group, and Y/n got the worst of it before Eric’s group could get there.

“Shit.” Y/n held her head and side in pain.

“You alright?” Eric asked as he came over to her, helping her up.

“Y-yeah. I’m good.” She nodded before taking a step and almost collapsing again. But Eric caught her arms before she could hit the ground.

“No you're not.” Eric stated when Y/n pulled out of his hold. He sighed frustratedly. “Let me help you.”

“I’m fine.” Y/n said again, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Y/n…”

“I’m fine.” She waved him off.

After dealing with the group of factionless they all headed back to Dauntless. Eric was keeping a cautious eye on her, he was worried she took a hard beating.

Later that night in training the initiates in the training room Eric, Four, and Y/n were watching them fight on the mats.

“How’s your head?” Eric asked as he approached her.

“Fine.” Y/n grumbled her response, she hated that he kept asking. She didn’t want to come off and be seen as weak.

“How’s your side?” Eric asked, keeping a straight face.

“Perfect.” Even though she says that Eric can tell her head’s killing her and it hurts to breathe.

Eric could only just keep an eye on her as she walked around to check on the initiates. If she refuses to admit she’s hurt he can’t force her to go to the infirmary.

But around 30 minutes later Eric noticed she seemed to be uneasy on her feet and not long later Y/n collapsed.

“Y/n!” Eric rushed over to her. All the initiates were shocked that one of their leaders just collapsed. Eric picked her up in his arms, one arm under her knees and the other around her back. Eric sent one look to Four and he understood, Eric was taking Y/n to the infirmary and Four was taking over training.

It didn’t take Eric long to reach the infirmary and rush Y/n in, he brought Y/n over and set her down on one of the open bed’s. He told the doctor what had happened earlier on their mission and what happened in the training room. The doctor diagnosed her with a concussion and some fractured ribs.

A few hours later Y/n started to wake, and as she did she called out for Eric roughly. “Eric.”

“Y/n.” he lifted his head, he was relieved she finally woke up.

“Where am I?” She looked around confused.

“The infirmary.” Eric told her.

“What happened?” Y/n asked him wanting to know why she was there.

“You clasped.” He told her scooting closer to her bedside.

“Fuck.” she squeezed her eye’s shut.

“Why wouldn’t you just tell me? Let me help you.” Eric was confused, she normally told him everything so he was angry and upset at her and himself that she didn’t feel she could tell him.

“Didn’t want to seem weak.” Y/n shrugged looking anywhere but at him.

“You're not weak.” Eric scoffed, moving to sit up on her bed with her. “You scared the living crap outta me.”

“I’m sorry.” Y/n looked up at him through her lashes.

“Just don’t do it again.” Eric gives her a stern face not wanting a repeat of this situation again.

“I won’t.” Y/n agreed with a nodd. “Eric.”

“Hmm.” He hummed looking at her.

“I love you and thanks.” Y/n smiled gratefully at him.

“You're welcome, and I love you too.” Eric responded with a softer expression. “You are not leaving the bed till you're fully healed.” He referred to when she could go home that night.

Y/n laughed. “I’ll have to go to the bathroom and eat, and..”

“You’ll have me. I’ll help you and you’ll have to let me.” Eric smirked cockily. He loved the idea of her having to depend on him. She’s Dauntless so she’s a tough badass like him, so it doesn’t happen often. But he likes it when it does.

Fem!Reader drabbles

Daddy can fix it— Your boyfriend is your personal handyman, why would you need to call someone else when daddy can fix it?

The party bathroom— You aren't his girlfriend and he isn't your boyfriend, But he doesn't want you to see you nobody else, and you don't want him to see nobody

Creep— Where this dude Clark Kent wrote an article about you that doesn't make you very happy, so you tell him what you think of it in a kinda very peaceful way

Domesticated wolf (puppy) — Domestic Clark Kent headcannons!

Creep stalker, secret admirer — Where Clark is trying to be romantic with his crush like as a "Secret Admirer"—But he's so bad at it that it actually looks like you have a creep stalker. He's just trying to be sweet!

Buffalo 66— Clark persuades you to pretend to be his girlfriend in front of his parents.

Party 4 u— Where you threw the whole party just for him, but the phone keeps ringing. Because Superman always has someone to save out there. You were hoping for him to come through.

Chain 'round his neck — Clark Kent doing anything in the mall with you headcannons

You'll be my summer boyfriend— On the beach with your summer boyfriend Superman Headcannons!

Anti-hero— Where you're insecure because you think Clark wants Lois because she's smaller than you, when you don't know that Clark Kent can lift up literally ANYTHING.

Ain't no hollaback girl— Where you offer to drive your boyfriend to work and Clark realizes you're a hell once you put your hands on the wheel.

Wanna a good girl who does bad things (smut 18+) — Where you guys are just a freaks in bed.

Always, Always, Always assistant— Where Perry gets Clark a temporary assitant who ends up falling in love with him. But since you think Clark doesn't like you too, youre so done. Or well, you think you are

Le banana split (SMUT)— Where after coming home from work, Clark finds you at the table, dressed in only his favorite Vanilla Cream and cherries.

Let me ask my wife — Superman as your husband headcannons

The type of daddy — Clark kent is the type of daddy Headcannons

Mr. Superman for the ladies — Where you, preschool teacher, get the incredible Superman (aka your boyfriend) to come to your classroom for Jobs and Careers Day.

Your english teacher and your gym teacher are getting married — Summary: Where your kids and Clark's kids are 100 percent sure the english teacher (You) and the gym teacher (Clark) are dating.

Will you marry, kiss or kill me? — (Summary) Where you decide to kill Oliver Queen, kiss Clark Kent, and fuck/marry Bruce Wayne. Clark hears you and can't stop overthinking about it all day—why would you want to marry or even fuck Bruce Wayne and not him? You don't want to marry him? To fuck with him?

Clark Kent and the dork cheese macaroni — (Summary) Where Clark accidentally goes viral for make a cook tutorial YouTube video where he's cooking for you. Now Clark has a YouTube acc where he makes tutorials about you

The sleeping Beauty and the dog — (Summary) Where after you forget your panties at your one-night stand Clark Kent's house, Clark finds them torn to pieces the next morning by Krypto. What's Clark Kent doing buying you new underwear as an apology?

The day superman saved mommy — (Summary) Your neighbor Clark Kent being practically your son's best friend, plus the super cute guy next door who obviously has a crush on you taking your child to work with him.

Damn, I forgot! — Summary: It was just a one-night stand! Of course, you didn't know that in Krypton, one night stands don't actually exists. So yes, you took Clark Kent's virginity, so deal with the consequences and marry him!

Model!Reader series

She eats ice cream! Where Clark may have a little crush on the fashion model he's having an interview with

She eats ice cream! (Part 2) Where Clark Kent might be maybe a little jealous of that rumor of yours about you dating a movie star. Where Superman visits your balcony as a really pretty surprise, because he's definitely not jealous!

The way she is with me Where the media has been talking a lot about you and Superman, and Superman thinks it's time to reveal his journalist identity to you.

The super man's best friend (Synopsis) You meet your boyfriend's dog with a little fear that he might not like you.

Hot girl likes hot nerd (Synopsis) Where now that you know Superman's civil identity, you're crazy in love about this version of him: Clark Kent the hot nerd with slutty glasses for you

Kisses by candlelight (Synopsis) Where your boyfriend, because the press has been more upset than usual, prepares a little surprise for you. Picnic indoor!

In the mood for love (Synopsis) Where Clark gets an ultra-exclusive interview with one of the country's top super fashion models—his girlfriend

She's that girl (Synopsis) Where your boyfriend takes you to meet his parents, but they already know you. Of course, you're the girl from TV!

But mommy I love him! (Synopsis) Where your mom's opinion is the most important to you, but she thinks Clark is just another guy dating you to get a leg up on you—Clark does his best to convince her he's not.

May the force be with my lover (Synopsis) Where It's your boyfriend's birthday, and of course you're going to show off his gift! You're not friends with one of the Star Wars industry producers for nothing— or something like that.

You got me feeling hella good Where Clark is front row during the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show in awe. Just like he's all blushing in the dressing room full of lingerie models, waiting for you

Bimbo!Reader series

It's so hard being a pretty gal! (Synopsis) You're dying for the attention of the handsome cute co-worker. Everyone wants you, but you only want him! And he wants you. But he's too oblivious to realize it

The saddest doll eyes (Synopsis) You thought Clark was like your exes, so when you saw him in a bad mood, you quickly expected him to use your body even if you didn't want it and were tired. You realize that Clark is not like any of the men you have dated.

Barbie mess Where Clark Kent is just Clark Kent, your super man always watching your back and cleaning all your dummy pretty messes

Pretty in pink Where Clark doesn't know if all your clothes are actually pink and short. You just want to kiss him all the time (It's not like he's complaining)

Whoopsie daisies (Synopsis) Your boyfriend and Krypto meet your spoiled super cute doggy. A Pomeranian named Daisy!

Is this on live? (Synopsis) Where, while you're shopping, a huge alien attack begins right in the middle of where you are. But— Is that a camera for the news? You are appearing on TV right now? OMG, OMG, OMG!!!

Hello Kitty sandwiches Where every day Clark wonders what his little dummy always pretty girlfriend packed him for lunch. Hello Kitty sandwich or star pretzels?

Born to be spoiled Headcannons of Clark Kent and his pretty, dummy bimbo girlfriend

Blue doggy series

They call it puppy love (synopsis) you used to have a dog with Lex. Now Lex uses "joint custody" of the dog as an excuse to stay in your life. When you start dating Clark, Lex holds the dog hostage. Luckily for you, Superman is always there for you. 🐶💗

They call it puppy love (part 2) (Synopsis) Where you throw a Superman-themed birthday party for your doggy, and your ex Lex Luthor shows up uninvited, saying "Is his damn kid too".

One Shots & Drabbles

Eloping- ꩜, 𔘓𓂃

Strawberries and I Do’s ("Eloping" rewrite) 𔘓𓂃 , 🌸⋆｡

Resolution - ꩜, ✗, 𔘓𓂃

Ring - Clark sees youre not wearing your wedding ring. 𔘓𓂃

Clarks cape - clark wraps you in his superman cape 𔘓𓂃

Kiss them goodnight too - clarl kisses your stuffies before leaving 𔘓𓂃

Aphrodisiac - clark kent & his nympho girlfriend ꩜, 🌸⋆｡

Undressed , - clark kent undressing you with his eyes — literally 𔘓𓂃

Let me in - ✗, 𔘓𓂃

Kiss the Ring - 𔘓𓂃

birthday baby - on your birthday, clark kent turns whipped cream into foreplay. - ꩜

anatomy - in which you learn anatomy with tutor!clark ꩜

keep the glasses on - ꩜

link - clark picks you up and eats you out ꩜

link - husband!clark fingers his wife with his left hand ꩜

Do Not Disturb - olderbf!clark fucks you on his office desk (ao3 link)꩜, 🌸⋆｡

Panty Stealer - perv!roomate clark steals your panties (ao3 link)꩜

Trading Places (ao3) - Clark Kent and Kal-El are both your boyfriends — identical twins who love switching places just to get you to themselves whenever they want. ꩜

Construction worker!clark (ao3)

Save Me - You’ve loved Clark Kent since before you knew what love was—since scraped knees, shared secrets, and long walks home under a Smallville sky. But Clark has always been hiding something. ꩜, ✗, 𔘓𓂃

Video Phone - making a sex tape for clarks long nights away from home

Mechanic clark x reader - ꩜

On His Knees - After an argument leaves you giving Clark the cold shoulder all day, he spends every moment trying to earn your forgiveness. ꩜, ✗

savor - clark kent has an oral fixation ꩜

Break of Dawn - ꩜

no barriers - You and Clark have always been careful, no matter how desperate things got. But one night, while he’s buried deep inside you, you make a decision. You reach down, pull the condom off, and whisper that you don’t want anything between you anymore. ꩜

who caves first? - you and clark turn self control into a competition and see who can hold out the longest... except neither of you is exactly making it easy for the other.꩜

hung walk - telling clark he as a hung walk

Headcanons

Clark "let me ask my wife" Kent hcs - 𔘓𓂃

perv!roomate ck hcs - (ao3 link)꩜

freeuse!clark x nympho reader hcs

Cowboy!Clark

Buckle Bunny, Tyrant, Born to ride, Sweet as lemonade , Wildflower Fever, Cotton Candy Kisses, Sugar on the Counter, My Rose, Cherries and Wine, Loosely Buttoned, Cinnamon Girl , Save a Horse

Neighbor!Clark

Headcanons -pt.1, pt.2 𔘓𓂃

Youre my hero - telling neighbor clark he's your hero. 🌸⋆｡, 𔘓𓂃

Super stash - clark sees your stash of superman merch 𔘓𓂃

Trucker!Clark

Passenger Princess Headcanons – pt.1 🌸⋆｡, 𔘓𓂃

Highway Heat - Life on the road with trucker!clark means long nights, neon diner stops, and a whole lot of devotion. When you decide to spoil him on the highway, things get a little risky. ꩜, 𔘓𓂃

American Wedding - After a spontaneous wedding in a kitschy Las Vegas chapel, you and Clark Kent retreat to a modest motel room to celebrate your vows. ꩜, 𔘓𓂃

Boxer!Clark

Lucky Touch - before every match, clark retreats to the gym office with you, relying on an intamite ritual that steadies his nerves, and sharpens his focus. ꩜

Glitter & Bruises - When boxer Clark Kent first notices you under the arena lights, everything changes. You’re the gym owner’s daughter, the ring girl everyone watches, and the one person he’s been strictly forbidden to want. 𔘓𓂃, ꩜

Poolboy!Clark

Desperate Housewife - Neglected by your work-obsessed husband, you find yourself drawn to the new pool boy, Clark Kent. 🌸⋆｡, ꩜, ✗ pt.1 (other parts on ao3)

Specials

You’re not casual. You’re obsessive, and quietly insane. You don’t become the top of your field like this while being anything else. It’s easy to contain yourself in this kind of work, in it’s order and chaos all at once. There are rules that you to follow, then break, and everyone praises you and you glow like a diamond catching sunlight.

Not absorbing it. Because it passes right through, and it’s never enough, and you get addicted to it. The praise, from these living gods. They all love you, and you bask in it, and then you look at him.

Bucky.

The only one who doesn’t praise you. Who doesn’t treat you like a good dog, bringing them treats and newspapers. When you met him, he barely treated you like anything at all. Tony had introduced you, he’d looked you up and down, shaken your hand, and walked away.

But you.

You’d been a fucking goner.

Bucky’s handsome in the way you used to only see in movies. Your exact type, from the hair to the eyes to the way he carries himself. Silent and in control, kind but not overly nice, polite without expectation. You’d made it two years without developing a crush on anyone. Somehow, surrounded by some of the world’s most handsome men, you’d maintained that tiny sliver of your sanity.

Then there was Bucky. And you lost yourself.

You’re not weird around him. You’re not a stalker, and you’re not that kind of insane. You’re perverted in the privacy of your head, drooling over his massive hands and muscles, but swallowing it before it leaks out of your lips. You don’t react when Tony says his name, save for a traitorous pulse in your cunt.

“You ready to look at his arm?” Tony asks, and you hum.

“Think so. Just maintenance?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tony sighs. “I’d work on Terminator myself, but Cap says I spend the whole time looking like I want to throat chop him. So,” he shrugs. “Don’t look like you wanna throat chop him.”

You laugh softly, and grab the tools off the bench. It’s not a big deal. You’re the only person besides Tony, in the whole building, who’s qualified to work on Bucky’s arm.

But that means you get to be close to him. Just the thought of it makes your skin hot, your heart buzzing more than thumping, your fingers fidgeting with the straps of your toolkit as you restlessly wait.

Bucky says your name, and your head shoots up. He’s there. He’s right there, and watching you with those careful, beautiful eyes.

“Hi,” you say, and it sounds so pathetically breathless.

Bucky tilts his head. His hair looks soft. You want to run your fingers through it, to pull on it, to feel it tickling over your face as he ruts into your drooling pussy-

He’s staring at you. He must’ve said something that you didn’t hear. Fuck.

“What?”

His lips twitch. Just the smallest movement up, almost impossible to catch. Your heart skips, and you almost miss his words again.

“You the one workin’ on me today?” His voice is low. It rolls through the air like thunder.

You wonder, if there’s any part of him that isn’t addictive.

You’re here for a job. You’re here to give him medical treatment. You plaster a sweet smile on your face, and gesture to the chair. You can be normal about this.

“Tony has bad bedside manner,” you say smoothly, and Bucky chuckles.

God, that’s worse than the smile. It echoes through your chest, and you almost choke on it. How fucking bad you want him.

“He does call me Schwarzeneggerevery time I’m here,” he mutters, crossing the room. “Don’t even know what that means.”

You hum, pretending to look at your tools. He’s sitting down next to you. Your knees are bumping. You’re normal. “Arnold Schwartzinagor. Actor who played the Terminator.”

“Ah.” Bucky pauses. “Sam calls me that, too. It a good movie?”

“It’s fine.” You shrug. “If you like stuff from the 80s.”

“I don’t know things from the 80s.”

You laugh softly, and look up with an apology on your tongue. You find Bucky staring at you, and your breath catches in your throat.

His eyes are so intense, you think they can see right through you. To the lust, pounding in your bloodstream. You have to open your mouth to breathe. Bucky’s eyes flick down. Just tracking a movement. Nothing about you.

You kick yourself internally, and push the casual smile back into place.

“I think you’d like some of it.” You reach for his arm, and Bucky turns it palm up, still staring at you. “I mean, any decade will have it’s ups and downs.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You run your fingers over the plates of metal, and for a second, forget all about the Bucky attached to them. It’s a beautiful artwork of technology. Overlapping, gold-inlaid, smooth under your fingers. You turn the wrist slowly, and there’s only a faint whir. No clicks. Shuri must be using a muffler, or some kind of fluid that moves the wires instead of gears-

“You want me to go?”

Your head shoots up, a panicked flush spreading over your cheeks. “No- No- I- I’m just-“

Bucky raises his brows, light amusement dancing in his eyes. Your words falter. He’s fucking with you.

“Shut up,” you roll your eyes, and Bucky chuckles again.

God, that sound. It’s going to be the death of you.

“It’s just- It’s amazing technology.” You mumble defensively, and Bucky shrugs.

“I can tell, from the way you’re eye fuckin’ it.”

“Eye fucking.” You shake your head, biting back your smile. “How do you even know what that means?”

“Too much time with Sam.”

“Hm,” you grab your screwdriver, running your hands up the mock muscle—he should be thanking Shuri even more, she didn’t have to give him biceps—looking for a panel. “Tony told me you weren’t going to talk.”

“Tony’s got that bad bedside manner,” Bucky shrugs with his good arm. “You gonna be nicer to me, doll?”

You just hum, ducking your head to hide your flush. Doll. He called you doll.

And Bucky huffs an amused laugh, at your non-answer. But he keeps talking to you. He tells you what Sam’s already gotten him to watch, and what Steve’s trying to get him to watch next, and what Steve’s saving so they can look at it together.

“Is Star Wars any good?” He asks, and you snort.

“Do you like cowboys?”

“I’m neutral.”

“Do you like space?”

“Yeah,” he pauses, then mutters, “I wanted to go to the moon. When I was a kid.”

You look up, and find a faraway look, etched over his handsome features. Your smile softens, and you lower your voice to a whisper, because this feels like a secret. “Yeah?”

Bucky nods, his eyes finding yours again. “I heard we got up there eventually.”

“We did. A few times.” It’s hard to hold his gaze. An unbearable ache is staring to pool between your thighs. “But now there are aliens on earth, so the final frontier is less… Coveted.”

Bucky’s lips twitch. It seems to be the closest he really gets to smiling. You want to see it over, and over, and over again.

“I think you’d like Star Wars.” You’re still whispering. You don’t know why.

“Alright,” Bucky says. And that’s it. He just… Trusts your words.

He asks for you again, next week. Tony claps you on the shoulder and thanks you, because Christ, he stares at me and I feel like I’m under surveillance. You roll your eyes and don’t respond. It doesn’t feel like that when Bucky stares at you, but he also does stare at everyone. So you’re not special. You’re just another person in his line of sight.

“I tried those donuts you were talkin’ about,” he tells you one afternoon, and you hum.

It’s the new routine. Bucky comes for you to work on his arm. You’re normal about it. You talk like people, and his lips twitch, and you feel something press on top of your chest, trying to gnaw your heart right open.

“Liked them,” he adds, staring at you. As always.

You hum, looking at him under your lashes. “Did you have the cookies and cream?”

He nods. “Just like you told me to.”

You smile despite yourself. It’s those small confirmations that he thinks about you, which get you the most. It means you mean something to him. It drives you insane.

“Sam says there are all kinds of ice cream flavors now, too.”

“Sam’s right.”

Bucky sighs. “Hate it when that happens.”

You laugh, a bubbly, pathetic sound that only Bucky pulls out of you. His fingers twitch under your hand, and you glance up.

It would be wise, if you stopped doing that. Every time you find him staring at you, you feel fucking insane.

“You should try cotton candy ice cream,” you murmur. “It’s fucking crazy.”

“That is my favorite kind of thing.”

“I know.”

Bucky’s lips twitch, and your heart almost bursts. “You got a good place? For ice cream?”

You shrug. “The grocery store?”

Bucky grunts, and his fingers twitch again. You focus back on his hand, because you don’t understand why they keep doing that. The rest of the session passes, and Bucky smiles at you before he goes, and you hold onto it like he just handed you a pearl-strung noose. Clutched between your teeth and priceless, but making your breathing short.

The rest of the day always passes in a daze, after you see Bucky. The seconds rush past you in an avalanche, and then you’re in your room, and  you let it take over.

How much you want him. How much you need him.

You lay, flat on your back in bed, and let your thoughts run wild. Bucky’s massive hands, one cool and one burning hand, would wander up your thighs. He’d shove your knees open, and kiss over the sensitive, hidden patches of skin. The stubble he’s been growing would scrape and tickle, as he kissed over your weeping pussy.

“All for me?” He’d murmur, and you’d nod helplessly. “You just walk around, pussy leakin’ because of how bad you need it?”

And you’d whimper. You do. There’s nothing you can do to help it, but save that desire for locked doors and hot, tangled sheets. Your fingers—smaller than Bucky’s, but all you have—rub over the swollen lips of your pussy, spreading your arousal as you picture that it’s Bucky instead. You push one finger in slowly, then a second one because you need them to stretch you like Bucky’s would.

“Messy girl,” he’d coo in your ear, and your back arches. You start to fuck yourself, slow and tentative as your thoughts run wild.

This is what just one of his fingers would feel like. Pumping in and out of you, his palm grinding down on you clit until you’re trembling beneath him. You’d try to push up into his hand, but he’d shove you right back down and kiss over your throat. Licking and nipping and driving you out of your fucking mind.

“Buckyyyy...” You moan at the air, and when you squeeze your eyes shut you can almost feel him.

“There you go, babydoll,” he’d kiss under your ear, his body pressing over yours. Warm and massive, pinning you to the bed, forcing you to just take it. “That’s it. You like that, don’t you. Like fallin’ apart on my fingers.”

You whimper and grab at the sheets. Your wrist aches, and you can’t hit that gooey, wet spot inside you, but god you just need to cum.

“I know,” Bucky would hit deeper. Wet, lewd sounds would fill the room, as he pounded his fingers into you at an unforgiving pace. “I know, sweet girl. C’mon, show me how pretty you are when you cum.”

Your back arches off the bed. Your hand shoots over your mouth as you moan and cry out his name, your thighs shaking and pussy squeezing down on your fingers. You lay there for a while after you’re done, holding the sheets in a vague form of Bucky.

Tomorrow, you’re going to see him again. Maybe just over breakfast, or passing in the hall. But you’ll see him. And you’ll have to look him in the eyes, and pray that he can’t see it just under your features. That all he’d ever need to do it touch your head, and you’d fall to your knees.

You’re devoted to him. He thinks of you as a friend, and he’s not your boss, but he’s boss adject, and there’s nothing about him that’s accessible. There’s no world where this ever goes beyond fantasy.

But god, you’re going to fantasize. You can’t hurt anyone, by just fantasizing.

That’s what you’ll tell yourself over and over, to avoid the guilt.

It’s all just a fantasy.

You‘re perfectly professional about it. It’s not Bucky’s fault that he’s so handsome it feels like you shouldn’t be allowed to look at him. You can keep your desire bottled up, keep in the warmest, wettest pits of your stomach. It can seep out between your thighs when it becomes too much to bare. It can breed into itself and spread up into your heart, festering in the dark. But Bucky will never see it. You’ll be good, and you’ll act sane, and that will be it.

He’s been through too much already, to add your insatiable, ardors devotion to his list of problems.

You’ve developed an easy friendship. That’s all you’ll allow yourself to have, all you let yourself think about in his presence. When you’re working on his arm, you don’t think about those big, cold fingers being buried in your pussy until you’re alone in your room. All your daydreams are trapped in your sheets, and your moans absorbed and locked in your pillowcase.

You think about Bucky pinning you down with a warm, splayed hand on your abdomen. About his smirk, as he bullies three metal fingers into your pussy, forcing a perfect stretch before fucking you like a toy. His cold thumb swiping over your clit, sending shivers through your body. His eyes gleaming and attention burning, as he drags out orgasm after orgasm.

That hand would be like having a personal fuck machine, and he’d act like it until the very end. All taunting and teasing until you were spent and limp below him. Then he’d kiss the corner of your mouth, your cheek, the space between your eyes. He’d coo about what a good girl you were for him, and you’d whimper, your voice lost from screaming his name.

“What’re you thinking about?” Bucky says, sitting next to you at the kitchen counter.

You swallow, and shrug meekly. You never feel small around anyone but him, but you’ve never been this lost in anyone but him. It’s a miracle no one’s noticed, how Bucky shows up and suddenly you’re all flushed cheeks and girly giggles. You might as well be twirling your hair and kicking your feet. It’s pathetic. You can’t stop.

“Nothing?” Bucky pushes a little, and you give him a close-lipped, full smile.

“Nope.”

“You looked like you were thinkin’ about something.”

“I wasn’t.” You look back to the sandwich you’d been working on. Bucky keeps staring at you. He always does. “Nothing going on up here, Barnes.”

Bucky’s lips twitch.

The whole world seems brighter, like he’s just like some holy kind of candle.

“I don’t believe that,” he murmurs, and you shrug.

“You don’t have to.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Good for you.”

“It is, isn’t it,” he chuckles. “I’m gonna love being right.”

You blink, shooting his a sideways look. “Being… Right?”

“I know you’re thinkin’ about something.” He shrugs. “I’ll figure out what.”

Oh. Under no circumstances can he find out what you’re thinking about. “It’s not anything interesting,” you try lamely, and Bucky smirks.

“Ah. So it’s something.”

“I- That’s-“ You sputter. “Why do you even care-“

“I like knowin’ what you’re thinking,” he shrug. “It’s always interesting.”

You blink at him. For some reason, that makes your throat close up, your eyes burning with embarrassing tears. Your knees are wobbling, and you’re sitting down. You grunt and look back to your sandwich, and Bucky chuckles.

“C’mon. Tell me.” He leans closer. There’s a gravity, from his heat, and it makes you want to just collapse over his chest.

You look at him from the corner of your eye, and you won’t tell him. That’s against the rules. It defeats the purpose.

But god, he’s looking at you. Really looking at you. You can count each shade of blue in his eyes. If you move just an inch, your noses might bump.

“I’m hungry,” you whisper, and Bucky’s brow knits.

He looks down to your sandwich. Then back to you. Adorable confusion flashes over his face. “You should… Uh- Eat.”

You nod, and he clears his throat, leaning back. You wish you could grab the collar of his shirt, and drag him back.

“You ever seen this thing called the Princess Bride?” He asks, not touching any food himself.

Just sitting there. With you. You try not to think about it too much.

You nod, chewing on your sandwich with puffed out cheeks. “’S a really good movie-“

“Chew then swallow, doll.” Bucky’s lips twitch, and you flush and obey.

“It’s a good movie,” you mumble, giving him a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

Bucky shrugs, his gaze dropping to your mouth. Your breath hitches. You go perfectly still, afraid that if you shift, he’ll look away.

His tongue darts over his lips. He tips his head, his forearm flexes as he curls his fingers, and your breathing gets shallow. Something electric has shifted in the air, and it’s making you dizzy. Bucky reaches up slowly, and if you weren’t rooting in place, you think you’d fall out of your chair.

His thumb wipes the spot right above your lips, and a shock rushes through your body. His nostrils flare, his eyes lock onto yours, and his touch lingers.

When he pulls back, the movement is slow. Controlled. Your tongue flicks out, to lick where his thumb had been. Bucky’s nostrils flare.

There’s something on his thumb. Tiny little breadcrumbs that must’ve been stuck to your cheek from the sauce. Bucky brings the finger up to his mouth, holding your gaze, and sucks the crumbs away. Heat pools in your tummy, and your thighs press together.

Bucky stares at you. You grab the edge of your seat with white  knuckles, trying to keep yourself from falling off.

“Crumbs,” he mutters, and you nod.

“Yeah.”

“I- Uh-“ He coughs, and looks away. Disappointment sinks like a boulder into your stomach.

You don’t know what you expected. Hell, you’ve told yourself what to expect. You’re not allowed to be disappointed by him. You’re not allowed to want anything from him, except for what your head can offer.

“Sam’s been tryin’ to make me watch it,” he mutters, and you blink.

“What?”

“Princess Bride.”

“Oh.” You’re still a little drunk on his proximity. He smells like something rich and spicy, and it’s fogging up your brain. “Cool.”

Bucky nods. “We’re gonna watch it next Friday. In that common room, where Stark makes us do game nights.” He gives you a sideways look. “I never see you at those.”

You shrug. “I’m not an Avenger.”

“Stark says you get invited.”

You do. But that would be a night of drinking and laughing and being closer to Bucky than you can handle, so you usually lock yourself in your room and pretend he’s fucking you stupid.

“You’re invited to movie night, too.” He adds casually, and you swallow.

Movie night. Where Bucky would be near you. In the dark. You can’t go there. You’ll lose your mind.

But he’s looking at you with such dim, cautious light in his eyes. There’s no expectations. Just hope. And it pulls the words out of you before you can stop them.

“Oh- Okay.”

Bucky beams, and that makes it worth it. The risk, that he might brush your hand in the dark and you’ll moan loud enough for everyone to hear.

He reaches up, and wipes a few more breadcrumbs from your cheeks. Time seems to stop, when he touches you. It’s dangerous, and you barely manage not to fall all over him before he pulls away.

“You get messy,” he mutters, and oh, God.

You shouldn’t have said yes. Why the fuck did you say yes. Now you’re going to have to sit next to him, after that.

You get messy. He has no idea.

That night, you end up back in your bed with a vibrator pressed over your panties. It makes the feeling stronger, with the friction of the fabric, and you toss your head back. It’s easier and easier to get lost in the fantasy, lately. The better you know him, the clearer it gets.

You can almost feel his hands, mapping over the curves and soft dips of your body. You can almost smell him.

He mouths at your breast, pinching and rolls your nipple between metal fingers. You make a broken, pathetic sound, and he smirks.

“I know, doll. Too much, isn’t it?”

You whimper, pressing the vibrator down. Bucky hums, his hand wrapping around yours, and your hips jerk when he angles it to shove right against your clit.

“Too much,” he coos, making out with the softness of your breast. “I’m barely even touchin’, and you’re already about to fuckin’ fall apart for me.”

Your eyes roll back, as Bucky starts to guide the vibrator up and down. Your mouth falls open in a long moan, as he grabs your hips and pushes them higher, further exposing your pussy. He bites at your nipple, then turns his attention to the neglected one. You writhe in the sheets, gasping his name, and he smiles.

“Dirty girl.” He pushes your hand back, just enough for him to rip away your panties, exposing your cunt to the cold air. “Look at that, pretty little pussy fuckin’ shining for me.”

You grind down, trying to find friction on the sheets. Bucky pushes the vibrator against your bare pussy, and your eyes roll back in your head. He starts kissing all over your chest, pawing at your breasts and swirling his tongue around you nipples, sending electric shock through your body. He licks the sensitive buds the same way he licked his thumb. Your hips start to roll mindlessly, as the coil in your stomach threatens to snap.

When you cum, it’s with a cry of his name. The coil snaps, and heat floods out of your pussy, all over the vibrator and your hand. Your body convulses with the sheer force of it, and Bucky kisses down. Over your abdomen, your hips, your inner thighs.

“What a mess, baby.” He mocks, before pressing the sweetest kiss to your clit.

You sob, trembling in the sheets, and grab at his hair.

But your hand finds nothing.

Because it’s just another fantasy, kept in the confines of your mind.

Movie night was a bigger mistake than you could’ve ever imagined.

You show up, and it’s just Bucky and Sam. Sitting on opposite ends of the couch, because men are strange creatures.

“Stevie’s on a mission,” Bucky says, staring at you like he’s seeing an angel. Like he didn’t invite you.

There’s an odd rasp to his voice, too. Maybe he’s just tired.

Sam says your name, that signature, I know something that everyone else doesn’t smirk on his face. You don’t think much if it. He always has it, even when he doesn’t know shit.

“Buck told me you’d be comin’. I didn’t believe him.”

“Sam.” Bucky grunts, and Sam shrugs.

“What? I didn’t.” He grins at you. “You never leave your lab-“

“She leaves her lab.” Bucky gives you an apologetic look, but you just laugh.

“No, he’s right. I really don’t.”

Bucky sighs, rolls his eyes, and pats the seat next to him. You smile to yourself, taking a long breath before you move. You’re going to be normal about this. Very, incredibly normal. So normal, they’ll think something’s wrong, because no one’s ever been this normal in history.

You last ten minutes.

The movie starts. You’ve seen it before, but you try to pay attention to every, tiny detail. The only other option is paying attention to Bucky. To the weight of him at your side, the way his knee brushes against yours and his arm is slung over the back of the couch. You’ve never seen him so relaxed and tense, all at once. He’s sunken into the cushions, but whenever you look over, his jaw is tight.

You could swear you catch his gaze, once or twice. If you do, he looks away immediately. And you feel it, that buzzing heat over your skin. But you’re supposed to be watching the movie. He’s supposed to be watching the movie. So you really, really try not to look over.

Bucky’s knee pushes against yours, and you swallow. His fingers trail near your shoulder, and you wrap your arms around your stomach to suppress the shiver. He’s warm. So fucking warm you can feel it, blooming in your core. You shift in your seat, and you’re already wet.

The movie isn’t even a third of the way done.

Bucky’s fingers rest on your shoulder. It’s so light, so casual, you’re not even sure he knows he’s doing it. You take the risk, and turn to fully look at him. He’s gotten even more relaxed, the knit of his brows loosened, pretty pink lips parted as he watches the TV. You want to reach up, and trace the stubble of his jaw. Maybe kiss up the column of his throat, dig your nails into his pecs and make out with that full, perfect mouth.

You let out a tiny sigh. Bucky doesn’t react to it. Too lost in the movie. Not paying you any mind.

And you should look away. You’re not here to Bucky watch.

You turn your head for three whole seconds, before your eyes start to ache. As if they can’t stand not to look at him. You try to resist it, but it plays over and over, on a loop in your brain. The image of him in the dark. The heat from him, almost penetrating under your skin and making you rise up like a balloon. Your head is in the clouds. You have to look at him.

You close your eyes, trying to fight it. Bucky’s hand drops from your shoulder, down to your upper arm, and your breath hitches.

Your eyes shoot open, and Bucky’s right there. Staring at you, with the same intense, focused need that’s clawing at your ribs and up your throat.

He grabs your chin, between strong but gentle fingers. You swallow, letting your gaze trail down his body. His massive chest, torso that looks perfect to hook your legs around, his thick thighs and his crotch.

The bulge, pushing through his sweats. It looks thick. Long and thick, demanding some attention. You look back to Bucky with your best, doe-eyed pout. He smirks, and leans down to kiss you. It’s slow and deep, his tongue swiping over your lower lip before pushing into your mouth. You moan, and Bucky weaves his hair through your hair, tugging slightly. Your second moan is downright pathetic. You grab his thigh, letting your nails brush against the outline of his cock.

Bucky hisses against your lips, and pulls back. You bat your lashes at him, and his lips twitch.

“Messy girl,” he mutters, before pressing a sweeter, mocking kiss to your lips.

He pulls away too quickly, but before you can give chase, you’re lost in a daze. Bucky’s pulling down his pants, taking his boxers with him. His cock springs free, thick and veiny, massive even in his own hand. He strokes himself slowly, giving you a prompting, amused look. You swallow, licking your lips.

“C’mon, doll,” he beckons. “Show me what you can do.”

Almost in a trance, you nod. Bucky’s eyes darken, as you crawl over his lap. You move his hand away, and fist his cock in one hand. He grabs the back of your neck, not to push, but for balance. A low, guttural sound rolls through his chest as you start to pump him, and you smile to yourself.

He really is perfect. A heavy, certain weight in your hand, jumping slightly whenever you squeeze him near the base. You shift back on your knees, using your other hand to massage his balls. He hisses, his grip tightening on your neck, and you smile. 

When you look at him, there’s nothing but pure devotion in his gaze. You squeeze again, then pick up your pace, and he groans out your name.

You kiss him, pushing his head back against the couch cushions. He grunts, but lets you guide him. As if he knows that it’s all just a show, before you let him fuck your face like an animal.

“Relax, baby,” you breathe against his lips.

Bucky lets out a deep, rough laugh. “Little hard to do that right now.”

You giggle, swiping your thumb over the slit of his cock. “Is it? Hard?”

Bucky groans, and deepens the kiss. You slide off of him, before he can just grab your hips, pick you up, and sit you on his dick.

You move back, lowering down to your stomach so you’re eye level with his dick. He’s pulsing in your hands, trying to hold himself back. You don’t want him to. You want him to cum everywhere. Down your throat and over your face and tits, claiming you in one of the most primal ways possible.

“Doll…” Bucky rasps, and you look up at him under hooded eyes. He’s a wrecked. Bulging muscles and sweat, slicking on his brow. “Don’t tease- Jesus-“

You wrap your mouth around him, and take him as deep as you can go. He bumps against the back of your throat, but you suppress your gag reflex, relaxing to try and get even more. Your nose brushes against the hair at base of him. Your tongue presses flat against Bucky’s shaft, your fingers still working his balls, and he fists his hand in your hair.

“So- So fuckin’ warm-“ He chokes out. “Holy- You’re somethin’, sweetheart- God-“

You hum, and Bucky’s hips jerk up. He stutters out an apology, but you just moan again. He tries to pull you off, muttering more apologies, and you dig your nails into his thigh. You want it. You want him to use you.

He gets it, after a moment. His grip on your hair tightens. He starts slow, jerking his hips up as he pushes you a little further down, before yanking you back. You moan around his cock, drool falling from your swallow lips. Your eyes roll back. He’s using you, god, he’s using you, and it’s the best fucking thing in the world.

Bucky fucks your face like a fleshlight, and you grind your ass up against nothing. He hits the back of your throat, over and over, salty and heavy on your tongue. The sounds he makes are beautiful and sinful, and-

“Something on my face, doll?”

You blink, and Bucky’s cock isn’t in your mouth anymore. You smack your lips, trying to find it. Bucky frowns at you, the light of the movie making him even more, impossibly handsome. Sam ignores you both, popcorn stuffed in his mouth.

Bucky looks worried. He said something.

“Hm?”

“You were, you were- Uh-“ He clears his throat, then shakes his head. “Never mind.”

He looks back to the TV, and your face burns. His thigh is pressed right against yours. You can swear, when you lick your lips, you can still taste his dick.

You’re so, so fucked.

It only gets worse.

Eating breakfast becomes a trial, because Bucky is always there, and you’re always thinking about his fingers while he eats. How they’d feel stuffed down your throat, gripping your hips, scissoring deep inside of you. He wipes cream cheese off your cheek, and you almost moan.

“You feelin’ alright?” Bucky says, always so caring and worried, and you nod weakly.

“Yeah. Just- Just tired.”

He looks at you like he doesn’t believe you, but lets it go. If you were smarter, you’d be avoiding him. But you’re not. And you still have to work with him, anyway. It makes avoiding him rather impossible.

For a while you cling onto the idea that work would be sacred. That while Bucky’s in your office and you’re examining his arm, it’s purely professional. Not a single dirty thought.

You last about a week, with that one.  Bucky startles you walking in. You trip, and he catches you around your waist.

“Careful,” he smiles down at you, all handsome and stupid.

“Uh huh,” you breathe out, and you could’ve sworn a flood gushed out between your legs.

Bucky’s nostrils had flared, and he’d helped you up to your seat. You’d already had the new fantasy, blooming in your mind like the little fucking pervert that you were. You’d tried to shove it down, swaying in the middle of the room, but then you’d looked at him. Sitting with his legs spread in your chair. And you’d been lost.

You imagined climbing into his lap. His arm wrapping around you as you sat down on his cock, grinding slowly, lashes flutters as he kneaded and pulled at your hips and breasts. He’d stand up, taking you with him like you weighed nothing, and pin you to the wall. One arm would stay around you, holding you in place as his mouth started to explore your dripping cunt.

His tongue would work you open, pushing in and out of your pussy. He would’ve already cum inside of you, and every stroke of his tongue would send a wave of your mixed arousals over his beard. You’d watch him, moaning his name, and his thumb would bully and flick and tease your clit, until your were dazed and gasping for air and-

Bucky says your name, and you could slap yourself. This is getting out of hand.

“Sorry,” you mumble, sitting next to him. He smiles at you, so kind.

Always so kind.

“You’ve been kinda out of it, lately.” His words are casual. You still daydream about shooting yourself and running away.

“Just getting lost in thought,” you murmur, and he hums.

“Anything I can help with?”

You shake your head, because if you speak you’ll start begging. Please, please, please, he’s the only one who can help you, you’re going insane with how much you need him, and he could save you, he could really save you-

“Movin’ usually helps me.” He offers softly. You almost don’t hear him. “Y’know. Using my body. Remembering that it’s mine.”

“Yeah?” You say softly, cleaning the panel near his shoulder. He looks at you, and you risk looking back.

You can’t read that expression. You’re not sure you want to.

“Yeah,” he mutters. His gaze might flick down to your lips, but you don’t trust your own mind anymore. “You wanna try it with me? I head to that gym in the basement every night. It ain’t bad.”

And you should say no, but you can’t help it. You nod, and Bucky’s lips twitch, and God, what you won’t do just so he smiles.

You will torture yourself, apparently. Bucky’s too hot to be allowed in a gym. Wearing a tank top that shows off his massive arms, smiling at you all lazy, in the way that’s more of a guard than the slip that you always crave, but a smile all the same.

First, you try walking on the treadmill and just watching him the mirror. He’s lifting weights, and his arms, they should be classified as weapons. You want those biceps keeping you in a head lock, against his chest or at his side. Keeping you still, while his cock pounds relentlessly into your pussy.

Bucky meets your gaze in the mirror. His lips twitch, and you look away, face burning.

You feel him, more than you see him coming over. The gravity of his presence, you think you’d be able to feel him blindfolded and dropped in a crowd of a million people.

“Come on,” he offers you a hand. “Lemme show you something.”

And you can’t say no to him. You really should learn how.

Because the something is training. Wrestling. Throwing fucking punches and trying to get the other down.

“Bucky, I can’t-“

“Yeah, you can.” He raises his fists, nodding to your own. “Up, doll.”

You sigh, raising them slowly. “You’re going to kick my ass-“

“I am. And then you’re going to get better.”

You scoff—he’s ridiculous—but listen. Bucky smirks, and lunges. You yelp and try to scramble away, but he’s too fast. You’re pinned under him in seconds, whacking at his arms and wiggling.

“Bucky- Get off-“

He laughs, standing up with a proud grin. You’ve never seen him so relaxed, so confident. It makes you hornier than you ever could’ve imagined.

He’d been over you. Everywhere over you. Pinning you down and manhandling you, and- Oh God-‘

“Up,” he beckons, and you swallow.

“I- I don’t know-“

“Yeah, you do.” He gives you a playful smile. “Get up.”

You sigh, and scramble to your feet. Bucky raises his fists again. You narrow your eyes, and match.

He chuckles. “Getting competitive?”

You shrug. “You wanted me to.”

Something flashes in his eyes. You’re not sure how to read into it.

“Damn right I do,” his voice is lower. You’re not imagining that.

You don’t get time to think about it, before he’s moving again. You hold your own exactly a second longer than before, but it ends the exact same way. You, pinned under Bucky’s broad, strong body. His face is pressed near your breasts, his fingers digging into your hips, his legs shoving yours apart to stop you from flailing around.

It goes on longer than it shoulder. This strange game that you like playing more than you should. Bucky starts trying to properly get you to throw a punch, but he gives up fast. Soon you’re more play wrestling than doing anything else. You’re giggly and dazed, charging at him like a bull, and he acts as bored and collected as always, but you can see the amusement dancing in his eyes, every time you try to climb him like a tree.

Then something shifts.

He gets you beneath him, and you try to shove at his chest. He catches your wrists and pins them up over your head. Your breath hitches, and he blinks. His hips drop against yours, and you can feel it. The bulge of his cock, pressing into your core.

He’s hard.

Not fully, but enough. Enough that you can imagine every ridged and curve of him, sliding between the puffy lips of your pussy. Your thighs clench, and Bucky grunts, rutting forward.

You both freeze, and your eyes lock. It’s one of those seconds, where you just stare hopelessly at each other. You almost apologize, but your tongue is limp. Bucky’s face is redder than you’ve ever seen it. His cock twitches in his pants.

And this isn’t a dream or fantasy. Bucky mutters your name, and it’s so real you think your heart might pound of your chest.

Bucky moves first. He clears his throat and moves to his feet.

“Better.” He offers you a hand. “That was…”

He trails off. You stare at each other, lost for words.

Bucky turns, and leaves without another word. You sway in the center of the room, breathing shallow, head spinning.

What the fuck just happened.

Bucky kisses up your spine, his mouth hot and possessive. His tongue flicks against your neck, and his fingers dig into your hips. He drags your ass up in the air and you mewl, pressing your face into the sheets.

“Ah,” he scolds, slapping your soaked, swollen pussy. “Lemme hear you, doll.”

You turn your head, moaning loud and shamelessly. Bucky chuckles, kissing a soft spot on your neck.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, notching his cock against your entrance. “Good girl.”

You coo like a baby bird, flushed and dazed. He’s big, so big that it almost hurts. He doubles over you with a groan, pressing his face into your shoulder as he slowly pushes every inch inside of you. The stretch burns in the best way, and you clench down around him.

Bucky hisses, hips jerking forward. “Careful,” he grunts. “Gonna strangle me.”

“S- Sorry-“

“No,” Bucky leans down, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Nothin’ to apologize for. Just gotta relax, babydoll. Lemme do the rest.”

You hum, and take a deep breath. You’re grounded, in the feeling of Bucky everywhere. His warmer arm wraps around your neck, forcing you up enough for his lips to trail open kisses over your face.  

“That’s my girl,” he mutters against your ear, bottoming fully out. “That’s it. Just take it for me, just like that.”

You mewl, pushing your ass back up, then crying out with delight as Bucky pulls out, and slams back in. He’s met with no resistance, from how your pussy is gushing out with every thrust, every touch, every hot kiss.

But there’s nothing else to be expected. Not with how Bucky’s using you, how worshipful his every touch and kiss is, all while he fucks into you so hard you think the bed is going to break. His breath is hot on your back, the head of his cock drill against that one, gooey spot deep inside you. His cold arm locks around your middle, and his fingers tease and graze over your clit. Rubbing in tight little circles, making your eyes roll back in your head.

Bucky grunts, hauling you up so you’re pressed against his chest. You’re pinned down on his cock now, wet and warm and tight. So fucking tight that it pulls a low, rumbling moan from his chest. His hips slam up in a barely controlled rhythm, chasing more of your heat. You’re limp in his arms. Dazed and smiling like you’re drunk. Bucky uses his arm around your neck to push your head further back, and you have the nerve to fucking giggle.

You’re so beautiful like this that he almost cums right there. Fluttering lashes and the sweetest sounds, you pussy milking him like a machine. He kisses you because he can’t help it, and you hum happily, grinding your ass down into him.

He needs you to cum first. He gropes at your clit, letting his fingers fumble for a second to work you up into a teased, messy frenzy, before he pushes down and rubs in a steady, unyielding rhythm. You cry out his name, squeezing down so hard on his cock, and Bucky buries his face in your neck.

He cums, so hard that his vision goes white. Thick ropes of cum spurt over his hand, squeezing hard at the base of his cock.

It’s not as warm as you’d be, he thinks.

And he thinks. All the time, Bucky just thinks about you. About how you’d feel, molding around him. About how you’d sound right in his ear, how you’d get smiley and drool, and he’s feed you his fingers just so you have something to do with that pretty mouth. You’d moan around them, and he’d thrust up into you so hard he’d knock the damn worries out of your head.

It’s his favorite time of the day, this. Your rooms are closer than you seem to think, or you just forget how good his hearing is.

And every night, right before bed, he gets to settle into the mattress and beat his cock into his hand, listening to you moan and call his name. He’d never tell you. You deserve better, than a broken robot like him. He counts himself lucky he even gets to be your friend, because he’s a man well practiced at restraint. At not getting what he wants.

But this space, where no one can see, he allows himself things. He allows himself you.

But only ever in his head.

✦End note: this might be one of my fave bucky fics i just got to be soooo horny with it✦

✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦

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