#lyssrecs

Clark Kent (Superman) x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT (minors DNI), established relationship, cockwarming, p in v sex, soft!dom Clark, teasing, p w what plot, v slight degradation, desperate reader, spanking, v slight daddy kink, praise kink, lowkey size kink, aftercare, midnight fuel idea so if it's trash sue me, kinda whiny Clark in the first half, Clark's supercock splits you in half!!, why did I lowkey end it on fluff

boarders by @enchanthings & @cursed-carmine 💌🥂💋

wc: 1.6k (ik it's short i'm sorry)

if any of these warnings make you uncomfortable - i have plenty other fics to satisfy - please meet your own needs friends !

Clark promised.

He had to get this article done by tomorrow morning, or Perry would have his head. And you, as always, were not helping.

Bottoms off and hips deep on his cock, wearing his favorite red set that made your breasts look perfect. You were quite the sight. Clark's hands shook as he clacked away at his cheap keyboard.

You didn't move much, just the slight roll of your hips whenever he slipped and spelled a word wrong, a subtle clench when he paused to look you in the eyes and growl, "Don't."

All the while, you remained innocent, your lips quivering in a sickly-sweet and velvety voice, speaking in the shell of his ear, "Finish your article, Clark." The tilt in your voice when you spoke his name always undid him.

He groans, weak and tired, drawling out the 'l', "Sweet girl, you know I gotta finish this." The vein in his neck popped out with another heavy breath. You lean in to lick it.

Clark slams his hands down on the desk.

"Finish it, then finish me." You challenge, grazing his ear lobe, just light enough to feel your want. You lean back, eager to see his reaction, and it doesn't disappoint.

Clark's eyes find yours as they turn a shade darker. His lip rises at the corner, pronouncing his dipped dimples. His voice comes out ragged, deep, and low. Dangerous.

"Oh. I will. You ain't getting away with this teasing, pretty."

You bite your lip and sigh dramatically, pushing your hips up into him with a pathetic whimper.

"Cmon, daddy. 'M so sleepy."

"Yeah?"

Clark's eyes shudder closed when he hears his calling. His jaw tightens with a pulse, flushing his skin. With a crook of his neck, Clark leans into your flesh, nipping in another strained warning.

He takes a hand from his keyboard and brings it down on your right cheek with a smack.

You breathe in sharply, humming out your pleasure and burying your head in his collarbone.

"You're lingering real close to the line, baby. It's almost like you want me to punish you tonight." Clark sighs, hand smoothing out where he'd spanked. An angry mark lies on your skin, reminding you of whose you were. He was getting annoyed.

"I just want you to feel real good, daddy." You yawn, fake sniffling into his neck, teasing him.

Clark knows you too well to fall for it. He snaps his hips up with a slap, sending his cock straight into your cervix, and causing you to moan loudly into his skin.

"I'm trying to be real patient, baby, but I need to get this done. Let daddy finish, and he'll treat you real good."

You finally quit, sighing in defeat and nodding into his neck.

"Mkay."

He smacks your ass again, this time softer, "Good girl."

You whine, claiming that it "wasn't fair," but Clark's attention is back on his writing. So instead, you sit back and watch him focus. You note how his teeth grind as he mulls over a word. How his eyes flicker back and forth to each line, checking his grammar.

His hair is a mess, partly from a day full of work, running around The Planet, and partly from your fingers and their way of gravitating to his scalp when he returned home in time for dinner.

You thanked the stars that Clark was home tonight. The streets outside whistled quietly, a rare but beautiful sound. It gave Clark a chance to unwind from his superhero duties and live a little more domestically.

Clark sighs, dropping his hands to your waist and leaning back into his chair.

"That is all I can do right now. Perry's gonna have to like it."

You coo happily, grasping his glasses off his nose and setting them down on the table, "It's another interview with your alter ego, right?"

Clark nods with a gulp.

"Then I'm sure he'll love it. The man can't complain when Metro's golden boy allows for a statement." You giggle, brushing back some of Clark's mangled locks. His eyes search yours for a moment, and you lose your breath.

Clark is eating you alive with his gaze.

He smiles devilishly, pinching your ass with his dominant fingers, and you squeal. "Work's for suckers anyway," he whispers, smashing his mouth to yours. You meet him halfway with your glossed lips, letting him access you fully. Clark groans when he tastes you again, and his hands grip your ass unashamedly now, lifting you slightly and bringing you back down on his cock. Again. Again.

You're painfully soaked, arousal dripping all over Clark's lap. But you can't help it, with him being as big as he is. You could come by just sitting on the tip, much less his whole cock. He's splitting you open, no amount of training and sex could ever prepare you for his massive dick.

He pulls back your head by the hair, gently, kissing up and down your jaw. "Gonna be s'good for me, good for daddy, huh?"

You nod mindlessly and whimper into his cheek, kissing it with an open mouth. It only spurs Clark on further.

"Ohhh, d-daddy, yes!" You rasp when Clark hits a different angle, pressing his chest to yours and breathing sharply into your temple. He lifts you and halfway stands, putting his thighs into a straining position as he fucks up into you mercilessly.

His hand spanks you again, hard. You cry with a high-pitched scream, moaning as you make a mess of his cock. "That's it, atta girl. Let me have it," Clark whispers into your cheekbone now, head tilting down to steal you into another bruising kiss.

He lights you on fire with every touch; every thrust is electric. And all the while, Clark is fully aware of your needs. He memorizes you, what feels good, what doesn't. He measures every reaction, making sure that you are totally and completely satisfied.

It's enough to make you weep.

You aren't sure when you come, but you have, and you continue to. The sounds of your wet pussy smacking onto his balls fill the office room of your shared apartment. Clark groans when you scrape your fingers down his shoulder blades, babbling like the little baby you are.

Clark watches you, eyes wide and full of adoration. He kisses your cheek with pursed lips.

"Good girl," he rasps, but doesn't let up. Instead, Clark makes you look at him with one hand, pressing a thumb into your mouth and giving you the eyes that say, "You know what to do."

So you suck his thumb into your mouth, eyes rolling back and chest heaving steadily. Clark enjoys the sight, his other hand guiding your pussy back down on his cock with every snap of his own hips.

"God- fuck, I'm close, baby." He whimpers, voice cracking with a desperate timbre as he fucks you wildly now. His thrusts become erratic, and he groans deeply, hips pressing painfully into your own as he cums deep inside you. Clark's head falls to your shoulder, biting at it.

You feel his cock paint your walls in a familiar warm coating, and you allow your eyes to glaze over lazily, absolutely devastated.

"So, so good, Clark.”

Clark slowly raises his head and meets your eyes. They look so blue in this light. His arms grip you like you’re the last thing he wants to let go of.

"That's daddy to you, little girl. And you're funny if you think we're done."

Oh fuck, what have you gotten yourself into?

Here you were, three rounds later, in bed, Clark’s cum dripping out of you while you squeeze him like a vice. Your top is thrown aside somewhere in the apartment, Clark’s work.

He’s half asleep, coaxing you and kissing your hair like a devoted lover. One palm is feeling at your breasts, giving each a lingering and loving squeeze. The city outside stays hushed and still.

In the silence, you look at your love and smile.

He was wonderful.

You hum, pressing your lips to his as you both lie there, trying to catch your breath. He meets you tenderly, slipping his tongue inside your mouth again, and gently tastes you.

You sit like that for a minute, just kissing. It’s incredibly intimate, and it makes you feel so loved. Clark never shied away from the still moments after sex.

He would always hold you, shush you when you asked if he “liked it.” He’d reassure you, nodding and kissing your belly until you giggled like a little girl.

God.

It had been far too long since you were able to just appreciate him.

Clark yawns and hoists you into his hold, standing. “Let’s go get you a bath.”

You groan in protest, whacking his chest with a weak palm, “Nuh uh, I’m too tired.” Your heart started to pound, alerting you that you were anxious. Clark didn’t have to wash you; you didn’t want to be a burden.

He laughs softly and kisses you forehead.

“I’ll do the work, Y/n, you sit there and look pretty, I can hear you stressing.”

“Clark, you don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

You didn’t know what you did to deserve Clark Kent, but you knew that you would do anything to keep him.

Your quiet voice whispers out, “Thank you.”

He doesn’t pay it any mind, shushing you.

“This is what I need.”

You nod, his duty to take care and protect, seeped into every aspect of your relationship. Clark couldn’t stand sitting to the side and watching you be independent.

He needs to be needed.

“Okay, but if you wash me, we’re making midnight brownies.”

He huffs out a satisfied laugh.

“Alright, baby. Alright.”

Thank you smmm for reading! I hope you enjoyed this; it was written between the hours of 2-5am, so it might not be wonderful. I very lightly edited today.

𝑘𝑒𝑦

𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 500 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠 ⭐️

𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 1000 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠 💋

3000+ 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠 💌

𝐶𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑘 𝐾𝑒𝑛𝑡/𝑆𝑢𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑛

ʟᴏɴɢ ᴅᴀʏ, ᴋᴇɴᴛ? ᴘᴛ.1 ᴘᴛ.2 ⭐️

Clark Kent and you used to be friends. You used to build each other up, used to edit each other’s articles, rooting for them to make the front page. Actually, you used to have a serious crush on the man. But that was a lifetime ago, now, you’d each woken up. You were the floors main reporters for The Daily Planet. Everything between you two that was friendly, had turned sour with tension. Your LexCorp scandals and his luck-of-the-draw interviews with Superman fought for the front page every-time. The teasing, the flirting, the arguments, it was making each of you simmer.

Enter a bad date into the mix. Ensuing jealous Clark. Leading to the big fight. It leaves you both sure of your hatred for each other. So what happens when you finally make contact with Superman?

Clark can’t bring himself to kill, unless it’s for you.

ɪɴ ꜱɪᴄᴋɴᴇꜱꜱ, ɪɴ ʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜ 💌

It’s been almost exactly a year since the split. Clark left with a resounding slam of your door. You got the papers a week later, tears streaking down your cheeks, but if it was what he wanted, you’d sign. So you did, you gave him his share and made do with yours. The argument regarding your safety due to Clark being Superman had strained your relationship to the breaking point. And like so many other unlucky couples, you just couldn’t work it out.

When you get a random call around 2:30am the day after Thanksgiving from Ma, your heart drops. The connection is weak; all you can make out is, “Clark… Hurt… Please come as soon… He asked… you.”

It’s enough for you to throw clothes into a duffel and book the next flight. You still loved him, even after everything. And he needed you.

You laughed at the irony of your vows. You would still keep them. You hoped Clark wouldn’t send you away when he came to.

ꜰɪɴɪꜱʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀʀᴛɪᴄʟᴇ, ᴄʟᴀʀᴋ 💋

Clark promised.

He had to get this article done by tomorrow morning, or Perry would have his head. And you, as always, were not helping.

Bottoms off and hips deep on his cock, wearing his favorite red set that made your breasts look perfect. You were quite the sight. Clark's hands shook as he clacked away at his cheap keyboard.

ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ɪ ᴡɪꜱʜ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴀɪᴅ - ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ 💋

𝐁𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 "𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝” 𝐁𝐲 𝐒𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 - The plot and storyline are my own, but every chapter is both named by lyrics and is loosely in line with lyrics from the song! Keep that in mind 🪽

The summers of your childhood were full of iced tea, trouble, and your best friend: Clark Kent. Nights of rocks on your window pane, sprinting through fields of corn and wheat, and waking up extra early to finish your chores every Saturday in the promise of another adventure, swirl around in your memory fondly. You were young and madly in love with your best friend. He was your prom date, your first kiss, the only person you trusted with the bruises from your dad.

But he was also the captain of the football team, a straight-A student, and well... an alien. That last one was a secret, of course.

As your younger days came and went, with them, Clark left. Leaving you behind to hold up the fort in Smallville while he headed to the big city to fulfill his purpose, protecting the innocent. Why had it bothered you so much? You were never officially more than friends.

When Clark returns one summer to visit home, you aren’t ready to be faced with your past. It seems he has everything he ever wanted, but is that true? Has he found a life that satisfies him without you in it?

You used to lie in his lap while he twirled your hair and talked about a life outside of Smallville, used to clean his cuts as he learned the ins and outs of his powers. That Clark was reverently yours. This Clark seemed miles away.

The words you both dare not speak hang in the balance. But who will be brave?

ᴡᴀɪᴛɪɴɢ ʀᴏᴏᴍ

You worked as a nurse in Metropolis, tirelessly giving the best of yourself for the good of others. Once Lois Lane, your best friend, introduced you to her work friends, you fell for Clark Kent, a journalist with piercing blue eyes and a heart of gold. You're convinced he'd never fall for you, so you love him from a distance.

But a night in the ER with Superman might just change everything.

𝑅𝑜𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑡 𝑅𝑒𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑠

ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴄᴏɴꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ - ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ 💋

bob can’t stand it. you’re just too fucking pretty. you distract him, you make every horrible, ugly thought dissipate. he craves it. he knows you, and you know him. it feels right, and his feelings are so strong he doesn’t know what to do anymore. he has no idea that you feel the same. that you ache for his comfort, for his feelings to reflect your own.

but a week of strained normalcy, a build up of emotional tension, and a failed mission lead to more than innocent, friendly thoughts. bob’s limits are reached on waiting for the right damn moment.

he has to tell you. you want to tell him. let’s watch each of you try

ʟɪꜱᴛᴇɴ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ

Bob wishes you would just fucking listen sometimes. Yes, you were powerful. You could obviously do some serious damage.

But you weren’t careful.

You were reckless.

ʙʟᴜʀʙꜱ

Playing with Bob's hair

Overprotective Bob

𝐵𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑦 𝐵𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑠

ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏꜱꜱ - ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

Moving to New York City from your small town of Paris, Tennessee was not an easy task. But as a young detective assistant directly graduated from your local police academy, you didn’t expect anything to be handed to you. You had to take.

When you get hired to assist a mysterious, tall, and ruggedly handsome detective named James Barnes, you expect to be taught the basics of the field. What you didn’t expect was to be thrown into active combat, pushed to your limits, and given morally gray choices within the first 24 hours on the job.

You definitely didn’t expect to grow feelings for him.

This job wasn’t predictable. It was adapt, or die. It doesn’t help that you have a rising suspicion that your boss isn’t as clean of a man as he came across on paperwork.

Will you survive? It’s been up to him from the start.

Clark Kent (Superman) x Fem!Reader

🪽 boarders by @enchanthings & @cursed-carmine 🪽

wordcount. 1.7k ~ masterlist.

One. Two. Three.

You worked as a nurse in Metropolis, tirelessly giving the best of yourself for the good of others. Once Lois Lane, your best friend, introduced you to her work friends, you fell for Clark Kent, a journalist with piercing blue eyes and a heart of gold. You're convinced he'd never fall for you, so you love him from a distance.

But a night in the ER with Superman might just change everything.

Warnings: Fem! Reader, Suggestive themes, hints of 18+ (Minors DNI), Seemingly side character (best friend) Reader, Angst City, Reader is a YEARNER in this one folks, She fell first, He fell HARDER, Clark is a D1 yearner, He's SO soft, Reader doesn't know Clark's identity but Lois does, Angsty Reader, Insecure Reader, Reader is bad at reading emotions, Lois is best friend GOALS, Caring Clark Kent

The fluorescence hum of light echoed faintly behind a growing migraine. You'd already lost count of how many rounds you'd done at this point.

Somewhere a clock ticked, somewhere a patient moaned with pain.

You were so tired. This was your second double shift of this week alone. But you tied your mask on anyway and snapped on gloves quickly.

You needed to do better, work harder.

Because tonight, the ER was flooded.

Lois, your roommate and best friend, had called around 8:00, warning you of an ongoing fight between Superman and Parasite, telling you to be ready for an influx of bloodied civilians. She had been covering footage with her fellow reporter, Clark Kent, when he left her to get close-up camera coverage.

That was never good news.

Clark, whom you'd tirelessly but secretly fawned over after meeting him at a work event Lois invited you to, had always been more reckless than Lois, both with his coverage and his writing.

He was incredibly nerdy, with the bluest eyes that melted you inside out when you met him.

The two of you had debated Star Wars for an hour, while Jimmy, Lois, and the others drank and talked about "More interesting things."

You thought about that night a lot.

"Is he okay?" You'd called over the phone, concern evident in your voice.

"He's fine, Y/n, you know the guy is basically incapable of getting hurt." Lois responded, "Okay, I've gotta move, have fun, and save lives!"

It was very odd how often Clark got coverage so close, so you'd all bet on the first time he'd get roped in with civilians, while he laughed and shook his head. You prayed that tonight was not that night.

It was past 11:00 now, and you'd sutured enough minor cuts to sew a whole person back together at this point.

The groaning came from the more severe patients, whom the doctors above you treated. Occasionally, you were called to give pain medication and assess simple vitals, but you mostly stayed back and watched.

After stitching up an elderly woman named Denise's hand, you give her an ice pack for her head and walk away, her calling out a soft, "Thank you, dear," behind you.

You're not doing enough. Keep going.

Your head was spinning at this point, so you made your way into the quiet waiting room near the south side of the emergency entrance, where patients nearly never sat due to the crooked old seats and dimmed, flickering light.

You needed a break from the pressure you always put on yourself.

You worried about Clark, about his safety. He was the first guy you'd been hopelessly in love with for years, and Lois was constantly telling you to ask him out, but you were far too shy.

Plus, he seemed to like her more anyway, always asking her questions, and for god's sake, they worked together.

You couldn't lie, it made you slightly jealous.

So you used this area as your secret haven, to which you sat in silence when you needed a break on a long shift, or to mull something over in your mind. It was the quietest part of the hospital. You pull down your mask as you walk towards the space.

What you didn't expect was to be met with Superman, in the flesh, sitting on the bench with his head low.

You pause, glancing to see if anyone else has noticed the superhero sitting here, but the ER buzzes enough on the other side to tell you that you are alone with him.

You aren't really sure what to say. It's rare enough to see the man in person, but here he was, suit scraped with cuts and burns, and several crimson stains. His dark hair was greased over with sweat and grime. He was hurt, and you were a nurse.

Cmon, Y/n, look at him. He needs help.

"Um.. Superman, sir?" You timidly whisper, stunned at the sight before you.

He slowly raises his head in confusion before gazing at you silently, and you are stunned at his cut jawline, "Oh! I'm- sorry, I never usually see people over here." He begins to say after realising he's been staring, eyes wide.

But you stop him, helping him back down into the uncomfortable seating, which is miraculously holding his weight.

He shudders at your touch.

It makes you blush.

Your nursing instincts take over. Yes, this was Superman. Yes, he was 100% the most attractive man you had ever seen, well, besides maybe Clark.

But no, that would not stop you from helping a patient.

"That's alright, can I help you?" You say, eyeing his various injuries with drawn brows, he watches your eyes as they scan him. You feel thoroughly exposed, even with scrubs covering almost every inch of you.

You can't help the redness of your cheeks.

"I'm alright, ma'am." He says, quieter now, "Just here to make sure as many civilians survived as possible." He dips his head to the floor.

That took you aback. The man had just fought a creature who injured hundreds of people for hours, and now he was sitting in the hospital waiting room to check on each of their statuses. He truly was incredibly selfless, and you couldn't deny the way your heart fluttered.

"Sir, with all due respect, they are in good hands," you calmly tell him, raising his head with a hand and wiping the cut on his forehead, a small gash with blood dripping down from his cheek to his jaw.

"Oh- I know, I just," he begins, tired, eyes nervous, and cheeks red.

"Let me stitch you up?" You ask, not letting him finish. He stares at you again, quiet for a long time, and nods.

"Please."

Clark knows it's pointless; the sun would heal his minor cuts almost instantly in the morning, but you were here, sitting in front of him. Wanting to help, and slightly gawking at him while you did it.

He liked you watching him like this.

The night that Lois brought you to drinks to meet her work friends, Clark swore he had never seen someone so entirely stunning. You were shy around him, lightly staring into his eyes and glancing away every time he noticed. The way your voice sounded saying his name for the first time made him dizzy.

The minute he found out you were a nurse? Oh, he was done for.

He always admired people like him, who wanted to make the world a better place. He grew to become your close friend, and he'd always listen to your problems at work.

Clark had fallen for you hard.

And here you were, sneaking all the supplies needed to this janky side of the emergency room, for his privacy's sake, and cleaning up cuts when he was sure you had better things to do.

Exhaustion practically painted itself on your face as you carefully swept at dried blood with patience.

Every time you noticed him staring, you'd tuck your head a little more. It killed him. You were adorable.

"So, how long have you been here tonight?" He asks, causing a small laugh from you, "I look that tired, huh?"

Clark's eyes widen. Oh gosh, that sounded rude. "No! I mean, you just, you seem like you're ready to collapse into the nearest bed or something."

"I'd take a chair, honestly," you huff, "I'm working a double, get off around 4:00."

"Golly, ma'am, I can't believe you're still awake." That makes you laugh a little louder this time. He winces as the solution you put on his hand, causing you to blow on it lightly.

Clark gulps.

"And what about you, Superman? How come you're not passed out right here?" You say, nodding to the several chairs lined beside you both.

He shrugs, "I have no idea, normally I hit the bed after a fight, I just had a feeling about coming here tonight instead."

You both fall silent again.

"Well," you speak, bandaging the last gash on his arm, "I think you'll live, and I'll go cross you out on the OR board for this arm now." You pat his shoulder, beginning to stand as the muscles in your back scream for a soft place to lie.

"Oh, thank goodness, what would the world do without such an amazing nurse?" Superman says charmingly, placing a sincere hand over his heart. You smile weakly as you begin to gather the used supplies.

"There's plenty more nurses here, who are better equipped than me, I'm sure," you dismiss his praise, lowering your head as you sigh.

You haven't said much, but the tension is palpable as he pauses, staring at you. Your breath catches.

A hand raises to your chin, tilting it towards his face.

You barely have the nerve to meet his eyes, but when you do, they envelope you most sincerely and lovingly.

They reminded you of someone.

"I think you're incredible," Superman says, quiet enough that you're not sure if it was real or imaginary, so you open your mouth to speak, but no words come.

He stands, eyes locked on your lips and cheeks flushed with more than bruising.

"Thank you." You softly admit. Your heart pounds now, blood rushing to your chest. Superman gently moves his hand and tucks a piece of loosened hair from your braid behind your ear. His hand stays on your cheek for a moment, barely grazing it in a light stroke.

"Until next time, Sweetheart."

And then he's gone.

Quicker than you could have said, "Wait."

authorsnote: A little mini-series while I work on plot building for my other Clark Kent story! I hope you enjoy!

dm or comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

James "Bucky" Buchanan Barnes x Fem!Reader (Rogers Sister)

boarders by @cursed-carmine & @saradika-graphics 🗞️🧸🎞️

wc. 4.8k masterlist

warnings. fem!reader, reader is Steve's sister, attempted assault, a little assault too, i'm sorry, pet names used in good and bad contexts (Doll, Sweets, Pretty, Baby, Sweetheart), slight violence, insecure reader, gullible reader, innocence, friends to lovers trope, no use of y/n, reader gets manhandled, jealous Bucky, jealous Reader, first kiss, Bucky is softttt for you, hurt/comfort, angst/fluff?

summary. You are Steve Rogers' little sister. You've been infatuated with James Barnes, your brother's best friend, since you were four years old. Now, he's wide-eyed and grinning, hopping from girl to girl while you watch from the wings. But a dangerous night leads to long-awaited confessions.

authorsnote. this is my attempt to write any sort of fluff, spoiler alert: i can't. I will proofread later. I'm tired.

You wake up with James’s name on your tongue. You’d dreamt a whole nap's worth of dreams about him, his whispers of “I love you” and the weight of soft kisses pressed on your lips. Rubbing your eyes and stretching out your back, you stare at the picture on your dresser. It matched the one in your locket, only bigger.

Steve is beside you, a heavy arm slung around him as Bucky’s hat hangs off his forehead. You’re in a sundress with white and yellow stripes, clinging to a bicep as Bucky wraps another arm, his left, around your middle. Rebecca is curled into you like she’s hiding from the camera. Steve is smiling straight towards the lens, whereas Bucky is staring straight at you, smug grin on his lips as always. You’re blushing, shyly glancing up at the camera. He's just about to make you laugh.

James Buchanan Barnes had been the object of your deepest desires from the moment you knew what having a crush meant. Every candle you’d blown, every ladybug that landed on your skirt, you’d wish. Every loose eyelash, you closed your eyes to pray to the lord for the boy.

From the second he’d lifted you up on the swing when you were little, he was the only one for you.

That didn’t mean he wanted you back, though. In fact, you were so incredibly aware of the point that James Barnes, indeed, thought of you as a little sister.

Advances came, turned down as you watched James practically juggle girls between school years.

He was never single.

Never available for you.

Whispers of his experience came the summer of your sophomore year. Wicked thoughts that made your heart wild and your stomach lurch. Girls fawned at him from every direction, becoming your friend just to find out what he liked.

You'd lead them astray on purpose, but James would never have to know that. He was too busy tripping over bralettes and valentines to care.

You get up, unrolling your hair from the pinned rollers it had been in after school. It fell to your shoulders in practised waves, and you pulled on your favorite sundress, which highlights your curved figure without compromising comfort. Your favorite part was the twirl it gave you, though.

Steve called for you again from the kitchen, warning you that he really would leave without you, in a tone of mock annoyance. It made you smile fondly.

Steve was a good older brother; although small, he had the heart of a soldier. Which was what you told him when he failed the fitness test for the third time in a row.

“They don’t take heart,” he’d said, “They take brawn, like Bucky.” His eyebrows drew together like he had since he was little, pitiful and small. Easy to pick on if you were cruel.

Many people were.

Yes, James was so unfairly fit that it gave you butterflies to see his arms fill his sleeves, and Steve never ceased to compare himself to his best friend.

You climb down the stairs of your small Brooklyn home, taking in the sight of Steve stuffing his shoes with newspaper. You laugh, he’s at it again. Ripping pieces to crumple and shove into the sole of his dress shoes.

"Gimme that," you say with a ridiculous tone, snatching the paper out of his hand to read the headlines, Steve arguing in protest.

"Jamie will be here in like five minutes, so get ready, Stevie."

You sit up on the counter, shuffling to get comfortable.

"I am ready," Steve states, presenting his outfit that screams Army wannabe to you, "Oh, really? Why are you stuffing your shoes then?"

"Why are you wearing that dress, huh?" He fires back.

He's got you there.

You watch the door, willing for James to come crumbling through, to sweep you off your feet like always. Steve's behind you, moved on to babbling about how every inch matters, how the height was the big difference, and ripping the paper from your hands right as you read the causality numbers overseas.

You don't mind it, watching as the clock strikes closer to six, and your heart beats increasingly. You flatten your dress with sweaty, nervous palms, watching Steve begin to try and pull on his stuffed dress shoes, laughing at his skidded hopping around the kitchen.

The door from outside swings open, and your heart stops in your chest.

"Don't tumble over yourself, punk," A familiar baritone rings out behind you, and you wince, banging your hip into a cabinet. Spinning around the counter, you are now face-to-face with James, who is in a polished Army outfit. His hair is uncombed, soft brown falling over his forehead.

"James!" You yell, taking in the slight of his olive green and brown uniform. You grin wide and unapologetic as you gesture for him to hug you.

Just another sister.

He smiles, kissing your cheek and grinning, "Hey Doll, what are you doing on the counter, 'cmere." He lifts you by the waist, settling you back down on the ground, and chuckling at the height difference.

"Now you're back to where you belong," James winks, patting your hair and glancing over at Steve.

"How many times do I have to tell you to call him Bucky?" Steve grumbles beside you both, although his eyes are focused more on James's outfit than yours were.

"I like James more," you shoot back, tilting the hat on James's head with timid hands. He just smiles at you, giving Steve an excuse for his outfit.

"I was gonna surprise you, Steve."

"Yeah, I'm surprised." Steve says, his voice small.

An uncomfortable air passes through the room; the boys stare at each other in a man language that makes you squint, trying to decipher the words passing between their eyes.

James has been admitted to the Army.

Your James.

You cross to the door after realizing, shaking the thought away. James's eyes follow you as you grab your coat and gloves.

"You boys coming? Or are you too busy having a macho man showdown?"

"Never too busy for you, sweets," Bucky grins cheekily, throwing an arm around your brother and whispering a "we'll talk later" into his ear, before they follow you out.

Steve’s tension lessens slightly, so you take it as a small win, buttoning your coat and shivering at the wind once you open the door.

James notices and rubs at your arm with friendly comfort, to which you lean in, pecking his cheek back.

“Eww, you guys disgust me,” Steve groans. His hat, which is too big for his head, sits crooked as always. He mockingly makes a puke noise, and you scrunch your nose in disgust.

“Ahh- whatever,” James says, “wait till ya see the girls I got for you an’ me.” Jealousy blooms dark and raw in your chest, and you slowly shift away from James.

So James brought a date. Of course, you were always the little sister to him.

James lets you shy away, with an ignorant grin, adorning an unfamiliar undertone underneath, still plastered on his face. The three of you walk down the street towards the square. Lights sparkled above you as you kicked a rock or two, listening to the boys argue over the best gun to use to take down the Germans.

You just rolled your eyes, a pacifist, and prayed for peace.

Let this godforsaken war end before James and Steve get caught in the middle of it.

When you pass a poor man, you slip him a dollar, both boys' eyes on you as you offer him some coins. The man is dirty, and you can't help how your nose wrinkles, even as you smile and give generously.

“I wish she wouldn’t put herself in those situations, never know when a guy will pull a knife or something, and there goes her popcorn money.” Bucky grunts, eyeing the man who is thanking you repeatedly. His fingers settle into a slight clinch.

“She’s always been like that, Buck.” Steve offers, patting the boy's back, “Careful, you’ll look over-protective for a brother figure.”

Bucky shoots a look at his best friend before walking to you and pulling you along, away from the man.

You yelp at him, wacking his strong arm away from you, “What the hell? I’m helping him, Jamie!”

“We’re gonna be late, cmon, Doll. Walk by me, I want you safe,” James grumbles, walking back towards Steve, and this time you follow. Your eyes watch him, and you pretend to decipher what he could mean.

He’s back to smug, shooting winks and patting the arms of passing Brooklyn folk you all know. But his eyes remain on you, watching as you wave at Paul Williams, and when you smile at Samuel Brown, who stumbles over a trolley track.

That's right, look but don't touch, James thinks.

Ever the bachelor, you think to yourself, as James winks at a lady selling tomatoes, who drops it with a splat.

When you get to the cinema, James runs ahead, calling over two girls who have their arms linked and dark red lipstick on. Steve goes to join him, hands fidgeting at his sides.

The girls are pretty. Prettier than you.

You trail behind, watching James embrace his date. She wore a sundress under her coat. You grimaced at being the newly appointed fifth wheel as Steve awkwardly greeted his date, who smiled at him anyway, bought a popcorn, and headed inside.

James took his date by the arm, giving you a nod as you each walked in behind Steve. The rows were half full by the time you got seats, so you're wedged between Bucky's date and another couple who are incredibly physical in public.

You could turn green at how much tongue the man seems to be shoving down her throat.

Suddenly, James is handing you a bucket of popcorn that he bought you, and you're blushing.

The movie begins, but not without a plethora of 'Join the Army' ads beforehand, making your stomach churn with worry as Bucky turns to his date and brags. She, of course, only swoons further.

He avoids her lips on his, turning so that they land on his cheek, though, causing your eyebrows to raise as he glances towards you.

James looks away quickly.

The movie is so unfortunately relatable. The girl falls for a guy, but he doesn't notice her, and he ends up finding someone else. Except that the ending is happy, they find their way to each other. Embracing with a long-awaited kiss just before the credits.

That never felt like real life.

Now James’s hand is on his date's thigh, her lips are buried somewhere sacred in his neck, and you’re bouncing your leg with restrained temptation.

A temptation to storm out of this godforsaken movie and walk home.

The credits roll, and you immediately make a break for the bathroom, tears welling in your eyes. Steve and his date chat politely behind you, and you here her ask where you're going.

You nudge through the crowd, bumping and apologizing as you try to find somewhere to cry silently. A hand finds your arm, and you're spun into into Bucky's gaze.

"What's wrong, Doll?" He asks, eyes searching yours, but you glance away, "Nothing, your date is waiting."

You pull away, he doesn't let you, taking your arm again, "Why are you crying, sweetheart?" He repeats your name, and you barely look at him.

He's covered in lipstick, red kisses trailing his jaw, his cheek, his collarbone. But none on his lips.

"Why do you care?" You burst, angry and insanely jealous. James's eyes widen at your tension.

"I-"

"No, don't make up another sorry excuse about a girl and disappoint me again," you say, voice on the verge of cracking into sobs. James's mouth closes as he processes what you're saying.

"She's just a-"

"What? A friend? Yeah, you seem to have a lot of those. Does she know that Stacey Thomas had her tongue in your mouth last week?"

You cry now, pushing him away as he tries to pull you to a more private place. Steve has walked out, his eyes following the tears that run down your face.

"I'll walk myself home," you announce.

Bucky fires back, "It's not like you're exactly making it easy," your name drips off his tongue like poison.

"That whole, 'I'm innocent, look at me, boys don't dare stare at me' routine is infuriating." He says, low and hurtful.

A wrench in your gut makes you turn back.

"Let me know when you're tired of meaningless hookups, then you can lecture me about my actions."

With that, you grab your coat and leave.

You walk away from them, and Bucky doesn't follow. Instead, you seek the drawing crowd around the Stark boy and his new invention. The cinema door slams behind you. Pain blooms in your chest.

How could he say that?

Obviously, he was not who you thought he was.

Anger replaces hurt.

You glance up at the invention Stark has on display, failing miserably at flying, and it makes you snort.

“That so funny?” A deep voice comes from beside you, a man in his late teens. He’s tall, broad shouldered, but not as big as James. He has brown eyes and wavy blonde hair. But he was staring right at your lips.

You gulp.

“Yeah, he’s just- it’s Stark. He’s crazy.”

You're wiping at the stray mascara on your cheeks.

“Never know, in thirty years there will be planes that fly themselves, I bet.” He says, nodding to the other inventions around you both. You just nod, quiet now.

You weren’t really sure how to handle yourself around this man.

You needed to get home.

Steve always told you to be cautious, careful. Not that it mattered normally, James scared off just about any boy from hurting you from the second you became friends.

But his tongue was most likely in the mouth of this date by now, so you were left to your own devices.

“I’m Robert,” the man says, extending a hand for you to shake, “and that is a beautiful dress, ma’am.”

You blush, taking his hand after a moment of hesitation. You give him your name, to which he sighs, “gorgeous name too, it’s just my luck tonight.”

Oh, he’s smooth.

You glance around the crowd for your brother, for James, but they’re lost in the business of Brooklyn streets.

A feeling like you might've made a bad decision rings out in your conscience, but you choose to ignore it.

Your heart wrenches to think that James has probably bought his date an ice cream by now. Maybe they’re holding holds. Maybe he’s held her, spun her around like he does with you. Maybe they’ve ditched Steve and found somewhere to-

“Have I lost ya?” Robert asks, and your eyes meet this again.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I tend to zone out in big crowds,” you say, hushed and embarrassed. You can’t believe you’ve let the thought of James and his date cause you to be so incredibly rude. But Robert just nods, “It’s alright. I was just going to ask if I could walk you home? The streets probably aren’t the safest now.”

Oh.

You look at him. He’s got a very nice face. A strong jaw and slight freckles splattered on his nose. He’s not quite six feet three, like someone else, but he’s tall. You’re pretty sure he’s jacked; his arms are thick like James’s.

Who were you to turn down an advance?

No more miss innocent.

“Yes, yes please, that would be nice.”

Robert’s eyes light up, his deep voice cracking a little in enthusiasm, “Oh, that’s great! Let’s go.”

You droop an arm through this after he offers it, trying desperately to erase the pain of your early evening with the prospect of this handsome man walking you home.

It works slightly; your chest isn’t nearly as tight.

He leads you away from the crowd, helping you weave through the passing couples, families, and poor folks who beg.

You remember James’s words from earlier.

“Walk by me. I want you safe.”

Huh, only wants me safe when there’s not another girl to make out with.

You don’t mind the walk; in fact, it’s nice to have the company of someone else. Robert tells you about his family. His parents moved here recently, bringing him and two little sisters along from a small and quiet community. He’d just started school and hadn’t met anyone.

He was out in the square with a group of guys who ditched him to catcall girls, because of which he decided that he did not want to be their friend anymore.

That’s when he stumbled into you.

“Bright eyes, pretty smile, and an unforgettable laugh,” he’d said. You suddenly felt a lot lighter than before.

“Well, you aren’t too bad yourself,” you smack his arm, leaning in a little closer.

The small talk turned into a deep conversation fast, your pace slow. He took his time to walk you home, stopping and buying you an ice cream cone.

He's kind, you learn. A lot shier, like you. But you find yourself attracted to it.

The block gets quieter now, street lights lighting your path softly.

Robert paused in the middle of the road, a kind look on his face as he stared at you. You smile back.

“I’m so glad to have met you.” He whispers.

“Maybe Brooklyn ain’t so bad after all.” You joke, unaware of how serious this moment is becoming.

“Can, can I kiss you?” He asks, saying your name hushed. His cheeks are crimson now.

You’re shocked, taken aback, and he opens his mouth to apologize. But you stop him.

Maybe.

Do I dare?

It's obvious James isn't waiting.

“Yeah, yeah I think I’d like that,” you say. Nobody has ever been so forward. But you liked it.

And suddenly, you’re leaning in. You’re going to have your first kiss.

You swallow the thought that it won’t be James, right as Robert’s strong hand finds your face. His lashes come to a close, and so do yours.

A crooked voice calls you both out right as your lips brush, “Oh hey t-there missy.” Your heart wrenches in your chest.

It’s the man you’d given coins to earlier.

You whip around, and Robert is unaware, still leaning to kiss you, but his eyes find the man and become incredibly wide.

“W-who is that,” he calls, voice cracking again. He’s scared.

You had to admit, at this time of night, a man looking like this would scare anyone. But you also knew the strength in numbers.

You could get out of this. If you were smart.

The man approaches slowly, hand hidden in his pocket. You know he has a weapon from the smug look on his face.

“You got money on ya, don’t ya, baby?” The old man croaks, growing to a size you couldn’t imagine after straightening his hunch. He’s close now. Robert ducked behind you.

Think, think. What did James say?

Robert is stuttering from behind, begging for the man to leave you alone. Meanwhile, your heart races as you try to think of ways to distract the threat.

What a wimp.

The alley was too quiet this time of night.

Nobody would make it in time.

“Run, boy!” The man roars now, slashing a knife from his pocket and sending Robert hurling down the street, stumbling over his own feet.

You’re petrified, glued to the cobblestone path as the man approaches, whiskey on his breath.

There's no point in fighting once his weapon is drawn; try to be safe. Try to wait until he's open- James had said.

He circles you, a velvet whistle that sends a chill down your spine escapes his mouth, “What have I got here?”

“Please,” you begin to barter, but a hand finds your jaw, cupping your mouth with grime and sweat.

Oh my god.

You begin to panic, the man brings you in, sniffing your hair, dragging his knife down the side of your arm. A hand finds your breast.

Why did you leave the boys? All for a petty argument and a stupid crush. This is the reason you weren’t able to score someone like James. Your heart always had a say; you should never have given this man money. Or at least never walked the same way home with someone you never met.

So, so stupid.

You prayed for James to show up, to help you, but it was pointless.

The man shuffles your coat, sticking a hand into each pocket while he whispers terrifying threats of what he’ll do to your pretty face if you dare make a sound.

You let him, going limp, not fighting.

When he pulls your coat off your back, you are overcome with shivers, flimsy dress doing nothing for the temperature.

He laughs, low and mean within his chest, drawing the knife right beside your pulse, examining your pale skin and flushed lips.

You can’t help but cry while his lips come down over your collarbone.

“I think I’ll keep you.”

Teeth meet flesh, and pain blooms as you scream.

“Get the fuck, off of her.”

James.

Oh, glorious day! That voice had never sounded so heavenly. James stands beside the pair of you, eyes firm, fists drawn. There's a pocket knife in one fist.

A hand grips you tighter, squeezing without restraint now. You ache in your side.

James's eyes are fixed on you, on your face.

The man holding you hostage chuckles, “This is the second boy ya got, girlie? Didn’t know you were such a whore.” His voice whips at your ear, knife now drawn across your pretty throat.

“Let her go, and we won’t have trouble,” James calls again, voice wavering slightly when he sees the way your cheeks are wet with tears. His Army uniform certainly helps him in this situation, but he’s helpless to the knife at your neck.

“I don’t think ya should be pestering me, boy, I could cut this pretty throat nice and deep if I like.”

You whimper, James growls.

“And I’ll have the police here in two seconds. Jail for the rest of your life, old man.” His voice is strong, and a glint of worry flickers behind his eyes as he watches you silently weep behind the man’s grimy hands.

“You better watch it, boy.” The man grunts, tightening the hold on the knife, the blade digging into your skin and threatening to slice.

“Why don’t you fight me, grandpa, and we’ll find out who the boy is?” James calls, teasing now. He’s working the fury behind this man’s motivation.

What are you doing, James?

“Cmon, old man, don’t even have the balls to fight for a girl?”

The man loosens his hold on you, throwing you to the stone as he lunges for James.

You hear shouting and watch the man groan as James takes power, throwing him against the brick of the house beside you. His voice deep and protective whispering of words you can’t quite make out.

Whatever he’s said, the man stares wide now, knife knocked out of his hand and forehead bleeding from force.

James throws him to the ground, kicking him in his stomach with another growl, and yells at him to “Run.” He waves the knife slightly again.

The man runs off without looking back.

Your throat tightens, tears flow now as cracked sobs.

Soft hands find you, hoisting you up to meet blue eyes. James coos, thumbs smoothing fat tears that fall.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, James is here.”

He came.

You shake, crawling closer until you’re in his lap, firmly clutching his lapels and urging your head into his shoulder.

“Oh, doll, my girl. I’m so sorry.” He croaks, stroking your hair with tender motions. His lips quiver on the crown of your head as he kisses it softly. You clutch him tighter.

Your heart beats are so fast that he has to pull you away and make you count your breaths.

“That’s it, baby, cmon, with me. 1…2…3…4…”

You don’t know how long you sit there, James's hands on your skin, smoothing away the grimy feeling that you despise. He coaxes you into softer breaths. Whimpers become hiccups.

Tears dry slowly, kisses line your cheek, temple, and forehead.

You let him.

You need it.

When you finally have the nerve, you speak, a soft whine.

“Buck…” It’s choked, pitiful. He adores it, “What sweetheart, what do you need?”

“Take- take me home, please”

He doesn’t say another word, wrapping his jacket around you, lifting you in his arms, kissing your forehead again, and walking down and out of the alley.

You try not to think about how you would be swooning in any other scenario.

You stare at his face, his eyes have watered, the old lipstick is smudged from his neck, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

A question blooms into your head and passes your lips before you decide if it's a good idea to say.

“Why, why did you take that girl to the movie, Buck?” You whisper.

He stops, glancing down at you, “I don’t know.”

Regret lines his words. Guilt surrounds his stare.

“I should’ve taken you.” He admits.

You don't know what to say, you're breathless again.

“Yeah.” You croak.

He continues walking, eyes flickering to each alley beside you, protective, firm.

You’re back to a blushing mess.

“What the hell were you doing walking down here alone?” Bucky asks now, a frustrated tone in his voice.

“I wasn’t, I, I met someone.”

His jaw tightens, “Oh.”

You hear the jealousy in his tone, and you happily let it take over your thoughts.

“We were in the square, he asked to take me home, and… well, he stopped to kiss me.”

Bucky’s teeth might snap. His jaw is working so hard. His grip on you tightens now, thumb rubbing your calf.

“You don’t have to carry me the whole way—”

“You had your first kiss?”

He cuts you off, stopping now at your facial expression.

“No. If you really care to know. Now, put me down.”

His face relaxes.

Silently, he places you back on your feet, allowing you to smooth out your dress and straighten his jacket. Your cheeks are pink, nose running slightly, you wipe it.

Is what you’re feeling anger? Or is it fear?

You’re not quite sure what to make of this night.

The two of you continue to walk, and sentences stay unfinished. Bucky watches you; he trails behind. His thoughts assault him.

You met someone. All because he brought Cathy to the movies. You were alone. He didn’t protect you. He left you for a girl who reminded him of you at best.

He failed you. He could never be the man you deserved.

What kind of soldier could leave a damsel in distress.

He was a boy.

A boy too afraid to kiss a girl.

"I never kissed any of those girls." He admitted, softly.

You turn. His face crumbles.

“What?”

“I’m so sorry, Doll.”

His voice catches, and a tear rolls down his cheek.

You immediately embrace him, heels clicking fast on the stone as you hug him firmly, almost jumping into his arms.

Forgiveness comes quickly.

“I could’ve lost you,” is spoken into your hair, while hands find your waist.

You raise a hand to his hair, playing with the strands at his nape.

“You didn’t Buck, you never will.”

He stills.

James pulls away enough that his breath fans your face, eyes locked onto yours. Foreheads touch.

“I can’t lose you, you’re, you’re my best girl.” He whispers, hands shaking as they rise to your cheeks and stroke the blushed skin.

You breathe in quickly, and a surprised sound escapes you as he leans in to kiss you. His lips are soft, warm, everything you’d imagined them to be since you were nine years old and he’d bought you a lollipop.

He angles his mouth, deepening the kiss, and you reciprocate now, kissing him back just as firmly. A low noise comes from his throat.

Hands find your waist. One finds his hair again. Tears mingle between cheeks.

The kiss is long. Slow but passionate enough to drive you crazy. A dip of his tongue, and you taste him suddenly. A soft moan releases from between your lips.

He's the sun of a summertime outing, and the chill behind the frost on your window pane in winter.

Kissing James is like being caught by a net when you’re falling. It’s relief, it’s innocence, it’s want.

It’s love.

By the time he pulls you away, lips are raw. Cheeks are throughly flushed, and eyes are fond.

He holds you there, forehead to forehead.

“I’m never letting you outta my sight again, doll. You're mine.” A deep voice coos.

Safety.

There's a promise in his tone.

You sigh.

You could get used to that.

Roll the credits, please.

authorsnote: Did ya like it? NO, REALLY, DID YOU? ahh! Thank you for all the patience.

Should I dare start a Bucky Barnes taglist? If so, comment to be added...

Please consider reblogging if you loved it!

Clark Kent (Superman) x Childhood!Best-friend!Fem!Reader

boarders by @enchanthings & @cursed-carmine 👠🧸🎇

wordcount. 5.5k ~ masterlist.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, SMUT (Minors DNI), Fingering, Lots of Pet Names, Lots of Praise, Minimal use of Y/n, Sexual Assault, Assault, Panic Attack, Vomiting, Drunken Decision Making, Sweet Clark, Just Adorable Clark, Unsafe Sex, Jealousy and Unrequited Love leads to Sex, What are we, Angst City, I am Mayor, Childhood Friendship, Fluff, Alcohol Consumption, First kiss, Reunion, Verbal Fight, Hint of Physical Abuse, Flashbacks, Tension, Consent is so Punk Rock, Seemingly Unrequited Love, Guilt, Expert Pining, Yearning City, I am Mayor, Anxiety, Hurt/Comfort, Even Clark isn't perfect, We are all human, Sexual Context, Loss of Virginity, Punk Rock Kindness

"𝐵𝑎𝑏𝑦, 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝐼 𝑙𝑒𝑓𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘,

𝐼 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑙𝑒𝑔 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑟"

May 2007

Smallville, Kansas

The sparkling lights of the gym shone in the wake of your eyes. Your gown hung around your waist in calculated waves, and Clark's palm lightly grazed your lower back. His collar was popped, tie was loosely hanging on for dear life. Rented suit jacket abandoned on a random chair.

His smile was wide, bringing out your own as you gazed into ocean blue irises.

This was it. Senior prom.

And you were looking absolutely breathtaking.

The night had already been full of laughter, punch, and dancing until you had to peel off your high heels. Clark was your date, of course. The two of you were inseparable, giggling and shrugging off the common "it couple" comments. Clark was dragging you back to the middle of the dance floor, swaying your hips to the rhythm while you shrieked, mouthing the words to "Sexy Back."

Everyone around you stood out of the way.

Because Smallville High's sweethearts were the center of the energy. Best friends who had been through every high and low, but refused to take the next step. Captain of the football team and the captain of the theater club. Talk about a dramatic couple.

Neither of you even considered bringing a date, knowing that you were bound to ditch them for each other's attention and company anyway.

Clark's piercing tenor rings in your ears as he sings along, hands spread wide on your hips, as he pulls you taut to his chest. If it weren't so casual, so normal, you'd be blushing, freaking out inside.

You totally weren't freaking out.

The feel of his fingers protectively gripping your skin through the fabric, and the way the sweat of his hair rolled from his forehead to yours as you danced along. It was enough to drive any sane girl mad.

You two were truly idiots. This was just normal. This was just friendship.

It was obvious to anyone but you both.

But that would all change tonight.

You pull back from Clark, eliciting a groan and a pout from his cocky frame. He pulls you back, "Where do you think you're going, sweets?"

"Cmon Kent, I need more punch."

The two of you make your way to the tables of various snacks and drinks, Clark grabbing a can of ginger ale as you gag and grab your own cup, pouring some more punch.

"What's wrong with ginger ale?"

"What are you, seventy with stomach problems?"

"Oh, can it, sweets."

You smile, poking his dimple with your finger like you always do, and strut away dramatically towards a table. Clark lingers, rolling his eyes, and heads to the football table to see some friends.

His hand clenches the can a little bit tighter as he lets go of a tight breath. He couldn't wait another night.

You've made your way back to the table where your clutch lies, picking it up and mindlessly reapplying the lip gloss you brought. You sit with a groan, rubbing at the arch in your foot.

"Wow, I can't believe Kent would leave you here when you're looking like such a snack." A sickening voice proclaims from across the table.

You grimace, facing none other than Gabe Peters, a very bad-for-school biker. He'd been after your attention all senior year, showing up any time Clark left you alone. Which wasn't much.

"What do you want, Peters?" You grumble, narrowing your eyes as you set down your drink, cracking your knuckles, and sighing. He mocks offense, dragging a hand to his face and slapping himself lightly, "Just wondering what you're doing after this, prom queen."

You roll your eyes at his efforts, glancing to where Clark's jock buddies continued to laugh at their table. He had to be at least halfway across the gym. The smoke from several machines made it much harder to make out anything but the dance floor.

Gabe stood, crossing to your side as you discreetly pushed away, body language completely closed off to him.

"Nothing with you, Gabe, piss off." You glance across again, willing for Clark to look back your way.

"I figure Clark can't see you over here, huh?" He smiles wickedly, grabbing your chin with a grimey hand and leaning in. Your own hand flies up to swat him away, but you aren't quick enough.

Gabe lands a wet kiss on your lips faster than you can say, "Fuck you."

You swerve away, slapping him as jaws drop and gasps ring out around you. He brings a hand to his cheek, rubbing it and grasping for your wrist.

Your eyes begin to well with tears, and you stand, "Fuck you, Peters!" You flinch as his fingers wrap around your slender wrists, squeezing with a familiar force. He harshly pulls you to his chest, palms making their way to your ass.

You bring a knee to his crotch as he grazes it, and he doubles over.

"Goddamn it, you bitch!" He cries.

Heart pounding and eyes scanning a forming crowd, you can't see Clark... so you run. Pushing through the yearbook staff, who have enthusiastically formed a hurdle, cameras at the ready. You make a break for the doors leading outside, bursting through them as tears flow freely down your cheeks, running south to your neck.

The wind outside whips at the skirt of your dress, bracing yourself against the bricks, you lean over and hurl from anxiety. Your chest feels tight, too tight.

His hands are around your wrist. "You bitch!"

Mom is on the floor, hands over her ears as Dad kicks her stomach again, cracking another rib.

He turns towards you to grab your neck, a violent glint in his eyes.

Clark appears behind you in an instant, hands bunching up your hair as he whispers, "Sweetheart, hey, hey. Let it out, I'm here. Hey." Another hand rubs comforting circles into the small of your back as he surrounds you with warmth, a letter jacket being placed gently over your shoulders.

You spit out whatever is left, eyes crushing together in a pinch as you turn and bury your head into his chest, sobbing in ragged motions. Clark catches you instantly, hands wrapping possessively around your back, one on the nape of your neck. He curses into the cold night, the twilight of the moon shining on his eyes.

"He- he..." You start, but Clark shushes you, cooing and stroking lightly at your curled half-up-half-down hairdo. "I know. I know, the boys are taking care of it, let me get you home, sweets."

"No! N-no, Clark. I can't go home, not now, my D-Dad." You cry, pitifully shaking in his grasp. He nods, bringing his forehead to yours as he instructs you to match his breathing.

Your noses bump in a fit of intense silence.

"There you go, good, good sweetheart. Cmon, I'll take you to mine then, fuck prom." Clark announces, brushing away some tear-stained strands. He stares at your defeated face and sighs. Why were you so damn beautiful when you cried?

You nodded, letting him pick you up now, carrying you bridal style to his truck in the parking lot across the field. Hands wrap around his in comforting stability as you lean in and kiss his cheek.

It's friendly.

Bullshit.

"Thanks, super-boy." His ears turn pink.

You pass the home goal posts, and Clark quietly shouts, "Go Clark, go Clark, go Clark!" The last one comes out high-pitched and squealish. You slap at his chest, a soft grin replacing the frown.

"Shut it, Kent."

"What? I'm just imitating you in the stands."

You smile, laying your head in the crook of his neck as you sigh, "Whatever, you were the one crying in the audience when I died as Juliet."

"I still can't believe Dean Matthews got to kiss you before me." He teases back, causing another smack to his chest. You each laugh.

It's a fake laugh.

You've both danced around a kiss for weeks now.

"Whatever, Mr. football star. Half of the cheerleaders would pass out if you even winked at them." Clark huffs out a laugh, throwing his head back at the thought.

He reaches the truck, holding you with one arm as the other pops open the passenger seat. He drops you inside, making sure you don't knock your head.

"Your carriage, m'lady." His dimples are so prominent in this lighting. Eyes watching you with an amused glint, something else lying beneath them. Your throat catches, before you fake another quip.

"Why, thank you, oh galliant knight." You croon, leaning up to meet his gaze, Clark breaks away first.

Pussy, you think.

"A knight! I'm your knight!" He yells, making you jerk up a hand to cover his mouth. But all it does is muffle his yelling, "Yo-umm-hea-er-thmat smmmallville! I'm her kmmight!" Your laugh comes out unashamedly, "Clark!"

He just flashes you another crystal white smile, shutting the door gently and walking to his side. When he gets in, you lean back into the leather seats. "You're really gonna give up the prom king crown for me? I'm honored."

Clark puffs, "Ah, whatever... Plus, I won it last year." He glances towards you, giving you a "oh, cmon" look when he realizes you haven't buckled. You just fake innocence and grin back at him.

"Okay, humble bragger." That pulls another laugh from his chest, as he leans across the truck to grab your seat belt.

You gulp at the close proximity of his chest to yours, his breath fanning over your face in a restrained way, making your heart pound a little more. But as intimate as the moment is, it's fleeting, and Clark is sitting back in his seat before you blink.

"Alright... Joe's, and then mine," Clark announces, wiggling his eyebrows at you as he starts the truck. Your eyes sparkle at the hint of trouble in his tone, making your fingers twitch with excitement. Joe's liquor store it is. The engine roars to life, and "The Police" blast into each of your ears.

You both gasp as the familiar tune "Roxanne" fills the truck. Clark gives you a smile, leaning a hand over to your side and presenting an imaginary mic, "Take it away, baby."

June 2013

Smallville Kansas

You wince as a hand flies up to your neck, rubbing at the quickly sharpening ache there. This damn Jeep can't support my fucking back.

A pit begins to form in your stomach as you turn onto Hartford Drive, headed just south of Joe's and towards the Kent farm. Tommy sent you to return some gardening tools he'd borrowed from Martha. You were half sure he was doing it just to mock you.

Usually, this wouldn't be an issue; you'd swing by, kissing Johnathan on the cheek and hugging Martha around the back. They'd welcome you in with lots of compliments, stating how good you looked, and how nice it was of you to come by.

Iced tea would be plunged into your hand before you could think, and you would be rushed to a recliner, Johnathan and Martha taking the dusty couch. They'd flood you with questions, wanting to know everything from what you'd eaten that morning to how your love life was. Martha was always extra curious about your love life.

But today... It was different; Clark was home.

He was home, and you'd already avoided him once.

The driveway came into view, and you took a deep breath, turning on your blinker and sighing. You pushed down every conflicting thought and prayed for this to be quick and painless.

Your eyes flash to the barn.

You hadn't been in there since July of senior year.

You hadn't seen the inside of that damned barn in 5 years.

Everything felt very emotional once again.

May 2007

Smallville Kansas

You're giggling like an idiot, bottle of hard whiskey in your hand, and your head is leaned back into Clark's chest behind the mighty fine establishment of Joe's Liquor Store. You're sitting, he's pulling the bottle from your lips as you try to take another swig.

Clark had tipped off a guy to buy it for you, paying him a crisp twenty and smiling with a crooked grin. The man had chosen a pretty intense bottle, in which two chugs had your head buzzing and your heart racing.

"No more for you, sweetheart." Clark tuts, stealing it and taking another drink of his own, choking slightly as you shift around between his legs.

Goddamn it, baby.

You pout, "Cmon, Clarkie, I want some more." He grins, shaking his head at you lightly and chuckling as you look up into his eyes, lips inches from each other. The stars above you both, twinkle in a magical way, making this night one both of you couldn't help but remember.

"No. You don't need more. You're plenty tipsy now, sweetheart," Clark laughs, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes. He takes a deep breath, but doesn't lean in. Even as beautiful as you are, he can't kiss you while you're drunk. Not after the night you've had.

Even though it kills him not to.

But you've leaned in now, grazing your lips on his in a sensual way, and his stomach is fluttering in a silly spin. "Y/n..." he warns, a lower tone taking over his throat.

Clark doesn't mean for it to come out as a croak, but he's a weak man. Hell, he's still a boy, mentally. You were perched in his lap, nothing short of sinful. Your prom dress pulled up for easier movement. The skirt was dirty with mud, and the summer sweat clung to your skin.

It was utterly tempting.

"What?" You ask, breathless and shocked that you'd done that. You lean away quickly, pushing off the ground and trying to stand. Cheeks burning, your legs wobble as you brace against the brick of Joe's store.

Clark jumps up, "Hey. Be careful."

But you're desperate to make the moment less awkward as your heart wrenches in sudden rejection. So you give him one last look before you're off to the corn fields. It takes Clark by surprise, although he'd have no trouble catching up. Super speed and all.

But you're buzzed, and he doesn't trust those cute little legs to carry you all the way back to the farm. So, being the genius eighteen-year-old boy he was, Clark zoomed off after you. He sees you giggling as you struggle through the stalks, and he sighs to himself.

You're pushing through the field, a drunken giggle falling from your mouth, when all of a sudden, you're back in Clark's arms, flying above the field. Your jaw drops, and a jolt in your stomach begins to form.

"Oh fuck!" You scream, tightening your hold on his arms and digging your nails into his skin. Clark is laughing his ass off, doing some over-exaggerated spins and kissing your hair.

You feel very sick again, and you try to warn Clark, but it's too late. He rushes you to the ground as you hurl. His apologies spew out like water from a hydrant, but you wave him away.

After a moment of deafening silence, you laugh out loud.

Clark's eyes widen in surprise as you turn around to face him, hair a mess and eyes wild like fire. Your dress is seriously ruined, with dirt, grime, and bits of cornstalk all over it. But you've never felt so alive.

"That was one way to get it out of my system," you say, looking back up at Clark affectionately. He wishes he could just freeze this moment and have you look at him this way all night.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Clark starts, but you grip his lapel, dragging him towards you and smashing your lips to his.

His eyes close immediately, and his hand wraps instinctively around you, one taking you by the neck as he deepens the kiss. You pull away, though, gasping and apologizing, "Oh my god. I finally kissed you, and I kissed you with throw-up breath!"

The panic that had stirred in his chest was squashed as he grabbed you by the throat gently and redirected your mouth to his with a huff. He kissed you deep and slow, until it felt like your lips were burning and your breath was waning.

You didn't realize the ground beneath you was feeling so distant, but the second Clark pulled away, you were staring into his eyes amid the air.

He was staring at you like you'd just given him a pack of first edition Star Wars tapes.

"You think I care about throw-up breath when the prettiest girl in the world is kissin' me?" Clark teases lightly, forehead coming to rest against yours.

"Clark, I'm brushing my teeth if we're going to make out for the first time."

He sighs and rubs his nose against your cheek. "Alright, I'll go get my extra brush. You get your cute butt to our spot." All you can do is nod when he speaks to you like that. With a dominant tone that makes you feel all warm and suddenly pent up. He sets you both back on the ground, pecking at your lips again with a soft groan, and finally breaks for the house in flight.

You stand there for a moment, holding the crown of your head with your palm and squealing. It was just like you'd imagined it. Nothing big, nothing too much.

Everything had just clicked into place, naturally.

Oh my god.

To the barn you go.

June 2013

Smallville Kansas

You hold a fist up to the door, balancing the box of tools on your good hip. Knocking lightly, you let out another long breath. There's a rustle from inside as Clark Kent's frame makes its way to the door from the hall.

He opens it with a quick swing.

You both stare. Neither one daring to speak first.

But your hip gives way slightly, and you shoot your gaze down with a gasp of sharp pain.

"Oh shit," Clark says, reaching a hand out to stabilize you as you begin to tumble. A soft groan follows from your lips, and you grasp his arm with a quick hand, squeezing it. He takes the box without another word.

"Thanks," you whisper, cheeks burning in an embarrassed tint.

"N-no... ahem... no problem, sweetheart," Clark says lightly, his hand leaving your hip as you pull away, patting his arm in a purely friendly manner. You glance up at his face when you hear the familiar nickname, and he looks just as shocked as you.

"It's just my hip," you breathe out, mesmerized by the eyes that stole your heart in the third grade. Clark looks just as conflicted, as his eyes flick between yours and your very full, very close lips.

"Right, your hip, the accident." He says, in a cracked tone that's full of pity. It makes your heart hurt on the inside. You couldn't let this affect you. Not again, Y/n.

"Um... right, so. There are Martha's tools." You say, backing away from him with a quick step, and making a break for your Jeep.

You yelp out a haphazard thank you from Thomas as you quickly walk to the vehicle, limping. Clark calls out your name, and you pause.

Without a doubt, you could walk away. You could pretend he didn't exist, and go on your way.

But this was Clark Kent, your best friend. The first, only boy you'd ever loved. The man who saved squirrels from the road and cats from trees. His heart was bigger than the moon. You couldn't do that to him, even after all he'd done. How selfish he'd been.

So you turn.

"Yes, Clark?"

He gulps, a nervous look on his face, short fingernails picking at the cardboard around the corner of the box.

"I didn't know."

Your stomach churns very uncomfortably.

"It's alright, Clark." You respond, brushing off the rawness that scraped its way up your throat. Harsh words begging to come out.

"No!" He shouts, dropping the tools to the deck and taking a step down the porch.

"S-sorry. But, no. It's not. It's all my fault." Clark admits, and his voice almost sounds as if he'll cry.

"Clark..." You whisper, he's made his way to you. He's merely steps away.

"It's not okay. But I'm home. And I won't leave until you know how sorry I am." He mutters, reaching a hand to graze yours.

You pull it away and face him, "Good luck with that, Clark. Six years don't just fly by." No smile, no teasing grin. The softness in your eyes had hardened over.

It scared him.

His face freezes as if you'd slapped him. Eyes wide and hurt, brows furrowed together tightly, painfully. His hands clench and unclench at his side, the way they did when he hadn't caught the football and missed a touchdown.

"Goodbye, Clark." You say, opening the door and climbing inside. He just stands there, gazing at you through your windshield until you're backing up. He looks as though he wants to stop you, but his feet won't move. He just stares.

Then he finally retreats, slowly turning away and heading back to the porch, back inside. The tools stay on the deck.

You feel guilty, but it was better than letting your heart break again.

You take one last glance at the Barn before you drive away. Nights spent dreaming of Clark Kent were over; it was time to wake up. You missed his hand on your thigh as you drove away.

May 2007

Smallville Kansas

When Clark climbs up the ladder, his heart jumps to his throat. Toothbrush and paste in hand, he peeks his head up through the loft, seeing you lean against the wood.

You're staring back at him with a look that makes his cock jump in his suit pants. Be a gentleman, dumbass.

You accept the toothbrush with desperate hands, immediately pushing some paste from the tube and brushing at your teeth rapidly. Clark watches you, amused at your fierce determination.

"Not too hard, sweetheart, don't want your gums to bleed."

He takes his place next to you, exhaling as he slides down the barn wall, sitting beside you and swinging an arm over your back.

You give him a look, and he laughs, poking your nose with a cheeky grin on his face.

You stand, and spit out your paste, giving him a smile, waiting for his approval. Clark laughs and gives you two thumbs up.

"There. Allllll clean." You laugh, Clark hooks a hand around your ankle, and topples you over onto him.

It's not cute. It's hot.

You land with a shriek, hands bracing themselves on his chest. His nose brushes yours again as he takes you in for a kiss. His lips are soft, lingering as they explore the kiss. It makes your fingers twitch against his chest, smoothing out whatever wrinkles the field caused.

Clark swipes a tongue against your lips, and you finally let him in with a soft moan. His tongue catches your teeth. It's not messy, but it's new. He groans as a hand finds the back of your head again, fingers curling protectively around your skull as he deepens the kiss further.

He breaks away after what seems like twenty minutes, breathing in short pants, eyes flickering around your face.

"God, you are beautiful." Your cheeks feel insanely warm again, and you avoid his gaze. But Clark catches your chin, "Ah ah ah, no, look at me, sweetheart." You can't help it, your eyes find his again.

They speak a million words.

"I want you. I do, Clark." You tell him, fingers now curling in the soft hair by his ears. He breathes.

"Y'sure? We don't. You've been drinking." His voice fails him, coming out as more of a pathetic ask than an offer.

"It's out of my system, and I want you, Clark."

Clark doesn't need to hear another word as he drags your mouth back to his, claiming it with a brusque kiss. He scoots you away from the wall, placing you down gently against the wood and hay, and kisses you senseless. His hands roam all over your frame, becoming romantically familiar with your body.

You, however, are too utterly atonished at his kissing skills, moaning as he scrapes his teeth against your lips, your tongue. How he nips against your neck as his body crowds yours.

He whispers out words of comfort, "You're so good for me, so beautiful," as he kisses your ears, your eyes, your veins. His hands find your breasts, and he breathes in quickly, squeezing and rolling at your nipples through the fabric.

You mewl into his neck, begging him for more.

"Shh, shh, baby. I'm here," he calls, smothering your collarbone with kisses.

"God, you're so soft, and you're here with me." His voice is laced in disbelief. You pull at his hair, bringing his lips to yours, and he groans, a hand slamming against the wood next to your head.

"I need you, Clark." You beg, a hand lacing in his locks and a sob escaping your lips.

It's pitiful, it's wretched.

It's exactly what Clark needs to hear to rip apart your dress.

His hands find the bust, and he rips each stitch. You don't mind, the dress is plenty ruined, and you'd much rather be naked than clothed right now. So you reach for his shirt, pulling at buttons and popping them open. He groans when he tears it away from your breasts, a lace bra holding them in place.

He sighs, burying his head between them with kisses, worshiping the skin, wet with sweat. You moan out, legs wrapping around his middle and pulling him towards.

"Let me get this damn dress off." He croaks, face against your chest, and you nod. You sit up, giving him better access as he drags the zipper down quickly, pulling the dress from your torso and towards your feet. His eyes graze over every inch of you with a severe need.

Clark pulls his shirt from his chest quickly, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them to his ankles quickly. You stare up at him, balanced against the wood of the loft. You looked so soft, and your skin glowed in the light.

"You're everything," Clark whispers, his eyes raking over the lace as hands find the clips, struggling with a huff before unclipping it successfully and dragging it down your arms.

Then he just sits back on his knees, taking you in. His breath catches, and his fingers gently place the bra on the floor. A hand raises to your neck, tracing down to the valley of your breasts with two fingers.

Clark finds a nipple, rolling it, watching you gasp, and crawls to you again. He gropes at your chest as his lips find yours with a heated kiss. Lips of heat smash together, tongues searching for hidden secrets.

You pull him against you with a mewl, fingers brushing lower towards his boxers, towards the hard outline there. You touch his cock through the fabric, and his voice breaks, ragged and desperate. His tongue sweeps across your neck.

"Fuck! I need you." He rasps, a hand reaching towards your panties and tearing them down your legs. "Please, p-please Y/n, tell me I can touch you," Clark begs, voice raw with genuine need. You nod, pushing his hand to your fold with your own, guiding him to you.

"Touch me, Clark."

Clark moans as he finds you soaked, two fingers part you, and he strokes softly through your folds. You are a moaning mess beneath him, hand pulling down his boxers and gripping his cock with a solid fist.

He grunts, circling your clit as you begin to pump him slowly. The two of you make sounds of pleasure at the feeling of finally touching each other. Clark pulls your hand away from his cock.

"No, you get to come. I need you to come." He whispers against your lips, kissing them softly and finding your clit again. You whine against him, completely helpless.

"I know, I know. It feels good, sweet girl." He coos, the other hand finding your hole and pressing gently, slowly.

He finds your eyes. "Do you think you can take my finger?" You whimper, nodding rapidly and begging him to let you take it.

"You gonna let me be your first, pretty?" Clark asks, voice soft and adoring as he watches you pant. You whine, a tear running down your cheek as you beg, "Please, Clark. It's yours, I'm yours."

His heart lurches, and he leans to kiss the tear away, "I love you, y'know that?"

You smile, wide and pretty.

"I love you, Clark."

He pushes the finger in, shushing your moans with a kiss, nipping at your hairline, and whispering sweet nothings into your ears.

"There you are," he groans, sweetly and safe. His voice guides you, as his finger finds its way into your walls. You're crying now, curled into his neck, purely pitiful as you take his finger.

Clark still draws lazy circles around your clit, loosening your pussy for his second finger, which dips to join the first, stretching you wider for him.

"Good girl, you're doing so well."

You kiss at his neck, bringing your hips up to his hand, trying to push him deeper, "Please, Clark, more." He huffs out a laugh, pushing the second finger to the hilt as he fingers at your bundle of nerves.

"Don't get greedy on me, baby. You'll get it all. Be patient." He warns, pinching your clit lightly between a thumb and forefinger, making you cry into his chest, sobbing with overstimulation.

Clark kisses you again, finding your worn lips with his as he begins to pump you, curling his finger against your walls. He hits a spot that makes you gasp.

"Fuck!" You cry, hips bumping his hand with passion, you're chasing the release that builds low in your belly. Clark obliges, pumping faster and drawing tight circles now.

"Please come, let me feel it on my hands, baby. I want to feel it." He begs, kissing your cheekbone. The cord pulls tight as his teeth graze your earlobe, and it snaps.

Your hips twitch, legs sprawled and wild, as Clark fucks you through the pleasure, his lips kissing at the tears which fall down your cheeks.

"Oh, good girl, good girl." He croons, fingers slowing down gradually as you gush against them.

You pull him into another kiss, and he raises his arousal-soaked hand to his mouth, sucking in his fingers as you draw a breath. He groans around his digits, kissing you and forcing his tongue into your mouth so that you may taste.

He pulls you towards him, and his heavy cock slaps against your stomach.

"We don't-t, have to," Clark strains as your fist finds him again, pumping him with solid strokes and kissing at his jaw, "Please, Clark, please."

Your begging weakens him, and he lines his cock up, rubbing it against the wetness. His hands are tight fists, roughly placed against the wood of the loft.

The head is thick, pink, and angry. Pre-cum drips around the slit, running down to the base where soft curls lie. Clark slaps his cock against your clit, once, twice. You groan and claw his shoulder. "Please."

"Okay, okay, pretty girl, take me." He whispers, voice ragged and tight as he pushes the head into your pussy. Your walls oppose him, but he eases in slowly, letting you take a couple of inches before he retreats.

He pushes in again, a long and broken cry exiting both of your mouths as he goes another inch deeper this time.

"You're so tight." He grunts, hand cracking the wood by your head as he grips it like crumpling paper.

You're clenching around him, and he brings a hand down to thumb at your clit again, "Let me in, cmon baby." His voice is barely a whisper, raw and full of passion that has been pushed down for years.

His constant circles make the cord tighten again, but this time, he holds you there, letting you teeter on the edge as he eases himself in, inch by inch, until he finally lies hip to hip with you. Clark kisses you now, murmuring his love again and again against your skin as you milk him. A long and slow release squirting around his cock.

It makes him grunt as you cry in a quiet whimper, completely fucked out. Clark's hips pick up the pace, and your legs wrap around him in overstimulation.

"Oh god, I'm close, please- please." He cries now, hips becoming erratic in their movements, and he suddenly cums, painting you with his load, owning you. He sinks to the floor, hands cradling your head as he showers you with love.

"So good f'me, you're my girl. You're my baby. Oh god, you're so beautiful, look at you." He mumbles, disbelief and pleasure etched all over his face.

Clark finds your lips as he drags you back into his lap.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

You could lie here in his arms, in this barn, forever.

taglist. @otakusimp1 @animegamerfox @punksnotdeadbutiam @angelicp0etry @elfypineapple @cecesilver

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Clark Kent (Superman) x Childhood!Best-friend!Fem!Reader

boarders by @enchanthings & @cursed-carmine 🍯💋🧸

𝐁𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 "𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝” 𝐁𝐲 𝐒𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 - The plot and storyline are my own, but every chapter is both named by lyrics and is loosely in line with lyrics from the song! Keep that in mind 🪽

The summers of your childhood were full of iced tea, trouble, and your best friend: Clark Kent. Nights of rocks on your window pane, sprinting through fields of corn and wheat, and waking up extra early to finish your chores every Saturday in the promise of another adventure, swirl around in your memory fondly. You were young and madly in love with your best friend. He was your prom date, your first kiss, the only person you trusted with the bruises from your dad.

But he was also the captain of the football team, a straight-A student, and well... an alien. That last one was a secret, of course.

As your younger days came and went, with them, Clark left. Leaving you behind to hold up the fort in Smallville while he headed to the big city to fulfill his purpose, protecting the innocent. Why had it bothered you so much? You were never officially more than friends.

When Clark returns one summer to visit home, you aren’t ready to be faced with your past. It seems he has everything he ever wanted, but is that true? Has he found a life that satisfies him without you in it?

You used to lie in his lap while he twirled your hair and talked about a life outside of Smallville, used to clean his cuts as he learned the ins and outs of his powers. That Clark was reverently yours. This Clark seemed miles away.

The words you both dare not speak hang in the balance. But who will be brave?

Warnings: SMUT (minors DNI), Fem!Reader, Explicit Sexual Content, Oral (M & F), Angst City, I am Mayor, Childhood Friendship, Fluff, Graphic Depictions of Abuse, Alcohol Consumption, Fighting, Verbal Abuse, Physical Abuse, Flashbacks, Use of Y/n, Soft!Dom Clark, Clark Kent is typical teenage boy, Y/n is typical teenage girl, Unprotected Sex, Loss of Virginity, Drunken Mistakes, First Kisses, Use of nicknames (Sweetheart, Peaches, Baby, etc.), Tension, Seemingly Unrequited Love, Expert Pining, Yearning City, I am Mayor, Lots of Tears, Lois Lane is a lil mean and I'm sorry, Hurt/Comfort, Praise Kink, Size Kink, Cheating, Even Clark isn't perfect, We are all human, Punk Rock Kindness, Crushes, Football Player Clark Kent (You're welcome), Etc.

Specific Chapter Warnings to come.

ᴘʀᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ out now!

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ- “ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ.” out now!

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴏ- “ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ ɢᴇᴛꜱ ᴍʏ ᴊᴏᴋᴇꜱ.” out now!

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ- “ʜᴀɴᴅʟᴇ ɪᴛ.” out now!

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰᴏᴜʀ- “ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴇʀᴇ.” in the works

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰɪᴠᴇ- “ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ɪ ꜰᴀʟʟ.” (ᴄʟᴀʀᴋ'ꜱ ᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴏɴ)

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜱɪx- “ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛ.”

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴ- “ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ʀᴏᴏᴍ.”

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴇɪɢʜᴛ- “ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜꜱ ᴀꜱ ʜᴇʟʟ.”

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɴɪɴᴇ- “ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ɪ ꜰᴀʟʟ.” (ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴏɴ)

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴇɴ- “ɴᴏᴛ ʏᴏᴜ, ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴍᴇ.”

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴇʟᴇᴠᴇɴ- “ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ʏᴏᴜ'ʟʟ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜱᴀʏ.”

ᴇᴘɪʟᴏɢᴜᴇ

Clark Kent (Superman) x Fem!Reader

🪽 boarders by @enchanthings & @cursed-carmine 🪽

wordcount. 2.0k ~ masterlist.

One. Two. Three.

You worked as a nurse in Metropolis, tirelessly giving the best of yourself for the good of others. Once Lois Lane, your best friend, introduced you to her work friends, you fell for Clark Kent, a journalist with piercing blue eyes and a heart of gold. You're convinced he'd never fall for you, so you love him from a distance.

But a night in the ER with Superman might just change everything.

Warnings: Fem! Reader, Suggestive themes, hints of 18+ (Minors DNI), Seemingly side character (best friend) Reader, Angst City, Reader is a YEARNER in this one folks, She fell first, He fell HARDER, Clark is a D1 yearner, He's SO soft, Reader doesn't know Clark's identity but Lois does, So does Jimmy, Angsty Reader, Insecure Reader, Reader is bad at reading emotions, Lois is best friend GOALS, Mentions of violence, Clark Kent to the rescue, Tension, Caring Clark Kent

Tonight, Lois planned on dragging you out for drinks, again, pulling you to your closet, and picking out something that you would rather not wear in public. "You're going to kill me, Lois."

"No, I'm going to kill Clark." She emphasizes as an immediate blush forms on your cheeks.

No, he's not into me like that.

"I see you thinking, and I already know you're wrong," Lois calls, tossing leather pants at your face as she scans for a shirt perfectly between sexy and cute.

You just groan, pulling on the pants like you're told and thinking about the other night.

Superman, the stitching. His hand on your cheek, on your chin.

His warm body near you, his messy hair.

The cut on his lip.

His eyes that dangerously drooped to your lips, the eyes that reminded you so clearly of Clark's.

You snap out of it when a top comes flying at your face.

You've got to ask Clark about him, if you've got the nerve to speak to him at all instead of hiding behind a glass of liquor and letting Lois do the talking.

Lois tells you all about the rooftop bar that you're headed to, and all you can think about is why she's asking me to put on a see-through top if we are going to be outside.

You don't grab a jacket, though, because Lois is too busy putting lipstick on your lips and rushing you out the door with nothing but your purse and phone. You're busy thinking about what a nightmare this could turn into when she's suddenly calling a cab and you're getting in.

Superman, stitches. That's about all that has occupied your very long and slow week of nothing at the hospital, and it's just now hitting you that you really are going to see Clark.

You glance down at your sheer top, where you can slightly make out the bra you have underneath, and your eyes widen.

"Lois, I cannot wear this!" You gasp, arms crossing around your middle as she tuts, "You can and you will!"

Clark would see you like this, maybe he'd imagine what's underneath, as if he couldn't see it already. It made your throat tighten and your need for alcohol much more apparent.

His goddamn smile, and the way his voice wavered when you seemed the slightest bit upset. His eyebrows would scrunch most unnecessarily, irises searching yours for answers.

The way he would actually listen to your story about your day, without interrupting. The interest he had in your opinions, the way his hand grazed your back when the bar got crowded and he needed to use the restroom, or ask for another drink for you, which he knew by heart.

He woke something up inside your chest. A feeling you put away several years prior.

A need.

"He's going to have no choice but to flirt with you now," Lois smiles knowingly as you frown at her. No, he won't. He'll be looking at you instead of me.

Lois just rolled her eyes and texted Jimmy something most likely at your expense, but you shrugged it off and grabbed her hand. She squeezed yours.

She was your best friend in the entire world. And you told her about the night with Superman, to which she squealed and got a pint of ice cream before dragging you to the couch and making you tell it again.

Lois had texted Jimmy after, who thought it was terribly ironic that you were fawning over the man you liked's secret identity.

When you finally arrive at the bar, stumbling out of the car on wobbly, uneducated-on-how-to-walk-in-heels-feet, you grab Lois with a warning look and make her switch shoes with you. She grunts but agrees, giving you her flats and taking the ridiculous shoes.

Jimmy, Cat, Clark, and Steve sit at a high top near the bar. You gulp as you see the ruffled hair look Clark is wearing, tie forgotten, and shirt lightly unbuttoned. You're not the only one, though, as you pass through the crowd and hear at least two girls say who is that? behind you.

It made you nervous, and you felt small next to all the choices.

Lois greets everyone before reintroducing you, which was unnecessary but sweet. You try not to think too much about Clark's dimples as you take your seat next to Jimmy, who slings an arm around you with ease and hands you a drink.

Clark watches as he downs another scotch, eyeing Jimmy, who just smiles back as if to say, If you care, you'll woo her yourself.

Conversation comes quickly, and drinks go by just the same. Jimmy takes his hand off you, finally, and quietly slips it to Lois's thigh. You pretend not to notice, although it doesn't surprise you. He had already unsuccessfully snuck out of your apartment before.

Most of the things you discuss are work, but the occasional story about Superman pops up, to which Clark glances at you before he looks down at his drink. You stay quiet, refusing to tell the ER story even when Lois begs you to.

"I just stitched him up. Seriously."

Clark shifts in his seat. Hand clutching the drink tighter.

"Oh sure, that's all that happened," she laughs, "that's not exactly how I remember you telling the story, how he touched your face and you swore his hands were sooooo soft-" You push a hand over her mouth as a blush returns and shrug off the story, giving Cat a save me look.

Now Clark's looking at you with red cheeks, then Jimmy, who just chuckles and starts asking Cat when she's going to release another taboo about Lex Luthor.

You silently wonder if Clark is thinking about you meeting his friend, maybe Superman even said something to him about you.

Maybe you should ask.

Clark is quiet tonight; he seems distant, and it makes you, unfortunately, curious. Maybe he's upset about Jimmy and Lois, or maybe it's something else.

Either way, you swallow the anxiety of opening up and are determined to find out.

If he could be so incredibly interested in your life, then you would consider him a friend. Maybe it was time you offered to listen.

When he makes an exit, brushing your back like he does, and heads to the bar, you follow.

The group watched both of you with grins.

Clark gets another scotch before passing a group of girls who look at him like he's meat, and heads to the more private area of the bar. There are a couple of empty chairs and tables, but he passes them, settling for a concrete slab near the edge of the tall building.

You watch, bringing your glass of wine, a bottle of scotch, and some flimsy bread you found, and slowly follow him.

Yeah, something was definitely up; his jaw was clenched, and his shoulders were drooping down.

He almost looked like a little boy when he was upset.

Clark sips the scotch, sighing as he contemplates the possibility of you dressing up for someone. He knew that Lois undoubtedly had made your outfit, but it didn't stop him from glancing.

And gosh, you were unbearably sexy.

"This seat taken?"

Clark's head whips up to see you, before you sit next to him, close enough to touch, but far enough for him not to feel your warmth.

It drew him in the other night, and he almost lost himself. He had to be more careful.

"Y'know, sitting down before you let me answer the question kinda defeats the whole purpose." You sigh, nudging his arm with yours, "I guess it does, doesn't it?" He huffs a laugh.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong, Clark?"

He looks shocked that you noticed, to which you give him a look that says you aren't slick at all.

"Um, just work, I guess, and life." You could tell by his voice that he was lying.

"Bullshit, Kent, what's going on?"

This time, Clark gulps before whispering, "You ever want to tell someone something, but don't know what words to say it with?"

You take in his words, mulling over whatever they could have meant. What did he want to tell this person? Who was making Clark this hesitant?

"Clark, that is probably the most universal feeling out there, and yes, I have. I absolutely understand."

More than you know.

"I just- I want to talk to her, or, to them. They're just so confusing, and I want to tell her that I-." He stammers, to which your cheeks burn redder. So it was a girl. Maybe she was Lois, and he was insecure about her and Jimmy.

That was the only plausible answer.

"Clark, the best thing to do is go at your own pace; you can't let this person change you, because if she does, she isn't worth it. And you're great just how you are, even if she can't see that."

You knew the sting of rejection because you were feeling it now. Scotch replaces wine as you take a huge drink. You give Clark the advice you don't dare tell yourself.

Clark thinks, "Yeah, you're right-"

Now you're staring at his forehead. When did he get a cut by his hairline?

Your heartbeat began to quicken. Wait.

He lets your words sink in as you stare. Clark turns to you now, gaze tracing your jaw, your neck. You almost shudder, because you can practically feel his eyes like fingers on skin.

"But- I don't think she changes me at all, I think I'm more myself around her than anyone. That's why telling her will be so hard."

"Then don't let her go, Clark, tell her. The right girl would wait for you," you breathe, eyes searching his.

He stares purely at your lips now, but you cut him off as he opens his mouth to speak again, "I met your friend, Superman."

This takes Clark aback; he shuts his mouth and nods, throat clearing tightly as he swigs his drink again. He avoids your gaze quickly.

"He was kind and so humble. The man literally stayed to check on the civilians he saved. I got to patch him up and have a small conversation. I wonder, did he say anything about me?" You gushed, leaning closer to Clark now as he held back a noise his his throat.

He remembered every word, every detailed touch of your fingers on his skin. It killed him not to kiss you right there and make you his.

"He's like that, alright. And, yeah, he mentioned you." He strains, his shirt feeling tight, so he goes to unbutton it more.

"He reminded me of you, it's funny really," you whisper, as Clark's hands stop wrestling with buttons and instead explore your expression. Your eyes were dark, a hand was taking the glass out of his, and you were most certainly tipsy enough to be this confident.

Nothing else explained the way you were looking at him.

"His eyes mainly," you continue, slipping closer to Clark with what can only be liquid courage, only this time he's reciprocating.

A soft hand meets your lower back.

A lip meets your temple, and he kisses your head with tense restraint.

He can't tell you when you're like this.

"Why do you have the same eyes as Superman, Clark?" You ask, almost breathless, his face is close now.

"Couldn't tell you, sweetheart." Clark exhales, soft fingers rise up your back, and a thumb strokes your shoulder blade. He holds himself back from you.

You lean in, though, courage from the alcohol, and smash your lips to Clark's. He lets out a groan before kissing you back, soft and calculated.

Your body is on fire with such want that it makes you dizzy.

Breaking the kiss, Clark leans his forehead against yours.

"I can't, not like this." He strokes your cheek in a way that feels so familiar you want to cry.

You sober up enough to realize that you've just come onto Clark, and you open your mouth to spew apologies.

"No, baby, don't say anything. Let's go talk." He whispers into your ear, pecking your forehead again and helping you up.

"Okay." You nod. Did he just call me baby?

taglist. @yrcbhu5wdv @friedunknownphantom @chloeee20

authorsnote: I wrote this so fast, I'm sorry if it's bad, but I love them. Fast paced! This fic is!

dm or comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

summary: bob can’t stand it. you’re just too fucking pretty. you distract him, you make every horrible, ugly thought dissipate. he craves it. he knows you, and you know him. it feels right, and his feelings are so strong he doesn’t know what to do anymore. he has no idea that you feel the same. that you ache for his comfort, for his feelings to reflect your own.

but a week of strained normalcy, a build up of emotional tension, and a failed mission lead to more than innocent, friendly thoughts. bob’s limits are reached on waiting for the right damn moment.

he has to tell you. you want to tell him. let’s watch each of you try ;)

warnings: fluff/smut, longing, pining, some use of y/n, dirty talk, unprotected p in v sex, dirty thoughts, tension, body worship, bob is down bad, bob is a MAN, you are just as down bad, yelena is number one supporter, idiots in love, confusion, jealousy, a pinch of angst, just playing: so so much angst, possessive bob, oral sex (m&f receiving), canon-typical violence, nightmares, anger, hurt/comfort, reader gets hurt badly (more on that later), bob is not okay, fear, love, please just kiss alr you two

authors note: okay guys, this is action packed. buckle up and bring your tissues. also… power reveal for reader!! and some backstory!!! yay I missed action scenes.

friday - the crucifixion (chapter five)

Everything was wrong from the start. For instance, it began with the fact that you’d been called on a Hydra mission in the middle of the night. For another, half of the team was barely awake, and everyone was giving you looks.

You and Bob had walked in together, hand in hand, and it lit up your newfound relationship like a Christmas tree. Everyone's eyes followed you, making you breathe a little quicker. You were happy, giddy in fact, but both of you buried that for later as Walker debriefed the mission.

“Alright, since Buck’s in Germany on a solo mission for Val, we are down a man. That means no waiting around in the Quinjet; no quick exits.”

Your throat tightened, you had always had an escape plan on missions, that safety blanket was now gone.

Bob squeezed your hand a little tighter. He knew that worried you, especially when it came to an organization as terrifying as Hydra.

What they’d done to you, to Bucky. It haunted his nightmares just imagining it. But you, you never talked about it. Unlike Bucky, you hadn’t healed it all or put it behind you.

Bucky warned the team to leave it, that no amount of time or consolation would help. His not being here with you was staggering for your mental state. Bob just hoped you could hang on for him.

Just get through the mission, sweetheart.

“Bob, earth to Bob,” Walker grumbled, pulling Bobby from his thoughts, “right, so, as I was saying: We don’t know how many of them there are, so we need to split up to infiltrate both sides. That means Bob, Y/n, and I will take the south side. The rest will take the north. We need to get in, break down the operation, and quickly get out before they call for backup.”

Everyone’s eyes drift, and a silent exhaustion sweeps over the crew. You bury your head in your hands with exasperation.

This is so fucked already.

Walker rubs his eyes, “Listen, guys, I know we’re all tired, but we’ve gotta be alert. Hydra will crush us if we aren’t.” Alexei straightens up slightly, and you slouch all the more.

Your head is spinning, and you feel like crying from the overwhelming day/night you’ve had. You lay your head on Bob’s shoulder, and his hand on your thigh tightens. But you let your eyes glaze over with the familiar blue light of your powers. He notices and takes his hand off, letting you settle into your energy.

~~

The jet lands, and you group up with your infiltration teams. You strap your guns to your belt, reloading them and checking the safety off. Bob raises his fingers to his temples, and a faint glow slowly creeps beneath his irises.

Walker stretches his arms, unlatching his shield from his back strap. He scratches his beard, slipping his helmet on, and nods to you both.

Here we go.

Your eyes shine a deep cerulean, and you flex your fingers. The heat in your veins burns deep in your chest. You follow Bob and John to the gate by the south entrance. Walker seems to take charge, covering corners and being the one to initially engage.

He raises his shield, banging it down on the lock and pulling the chain.

Bob ducks as Walker throws the chain of the lock behind him carelessly, “Hey, watch it, Walker.” Walker just grunts and opens the rickety fence.

When he reaches an entrance, Walker lifts his ear to the door. Super soldier hearing… of course.

He looks at both of you, nodding. John flips, kicking the door down with a steady foot. The silence of the surrounding room and the clash of the metal door hitting the ground startle you. The echo resonates deep in your ears.

It was empty.

Walker heads inside, Bob following suit, making sure that you follow behind by tugging your hand in the slightest comfort. You take in the sight around you as you make your way through the doorway, dodging the useless piece of metal that lies on the ground.

The warehouse seemed relatively familiar, average in size and quality. The rows of weapons in this portion glistened in their new packages, neatly kept and fitted.

John curses to himself at the sheer amount of equipment they could’ve taken. But it seems that nothing is missing from this end of the warehouse.

Walker quickly checks in with Yelena on comms. Her crackled voice makes out, “Nothing over here, just some stolen gear, and a door ajar. It’s headed your way, so watch it, guys.”

Bob has wandered to the fourth row of tactical gear and file cabinets, and he gasps.

“Guys, fuck, these drawers are a mess.”

You quickly stride over, Walker in tow, and you pick up a stray paper. Walker heads to Bob, inspecting the file cabinet on your three.

You glance down at the crumpled paper, a stapler hole is missing- they got the rest of the information, maybe a packet? The red stamped confidential paper reads:

PROJECT #01873: ANGEL OF DEATH- HYDRA OP MISSION. FAILED AND RELEASED- PICKED UP BY SHEILD PRE-SNAP. POWERS INCLUDE BLUE FLAME MANIPULATION, TELEPATHY, AND FLIGHT…

It makes your heart drop. This was your file, why the fuck had they stolen your file. Your hands shake. Your heart pounds.

Your eyes lose their vibrant blue, and you falter.

“Guys-?”

Bad fucking timing.

A shot rings out, and suddenly you're on the floor. A loud boom rings in your ears, and everything is hot. Your eyes are spotty, and you can’t see.

You hear Bob yell, panicked and pained, “Y/N, ARE YOU THERE? Fuck! Walker, help me get this off me. Fuck, Y/N!” He wasn’t far, but something was separating you both.

You feel lightheaded, and you rest your head against the cold pavement.

Everything beats at a slow hum.

Your side burns, and the crimson of your new wound seeps into the stone beside you.

You hope Bob is okay.

“Bob…”

Walker grunts to the right of you. His shield is nowhere in sight.

Men in black surround you, dragging you by the arms. Their faces are hidden beneath glossy masks.

Your eyes fail you as you try to bring your power to them. All you can do is burn the hand of one of the guards, who curses and punches you square in the jaw. The sting almost takes you out.

“Yelena, your six! Watch it! Where’s Y/N? I need eyes on her NOW!” A gruff voice screams from a distance. Your head is pounding, and you can’t move your muscles.

Everything about this is shitty.

You hear gunshots and feel the familiar heat of Bob’s powers nearby, but he is still too far to reach. The sting in your side grows, making you lose your breath.

Too far to save you.

Fuck, Bob I need you.

“Y/n, baby, I’m coming, hang on!” Bob’s voice rings out, almost as if he heard you, beyond the continuous pop of bullets. You hear him grunt in pain, and your heart drops to the floor.

“Fuck! Bob’s down, guys!” Someone, a girl, yells.

Bob no. Not Bobby. No, no, no!

The men drag you to an exit, stuffing you into a box, a goddamn box, and they shut the lid.

Fuck, no, no no no. Not this again. Oh god. Oh god, please help me.

Your prayers were useless; you were stuck. Going nowhere.

You were used to this kind of torture. These men had to know. Whoever had planned this wasn’t new. They knew your weakness.

It made your throat dry, and your eyes well with tears. The isolation drained you. The tight space riddled you with fear. You trembled, sobbing quietly.

Pathetic.

Your hands scraped against the sides of the metal. They couldn’t do this, not again. You wouldn’t go back. Fuck. You couldn’t. They can’t hurt you. They can’t. Not again. Not again.

Somebody. Please.

You needed to get out, and fast. Or else, they could do it again. You ache in pain, twitching.

They could make you into their pet. Their weapon. The angel of death.

A woman who was behind you, a woman who killed more men than anyone in Hydra's history alone.

When Cap rescued Bucky, you were left behind, the only one who could save Hydra’s skin. You were theirs; they only needed the password.

Old locks still open.

Your heart pounded, and you felt the screech of tires beneath you. It was useless. The blood of your gunshot wound pools beside you, traveling around the fabric of your suit.

Hydra had its weapon again. You.

You feel like you will pass out from fear and exhaustion. The blood steadily flowing from your abdomen reminds you of your failure.

Bobby. Please be okay. Come back for me.

Your head rested against the bottom of the vibranium container.

Everything goes black.

~~

Shit shit shit! Fuck.

Bob sobbed raggedly into his hands. Walker was patching up his arm, but Bob couldn’t feel the sting of the stab wound.

He was too busy crying and raging.

He failed you. The team failed you.

Yelena rubbed his back, cautiously. Her jaw was set in a firm click. She looked around the Quinjet.

Ava and Alexei were on the cameras, desperately watching for any sign of your exit. All they saw was gear being moved. Loads of metal boxes holding god knows what were thrown into various vans.

But you? It was like you’d disappeared.

“Any luck, guys?” Yelena called out. Walking towards them.

“No, there’s not a trace of her,” Ava grunted angrily. If Bucky had been here, everything would’ve gone better.

He knew Hydra better than any of them.

The plan was to hurry back to base, intercept Bucky, debrief, and plan to get you back.

Yelena was ready to bargain. She was desperate to get you home.

Walker and Bob were ready to kill.

Ava and Alexei just wanted a break from this shit. But they wanted to attack Hydra for what they’d taken from the team.

God Bucky was going to be pissed.

Bob sat up. His eyes were wide with the possible revelation.

“Guys! Check the boxes. God fucking damn it, she’s in one.”

Walker grumbles, “In a box? Why?” He rubs his temple, a bruise forming.

Bob gulps in pure agony, “When Hydra had her… they used. They used to put her in one. When- when she didn’t follow through with orders.” He cries, slamming a palm to his forehead.

God, this was so bad. Were you hurt? Please, baby, hang on. I’m coming back.

The team takes a shallow breath. Tears flow down Bob’s face as the realization kicks in.

“We need Bucky,” he whispers.

It was true. Bucky could handle this better than anyone.

“I’ll get him on the line,” Ava said, without a second thought, and she walked to the comms.

The rest of the team is shocked. Walker pauses, patching up Bob, and rubs his beard. Yelena sits down and buries her head in her palms. Alexei shamelessly tries to lighten the mood, earning him glares from Yelena and Walker.

Bob pays this no mind; he’s too busy trying not to fall into despair.

Instead, he plans multiple ways to murder the men who took you. Every part of him feels pulled apart.

I’ll get you back.

~~

The team strides into the debrief room hurriedly. Yelena slaps herself down into a chair, opening a laptop with access to major intel on the warehouse.

Ava and Walker step in, sitting at the table, setting their helmets down on the wood. Bob takes a chair near the exit, sitting slowly. He has pulled himself together enough to work on a plan.

Alexei sits back in his chair, popping his back and neck. His brows are strung high, and he taps his foot impatiently.

“Where’s Buck?”

“I sent him an SOS message, he intercepted it, and is on his way back now,” Ava says, pulling a foot up into her lap and massaging her muscles.

“Well why the fuck are we sitting around?” Bob strains, his hands shaking. His eyes are wild.

“We won’t be any help to her if we aren’t prepared, Bob,” Walker argues. He sits up and tightens a fist on the table. The wood groans underneath the tension.

Valentina’s voice rings out over the intercom, “Team? I need a debrief stat. The press is going wild over this coverage!” Her dumbass didn’t even know you were captured.

“Not fucking now, Val!” Yelena yells, grunting in frustration at the laptop. Bucky needed to get back and fast.

"Alright fine, but I want a file on my desk by tomorrow at 8:00 am sharp!" Val snips. The beep of the intercom indicates that she isn't listening in anymore.

Walker unclips his gun belt, "So what are we now? Sitting ducks?!" He pushes his chair out and stands.

Bob follows, his head pounds, "I can't do this." He has had enough; he needs to find you. "Where's the nearest computer that I can access?"

Yelena slides hers over, "Here, lover boy, I'm going to try and contact Bucky." She stands, stretching her arms up, and heads to the door. Ava goes with her, mumbling a need for food.

That, of course, leaves Alexei to follow.

Walker watches Bob sign in to the computer, hands shaking over the keys.

"Bob, hey man. Take a breath," he starts, grabbing the laptop and taking a seat next to him.

"I'll type, you tell me all you know, okay?" He softly grumbles, and Bob nods appreciatively. He buries his head in his hands and rubs at his eyelids.

"Alright, Bobby, tell me about Y/n's time at Hydra."

~~

Everything was frigid, you're strapped with the familiar vibranium holds you once knew a lifetime ago. Power-binding cuffs wrap around your limbs, leaving you defenseless.

Headgear with pulse shockers wraps around your temples and runs down the length of your spine.

You've been stripped to your underwear, splashed with water enough that your nipples pierce through the fabric of your sports bra, and you shiver viciously.

A shock runs through you every once in a while, reminding you to never calm your nerves. The doctor who watches you smirks every time he presses the button. You glare at him weakly.

After enough torture and cussing at them to stop, you're reduced to a blubbering mess, angry at yourself for your easy breaking. The pain rocks every sense in your body.

They question you, and you stay silent.

Shock.

They repeat your code. You ignore it.

Shock.

You whine, they shock you, it's continuous. You can't feel your back muscles, and instead feel the sores form, creating a pattern of raw bumps that you never were able to heal. They unlatch the restraints, grabbing you and ripping you from the table.

You're led down a long hall with various rooms. They throw you into one, it's dark, and the only light comes through a small window on the door. You grunt as your back hits the ground, screaming in pain at the feeling of the hard floor on your sore back.

You crawl to the wall, using it to brace yourself as you stand on shaking legs. Your head thrums, beating wildly in pain. The shock of your nerves still makes you twitch.

You wail and huff angrily, letting out a pained gasp of desperation.

God, guys, where are you?

Two guards open the door with a fast shove. You kick to get away from them, but they grab you, raising a gun and knocking you out cold with the handle.

They carry your unconscious body to an interrogation room, tying you to the chair.

Across from you sits a familiar face.

Grant Ward smiles, twirling his knife through his fingers.

"How long till my girl wakes up, fellas?" He smirks.

~~

authors note: how abt dem apples? anyways... poor bobby 😭. i am so enjoying writing this. i hope you are enjoying the plot. i can't wait for the next chapter! thank you sm for reading! commenting and reblogging save fanfic writers' lives! thank u sm! love u all!

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