๐ญ๐ก๐ข๐ง๐ ๐ฌ ๐ ๐ฐ๐ข๐ฌ๐ก ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ ๐ฌ๐๐ข๐ ~ "๐๐๐๐๐๐ฆ ๐๐๐ก๐ ๐๐ฆ ๐๐๐๐๐ "
Clark Kent (Superman) x Childhood!Best-friend!Fem!Reader
boarders by @enchanthings & @cursed-carmine ๐ ๐งธ๐๏ธ
wordcount. 4.1k ~ masterlist.
Warnings: Fem!Reader, Minimal use of Y/n, Graphic depictions of Abuse, Family Problems, Angst City, I am Mayor, Childhood Friendship, Fluff, Alcohol Consumption, Verbal Fight, Physical Abuse, Flashbacks, Tension, Guilt, Expert Pining, Yearning City, I am Mayor, Anxiety, Hurt/ NO Comfort, Even Clark isn't perfect, Second chance romance
"๐ต๐๐๐ฆ, ๐๐ฃ๐๐๐ฆ๐กโ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐ฆ๐๐ข
๐๐๐๐๐๐ฆ ๐๐๐ก๐ ๐๐ฆ ๐๐๐๐๐ , ๐๐ฃ๐๐๐ฆ๐๐๐ โ๐๐๐ ๐กโ๐๐๐๐ ๐ผ'๐ ๐๐ข๐๐๐๐' ๐๐ข๐๐"
September 2011
Metropolis, Delaware
Clark's first full day at the Daily Planet was already nothing short of a disaster. He'd woken up thirty minutes late, the sound of "Take On Me" blasting through the speaker of his phone. He'd groaned, rolled over, and sleepily added another fifteen to that without thinking.
When he finally checked to see the time, his eyes widened drastically.
"Fuck!"
Clark jumped out of bed, zooming around his room to find that he had forgotten to press his shirt. No time, Kent. Darn it!
Sighing, the twenty-year-old alien threw on his shirt, fidgeting with the buttons as he tripped over his coffee table, cussing in a mumbled mess. Clark entered his bathroom, reaching for his toothbrush and swiping it over his teeth quickly.
He hopped into his dress pants, being hyper-aware of the paste dripping down his chin and avoiding it from staining his clothes. Clark spat out the paste, staring into the mirror to check his hair.
The curls were lying swiftly across his forehead, slightly crumpled from sleep. They looked fine, really.
He was so nervous.
Clark zipped up his fly, breathing in anxious short breaths. He remembered all the times he had calmed you down. Why wasn't it working on him? He wished you were here to calm him with your soft hands.
The day hadn't even started, but little did Clark know, it wouldn't get any better. He called for a cab, resulting in a quicker trip to the Planet.
Or so he thought.
The taxi ended up being his worst decision of the day, getting stuck in traffic that backed up Metropolis's streets. He eventually got out of the cab and ran to work in a hurried rush, tossing a haphazard twenty to the driver, who began to cuss in another language.
By the time he reached the building, he was 40 minutes late for work, sweaty, gross, and defeated.
How could today get any worse?
January 2008
Smallville, Kansas
You wake up to the sound of horses crunching hay. Your alarm must not have not gone off.
Damn it, youโd missed morning feeding. Tommy was gonna be pissed, and you were going to be late for Cookโs. Youโd picked up your friend Marcusโs shift for a couple of weeks, saving him the torture of trying to call it in to Paul.
The rickety bed in Thomasโs barn was all you had to your name at nineteen, but damn it, at least you werenโt stuck at home.
Dad had gotten really bad again this month, drinking like a dying camel in the desert who just found an oasis. Your choice to avoid him was certainly paying off, even if it meant backaches enough to kill.
So you get up, you trudge to the house, and you head for the shower. Today was gonna be rough.
Shampoo and conditioner come in instinct motions, but your mind is miles away. You couldnโt help it, just when your stitches begin to take, a dream, a memory, has to rip them apart.
It leaves you bleeding every time.
Last night was a simple memory. You are lying on the Kent couch, a crisp bottle of Coca-Cola balanced in your palm, and Clarkโs hand wrapped around your waist as you watch "The Goonies." His snicker at a funny line, the way his hand rubbed mindless patterns into your summer skin.
The sound of Martha in the kitchen working her midwestern mama magic. The faint rustle of the air conditioner that Pa had to fix multiple times this summer, each time causing him to let out โdamn it, you pieceโah junk.โ And the way Ma would shush his slight cuss.
It made you smile, warmth and safety settling deep in your chest, easily. But when youโd woken up, hay stuck in your hair and arms empty of a certain curly-headed kryptonian, you felt a quiet kind of melancholy.
Itโs just another day in Smallville for you. But it feels like the same, sustained hum of finality.
Clark Kent was no longer yours.
The faint crook of his lip at your teasing, and the way he glistened in the moon after backseat sex at the drive-in.
Now he was a city boy, up and left you behind to save other damsels in distress. His cape is a symbol of hope for most, and a reminder of a selfish decision for you.
A decision to put the good of the earth before himself, before you.
And fuck, it stung.
You finish showering and step out to dry off, your hair would just have to air dry today, so you sighed and pulled on your black t-shirt. The skinny jeans came next, squeezing your curves as you half-hopped into the denim. Thomas was waiting for you in the den, a beer in his hand at 9am.
What a shocker.
โYaโ missed feeding. Poor Sally almost lost it on me.โ He grumbles, giving you a look that says he was going to make you pay for it.
โIโm sorry Tommy, long shift last night,โ you wince, passing him and heading for the door, your apron was in your car, all you had to do was get to your car.
โNuh uh, not quite, little sis,โ he calls from behind, and god, you can just see his proud ass grin.
โWhat now, Thomas?โ You ask, not bothering to turn around and face him. Itโs like, what? Twenty paces to your car? Run for it. Run for it!
โNeed yaโ to drop by the folks and give them some money. Dadโs wastinโ it all on booze again. Ma called and said theyโre out.โ
Your heart sinks. An impending feeling of doom starts to churn in your chest. Just breathe.
Aw fuck.
โAlright, Tommy.โ
You prayed that your father would be out cold.
โEnvelopesโ on the counter, donโt you even think of taking a dime sis.โ He warns, voice low and laced with the audacity to think youโd do that to Ma.
โOh fuck you, dude!โ You groan as you make your way to the counter, slapping a hand down to grasp the money and head for your car.
Tommy just flips you the bird as you glance in his direction with animosity in your eyes. He catches it with a sip of poison, what he calls beer, and drags his own head back to his dumbass reality TV.
You shake your head at the irony of your job, bartending? How do you sell out the very thing that tore apart any family youโd had? Flesh, that is.
One day I wonโt sell liquor, one day Iโll show people how to feel alive without it.
Thatโs what youโd told yourself. Cookโs was just about your only hope at this point. You couldnโt get into any acting school near Metropolis, not yet. Definitely not anywhere near Clark.
You fling your bag into the passenger seat. Thirty minutes late. Fuck it, Iโm speeding.
September 2011
Metropolis, Delaware
Clark sighs into his laminated notes, a growing headache peaks on the horizon of utter failure. His once-white shirt sticks to the grooves of his chest, and he slumps over into his office chair.
Fuck me.
His new boss, Perry, was expectedly not thrilled about Clarkโs performance this morning. But what could Clark do? Suck up. Ever since the first grade, Clark Kent had always been a teacher's pet. More like a teacher's angel, actually.
He had mastered the art of bribery, and boy, did it serve him well. He was the perfect child, the perfect student, hell, Clark was the perfect boyfriend.
So, heโd spent the morning trying to impress his boss, which had failed miserably after Clark went to Perryโs office with a new coffee for the man. He slipped and absolutely clobbered the floor with the drink, hot caffeine spilling down his chest and burning him. Perry had just waved him off, too frustrated to even give Clark the time of day. And everyone else? Well, they'd paused in an embarrassing quiet, acknowledged Clark's ultimate fail, and immediately returned to the hustle and bustle of the news floor.
Clark had cussed a stream of hushed little phrases that would make Ma faint. It was truly humbling. He'd given up on the day improving at this point. Instead, Clark decided to let his mind wander to August after senior year. The way your hair looked after a long day on the farm. How your natural smell mixed with your shampoo to make a blend that had Clark on his knees.
Yeah, Clark was daydreaming about his ex girlfriend, but what about it?
A low-pitched whisper rings from above his desk, "Hey, you okay, new guy?"
Clark's head whips up to meet the eyes of a female reporter. Her raven black hair curls around her lean face in practiced waves. She has some of the bluest eyes he's ever seen.
She's beautiful.
"Um, uh-yeah!" He replies, dropping his shield of laminated disaster to his desk and leaning back causally, too causally. God, it's been a while for sure.
She smiles, a quiet laugh on her lips, "Alright, well, Perry doesn't like coffee, just thought you should know. He prefers tea, says it's more 'zen' or whatever."
Clark's hand finds his temple again, "Ah, geez."
"Yeah, I know. Trust me, a lot of the new kids try it every year, but don't fret, you're not the first puddle of failed sucking up-ness." Her eyes animate the scene, letting Clark know that, yes, he's just like all the rest. He groans now, avoiding the pretty girl's gaze.
She didn't hold a candle to you, though.
"Agh- this has been the shittest day," He admits, a tired look on his eyes, and all she does is nod, "most are. I'm Lois, by the way. Welcome to the planet, or as I call it, hell."
Clark chuckles, quipping back, "Well, if this is hell, then what's an angel like you doing here?" He immediately winces at his corny pick-up line, one that you would've died laughing at. Probably followed by a slap on his arm.
But there weren't any other girls like you.
When he finally glances up to see how the black-haired reporter took it, Lois stares back at him with an awkward hesitancy. "He-h, um, well-"
But before Clark can even save the moment, a blonde and freckled man comes to swoop the girl away, leaving only the faint smell of too-sugary coffee in the air. He's chatting to her about some villain the Justice Gang took down the night before, earning a subtle gasp from the reporter's lips.
Clark was there, all wrapped in his red and blue. But all he found at the scene was an alien imp that the gang had gotten rid of in five minutes. He really just helped afterward, staying with civilians and assisting them in safely returning to their businesses. Kind of boring, honestly.
Clark didn't notice Lois's eyes wandering back to his desk.
He sighed to himself, eyes glancing over his unpressed, coffee-stained dress shirt, and shook his head.
"Nobody here gets my jokes, Y/N," Clark whispers into the bustling room of chaos and typing.
He returned to his work after that, submitting to the uneventful day ahead.
December 2010
Smallville, Kansas
You crack your neck in mournful solitude, groaning out the exhaustion that settled somewhere deep inside your chest.
It was around 7:30 now at Cook's, the sun had just barely finished setting, leaving you to finally pick up lunch menus and replace them with dinner instead. You leaned against the bar now, waiting for the next customer to cruise in with their day full of stories to tell.
That was your favorite part about bartending, after all, the people watching. You used to say it was just for research, merely an acting technique to help you understand the different ways that life affected the average person. You thought it would improve your skills.
But somewhere after a few months of watching one-night stands begin, watching recently dumped girls drink a quarter of a bottle of whiskey in one go, and seeing the grief and sorrow of loss hit your marbled countertops?
It became more than people watching; it became your life, too.
There was no one that you loved more than your regulars.
Your favorite had to be David Carpenter, a man so in love with his wife of 45 years that she was all he talked about, sober or tipsy. Tonight was a Monday, meaning that he would most likely come in around 8:00, play some poker, and then settle himself down at the bar to keep you company with his same story of the day he met Elizabeth.
You always looked forward to it, even though you had it memorized by now.
The love he felt for her was nothing short of eternal. It consumed him fully, making him helpless to the thought of ever losing her. That kind of love was special; it drew a breath out of your chest every time you heard it. It reminded you of what you had with Clark, and maybe that's why it burned so deeply in your heart.
The ring of the doorbell makes you look towards the old door, and you're surprised at what you see. It's a man, he looks mid-20s, blonde, with glasses hanging on his nose as his gaze travels across the bar. You'd never seen him around here. He took off his leather jacket, which revealed a heavily tattooed sleeve on his left arm.
Anxiety began as a low beat in your chest. You didn't like new people; it was Smallville, and all that the new people brought was trouble.
His eyes land on you, and he makes his way towards the bar, removing his shades from his eyes and clipping them onto his tank. You stare at him, slightly shocked from just how insanely good-looking he is, green eyes locked onto yours, and lips curling up into a soft grin. He clears his throat, snapping you out of your gawking as you breathe in a sharp breath.
"Um, yes, what can I get started for you?" You ask, suddenly aware of how deep your V-cut dips. He doesn't linger on your frame, though; the man stares at your cheek.
Fuck.
"Pretty gnarly, huh?" You admit, just accepting his probably disgusting thoughts before they come. But the man looks shocked, his mouth opening as he stutters," Uh uh, umm- no! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare."
You glance at him, expecting him to burst into laughter, but he doesn't. He stares at you, an awkward but endearing smile on his face. It reminds you of Cl- no. No. Don't even go there.
"It's alright, sir." You smile gently, "Most new people stare, anyway."
The man sighs, rubbing a hand on the slight stubble on his cheek, "Well, I didn't mean to, I'm Daniel, a total new guy, and yes, a beer would be great." He looks mortified, and you feel a little sorry for him. The door opens again.
"It's really alright, Daniel, I'm Y/N, just let me know if I can get you anything else." You grin, sliding him a bottle and looking towards David as he walks into the bar.
The old man smiles widely, "Y/N! My dear girl, a whiskey, please." He leans across the bar to pat your shoulder gently. Daniel watches the encounter amusedly.
"You really don't have to remind me, David, you're my favorite reg, you know." You grin at David, making his drink as you laugh at his reaction, "Oh, you don't mean that, sweets."
Sweets.
Your smile drops.
Daniel notices.
You hand David his drink, warning him to take it slow tonight, and your eyes wander back towards Daniel, who has downed his bottle quickly. He stares back, "Is that your father?"
"Hah, I wish. No, that's David Carpenter, he owns the radio station downtown, near the school. He's just a sweet old man who comes in twice a week." You say, cleaning a mixer cup. You slide Daniel another beer as you place the dirty cup in a small tray. Daniel nods, taking in the words, "Well, he seems fond of you."
"Yeah, this place is small, we all get pretty attached here, to each other, I mean."
Daniel takes the bottle, "Ah, I get it. Everyone knows everyone, typa deal." You laugh, nodding, "That's for sure."
He looks at you again, this time directly into your eyes. It makes your cheeks go pink. "Well, um. What brings you to town then?"
"Ah, um. My grandparents live here, the Peters?" He watches your quick reaction of recognition, "My grandfather is sicker now, and my mom is no good, so I'm here, taking care of them."
"Oh really?" You're shocked, honestly.
"You didn't really strike me as a, well, you know."
He laughs at that, whipping his head back, "Was it the tattoos?"
"Maybe," You smile.
"Well, the bad boy look is all an act," Daniel grins, "Kinda started it in college and just had to stick with it, I had already bought too many wife beaters to go back." That draws a real laugh out of you, leaning your arm against the bar.
"Well, it suits you, I think." You look at him, and he goes silent, just staring back.
You divert his gaze, bringing a hand to the bar and wiping it down instinctually. He watches you, Adam's apple bobbing slightly as he clears his throat again.
"So, um, I figure you've got a small town boy here in Smallville, huh."
You can't help the huff of air that escapes you, causing Daniel's eyebrows to raise. "No, not really, not anymore." It goes awkwardly silent again.
"Really?" He breathes, "That, um... That surprises me."
You look up at his face from scrubbing at a sticky spot on the marble. Now his cheeks are slightly red. They match yours.
"I- uh, this must be crazy of me to ask, but would you like to go out with me sometime?"
You freeze.
He awaits an answer, and you zone out on the counter.
Maybe this would be good for me.
But, Clark?
He's not coming back, Y/N.
"Yeah, yeah that sounds fun."
You meet Daniel's eyes. He looks relieved, but you feel worse than death.
Clark moved on, he left town, he left you.
So why did you feel like such a cheater?
June 2013
Smallville, Kansas
Thomas had sent you to the grocery store to pick up some things. So here you were at the Piggly Wiggly at noon on Saturday. Your back screamed at you as you hauled the cart to the cereal aisle.
Okay, Frosted Flakes, where the fuck are the Frosted Flakes?
You spot the box, top shelf, of course. Leaning onto the shelves, you tiptoe as much as you can to reach it. You're still about 3 inches off from the shelf, and your back feels like it's on fire, when a familiar hand plucks the box for you, easily.
He puts a hand on your back, helping you back off the shelves. You quickly break away from Clark's touch and back up, eyeing him.
"Here, um." He hands you the box, you snatch it and toss it into your cart, quickly making an exit as you ignore his eyes.
They plead to you, silently.
What are the odds? God!
Clark trails after you hesitantly, "Y/N! Um, Ma asked..."
You don't bother to listen, "Tell her I'll bring her sewing machine back on Monday, I gotta go, Clark, I've got a shift soon." You try to keep your voice as cold as you can, genuinely willing for him to retreat. But he doesn't.
"No, um. She asked if you and Tommy would come to dinner. Tuesday." His voice waivers; it's pathetic. It's weak.
You stop, shrieking wheels of your grocery cart silencing.
Dinner. At the Kent's.
"She wants us to catch up, as a... a family." That earns a tight laugh from you.
"Family? That's what we are now?" You can't help it, you whip around to him. He towers over the aisles, a crimson flannel covering his toned abdomen. But he looks small.
He looks lost.
Clark opens his mouth to speak, but it hangs there. He just stares.
It makes you feel naked.
"Please. For Ma." He whispers, soft enough for it to barely reach your ears. Your face is red from holding back your anger. Without knowing it, your eyes had welled up slightly.
You look at him, watch his gaze as it sweeps over you in the same protective manner it had years ago.
Clark looks older.
He doesn't look like the captain of the Smallville Crows that you knew. Clark just stares at you, his eyes solid on your scarred cheekbone.
He wants to hold you.
You want to hide from him.
"Fine." You glare. Making his eyes return to yours. They light up just the slightest hue.
"I'll do it for Ma, but don't expect any kind of catching up, not from me." With that, you turned and walked away from him, again.
Your tone made him shiver, the ice cutting at his chest.
She hates me.
Clark nods, lips pressed together, promising not to let anything slip out that he couldn't take back. He already felt pulled; he already felt weak again.
You looked so hurt, it killed him.
Clark sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, but no matter how he tried, he saw you in every place.
Tuesday, Tuesday.
January 2008
Smallville, Kansas
You're anxious, terrified, actually. Gripping the envelope of cash from Thomas, you stare at the front door of your childhood home. Winds whip at your back, and the winter air clings to your skin. You were nineteen now, this shouldn't scare you.
But it did, and you hated that it did.
Last time you'd come by, Clark had escorted you, he'd opened the door, only to sigh and give you the all clear, "He's out cold on the couch."
That was August, a week before he left.
A week before Clark smashed your heart into a million pieces.
Now, it was November, and you were here, alone.
Oh god, stop being a pussy! Just go in, place it on the counter and leave!
You take a hesitant step forward, making yourself climb the porch steps and softly reach for the handle.
It creaks slightly as you open the door, and you wince, willing it to be quiet. You crack the door open, peering in to see nobody.
Maybe he's in the field today, thank god.
So you take another step inside, fully in the kitchen now. You grip the money, looking for an open spot on the messy countertop. Empty beer bottles and cans of who-knows-what line the granite. You walk to the desk by the entrance to your living room and place the cash on a pile of documents.
Your heart drops when you hear the door turn behind you, "Becky, s'that you?" Your father's voice sounds as he turns the handle and steps in.
You freeze. He stares.
Oh god, no.
His voice barks out a laugh, "Oh, it's just you, girl." He grabs a can from the counter and leans his head back to drink, but only small drips come out.
"Oh damn it!" He yells, slamming the can to the ground and stalking towards you.
You can't move your feet, you're afraid you'll faint.
"Hi, Dad." You whisper as he leans in close, staring at you with a tinted disgust. He smells like corn and strong whiskey. You gag slightly.
He burps, a hand gripping you by the shoulder blade, his fingers pressing harshly, "Where the fuck have you been, Y/N? Running 'round with that Kent boy?" He crows, the other hand rising and squishing your cheeks together.
"No, dad, he's outta town." You say, panicked. Your words come out slightly muffled, and you are praying to anyone that your father will let you leave.
"Ah, good. Those boys are trouble, you know." Your father drops his hands, teetering on his feet, and shuffling away from you to the money.
He rips open the envelope, counting it slowly, grunting anytime that you start to walk towards the door.
You stared at the ground and counted cigarette butts to stop from hyperventilating.
His eyes narrow at the stack, "Two-hundred? That cheap son of a bitch!" He grunts, whipping a hand up to smack you. He misses, and you step away quickly. But his other hand drops the cash and instead knocks you square in the temple. His knuckles catch your eyebrow, your eye.
Your face bursts with flames of pain, and you cry out a sharp gasp, curling over slightly. "Tell your fucking brother to give me what he owes me!" Your father yells, wobbling and returning to the pile of cash, weakly scraping it up.
You use the opportunity to break free, running to the door without looking back. You race to your car, putting it in drive and getting the hell out of there.
Your eyebrow stings, and you dab at the trailing blood.
Fuck. Fuck!
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authorsnote: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thank you for your intense patience. I will hopefully get back into the writing groove soon.
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