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...
boarders by @cursed-carmine & @saradika-graphics 🧊💋🦴
~ reblogs, comments, and likes are so appreciated ~
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.
Warnings: Mentions of Violence, Clark has Kryptonite Poisoning, Clark is Whiny, Husband Clark Kent, Hurt/Comfort, Very Slight Reference to Sexual Content, Guilt, Fear, Reuniting with your Ex-Husband Superman, Unsolved Tension, Lots of Angst, Slight Mentions of Near-Death Experiences, Pain, Reader is Down Bad, Clark is also Down Bad, This is Angst City, and I am the Mayor
You glance over at the clock, and it reads 2:15am. Great, another sleepless night, alone. The bed feels cold and empty beside you, hollow from days past. You roll over, trying desperately to get into a comfortable enough position to sleep. You know it’s hopeless, but you try anyway.
The wind whips against your window pane, reminding you of the harsh reality of the time of year it was. Late November, Thanksgiving had just passed, and it was your first Thanksgiving without Clark. You’d spent the day binge drinking and watching horrible Hallmark movies about city girls and country boys.
You sigh in defeat. It would only be a couple more weeks until he’d been gone for a year.
The sadness sank deep into your chest, aching and beating slowly in your sorrowful heart. The tears had all but vanished, causing you to lie there, eyes dry. You quit feeling sorry for yourself a long time ago, but the holidays reminded you so much of Clark, hopefulness lingering in everyone’s attitude that you passed on the street.
The difference was that each of your friends had someone to come home to. Lois had Jimmy, and you could sadly tell that they pitied you, often offering to take you to dinner, letting you third wheel their events, and pretending that everything was okay.
Lois had cussed out Clark when he’d made the decision to leave you. Calling him a “selfish asshole," and stating that his resignation to The Planet was "Total, utter bullshit!" Jimmy tried to stay out of it as long as he could, but he ultimately sided with Lois every time. You’d been really thankful to have someone on your side. Because once the media caught wind of Superman’s secret love affair, they’d immediately taken it way too far.
Rumors of cheating, emotional abuse, etc., lingered in the magazines for a few months. You barely left your house, afraid to be assigned a lead on 'the mysterious wife of Superman.' Clark spent many weeks as his alter ego fighting to have every false allegation taken down. He loved you so much it hurt, but he couldn’t bring himself to put you in constant danger, not after your accident. That was his sorry excuse for walking out on you.
You blamed it on his fear that too many people were uncovering the possibility of Clark Kent being Superman.
You ponder the thought of calling him, and glance at your phone, thrown lopsidedly to the pillow next to you. After all the pain and abandonment, you had only called Clark twice. The first time was on your birthday. Lois had taken you out for drinks, and well... you got wasted.
You had called him, just for the phone to ring twice before going to voicemail. You cussed him out for not calling and singing to you, sobbed into the phone as your friends tried to calm you, and puked onto the floor when Lois finally ripped your phone from your hands. She muttered something crossly towards Clark in the message, stating that it was "just like you to not call her on her birthday. No contact doesn't mean forgetting everything she means to you."
The no-contact rule was torture for both you and Clark; he told you it was the best way to keep you safe. But he was unwilling to hear just how desperate you were to keep him in your life. You longed to know how he felt. You wanted to know the truth: that he missed every inch of your skin, just like you missed his. You were sure that he truly just hated you, and it pained you so bad that you spent many nights on the roof of your apartment building, pondering the fall.
You wondered if Clark would catch you halfway down.
You doubted it, the longer he'd been gone.
Abandoning those thoughts, you roll in the opposite direction of your phone, mentally cursing yourself for the pure audacity to think of calling Clark right now. He was probably out saving some damsel in distress anyway. You sigh, gazing into the clock that now reads 2:24am.
This was going to be a long night. The kind of night that promised nothing but silence.
You close your eyes, huffing into the stillness of your bedroom, and try to count sheep.
You’re about four sheep in when your phone rings, the song “You Are My Sunshine” echoes into your ears, and you sit up. That was Ma’s ringtone.
Your heart drops to your stomach. Clark.
Picking up the phone without a second thought, you raise a shaky hand to your mouth, biting your nail in anxiety, “Ma?”
The line cracks, muffled and broken between what you’re sure is Ma crying, and she speaks, “Y/n! Sweetheart, is that… we need you… Clark’s hurt… please… as soon as possible… he asked for you.”
The line goes dead.
You brush some of your bed head off your forehead and inhale with an open mouth. Your head spins and you stand on two wobbly legs. Clark was hurt. Superman, hurt. Your Clark. The cheeky man that had stolen your heart with his messy black hair and rigid dimples. The same Clark, who used to kiss your stomach unhurriedly and stare at you too long with those ocean blue eyes. You prayed for him to be alive within the cold air of the night.
Tears somehow found their way to your cheeks again, running like rain on a car window, recklessly. You pulled out a bag and quickly stuffed a charger, some clothes, and god knows what else inside. You didn’t pay it much mind, thinking only of Clark, and the quickest way to get to him.
You would catch the next flight, no matter what it took to see him again. Ignorant of the price, even though you had very little. You cared only to see Clark, to brush his hair between your fingers and whisper sweet nothings into his temple, breath brushing his ear. That was what you used to do when a fight went South, when a civilian died. You were the only one who could console him. He went at ease when you were near. Maybe that's why he needed you.
Ma used to call you his ‘emotional kryptonite.’ God, you missed him.
As you pass your kitchen on the way out, you glance at the fridge. No, you were still far too full from Thanksgiving dinner at Jimmy’s to eat anything. But you hesitated. Clark loved your peanut butter brownies. They’d go bad otherwise. Maybe that’s what he needed.
You sigh, rip a Tupperware container from its place in the dishwasher, hands shaking from stress and worry, and dump the remainder of your brownies in. Every little thing in this apartment still screamed his name, his presence. The candle by the couch, one he’d bought you after saying it reminded him of your shampoo. Each dent in the drywall, where he’d slammed you into the wall after a long day when he just needed release, nipping at your neck with want. The robe that used to be his, hanging on a hook, which now acted as your oversized towel after a bath.
It all became a way of coping. Every first aid kit you had on hand for the cuts on his knuckles, every pocket protector you’d stuffed away into a drawer with no need for them anymore. You slowly forgot the meaning of living with him, the meaning of living. But he was still in every sentence you wrote at The Planet. He lingered in every breath you drew in, alone.
Your life had faded into a concept of surviving. And you did everything you could to stifle any hope of him returning.
He’d made it very clear that he wouldn’t.
You zip up your duffel, brownies inside. Your heart still beats wild and uncomfortably in your chest. Every second you wait, you’re not there for Clark. He asked for you. Your lip tilts up, it’s not a smile, but it’s something.
The gate is quiet, the crowd small but steady. People shuffle between TSA checking and cuss at a small volume when they get flagged for the fluid bottles in their bags. You pass through, keeping to yourself, too hurried to worry about the way a woman shoulder checks you. You brush it off, rushing for your 4:30am flight to Kansas City. Pa would meet you there in his dusty red Chevy, probably halfway squeeze the life out of you, and cry like the old sap he was.
You loved it, you missed the family you lost because of those damn papers.
You take a sip from the four-dollar water bottle you bought in the small gift shop by your gate. The water tastes like metal and something else you can’t quite put your finger on. When they call for boarding, you spring up, wiry and light on your feet, clutching the strap of your duffel like it was rope and you’re hanging off a cliff.
You take the aisle seat on the fourth row, eager to be one of the first people off the plane. You had no luggage to pick up, no rental car to wait for, only the promise of your quick feet and small frame to shift through the crowd. You willed the plane to arrive before schedule, and sat back, headphones playing “The Mighty Crabjoys.” You chuckle, strained, and raise a head to your forehead, rubbing away the memories like smudged lead on paper.
The flight was four hours; that meant you had four hours to try and sleep. You crack your neck in restlessness, recoiling in the thought of how Clark must feel. Hurt, alone. A feeling you’d become far too familiar with. Still, it left a heavy sting of guilt deep in your stomach, causing it to churn with unease.
Every second you’d had with Clark was magical; you felt like you were in heaven in the moment. He was the dream, the perfect gentleman. He memorized your heart and made it his. Promised you a life full of adventure, risk, and happiness. You never expected him to stomp on it all with his custom Kryptonian boots. You didn’t think he meant to, truly. But now you looked back over the years like a sad nostalgic dream, crushed by the weight of every harsh truth and splintered trust.
It must be nice to never feel like this. You cursed every delusional happy couple; they all had what you still hoped for with every moment alone in the shower, someone to love. To hold.
Where you two had left things, it didn’t promise much to look forward to. The argument, which caused Clark Kent of all people to slam your door, snapping several hinges, explained his reason for never calling you, never sending a card. The way he’d spoken to you, the way you’d spoken to him, it was lethal. It destroyed years' worth of admiration, every morning naked in bed, giggling, every night dripping in sex and sweat. You both had crushed the walls you once built with hammering words, shattering the mirror of truly seeing one another.
Your heart died that day, with every word he’d uttered, fists drawn tight and rigid to his sides. And god, when you’d slapped him, he raised one of his fists. You both stared at it like it had betrayed you each in its own way. His eyes widened, and he gulped so hard you heard it. Your breath sucked in with a sharp gasp, and you flinched away. He crumbled, tears spilling down his cheeks, “baby, no, no… You know I would never. Oh god, Y/n, sweetheart, you have to believe me.”
“Get out, Clark.” You’d whispered, eyes screwing shut, your own sorrowful tears spilling all the way to your collarbones. He flinched like your words had slashed his middle. “Y/n, not until I know you’re okay—” but you’d cut him off, hands slapping to your cheeks and angrily swiping at your hot tears. You stared into his eyes, yours cold with hatred. “G-get the fuck out, Clark.” A breath, “Please, don’t make me ask again.”
He hesitated, watching your chest rise and fall quickly. He gave you one long and suffering look, his face screaming anguish. His mouth hung open, angry words dangerously hanging on the tip of his tongue. Hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, right foot beginning its anxious habit of tapping against your floor.
Then without warning, he’d turned sharply, grabbed his coat from the rack he’d hung only weeks prior, and left. No more backward glances, no more second chances. Clark read your mind in that last look, and had seen just how much he needed to go. So he did. The man was painfully true to his word.
You wish you could take back every word. Every cutting touch and angle you’d pushed. He only wanted to protect you, and you’d freaked. It wasn’t entirely your fault; you knew what you were getting yourself into from the start. Clark was never satisfied, knowing you were always unsafe.
Every encounter you’d made with villains, most of them run-of-the-mill losers who had figured out Clark's identity, had chalked up to another point towards an at-home fight. You were certain that you could handle it. Clark was never so sure, always so afraid of you breaking, of losing you. He didn’t know that he eventually would lose you in an even greater fashion. You weren’t glass, you weren’t a damsel in need of saving. You knew the cost of loving Superman; it laid heavy in your chest like a stack of bricks.
But the difference was you knew that it was worth it for Clark, and he didn't.
But then, the accident happened. You were never supposed to be there, if you’d just listened. He wouldn’t have almost lost you. Clark had been too late.
You could confidently confirm that when you’re about to die, your life does indeed flash before your eyes. It had, in a burst of darkness and dust. Then, you were gone.
You jolt awake at the force of the plane landing. Ah, you had fallen asleep. Clark. You were almost home. Please hold on.
When the airplane clears to exit, you shoot up. Offering a quick apology to those ahead of you, and shuffling between the rows, practically running down the loading gate. You sprint through the crowd, avoiding a businessman and his steaming latte. Your eyes scan the pickup lane, finally landing on Pa.
He’s waiting, cardboard sign in hand, with your name scribbled messily. You smile softly, and your heart aches with pure and utter homesickness. You run up to him, taking him by surprise as you wrap your arms around him. He chuckles in shock and returns the hug, squeezing you tightly like an overprotective parent when their child returns from war. You don’t realize the tears until they’ve already fallen, and he’s whispering, “I missed you, buttercup,” into your ear.
“Please tell me he’s alive, Pa.” You murmur, voice breaking, desperate and raw. Pa nods firmly, pulling back from the hug. “He’ll be okay. I think this fight woke’m up from the horrible, ugl’ah nightmare of losin’ you.” He confirms, patting your shoulder in comfort.
“He doesn’t miss me. I just wanted to see him. I-I had to know… had to know he was okay.” You cry, burying your head into his neck. Pa sighs, rubbing at your shoulder blade with his worn hands, “Sweetheart, he doesn’t know just how much he needs you.”
You bite back the words “I still love him” and instead nod, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. Pa smiles, flashing you a true American farmer grin, and opens the door of the truck for you. You climb in, breathing in the scent of the Kent household and relax back into your seat. A feeling of anticipation begins to thrum quietly in the hollow of your heart.
The drive feels shorter than you remember, Billy Joel and Diamond Rio streaming out of the radio in their regular fashion. You watch the corn fields pass, remembering the first time Clark had brought you home with him. You’d been so nervous, even though you had no reason to be worried. Ma and Pa were the parents you never had.
When the split happened, they didn’t know who to call first. They’d called Clark, obviously. But you were the one they visited. That meant something real to you. You weren’t sure Clark knew, so you’d stowed it away with every flannel he hadn’t bothered to pick up.
You see the sign for Smallville, and your heart leaps in your chest, with a sudden burst of anxiety.
You pull up to the driveway, and with every yard closer, your chest grows increasingly tight. The house looks the same as you’d seen it. Crooked shingles and white siding frame the childhood home that Clark grew up in. The fields outside whistle in the wind, drifting with memory and nostalgia. You grip the handles of your duffel and pinch your wrist. This was truly real.
When the tires screech to a stop, you sit still against the leather, waiting a minute before hopping out. Ma meets you at the screen door, pulling you straight into her arms and brushing your hair with a soothing hand. You meet her with a sigh, “Ma…” She shushes you, just breathing into your shoulder with a shuddering inhale, holding you. Your face twists into something deeply uncomfortable, scrunching up like wrinkled laundry. You hold back the tears, and break apart, holding each of her shoulders, “I need to see him.”
She nods in understanding, stepping out of your way. “You know where to find him, babygirl.”
You move down the hall in a silent tradition, without a second thought. You pass the endless frames, which hold everything sweet and innocent about Clark beneath their glass. The hallway moves around you as your feet hit carpet, slow, sure, and familiar. Everything comes to a slow rhythm of instinct. The door to Clark’s bedroom is ajar, allowing you to see his posters, trophies, and baby blue wallpaper from the outside.
Your feet come to a rest at the threshold. Blinking in slow motion, your eyes well up once more. You’re not sure if it’s from fear or excitement. Maybe it’s just the overwhelming sensation of knowing that the love of your life waits inside. You haven’t seen him since he slammed that oak door back in the city.
You weren’t sure about this.
But nothing stops you from stepping inside, a vow kept in the hushed corners of the Kansas house. You were here in sickness, in health. Through the fall from grace and the cold, bitter reality of hurt.
When you behold Clark lying on his full-sized bed, completely crushing it beneath his massive frame, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. He’s not asleep, but he hasn’t noticed you yet; that or he’s pretending you aren’t there.
His eyes flicker to yours, and he draws in a quick, faltering breath. “You came,” he cracks, with a pitiful and wretched timbre of disbelief. His eyes pinch together with a raw and painful flinch.
You drop the duffel and stride to his side in three short steps, collapsing to your knees.
“You called.”
He breaks, the waterworks instant. His chin quivers in a way that tells you everything you needed to know. That he regretted those words too, that he missed you every. damn. day. That he tried so hard to stay away that it had utterly destroyed him on the inside.
You drop your head onto his shoulder and sob, “I thought– I thought, oh god, Clark. I– I thought you were gone.” Your tears wet the flannel on his chest, and you bring a hand up to feel at his face. He struggles, weeping openly and watching you cry too, clutching your body with one strong but weary arm.
“I’m so fuckin’ sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispers, painful and pure with every shake.
His voice is muffled in your hair, strands spread across his chest. He holds you like something scared, secret. It’s a moment that you both know you’ll store away somewhere safe. The air around you shifts in a tense click.
You lift your head, meeting his red-rimmed eyes, bluer than ever through his crying, with yours. They hide away a hideous guilt, masked by his determination to make the right decisions. All the while, Clark knew he hadn’t.
He’d stormed out that day, only to collapse into the brick outside the building, tearing at his shirt and sobbing unashamedly.
Every day he’d spent without you had been true hell, and even now, Kryptonite poisoning and all, his chest felt lighter at the graze of your touch. It was all the pain medicine Clark needed.
“I’m glad you’re here.” He admits, not quite meeting your eyes this time. His chest rises in a steady thrum, and he rests his head back against the plush pillow. He doesn’t dare to lie, to fake some sorry excuse due to the no-contact rule. It was a dumb, fucking stupid rule that he had used to cower from his problems.
The truth was, Clark hadn’t felt like Superman since he’d left.
He felt like a traitor to the name of Justice and Hope.
You were his hope, you were his peace. It was all because of you that he could wake up every morning and promise the people of Metropolis his best self.
He hadn't promised anything in a real long time.
Clark stares at the ceiling as you shift off your knees, rising again to your feet and searching for the chair by his desk. You pull it to the bed, sitting down slowly.
“I came as quick as I could, t-took the next flight out.” You tell him, searching his eyes with yours, reminding him of just how much you cared. He looks at you again, and for a moment you both sit there, silent. The intensity leaves a pit in each of your stomachs. Clark clears his throat, coughing slightly in strained air, “Thank you, Y/n.”
You nod without restraint, your neck cracking at the sudden movement. You both huff out a laugh. It feels like everything.
You’re not sure how this moment feels so reverent, so private. But it does. You feel miles away and nearby all in the same twitch of your fingers. Clark stares at you like you might disappear into the light of the lamp beside you if he blinks. His hair is a mess, swamped around his bloody forehead.
“You need some serious sun, golden boy,” you laugh, calm and slow this time. Clark breathes out a sigh of relief at the domestic tease. “Wow, teasing me already, sweetheart? It’s true, nothing’s changed, has it?” He eases, but the words are more than a tease; he really is asking. The words hold the weight of the truth, the ugly and bitter loss of time together you’d each given up. Clark didn’t know just how much you had changed. All the ways you tried to survive.
You meet his eyes again and hold your breath. His face still screams apology, so you let it slide, allowing an instant quip to smooth out on your tongue. You wouldn’t start anything; not now.
He still realizes what he’s said, and mutters another stream of haphazard ‘I’m sorry’s.’ You just stroke at his collarbone with your thumb and shake your head, dismissing his fears.
You speak again after a moment of peace, the only sound being his clock ticking and the rustle of the covers from him shifting around, soft groans accompanying his change. "What hurts?"
He laughs, a deep tenor you had once heard in the shell of your ear and between your legs, and coughs, "The question really is: What doesn't?" It makes you furrow your brows and give him a pitiful look. He hated it, he always had. The look you gave him when he'd come home from a fight. You looked like you'd taken every single hit with him, and your eyes reflected the pain of every punch.
You always felt guilty, as if you'd held him a little longer, massaged his muscles a little harder, it wouldn't have hurt him so badly. Your empathy was your greatness weakness.
"'m so sorry, Clark," you breathe, voice laced with desperation. He shakes his head, "No. No, sweetheart. This ain't about that." It makes you immediately hush, nodding and trying to swallow down the pain you still long to express. He notices your retreat, and reaches out a hand, catching yours. "What I mean is... I wish I hadn't. I-" he pauses, flashing you a quick look of hesitation, and his Adam's apple bobs up and down.
"I never should've walked out of that door. I never should've pushed you away. I thought I-I was protecting you." He mumbles, words shattering the fragile veil of certainty, head tilted down in shame. Everything was up for question now. You gasp sharply and your face scrunches again, tears coming close to erupting.
He watches with a sick look on his face, swallowing down his own sorrow. You reach for his jaw with your palm, fingers spreading across the familiar dimple on his cheek. You dip the tip of your thumb into it on instinct. "I should've fought more for you." You whisper quietly.
His chest quivers, and his hand curls up around yours, grounding you.
"I can't keep pretending like I'm half the man I was when I had you."
You both let the words sink in, and you just stare. His face looks tired, lonely. The apologies promise more hope than either of you had been able to manifest. But there was still hurt, so, so much hurt.
But now... You each let it hurt. You take the first step towards acceptance. As a team.
You stand, and paddle over to your bag, reaching for the one thing you'd brought to lighten the mood. Clark breathes in an awkward laugh, "You didn't."
You smile at him, and for a second he remembers just how truly beautiful your smile is. You look perfect like this, messy hair and sore eyes. You had never needed to be anything but yourself for him to fall on his knees for you.
"I did. Always for you, Clark."
He frowns, and a tear spills over his cheek.
"I don't deserve it."
You sigh, and rub at your eye. "You don't decide that, Clark."
You sit back down, this time on the edge of the bed. The springs creak in protest, almost as if to say, "Really? You too?" But you pay them no mind.
In the silence of the dusty childhood bedroom. You raise a brownie to Clark's lips. As always, he takes a timid first bite, letting the flavor hit his tongue with a groan. You smile, he smiles back.
The pair of you still, and finally enjoy each other's presence. The moment is nothing solid; it flows like water, unsure and without balance. But it flows all the more, running over into every harsh moment alone, and flooding them into oblivion.
There is no promise of something future, no guarantee of something grand and romantic, no sign that leads to a full recovery. But for now, you're just happy to be with him again.
Your Clark.
Your love.
Your husband.
In sickness, in health.
In hurt, in heartbreak.
"I missed this," one of you whispers, the other nodding.
"Me too."
THANK YOU FOR READING!!!! This is my baby. I hope you enjoyed.
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.
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!
Clark Kent (Superman) x Childhood!Best-friend!Fem!Reader
boarders by @enchanthings & @cursed-carmine 🩸🗞️🥂
wordcount. 3.7k ~ masterlist.
Warnings: Fem!Reader, 18+ (Minors DNI), Cut off Sex scene, Slight Degradation Kink, Hinted Oral Sex (M receiving), Angst City, I am Mayor, Childhood Friendship, Fluff, Alcohol Consumption, Verbal Abuse, Brief hint of Physical Abuse, Flashbacks, Use of Y/n, Tension, Abusive Situations, Talk of Rehab, Guilt, Expert Pining, Yearning City, I am Mayor, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Anxiety, Car Crash, Doctor Mumbojumbo that I looked up, Parental Martha and Johnathan Kent, Hurt/Comfort, Punk Rock Kindness
"𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝐼 𝑠𝑎𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑟𝑦, 𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛'𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑙𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙"
June 2007
Smallville, Kansas
The door locks behind Clark, eliciting another giggle from you. He gives you another "quiet down" look and places a finger over his mouth. You can't help it, you're in his room, lying on his full-size mattress, ready to come undone beneath him, again.
Clark waited until the afternoon, when his Pa would be far enough in the field to forget about you two, and Martha had left for her quilting club downtown. That gave the two of you about two hours alone.
He wouldn't waste a minute. Clark checked out the window again, watching Ma drive down the long gravel driveway. He clicked the window shut, closing the blinds.
His efforts cast a dim light onto the small bedroom, the air conditioner hummed with a quiet buzz, and Clark got very still.
Your breath caught in your throat.
He turned, slow enough for your eyes to graze his motion in one smooth swipe.
Your heart pounded against your ribs; he could hear it.
The tight churn of want twisted in your lower stomach, Clark felt it.
He had you all alone.
Not wanting to wait, you groan, "Clark, stop playing, come here."
He just stared at you, eyes taking in the sight of you propped on his bed. It made you go silent. Clark wasn't worried about rushing this; he wanted it to be right. Slow.
"What'd I tell you to do, sweets?" His voice came out, darker this time, powerful. The kind of voice that made your hair stand, and your lips quiver.
"Lie- lie here, Clark. Lie down here and be quiet." You whisper, eyes wider now, but your lips still held a trace of amusement. Clark was clearly in a mood, and it made you want to jump his bones and laugh at the same time.
"That's right, so why are you still making noise?" He taunts, condescending tone hollowing out his words. Your smile dropped, and your stomach twisted harsher. Clark wasn't playing around now.
He walks towards you now, unbuckling his belt in a swift clink. You watch, throat tight, any words dying on your tongue before they come out.
"There ya go," Clark smiles, jeans following his belt to the floor. You watched them hit the ground, eyes dragging back up to Clark’s face. His abdomen stretched as he pulled off the shirt on his chest. Toned stomach staring back you.
You suddenly felt very, very insecure. Here you were, lying in front of the most attractive man this world had to offer. You were by no means a cheerleader. All of them flaunted their curves and slim stomachs every game, hoping to catch Clark’s eye. He could have his pick of any of them.
But Clark caught notice of your thoughts once his shirt was off, a snap of his fingers, and your focus was back on him.
“I can see you head spinning, baby. None of that, you know that you’re the only one for me.” God, he knew you. Every inch, every thought.
It made your cheeks turn a dark scarlet color. He wanted you, and only you. This is what being the heroine must feel like, you thought.
Suddenly, Clark was dragging your ankles to the edges of the bed, a sharp gasp coming out of your mouth.
“Clark!”
“What, sweetheart? I need you close to me.” He grins, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple as he brings a hand up to the side of your head. His hands were so big. Thumb dragging across your cheekbone, grazing the side of your nose, and dipping to your lips, parting them gently.
You looked up at him, while Clark slowly moved himself between your legs, a hand placed on your thigh. He leaned down, kissing you fervently, lips swallowing yours. Hand on your cheek, sliding into your hair, tangling between the strands.
“Clark,” you groan, muffled between his broken apart kisses, he lightly presses against your chest with his other hand now, leading you towards the mattress. His teeth catch your upper lip, making you huff a laugh against him.
This was messy. It was real.
Once your back hit the sheets, Clark's hand dipped again, caressing your side as it traveled south, to your hip, and lower. His lips were feverish now, quick, raw, potent between each attack.
You both were panting. You pushed a hand into his soft curls, the other gripping his trap, pulling him closer. His hand rested at the curve of your thigh, a thumb stroking the flesh of your hip. It made you whine, impatient and perfect beneath him.
"You're so eager for me, aren't you?" Clark sighed, nipping from your jaw to your collarbone, taking as much space to litter you with his lips as he could. You nodded against his head, "Yes, yes Clark."
He chuckled, low and controlling, thumb hooking the elastic of your shorts, teasing it lower, exposing more of you by the second.
"I know, baby, I know."
His voice was molten, melting you inside out.
He kisses your hip, your belly button, and drags his chin to kiss you on your slit.
You breathe out a sharp huff, pulling at his curls.
"Clark, wait."
Clark paused immediately, eyes snapping up to you and eyebrows scrunching together. His hand left your hip quicker than you could blink. "Yeah? Are you okay? Was it too much- Oh gosh, um we can-"
You put a finger to his lips, a gentle smile pulling yours upwards.
"Nothing bad, Clark, you're perfectly fine, better than fine. I just- I want to try something."
He looks relieved, a strained sigh escaping him, "Oh, okay, that's good." You stroke his cheek with soft motions, and Clark watches you with such adoration you feel like you'll pass out. You sit up, bringing his body with you as you encourage him to flip, and sit on the bed beside you. Springs creak in protest at the uneven balance of weight, but you both ignore it.
Clark eyes you, a strangled noise escapes him when you palm him lightly through his boxers. You can feel him, sturdy, hard in your hand, even through the fabric. His face is twisted slightly, his mouth struggling to stay closed as you tease him.
"I want, I want to take you in my mouth, Clark."
Clark gulps, visibly, his Adam's apple shifting in his throat. Then, he looks at you, eyes gleaming with absolute love, and nods quickly. His lips are parted, open, vulnerable.
You lean in, kissing him slowly, and pull down his underwear. "A-are you sure, sweets?" Clark croaks as your nails lightly scratch his hips. You nod, grabbing his cock with one hand.
"Yeah, Clark, I want this."
You lick a long stripe up the base, tasting him.
You were going to be the death of him.
March 2011
Smallville, Kansas
Your eyes are red and raw, dripping with tears. You push through them, staring down the road like it's your worst enemy. Anxiety tears at your chest, which pounds in uneven beats.
Another fight, another slammed door, another repressed emotion that led to you on the ground, needing more foundation to cover your arm before your Cook's shift. What was it, the fifth time this week? That's more than half the days.
You couldn't even remember why you were with him at this point.
Don't talk about Daniel that way. He's all you have.
But still, you wanted more.
You dreamed of someone entirely different altogether. Soft black hair replaced golden coarse locks, ocean blue replaced olive green irises. Tattoos melted away into clear, thicker biceps.
See, you don't even deserve him. You're still daydreaming about someone who left you for himself, someone who didn't even hesitate to cut it off.
You press the gas harder in silent rage, willing for the voice inside your head to be quiet. You didn't realize how fast you were going.
Why did you leave me?
Why did I agree to this friends with benefits bullshit?
How do I leave Daniel without him hitting me again?
You weren't going home; you needed to leave town, but you had no money. Thomas made you chip in this month, all 300 you'd saved, going to your deadbeat father. Where could you go? Not Thomas's, and fuck no, not back to Daniel's.
Your headache pounded harder. You gripped the wheel tighter.
Rain poured outside, it was cloudy, and getting dark. Almost past 7:00 now.
You curve down the road towards the Kent farm.
Briefly, you picture Clark there, ready to meet you outside, down the porch steps, practically hauling you out of the car himself. He'd pick you up, spin you around in your favorite summer dress, and whisper something sweet and edged with spice into your ear.
It made your lips stop quivering for a mere second.
I miss him, I need to tell him, I need him.
He'll fly here, he'll save me.
You reach down for your phone, eyes searching relentlessly.
A hand leaves the wheel, feeling into the crack where you must've dropped it.
You shuffle, unaware of the steady drifting you've done ahead.
It's too late when you look back up.
A horn blares, your breath catches.
Clark.
One second it's lights, and the next, darkness.
March 2011
Metropolis, Delaware
Clark leans closer to his mirror, hunching over in the small bathroom of his apartment. He sprays cologne onto his collar.
Tonight was his first date with Lois Lane.
He'd bought flowers, poppies to be specific. They were your favorite. He did it on instinct, handing Andy the florist a crisp five-dollar bill for the small bouquet. Clark had them sitting in water on his counter.
He took one more look at his hair before glancing at his wrist.
6:47, shit.
He was supposed to meet Lois at 6:50 for their 7:00 reservation.
Clark quickly sped to his balcony, shaking his head and muttering the words, "Oh, golly, darn this," before taking off towards Clemetine's, the Italian restaurant he'd carefully selected from overhearing Lois tell Jimmy she'd been craving pasta.
Perks of flight, I guess.
The view over the city never ceased to amaze him, bright lights shining in his eyes, and millions of ant-sized people scurrying to their individual appointments.
It was times like this, when Clark flew high above everything stressful, that he thought about you. Focused on you. He singled out your heartbeat, hundreds of miles away.
Tonight it was quick, slightly unsteady.
Maybe you were watching a scary movie. Clark turned his attention back to the streets.
Your eyes, the light in the city, reminded him of them.
Your laugh, how loud and boisterous it was, like a distant taxi blaring its horn in his memory.
He still worried about you. About your dad.
It'd been about two months since Ma called to update him on the gossip she got at her quilting club, but Clark knew you were seeing someone.
Ma had given him the news very gently, even though it stung Clark all the same. He'd left work early that day, heading out of the city to blow off steam.
Clark took a breath, sighed, and finally, "Who?"
Dean Matthews, from high school?
No, maybe Martin Steele, he always had a thing for you.
"The Peter's grandson, Clark. Seems like a good boy, he's staying in town to take care of them. First smile she's had since you left, honey. Not that any boy could make her smile like you did."
"Oh."
It took Clark a few days to not be in a bad mood. He didn't sleep a lot that week, tossing and turning, wide awake, picturing this Daniel Peters.
Maybe he was good-looking, or smart, or even funny. Maybe he'd begged you to go out, and you'd finally said yes in pity. Maybe he was just a friend, and what Elizabeth Carpenter had told Ma was false.
All of these thoughts were there to distract Clark from one ugly thought.
Maybe you'd moved on.
But after a couple of weeks of groveling, Clark really started to notice Lois. His heart started skipping a beat when she'd look at him. He began wanting to read over her articles more often, dissecting the writing and blushing at her talents. He would suddenly have the urge to bring her a coffee.
Clark let himself. He needed to be fair; he also needed to move on.
Now here he was, landing in an alley just a block away from Lois, taking her on their first official date. Took him a week just to muster the nerve, asking Jimmy for advice, to which he clicked his tongue and leaned back, "Well, for starters-"
Clark had ended up doing it mid-interview, pulling Lois aside and blurting it all out in a jumbled mess, advice thrown out the window. After catching up with his point, Lois smiled, "I was wondering when you'd ask, Smallville."
She always had a way of one-upping his spine.
Clark walks towards the restaurant, straightening his sleeve and tucking his shirt in one more time. Lois was standing outside, a short black dress hugging her slim profile. She wore heels, not that they would help much; Clark was beastly tall.
She looked lovely.
Lois noticed him almost immediately, "Thought you were standing me up, Smallville."
Clark's eyes widened, "Oh- no! Never, you think I would do that?"
Lois cut him off, "Chill, Clark, I'm kidding." She looped her arm through his loosely and pulled him towards the usher, giggling as Clark gulped nervously.
He didn't know if he could keep up with all of her spunk.
The waiter seated them quickly, letting Clark pull out Lois's chair and take his own seat.
"What can I get started to drink for you, lovely pair?"
Clark began to speak, but Lois cut him off, "Oh, we'll have two red wines, please." The waiter glanced between them, and a silent awkwardness took hold.
Great start, Kent.
He didn't like red wine. Ever since you'd spat some out and called it "overrated," Clark didn't really ever drink it again.
"Oh- is that okay?" Lois asked Clark, who nodded back, desperately wanting the waiter to leave.
"Yeah, of course," a fake smile, "my favorite."
Lois smiled at him warmly. Clark acted like his heart was beating faster. Like he wasn't already second-guessing this. Like his mind wasn't somewhere else, on someone else.
You can't screw this up, Kent. Lois is your chance.
"I'm truly sorry about that, I'm just so used to ordering alone," Lois confessed, snapping Clark out of his thoughts, "No! Really, it's alright."
Her eyes were really blue, like crystals, or ice, or something.
"Well, what are we eating then, my lovely date?" Clark joked, pulling a huff out of Lois as she smacked his hand lightly, "Oh, hush."
They picked up their menus then, normal conversation taking over the awkward beginning. And when the waiter brought the wine, Clark tasted it and liked it.
It surprised him.
A thought finally took shape in his head after weeks of emotional confusion.
Maybe he could move on, too.
Food came, and then more bread, and then more wine. Clark enjoyed himself, and Lois was a really good listener. Much funnier now that they were not in a professional workplace.
She was mid-sentence, rambling about the Justice Gang and how Guy Gardner seriously needed a new haircut, when Clark's phone rang.
She paused, letting him take it out to check the caller ID.
It was Ma. Clark furrowed his brows; maybe she'd forgotten that he had a date tonight. She was probably calling with more information about who this Daniel guy was, why he asked you out. Maybe you'd talked to her, visited her once a week like always, and given her the information yourself.
He sighed to himself, muttering an apology to Lois, and silenced his phone.
He needed to move on.
And it was seriously rude to take a call on his first date.
He'd call Ma back tomorrow. Clark sank his phone back into his pocket and continued his date.
Everything's fine, Clark.
Still, he felt lightheaded.
March 2011
Smallville, Kansas
Martha and Johnathan Kent sat in silence, a heavy air hung between them. Fluorescent lights buzzed quietly in solitude. Her eyes were dry now, tears airing out on her time-worn cheeks.
The waiting room felt dead, bleak, and empty of any hope of good news.
Johnathan rubbed a thumb over her hand as they breathed in, out.
Across them sat Thomas Y/L/N. Who, besides being drunk, had his face in his hands, foot tapping rapidly, anxiously. He smelt of bourbon and sweat. Johnathan grunted at the sight of him, arriving thirty minutes after they'd called, in no rush.
And one more person sat there with the group, a man, blonde hair and slight dimples, Martha noticed that they were not as harsh as Clark's.
She wondered if they had reminded you of his.
This was obviously your new suitor, Daniel Peters. He really did have his grandmother's eyes, just like Liz told her. But now his eyes were red, regret spilling all over his face. His hands were red and cracked at the knuckles.
Martha most certainly took note of that.
She'd tried Clark's cellphone already, squeezing her eyes shut when he didn't answer, trying once more, and watching it go straight to voicemail.
Johnathan had told her not to call; it was Clark's first date. He'd been talking about it for weeks. But Martha was too stubborn for that.
A doctor walked towards the group, Martha standing and helping Johnathan up. Daniel stood, pulling on his jacket, fidgeting. And Thomas, as always, took his time, still sitting, to look up.
"Are you Y/N Y/L/N's family?"
Johnathan spoke first, "Yes, sir, that'd be us."
The man shuffled his clipboard, and the group hung onto one collective breath.
"With Miss Y/L/N's accident being so severe, we were forced to take her into emergency surgery. When we got in to see the damage, part of her spine was beyond repair. With the abilities we have here, we were able to replace certain vertebrae with titanium, which should be able to support her. Unfortunately, her spinal cord was pinched quite critically. If Miss Y/L/N is to walk again, it will take months of therapy, prayers, and, to be frank, a miracle. She will survive, but not without serious disability. Her fractured leg was reset and cast, and her cuts and other minor injuries were taken care of."
Martha exhaled sharply, a fresh sob on the verge of spilling.
"Can we see our girl?" Johnathan whispered, a tear dragging across his cheek.
The doctor looked at the couple, a pitiful glint in his eyes, "Once she wakes up, yes, but I will warn you now, she will be in great pain. We are giving her all the medicine we can, but with injuries this extensive, there is almost no perfect relief."
Daniel steps forward now, "How bad are her minor injuries, just from the impact strain?"
The doctor eyed him, "Yes, sir, Y/N has bruises up and down her arms, stomach, and back, signifying that she was thrown against the interior of the vehicle upon impact. Luckily, those seem to be healing very fast. It's remarkable, actually."
Daniel took a deep breath.
Those bruises weren't from the crash.
Dumb fucking bitch had to go and crash to make me notice her.
Martha and Thomas continued to ask the doctor questions as Daniel headed for the door. He was going to get your stuff, throw it into a box, and dump it at Thomas's for all he cared. Maybe at this gross old couple's even.
If you thought he wanted you before, much less now as a cripple? Then you were seriously crazy.
"You're not going to stay?" Johnathan asked, genuine confusion taking over his demeanor. Daniel stopped in his tracks.
"Um, no, sir. I have to- I have to check on my grandparents."
"Right." Johnathan huffed, a hard look settling in his face. He approached Daniel now, landing a firm hand down on the boy's shoulder and squeezing a pressure point really good.
"Listen, boy. I know you're young, all tough, too cool for shit. But we both know your hands ain't cracked from hard work. And if you ever come back here again, my lazy old ass will pound you into the ground. You leave our girl alone, do y'understand me?"
Daniel gulped, nodded, and threw Johnathan's hand off.
"Understood."
June 2013
Smallville, Kansas
You pull on jeans to go with your maroon t-shirt. Tonight was dinner at the Kents. Martha had outdone herself; you were sure about that. Back creaking at the effort of pulling up your pants, you grunted in frustration.
This feeling never went away, and Martha was always the person you talked to about feeling like everything now took 110% more effort.
You were looking forward to seeing her; it'd been a couple of weeks since you'd done your check-in. But she would understand why you all of a sudden stopped coming over. And you secretly hoped that she'd given Clark hell for it.
Thomas yelled for you downstairs, and you sighed. Pulling out your phone, you scrolled to your notifications.
Three new messages from Clark Joseph Kent, aka Fakeass
One new message from Daniel Peters 🚫 DO NOT CALL
You wanted to laugh, really you did. But it was just too ironic for you to truly comprehend. The familiar feeling of anxiety hacked at your breath, but you kept breathing.
You pull on converse, check your hair that you'd pulled up, and grabbed your purse.
I can't believe this is happening.
Is it too late to cancel?
Thomas yelled again, threatening to leave you behind now.
Fine, one dinner.
No feelings, no looking at him. No catching up.
But it's Clark.
You shake your head, no, it's just the Kent's son.
Just a small house keeping thing- “Things I Wish You Said” has a LOT of time skips, so in order to make the story more clear, I added some dates and locations to help the reader. I knew it was bad when even I was getting confused haha. I’m not going to spoil the plot by giving you the full timeline yet- but once the story is finished, I will create one for rereads and reference. I fixed all the time mistakes that I saw, but if you see any more, feel free to reach out and correct me!! Thanks- lyss 🪽
Clark Kent (Superman) x Childhood!Best-friend!Fem!Reader
boarders by @enchanthings & @cursed-carmine 👠🧸🗞️
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
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, you’d missed morning feeding. Tommy was gonna be pissed, and you were going to be late for Cook’s. You’d picked up your friend Marcus’s shift for a couple of weeks, saving him the torture of trying to call it in to Paul.
The rickety bed in Thomas’s barn was all you had to your name at nineteen, but damn it, at least you weren’t 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 couldn’t 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 Clark’s 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 “damn it, you piece’ah junk.” And the way Ma would shush his slight cuss.
It made you smile, warmth and safety settling deep in your chest, easily. But when you’d woken up, hay stuck in your hair and arms empty of a certain curly-headed kryptonian, you felt a quiet kind of melancholy.
It’s 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.
“Ya’ missed feeding. Poor Sally almost lost it on me.” He grumbles, giving you a look that says he was going to make you pay for it.
“I’m sorry Tommy, long shift last night,” 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.
“Nuh uh, not quite, little sis,” he calls from behind, and god, you can just see his proud ass grin.
“What now, Thomas?” You ask, not bothering to turn around and face him. It’s like, what? Twenty paces to your car? Run for it. Run for it!
“Need ya’ to drop by the folks and give them some money. Dad’s wastin’ it all on booze again. Ma called and said they’re out.”
Your heart sinks. An impending feeling of doom starts to churn in your chest. Just breathe.
Aw fuck.
“Alright, Tommy.”
You prayed that your father would be out cold.
“Envelopes’ on the counter, don’t you even think of taking a dime sis.” He warns, voice low and laced with the audacity to think you’d do that to Ma.
“Oh fuck you, dude!” 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 you’d had? Flesh, that is.
One day I won’t sell liquor, one day I’ll show people how to feel alive without it.
That’s what you’d told yourself. Cook’s was just about your only hope at this point. You couldn’t 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, I’m 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 Clark’s 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, he’d spent the morning trying to impress his boss, which had failed miserably after Clark went to Perry’s 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.
Hey, my lovelies! It's Lyss. I am soon to return from a long, long hiatus. I started college, and my life became so incredibly hectic. So please, forgive me. Be patient with me as I step back into my stories, for it may take some time to return. I want these stories to be written CORRECTLY. But I'm so happy to return, my writer's block and overstimulation have finally gone away :))
Chapter 2 of "Things I Wish You Said" should be out in the near future
Babe you're making me go mental waiting for chapter 2😭 like I feel like a little kid waiting for a new toy to come out .. you have amazing writing tho keep up the very amazing work love!!❤️
Agh!!! My love, I know! I want it to be out so soon. It will hopefully be out by Sunday night. For all of you waiting, thank you for your patience. It will be out asap!
summary: when a mission takes a turn for the worse, something in you shuts down , making you retreat far into yourself back at the tower. Your boyfriend John is there to pick up the broken pieces and comfort you until you feel whole again.
warnings: age gap (John is in his late 30s, reader is in her early 20s), explicit sex scenes, vaginal fingering, squirting, angst, mentions of blood and death, self doubt & mild PTSD, emotional hurt/comfort, hopeful ending
a/n: here it is, the third part set in the "problematic tower romance" verse! please let me know your thoughts or what you would like to see included in future stories 👀
ao3 version
────୨ৎ────
It had been raining for two days now and you were starting to feel it.
There was a restlessness itching underneath your skin and despite the spaciness of the watch tower, you felt caged in, touching the glass windows and counting rain droplets until it’d make you sleepy.
You didn’t get bored between missions often.
For most of the time, something was always going on at the tower.
On rainy days, you’d help Bob with one of the gigantic puzzles he and you liked to do or you’d watch old comedy shows with Alexei who shook the entire couch with his roaring laughter. Sometimes, Bucky and you would go to the museum or to a cinema that ran an old movie he’d seen before his time in the ice. Or you’d go through the girls’ closet and reorganize while they watched you from the floor, sharing ice cream or whatever unhealthy snack they could find around.
And then of course, there was John.
Rainy mornings in bed with John were your favorite. The ones where you both were lazy and sluggish, his hands warm as a furnace as they stroked through your messy hair and over your back. The knowledge that you weren’t needed anywhere and no one was searching for you could be blissful one those days.
You liked how John tended to let himself go at least a little bit on those kinds of days. He’d walk around in joggers and let his hair be unruly the way you liked it. You grabbed one of your favorite shirts of his and called it an outfit. It was perfect.
You’d make a competition out of who ordered the best take-out for the team and John frequently complained about how you were basically cheating since everyone was obsessed with you and chronically bothered by him. You’d shut him up with a kiss or another bite of your burrito.
It was good like this.
You were a family, the bunch of you.
But on day three, you had enough of the boredom at the watchtower.
You had gone by the council room twice already, just checking if there was anything new. But the monitors were dark and silent. No alert anywhere, no trouble to fix. Peaceful.
Walking through the big living room area, you found Alexei snoring in an armchair and Bob reading by the rain-stained window. Normally, you would’ve joined him. But there still was an itch underneath your skin, making you restless and unsatisfied.
Yelena and Ava were somewhere on the lower floors, but you knew exactly where Bucky and John were. Coming faintly from down the hall, you heard some manly grunts and the sound of fists against punching bags. You lingered for a moment, listening to the two men training at the gym.
You could go in there and watch them train. You were appreciative of the male form, after all!
And watching John fight always did it for you. There had been many occasions where you’d end up on top of him, swirling your core against his hard bulge after you two had fought against each other. (You tended to surprise him with a bite into his thick shoulder and make him falter and John couldn’t help but be turned on by it.)
But suddenly, an even better idea crept into your mind and you grinned to yourself, heading to John’s room. You had always taken a liking to John’s room down the hall, one quarter of his space taken up by a big glass panorama view.
You walked towards the closet, the bunch of fresh laundry on the bed inviting you to lift one of his sweaters to your nose. It smelled like your man. Like home.
Humming to yourself, you started to look through your closet– over a half of John’s spacious walk-in closet had become yours, naturally – searching for the sight of hot pink lace.
You had worn it for John before and the first time he had seen you in it had been mind-blowing to say the least. John had simply pulled the petite slip inside in front of his big broad mirror, holding your jaw possessively as the two of you watched his cock fuck your already slick thighs. Every time his tip had rubbed over your puffy clit, you had crumbled a little bit more in his arms.
And you had loved every second of it.
The little jeweled bow in the middle of the matching bra had bounced all pretty when he had finally slipped into you, a man possessed and on a mission to fuck you into sweet oblivion. As you looked at it, a part of you was surprised that the lace was still intact.
But maybe, today that was going to change.
A while and a big everything-shower later, you sat down at the edge of the bed, crossing your legs prettily and adjusting the strap of your bra so one hung loosely over your naked shoulder. The sheets behind your back were still unmade from the morning and your cheeks heated at the memory of John eating you out like you were the sweetest dessert, his hot mouth tonguing your slit over and over again until you sobbed.
The way you knew John, you hoped for a similar outcome for what you had in mind.
You lifted your phone, giving the mirror your best look.
You dropped the picture on him like a landmine.
It didn’t even take two minutes until he saw it.
Fucking hell, honey you’re killing me.
You bit down on your lip to suppress a shit eating grin, your thighs pressing together on their own.
I need you to stay alive for what I plan to do with you <3
Is that so?
You didn’t type your answer.
Instead, you sent another picture as you leaned back, back arched and one leg falling open to reveal the little wet patch at the core of your panties. All because of his words…
Ten seconds, where you imagined his fingers tightening around the phone, staring unblinking at the gift you had given him.
Then: Oh baby. I promise you, you’re not ready for me to walk through that door.
You giggled, dropping the phone on the sheets and quickly racing to the door to firmly lock it. Your super soldier wanted to get through the door to you? He’d better show you how strong he was if he really wanted it.
This was one of the things you loved so much about being with John. You felt empowered, a force he was willing to reckon with, strong enough to bring him to his knees. It didn’t matter what you were wearing; he always knew how to make you feel like the most special girl on this planet.
It didn’t take long until you heard his footsteps down the hall, instantly stopping your excited pacing.
You held your breath as the doorknob turned, a brief moment of silence on the other side as it didn’t dodge.
“Baby?” You heard John’s voice, a bit rough and strained from training, through the door. “I know you’re in there, c’mon.”
You held in a nervous laugh, wanting to squeal into the pillows in delight as John knocked, now getting impatient. This was getting silly quick and you were having the time of your life.
“Alright, I got it.” He drawled, a bit of annoyance – no, impatience - shining through. “You want to play like a big girl? Let me in and we’ll play, honey.”
You playfully hummed in consideration, letting him hear you. “I don’t know, maybe I’ll just take care of myself. I wouldn’t want to interrupt your routine. Didn’t you want to help Ava move some things after training?”
John huffed out an unimpressed laugh, trying the door a little harder and making goosebumps erupt on your skin. “Change of plans. All I want to do now is you.”
You shivered at his dark promise.
Just a little more and you’d have him exactly where you wanted. You twirled a strand of hair around your finger, stretching your back and letting him hear the little satisfied moan you released. “…Are you sure? Don’t need an afternoon nap? I heard at a certain age, it might be go-“
John broke down the door.
You shrieked and moved to cover your face as wood splinters flew around you as the lock shattered. John strode over to you with a dark glare on his handsome face and before you could even try to stumble backwards, he had hoisted you up over his shoulder, the air escaping your lungs for a second.
“Y-you-“ You were speechless, steadying your hands on his lower back to at least try to catch a glimpse of him as he walked you towards the bed. “You just destroyed the door!”
“I told you.” He said lowly, one of his hands splaying out over your barely clothed bum, making your breath hitch. “Dress like this, tease me in training- in front of Barnes out of all people, and you are not ready for me to get to you.”
A light smack landed on your bum and you gasped at the sting, heat rushing into your cheeks. John stopped in front of the bed and dropped you on it, but not before kissing you on the way down. It was heated and sloppy and you moaned right into his mouth as he let you down gently, already missing his taste.
You were right where you had left him.
A sight for the gods John had once stopped believing in, his girl all pretty and decorated in lace. A willing present ready to get unwrapped and taken care of. John absently licked his lips as you leaned back on your elbows, your smooth legs tangling off the edge.
Your heart beat even quicker as he drank you in.
John towered over you, his hair was messy from training and you could see exactly what effect your little pictures had on him, his hard dick pressing desperately against the fabric of his combat shorts.
John tilted his head to the side, a growl in his chest as you wanted to sneak your hand down your body. Instantly, you stopped. “I thought I’d left you all fucked out this morning, hm baby? You fell right asleep again after I made you come around my tongue. You need a reminder of that feeling again?”
You whimpered, spreading your legs and feeling the delicate lace lightly rub over your clit in the process.
“Or maybe I won’t let you come at all for teasing the hell out of me…” John thought out loud and your eyes widened. You couldn’t really think straight anymore and this sounded like the worst thing you had ever heard.
“No!” You protested. “Please, I’ll be good now, I promise. Just wanted your attention…”
A satisfied smile appeared on John’s face and you nearly crawled to him when he sank down on the bed, kneeling between your spread thighs like a king ready to claim his place. “Cute. I know you did, baby girl. Such a desperate sweet thing for me, hm? You just can’t help but tease when you need a cock in your little pussy, hm?”
His hands drifted over your knees and your mouth fell open, the way his mouth curled around those devious words soaking your panties. “Shit…”
“That’s what you needed, hm?” He murmured against your cheek, his tongue tasting your skin like it was an addiction, drinking in your scent. “Me dropping all my shit to take care of you, hm?”
All you could do was whimper when his hand briefly dipped down between your legs, just a taste of what John was working you up to.
“You got my full attention now, honey.” John whispered into your ear, his warm body caging you in against the mattress, hand drifting over your ribs. “So what do you want me to do?”
Everything. You’d let him do anything to you and you’d thank him afterwards, you were sure of it.
John kissed the side of your neck, letting you feel his tongue against your sensitive skin. “Use your words, honey.”
“I need your fingers, your dick, fuck-“ You gasped as he suddenly cupped your core, rubbing the palm of his hand against your clit, the hot friction against your panties making something in your brain short-circuit.
You tried to roll your hips with his movements, but he pushed them down firmly, his other hand tugging at your wet panties until they were off and you were bare. John’s pupils dilated at the sight of your sweet pink pussy, dripping onto the sheets, your poor clit throbbing underneath his heated gaze.
John held two of his fingers to your lips, breathing heavily as you allowed him to rest on your bottom lip. “Get them nice and wet for me, honey. I know you’re dripping right now, but I want you soaked.”
You greedily complied, grabbing his wrist and sucking his fingers into your mouth. You didn’t dare to look away from him, eyelids fluttering but not closing as your tongue tasted his fingers, swirling over the pads like you were about to suck his dick.
“Jesus Christ.” He pulled you off with a pop, chasing your tempting mouth with his own as he began to move you into position. You moaned happily in his mouth as he shifted you, sitting on the edge of the bed himself as he pulled you into his lap so your bum rested snugly between his legs.
Your upper back remained on the soft mattress, hips tilted up and legs spread by one of his arms as his hand caressed your quivering stomach. You only noticed then how much you were shivering in anticipation, watching John through hooded eyes as he admired your body in his lap.
“So beautiful…” He praised and you clenched around nothing, still so empty. “The prettiest pussy, fuck. You want my fingers, baby? Want me to finger you until you’re begging for my cock?”
“Please-“ You gasped as he let his knuckles slide over your folds. “Please touch me, John, please.”
Relief crashed over you like a wave when John finally circled your clit, your legs instinctively trying to press together, but his large hand pushing them apart again with a growl deep in his chest. You grasped the sheet and his knee as you tilted your head back and just let yourself feel.
John knew how to get you right every time, almost working your body like it was an instrument and he the artist, his hands drifting over your beautiful curves and edges while you writhed against his hand as if you were in heat.
He might’ve broken down the door, but he was in no rush now, taking his time to unclasp your lace bra and cherishing your chest with kisses and attention all the while his fingers rubbed your clit expertly.
“Mmm…feels so good…” You sighed, knowing how much these little sounds drove John wild. You could feel him hard as rock under you and you ground back into his bulge teasingly. “More please.”
“There’s my polite little girl.” John praised and you turned into mush, your cheeks heating as he rewarded you with the tips of his fingers dipping down into your wetness. “With you all pretty in my lap like this, it’s really hard to stay mad at you, you know that?”
You laughed and nearly choked on it as you felt your walls stretching around his two thick digits, the hand squeezing his knees holding on to him as he eased them inside of you so tortuously slow.
He built you up perfectly, watching with hungry eyes as you squeezed your tits and began to sensually ride his slick fingers, carelessly making a mess of both yourself and him – not that he cared.
“That’s it, baby.” John purred, bending down once again to softly apply pressure with his hand on your abdomen, his fingers crooking upwards inside of you as his lips peppered kisses across your tummy. “Just ride that high, let me make you feel so good for me…”
You whimpered in agreement, moving your hips in rhythm with his hand until your breath hitched and stars exploded in front of your vision as John found that one perfect little spot. Your mouth shaped a silent o, the pressure inside of you climbing and climbing until you could barely splutter out a warning before-
“Holy shit, honey.” John stared at you in awe as your hips twitched and you squirted all over his hand, carried away by the intensity of your orgasm as John led you through it until his thumb on your clit became too much and you had to push his hand away.
You panted as John pushed a sweaty strand of hair from your face, smiling down softly at you as his hands kept your body warm.
“Feel good?” He asked you fondly. “You looked fucking incredible.”
“So good.” You grinned up at him. “I needed that so m- John!”
As if you weighed not even as much as a feather, John quickly lifted you and maneuvered you onto your back, his body swiftly finding a way between your spread legs as he hurryingly undressed.
You licked your lips as he pulled down his boxers and his leaking dick sprung up, but John seemed to have other plans for your mouth as he sank down on top of you and kissed you breathless.
God, you could get lost in this man for the rest of your life.
“I’m keeping you in this bed for the rest of the day, baby.” John murmured, thrusting his hips forward so his cock slid snugly between your folds and moaning from the sudden sting your nails produced on his shoulder blades. “’gonna fuck you so good you’ll go dumb on my cock, my sharp, beautiful girl.”
You sighed happily, reaching down and smiling widely at him as you took his cock and slowly led it towards your entrance.
And when it came to you, John liked to keep his promises.
After you had gone to bed that night – or more John collapsing on top of you eventually and only turning so far around he wouldn’t crush you as you passed out together, a new mission came in the morning after.
The collective release of a long-held breath could be heard around the breakfast table.
No more puzzles and rewatching old soaps. It was time for your team to step out again and do what you could do best. In no time, suits were put on and weapons adjusted, knives sparkling like a new row of teeth around your bodies.
John and Alexei stayed behind because they were needed at another location for a supervising mission, and so you kissed your boyfriend goodbye before climbing into the prepared vehicle and waving at him as Bucky drove off.
On the way, you tried to relax the way you always did before a mission, retreating into yourself and counting your heartbeat before it got ugly.
And today was one of the days where it got ugly fast.
The mission was complete bullshit.
First, the wrong information had been cast into your systems, having you drop off at a completely wrong location and making you lose several precious minutes of time.
Next, the comms stopped working.
You were tapping through the infiltrated facility blind, not sure where the others currently were after you had split off. You looked for Yelena, Ava and Bucky, the familiar presence of their voices in your ear gone and making you nervous.
Then, the attack came and that was when you knew you had found the location of the hostages. There was no light and endless bodies you fought your way through. Somewhere in the chaos, Bucky found you, glistening metal in the dark as you two fought back to back. When you all were reunited, the hostages were under your watch, eager to see the light of the day again.
You were staring at Bucky’s back as he led you towards the exit, the hallway behind you quiet and littered with bodies. Just a few more turns and light would shine down on the tiles.
Yelena and Ava walked with you, leading the scared group of hostages ahead while you half-carried a woman whose leg had been broken at the hostile takeover. She was shivering, groaning underneath her breath from the pain and for the last few minutes, you had tried to comfort her with the promises of safety, so close in front of you.
“We’re almost out now, you’re doing wonderful.” You said to the woman and for the first time, it occurred to you that she couldn’t be older than you were. Wide and fearful eyes stared at you, her bottom lip quivering as you squeezed her hand on your shoulder. “You’re going to be home soon, it will be alright and-“
The sound of a gunshot rang in your ears.
Before you knew what you were doing, your hand shot out to touch your stomach, a choked gasp leaving you as you waited for the pain to set in. Then, the girl beside you slipped from your grasp and fell to the floor.
Screams in your ear.
Bucky turned around and fired a few shots, making everyone duck down.
You dropped down in confusion, not understanding what just happened before you looked behind you and saw one last attacker dropping dead. Your hand rested on the scared girl, who twitched and-
Your hand came away red with blood.
Your mouth opened. One blink, two.
Then, you remembered nothing.
Not the quick escape.
Not giving over the remaining hostages to the first responders.
Not Bucky’s hand on your shoulder or Yelena’s hand in yours.
Not the way home.
Only this scared girl who had looked at you with hope in her eyes, dying not even a minute later.
At debrief, you were sure you were going to pass out at any minute.
There was no more strength left in you, no solid emotion from what had happened out there reaching your mind. You just felt…numb. Your body ached and there were bruises by your hip and while Bucky explained to Valentina what all happened, you zoned out.
You stared down at the surface of the table, unblinking and overly aware of the empty chair on your left. John and Alexei were only supposed to get back in the evening from their own mission with no connection to the outside world. At the thought of John learning what had occurred, your stomach turned and you swallowed against the bile in your throat.
You only realized someone had spoken to you when you felt Yelena’s hand on your shoulder.
Looking up, you were met with Valentina’s squinted eyes on you, a viper ready to snap. “Anything to add?”
When it came, your voice was barely more than a rasp. “No…”
Valentina sighed, gesturing towards the door. “Alright, meeting closed. I don’t care which one of you does it, but tomorrow there will be a press conference about this and one of you will answer their pressing questions.”
You stood with the others, every limb in your body protesting in exhaustion.
“Ah ah ah, not you.” Valentina smiled sweetly at you. “There’s something I have to talk about with you, dear.”
“Hey, no.” Yelena stayed by the door, giving you an unsure look before she glared at Valentina. “This is enough for today, we’re done.”
“It’s okay.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “It’s fine, Yelena. Bucky.”
The two of them had always been like older siblings to you, protective to the fault even before you had gotten together with John. They didn’t like this, you could tell, but there was something slowly eating at you. Something ugly telling you; you deserve this.
Bucky, jaw clenched and glaring at Valentina, eventually closed the door behind them and Valentina sprung into action.
“Alright, I have places to be so let’s make this quick.” She came to stand in front of your chair. “What the hell were you doing?”
Whatever you had expected, it wasn’t this.
“I-“
“One civilian.” Valentina rubbed her temples. “And you manage to get her killed.”
You were speechless. “I didn’t mean t-“
“Of course you didn’t, silly, but it happened.” Valentina sighed as if she was talking about a small inconvenience. “She was going to finish college soon. Had a bright future ahead of her. Things like this always look bad on the news, you know? And guess who they’re going to blame?”
Your bottom lip wobbled, no air in your lungs as the truth of her words set in. “Me.”
“That’s right.” Valentina rounded the table. “Which also means they’re blaming me. I want you in that press conference tomorrow, so you’ll better go to sleep early tonight. Out of the whole bunch, I always thought you were better than your past, you know?”
Better than my past.
Valentina clicked her tongue and shook her head at you with the cruelest smile. “Pathetic.”
You flinched.
You didn’t remember leaving the council room or walking back to the living quarters.
It was quiet with everyone having most likely retreated into their own rooms for a shower. You wandered around aimlessly, a sleepwalker, before you eventually peeked into John’s room. His duffel bag was nowhere to be seen, the side of his bed empty and void of warmth. Suddenly, you could still feel his lips on top of your head from the goodbye you’d given him.
Now, you felt colder than you ever were.
You walked into the living room and searched out his spot on the couch, the one corner piece he always claimed for himself during movie night. Sinking into the pillows behind you, you could almost smell his cologne and inhaled deeply.
And then, it was like you didn’t know how to exhale anymore.
The first one was Ava, setting down a smoothie in front of you. “Hey. You don’t want to take a shower?”
You couldn’t look at her. Because what if you did and you saw the same glint in her eyes that Valentina had? Judgement. Disappointment. Rejection. Ava lingered in front of you, quickly analyzing your posture or rather the lack of one, your unblinking eyes staring ahead like she wasn’t even there.
A minute later, Yelena was there, sitting down beside you with a grunt.
“Hey.” Yelena tried a lazy smile. “Everything okay, babe?”
You shrugged, fingers playing with the edge of your suit top. The dirt and sweat from the mission still clung to you, enveloping your senses and keeping you there for longer than necessary.
“I know, we all know how you’re feeling right now.” She tried again, softer this time. “It…it fucking sucks, okay? But it’ll get better, I promise. I’ve been there. The first time I lost a-“
“No.” You stared at her, shaking. “Don’t- I don’t want to talk about it.”
“What did she say to you?” Your head shot up as you spotted Bucky by the counter of the open kitchen.
“Only the truth.” You whispered. Today, you had failed and you were going to have to live with it. You had never lost someone during a mission, especially not someone you were meant to protect more than your own life. Yet your first instinct had been to check yourself and you hated it.
“I highly doubt that.”
They lingered for a while.
Not sure what was the right thing to say.
You stayed silent after that, staring ahead and pulling at the skin of your fingers like you could solve anything with that. At some point, Bob sat down on your other side, offering you his hand and you simply took it without a word. They all shared a look, at least that was a small win.
You had retreated into a little corner in the back of your mind, unreachable. Safe.
You didn’t want to come out of there again.
And then John came home.
Ava was already waiting in the hallway when he stepped in, his duffel bag carelessly dropping onto the ground as he took off his hat. John saw the look on her face, his heart going still.
“Where is she?”
“Living room.” Ava pushed herself off the wall, matching his urgent pace as they walked to the elevator, quickly catching him up on what happened. “She’s been sitting there for hours. It’s bad, John.”
He didn’t even wait for the elevator to arrive.
Like a man possessed, John sprinted up the endless staircase, not feeling the unpleasant burn in his legs from the mission. All plans he had made after getting back dropped from his mind until there was only you on it, his heart racing in concern for his girl.
His shield fell carelessly to the floor as the couch came into view, everyone’s head but yours turning at the sound of his combat boots urgently making their way towards you.
“Hi sweetheart.” He cooed, squatting down in front of you and looking you over carefully.
When he had to say goodbye to you this morning, a light had shone in you. Now, it had all gone out and John’s chest hurt at the sight of your blurry eyes, like you had not blinked in quite some time. There were little specks of blood on your fingers and it wasn’t yours.
At the feeling of his warm palm on your knee, you slowly tore your eyes away from your lap and looked into his blue, stormy eyes. “Hey…”
God, your voice was so quiet, it was killing him.
“Hi baby…” John smiled at you but it was sad, he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t remember a time before where you had been like this, so completely shattered and worn-out. “How about we’ll go to our room, hm? You must be so tired. You had a long day.”
Something in you went into free fall at the gentle suggestion, your head nodding in acceptance as Bob squeezed your hand one last time and helped you up. Fuck, you could barely stand anymore, the exhaustion of today clinging to you like an oil film.
“Thanks, everyone.” John nodded at his teammates as he laced your hands together, noticing how you slumped into his side to keep yourself up. “For taking care of her.”
Bucky nodded back at him. “Always.”
You looked back at your friends one last time, throat tight with gratitude and something else that nearly overwhelmed you before John softly tugged at your hand and the two of you disappeared down the hallway.
“I’m so sorry I got back just now.” John mumbled, a steady arm around your lower back as you walked through the building.
“’s okay.”
“I wish I could’ve been there, I really do.” He sighed, his hand still securely on you as he opened the door to yours and his quarters. “But I’m here now and I’m going to take care of you, okay baby? I’m not leaving your side.”
When you nodded and your shoulders slumped as he closed the now fixed door behind you, John couldn’t help to think of a younger version of himself when he looked at you. He remembered it all, the pain faded yet unforgettable, a first failed mission, declared as a win but at what cost?
He knew exactly how it felt.
And he knew that sometimes all it took was to be caught by someone with gentle hands and understanding.
John shook off the leather of his uniform, leaving him in a black undershirt and pants while you stood in the middle of the room like you didn’t belong here. He stood in front of you, thumb softly brushing over your chin.
“Let’s go to the bathroom, hm?”
You followed along, quiet and floating.
Just earlier this morning, the two of you had stood under the shower spray together, washing the remains of the passionate last night off your bodies and sneaking kisses once in a while. Now, John saw you turning away from the mirror, not ready to face how much had changed in just a couple of hours.
You stared at the bathroom tiles instead, unsure of what came now.
But luckily, you didn’t have to decide.
John did, his thumb stroking your wrists as he brought them towards the sink and began to wash them. Instinctively, you hid your face in his shoulder, not able to bear the sight of her blood being washed away. Forever gone.
“All clean.” He gently turned you around until you faced him, his hand moving to squeeze yours comfortingly. “I’ll help you, up you go.”
John effortlessly lifted you by the hips and there was nothing harsh or passionate about it like there usually was. He simply set you down on the counter, now able to stand between your legs and take a closer look at you.
You let his blue eyes scan over you, not able to tell what he was looking for. Maybe John didn’t know it himself; this was a kind of pain that couldn’t be fixed with a band aid. It was deeply inside of you, paralyzing your mind and making you spiral.
Pathetic.
Your arms hung uselessly at your sides, eyes still not meeting his, and John chewed the inside of his cheek as he made a decision. “I’m gonna draw you a bath now, alright baby? How does that sound? We can go back to bed too, but let me change your clothes at least.”
You blinked up at him.
You’ve been asked a question.
In the smallest voice, you eventually said: “A bath sounds good…”
You weren’t sure. But it seemed like the right answer.
John’s heart was breaking straight in two at your small voice, unconvinced and a little lost. When his son had tripped and scraped his knee, he had learned how to dry his tears and calm him down, his body so small against his as he told him it’ll be alright again with a kiss.
But this was different.
You weren’t crying.
And he had to start somewhere.
Gathering his thoughts, John took a deep breath and put his arms around you, the ghost of his fingertips drifting over your clothes spine as he slowly undid your hair tie and pulled it over his own wrist.
He looked over your shoulder into the mirror, monitoring himself closely as he untangled your braid, the usual shine in your hair gone from the mission. You let it all happen, eventually leaning forward a little so you could rest your forehead on his shoulder, simply breathing in and out and letting John do the work for you.
Next came the brush and your eyes fluttered close as John started to carefully comb your hair out. You sank further into him, the sound of the tub slowly filling easing your mind down further.
Once satisfied with his work, John kissed your temple and kept his hand on your back, letting you stay like this for a while until he asked: “Is it okay if I help you undress?”
“Yes, please.” Your hands on his waist slipped as he eased you up and helped you pull your shirt over his head.
“You don’t have to say please, baby.” John told you softly, checking the temperature of the water one more time before he threw your bloodied shirt into the corner. “I got you now.”
He helped you slip down from the counter again and let you hold on to his shoulder as you stepped out of your pants and wiggled them off. John’s eyes didn’t linger on your body, his fallen angel, as he quickly got rid of the rest of his clothes first before he stepped up to the bathtub with you.
You hugged yourself as he stepped in first, muscles relaxing at the warmth of the bath, his hand not letting yours go as he helped you climb into the tub in front of him. You let out a shuddering breath at the hot water surrounding you, holding your already unsteady breath as you slid in front of him, his massive thighs caging your hips in as you sunk back against his naked chest.
For a while, the two of you simply existed.
John didn’t push.
You didn’t give in.
But in his arms, his whole body pressed close to yours protectively, something deep inside of you made way and your finger drew a line down his forearm, lost in thought.
“I couldn’t save her.” You finally mumbled, blinking ahead as John’s arms around you tightened just a little. “I should’ve…I don’t know, done more and I didn’t and now someone is dead because of me. Valentina is right-“
Something in John went very still. “Valentina?”
“Yes, she- she spoke to me after debrief and she’s right, I fucked up, I-“ You greedily sucked in a breath of fresh air before you rubbed at your eyes, frustrated with yourself. “I was responsible for someone and failed and now a family is mourning and-“
“Hey, hey.” Feeling you slowly starting to hyperventilate, John softly turned your chin so you could look into his eyes, your chest quickly falling and rising. “It wasn’t your fault. Ava told me what happened and it’s not your fault.”
“You weren’t there, you didn’t see.” You gasped out, feeling as if you were drowning and only his eyes were keeping you afloat.
“I remember my first death like it was yesterday.” He said quietly and you stilled, bottom lip back to wobbling dangerously. “It was my seventh month in the army, second overseas. A night mission, night vision devices. I played cards with Lemar and a guy the night before. He told us how he was going to propose to his girlfriend right after he’d get back. Never made it. A sharp shooter, hidden in the ruins. He dropped to the ground right in front of me. There was nothing I could do about it. I couldn’t have been faster or sharper or stronger, not against someone out of my vision, sweetheart. And neither could you have. It wasn’t your fault. But my beautiful, brilliant girl reacting like this, beating yourself up like this? It shows you care, shows your humanity and compassion and everything that makes you you and as long as they can’t take that away from you, it won’t ever be your fault, honey.”
God, your heart ached.
You were miserable this happened to him and now, it happened to you, miserable that you had let Valentina break you down so easily, miserable because tonight, a bed somewhere would stay empty and a family awake.
“I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but it won’t feel like this forever.” He brushed back your wet hair, your eyes fluttering closed as he kissed your forehead like you were the entire world. “It’ll pass and you’ll come out of it stronger.”
In the safety and warmth of his arms, something in you finally crumbled.
Your shoulders began to shake, silently at first before a heart-wrenching sob tore its way from your throat. It was like you couldn’t get enough air in, the dull pain in your chest now exploding in vicious tangles as you started to cry.
John was there instantly, his heart twisting at your sadness as he drew you close against his chest. The water sloshed gently, your sobs echoing through the bathroom as you nearly clawed at his arm for support.
“Shh, you’re okay honey.” John mumbled against your temple, his thumb softly stroking your shoulder as you cried. “Let it out. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”
Somehow, his quiet affirmation made you cry even harder and you curled into him on instinct as if you could disappear in his arms if you only tried hard enough. You sniffled miserably against his collarbone and you felt him exhale deeply behind you.
On his next breath, you tried your best to match his breathing.
Again.
And then again until it felt lighter. More bearable than the second before.
“My strong girl…” John praised you, his fingers brushing through your wet hair soothingly while you cried yourself out. It was like the shock and grief were seeping out of you, leaving a little more with every tear you shed.
“I don’t feel very strong right now…” You mumbled with a sniffle, your nose touching his neck as you spoke.
“You don’t have to be.” John assured you as his hand still rubbed over your naked back in comfort. You had somewhen turned, your body now sitting snugly in his lap as you looked at each other. Your eyes were puffy, cheeks red from both the heat and the tears, yet John had never seen a more beautiful woman. “Just know that I think you are. That’s never going to change, no matter what, alright? And Valentina can go fuck herself.”
You huffed out a tired half-agreeing breath, your exhaustion from before sinking back in as John gently dried the rest of your tears while you played with the blond curly hair on his chest.
“I think I want to visit her family…if they’ll want to talk to me.” You murmured quietly as you listened to the steady sound of John’s beating heart.
“Then I’ll go with you if you’ll let me.” John kissed the side of your head as he held you close once more.
“Yeah, I…I would like that.” Your eyes drooped, body slumping against his as John’s tender touches made you sleepy and finally calm. “I love you, John…”
“I love you too, honey.”
The next morning when you stepped into the press conference with a towering John by your side and he came to stand between you and Valentina with a murderous glare into her direction, no one questioned it.
And you knew as long as you had him, you’d never be broken.
I just read your in sickness and in health fic about Clark and like I'm new to your blog but ugh that was soo good like I couldn't just keep it to myself I had to say it. It was amazing and your descriptions are so beautiful
Thank you so much love. 🥺🫶🏻 I appreciate your kind comments so much!!
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | when you give eddie a stick and poke for the first time, and he gives you some encouragement.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | none really, use of needles/pins (obviously), mentions or implies sexual content/innuendos, making out, etc.
𝐝𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 | @eddiesbongwater @edsmunsonsgirl @reigndropss @blueeyedbesson @katie-avery @siredstiless and a few of my fave eddie writers as of recently @eddie-munsons-girlfriend @ambrossart @steviebears @maxmybeloved & @stranger-nightmare and the rest of my followers that have waited and stuck by with me for me to finally post something lol :)
𝗮/𝗻 | hi, this will be my first eddie imagine and imagine in general posted on here! i’m really excited to post this, but also really nervous, so i hope everyone likes it! also, i never gave myself or anyone else a stick and poke so i apologize if it’s not entirely accurate, i tried my best and based it on my knowledge. let me know your thoughts, whether it be comments, or like or whatever! thank you, and enjoy! :) <3
𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 | 2,252 words
eddie had one hand firmly gripping her waist, her legs wrapped around his torso and feet interlocked as he sat cross-legged. his arm was stretched out, the stick and poke on his arm as his artist sat in his lap, poking away at his skin.
in the other hand of the artist, a damp cotton pad was being held, occasionally wiping at his skin to get rid of excess ink. she took the stick and poke needle and dipped it into the small cap filled with black ink, coating the tip of it before continuing her work, tracing the small bat outline she originally drew.
“i can’t believe you’re letting me do this right now,” she laughed, more to herself as she shook her head.
“what, you think i don’t trust you? you’re doing great, baby,” he echoed, staring at her face as he rubbed circles on her hip with the hand he slipped under her shirt.
she squirmed under his grip with a smile, partially cause of his encouraging words and also because he was touching her sensitive and more importantly, ticklish spot. “no, it’s not that, it’s just…you could’ve picked any other spot for me to tattoo you, but you choose one of the most visible places, and next to a tattoo you already have. i don’t want to mess this up.”
they were currently sat on the floor of eddie’s bedroom in his trailer, and she was tattooing a bat on his right forearm to add to the collection he already had on his skin. she had practiced on herself with very small tats on the more hidden parts of her body, but it was her first time tattooing another person. as soon as eddie found out how nervous his long-time girlfriend was about taking the initiative to tattoo someone else but also had a great passion for it, he volunteered himself immediately to be her first ‘client’. she was hesitant at first, but after much convincing, here they were, with her fresh stick and poke needle in eddie’s lap, daring to mess up a tattoo that her boyfriend loved so much.
Summary: A chance encounter on a cross-country train ride might turn out to be the greatest happy-accident of your life, and Bob's too.
Warnings: SO MUCH fluff, meet-cute, strangers to lovers, language, female reader but no physical descriptions, possibly some incorrect descriptions of the Navy, possibly some inaccurate descriptions of a train (I have ridden Amtrak only twice lol), lightly edited, please bear with me
Word Count: 11,513 words
Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here
A/N: do I like this? kind of, idk, I can't tell lmao I feel like I spent so much time writing it I can't tell if I like it
Sure, the trips always took longer than by car, and certainly longer than by plane, but it was almost…relaxing, in a way you couldn’t entirely describe. Plenty of leg room, peaceful, and full of beautiful sights to look at the entire trip–so long as you didn’t get a seat near the bathrooms, you learned that the hard way the first time you ever rode the train.
Thankfully, your group had been the first to board the train at the station just outside of Los Angeles, meaning you got prime pick on seats in your designated cars. Window seats were always your preference, they allowed you to truly admire the views while you were reading or writing. Tossing your luggage into the overhead compartment, you claimed your coveted window seat as the rest of the passengers filtered into the car to take their own seats. You didn’t hesitate to throw your backpack onto the seat directly next to you, hoping that it could live there for the entirety of your cross-country trip so that you didn’t have to share with someone you didn’t know.
“Good evening, passengers! We are expecting a sold-out train for this trip, so please ensure that you are not taking up any empty seats that you do not need. We will need every seat for the duration of our trip,”
Well…maybe you couldn’t have the seat to yourself, but maybe you could be selective on who you would be forced to sit with for the upcoming almost 45 hour train ride.
After the first round of passengers were seated, the next group boarded onto the train. Duos quickly grabbed up any empty seats that they could find next to each other, while larger groups tried to find seats that were all semi-close together (though, it usually didn’t work out in their favor). You watched each passenger filter through the car with a skeptical glance, one hand already on your backpack as you waited for just the right passenger to come past.
There was a young woman, maybe somewhere in her late teens to early twenties. You could hear her music blaring through her headphones from here: absolutely not. You didn’t want to be subjected to someone else’s music blaring next to you for a ride that would last almost two entire days.
The next passenger that was looking for a single seat was an older gentleman. You thought about moving your backpack for a moment, until you heard him grumbling about everything already. It wasn’t quiet grumbling, either, but loud complaints about everything on the train. The size of the aisle, how these seats were sure to be uncomfortable, how the food in the cafe car was never good enough for his taste.
Yeah, no. Next.
You were pretty sure your brain short-circuited when the next passenger entered the train.
He had to be somewhere around your age. Sandy blonde hair that was almost perfectly swooped back across his head. The shade complimented his sun-kissed skin perfectly. You watched as he pushed his aviator framed glasses up the bridge of his nose, and that’s when you got your first look at those bright blue eyes hiding behind the lenses.
Fuck. You didn’t think you’d be riding a cross-country train with a man who looked like that today.
He adjusted the straps of his backpack, hoisting his duffel bag over his shoulder. It pulled at the fabric of his sweatshirt that read “US NAVY” across the front. The handsome stranger glanced around the train, eyes wide, as he attempted to find himself a seat while more people piled into the car behind him.
The second his eyes happened to lock with yours, you were sure your heart skipped a beat, as you moved your backpack to the floor without hesitation. A hint of a smile stretched across his lips as he quickly made his way to your row of two seats, tossing his duffel into the overhead storage, before sliding into the seat beside you. His gaze locked with yours again as he shot you a sheepish grin, a faint hint of red dusting his cheeks.
“Thanks,”
Even his voice was pretty to listen to, the slight hint of some kind of southern twang accenting his words. You weren’t sure if you were going to survive this trip seated right beside him at this rate.
“N-No problem,”
It took everything in you to look away, knowing that a dusting of red was slowly crawling its way across your cheeks as well. Maybe letting this handsome stranger sit with you wasn’t the best of options for this trip, especially if you were going to get this flustered just by simply looking in his direction.
Neither of you spoke another word to one another as the rest of the passengers got seated within the train. Small conversations between family and friends could be heard as the train lurched slightly, pulling out of the station and beginning its journey across the United States.
43 hours you would now be stuck next to this handsome stranger before you hit Chicago, in small but spacious Coach seats where you couldn’t escape from the handsome man even if you wanted to. Yeah, maybe letting him sit next to you was a bad idea.
For the first half an hour or so of the trip, you did your best to ignore his presence. The most important thing to do first was take out your laptop to check through a few work emails. Even on vacation, it always sucked when you became ‘important at work’ and were the only one capable of doing your job at all times. They were surely already scrambling without you.
Opening your emails, it was true. You couldn’t help but laugh a little bit after scrolling through just two emails alone, both flagged important with questions about responding to inquiries that you had received. You easily directed them back to the document you had written up specifically for their trip with instructions on how to do every aspect of your job, hoping that would be enough to satisfy them and help them out for the next week or so.
With work taken care of, it was impossible not to let your eyes trail back to that random stranger beside you as you reached into your backpack to grab the latest Emily Henry book you had been reading through.
It was really unfair how pretty he was. As dorky as the glasses seemed at first glance, they suited him perfectly. His head was resting on one hand, perfectly framing that sharp jawline that you struggled not to stare at for a moment. In his other hand, resting against the fold down tray in front of him, sat the book he was currently reading: The President is Missing, a book by James Patterson.
Using every ounce of strength in you, you tore your gaze away, flipping your book back open to the page you had left off on the previous day, knowing you were saving the book for the train. There was no way you could spend this entire trip staring at this man, you would look like an absolute creep. The sun was setting over the horizon just outside the windows as night quickly crept in on your late evening train ride.
“Enjoying that book?”
Hearing his voice again startled you slightly. You had only heard him mumble that quick ‘thanks’ in your direction an hour ago, and other than that it had been silent. Glancing back up, your gaze met with his. He had turned just slightly, a tiny smile on his lips as he looked at you, pointing toward your book with a single finger still wrapped around his own book.
“Yeah, she’s one of my favorite authors,” you managed to respond after a moment, sighing as you glanced back down at the book in your hands. “I just wish Daphne and Miles would figure their shit out and get together already.”
Fuck, even his laugh was adorable you thought to yourself as he chuckled at the comment that poured from you without even really thinking. It took everything to keep the blush away from your cheeks once again.
“O-Oh yeah, they’re kind of oblivious to their own feelings. Makes sense, though, given what they’ve both been through,”
You quirked a brow at that, turning to look at him again with the hint of a smirk on your lips.
“Are you telling me that you have read Emily Henry books?”
His blush was back in full force immediately, crawling up his neck and peeking past the edge of his sweatshirt. The red hue crawled into his cheeks and the tips of his ears as he marked his place in his book, placing it down in front of him before rubbing at the back of his neck.
“W-Well, my sister is a big fan of hers, so she got me to read them too,” he tried to explain himself, looking back at you with that sheepish smile back on his lips. “I may…also j-just enjoy romance books.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” you quickly reassured him, that teasing tone dropped from your voice. “A man who reads romance novels is kind of the dream for most women. Most real men could learn a thing or two from these fictional men.”
He laughed again, and this time you joined in, laughing at the absurdity that you just randomly started shit talking men and their romance skills to this complete stranger beside you.
The man didn’t seem to mind, though, just holding out his hand in your direction with a little grin of his own.
“I’m Bob, Bob Floyd,”
You took his hand without hesitation, trying to ignore the flutter of little butterflies deep within the pit of your stomach, and gave him your name in return. “What’s sending you across the country on a train, Bob?”
“On leave for a little bit, and decided to take a trip,” it took everything in you not to smile as he fully closed his book, giving you his full attention now. “I haven’t been to Washington D.C. since I was a kid, so I thought I’d take a little vacation for myself. The train seemed fun, too, plenty of scenery to look at along the way.”
With a bookmark back in place in your book, all thoughts of wanting to spend the next two days reading gone, you gave him your full attention too.
“Leave? So the sweatshirt is right, you’re in the Navy?”
“Yes ma’am,” he shot back easily.
Bob turned just slightly in the seat to face you more, and you followed his movements, allowing your back to rest against the window behind you. The train still thundered along down the tracks as your attention was fully taken up by Bob Floyd.
“So what is it you do in the Navy?”
“H-How about a trade?” Bob offered up with a smile. “I’ll tell you after you tell me what’s sending you across the country on a train.”
The conductor came by the seats then, calling out to everyone for their tickets. Both you and Bob were quick to flash him your cellphones, confirming that you did indeed have tickets, before he marked you both off and was on his way to the next set of seats behind you.
“Not going quite as far as you, I’ll be getting off in Chicago instead of switching over trains,” you explained. “I have family there I’m visiting for my little cousin’s birthday. Train has always been my preferred method of getting there, gives me time to usually relax, look at the scenery, and write or read.”
“You’re a writer?”
“Eh, kind of. I’ll tell you about that once you tell me more about the Navy,”
Bob laughed again, taking a swig from his water bottle sitting next to his now abandoned book on the tray table. You tried desperately not to stare directly at his neck, or the small line of water that managed to fall from his lips down his chin.
“I’m a WSO, a Weapons Systems Officer,”
“Wait, so you’re a Naval Aviator then?” that piqued your interest, sitting up just slightly with a wider grin on your lips.”My father was an air traffic controller in the Marines years ago!”
“Well, tell him thank you for his service,” Bob said sincerely. “And to the Naval Aviator part…sort of. I-I’m not the one flying the plane, my partner Phoenix is, and she’s a damn good pilot. I’m in charge of our communications systems and our weapons systems.”
You gave him a slight whack on the shoulder playfully with a bright smile.
“Don’t sell yourself short there, Bob. You might not be the one flying the plane, but you’re operating a crucial aspect of it,” he glanced away from you for a moment, but you could see that smile still on his lips even when he wasn’t looking directly at you. “I like writing on the side, but it’s not what pays the bills, though I hope that it does one day. No, I just work for a marketing firm outside of Los Angeles.”
“Not too far from me, then,” Bob threw in, still smiling down at his tray table. “I’m stationed in San Diego, at Miramar.”
“Let me take a shot in the dark then,” he glanced back at you then as you pretended to wave your fingers in his direction, drawing a laugh out of him. “Are you a Top Gun graduate?”
“Right again, ma’am,” Bob gave a little nod toward you. “Graduated the program a few years ago. I’m part of a special detachment, now we're permanently stationed in San Diego.”
The train rolled into a quick stop at one of your first stops along the trip, allowing another round of passengers onto the train. After just a few minutes, the train rolled off down the tracks once more, on pace for the next stop before you reached your end destination.
Bob had pulled out his phone, quickly checking something on it, and you found your teeth digging into your bottom lip for a moment. Cute, respectful, and so incredibly easy to talk to…you wouldn’t mind spending the entirety of the next two days talking this man’s ear off.
“I was thinking of stopping by the cafe car to grab some dinner,” he glanced back at you when you spoke again, quickly shoving his phone back into his pocket. “Want to join me?”
“Absolutely,”
Bob’s answer came quickly, and so did the smile on his face. Like the gentleman you were quickly realizing he was, Bob was up and out of his seat in seconds to stand in the aisle, holding out a hand to you to help you up as well.
You weren’t sure how this perfect, handsome gentleman fell into your life, but you were prepared to thank whatever God you needed to because of it.
Hand in his for the second time, you let him hoist you out of your seats and into the aisle. Turning to face him, you cocked your head, both of you just standing there for a quiet moment, before you pointed down the aisle behind him.
“Cafe car is that way,”
“Right!” Bob’s eyes shot wide, nodding his head as he started moving down the aisle in the direction you pointed. “Sorry, I-I’ve literally never been on a train before today.”
“Your first train trip and you’re heading across the country?” you commented as you both moved through the aisles, holding onto the heads of seats as you went as the train thundered down the tracks. “Bold of you, Floyd.”
He laughed again, before you both stopped in front of the door to the next car. Bob hesitated, just staring at the door for a moment, before you laughed and reached around him with your foot, kicking in the button at the bottom of the door to slide it open.
“I…feel stupid for not seeing that,”
Laughter flowed through you both easily again as you patted him lightly on the shoulder, showing him how to kick or push the next door open.
“It’s your first time on a train, don’t worry. I fucked it up the first time, too,”
“I swear, I’m not usually this useless,”
“You work weapons in fighter jets, Bob, I believe you. Don’t worry, I’ll teach you all you need to know about train travel,”
As usual, especially at this time for dinner, there was a long line for food leading into the snack car, but not many people were actually eating within the car itself.
You and Bob leaned against opposite sides of the car, placing yourself in line for food as other passengers moved about between you both.
“So, how often have you taken this trip before?” Bob asked, moving up another step in line as it slowly moved forward.
“I think about four other times,” you replied, trying to do the mental math in your head. “Cheaper than getting a plane ticket, most of the time. Living in Los Angeles is expensive enough, I can’t spend a fortune on a plane ticket.”
A few more passengers moved past you both, leaving you and Bob just barely at the entrance to the cafe car. The menu was hung on the wall before you, and you just watched Bob with a tiny smile as he adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, leaning forward to read through the menu.
The worker in the cafe car called you both forward in the line, moving quickly in her spot in order to get through the line of guests as quickly as she could. Bob quickly gave his order to the woman, and you gave your typical order quickly after. Before your hand could even reach into your pocket to grab your wallet, Bob was already passing his card across the counter toward the worker.
“I’ve got her food, too,”
“Bob-” you tried to interject, but he only waved you off with a smile that sent that group of butterflies beating around your stomach again.
“Have to repay you somehow for sharing your seat with me,”
It had barely been an entire hour on the train, and even less time since you had started talking to Bob Floyd, the Navy WSO you chose to share your seat with…but you decided already that this man was too good to be real.
It didn’t help when he rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt as the cafe worker handed him the two cardboard trays of food. It was impossible for your eyes to not drop to his forearms, the flex in them and the prominent veins that ran down both arms. He was in the Navy, there was no way that he wasn’t a properly fit man, but even seeing a peak of it had a blush crawling into your cheeks once more.
Bob, like the gentleman he clearly was, carried both of your trays over to one of the little dining tables just outside of the cafe car. You thanked him, sliding into one side of the booth as he slid into the other, tossing his phone down beside his drink. His legs were long, given his height, stretching out to your side of the booth and essentially encasing you between them so that he could sit comfortably.
You tried not to think about that too much, or your mind was going to wander somewhere it did not need to be wandering right now.
“So, you said you write,” Bob threw in, taking a bite out of his sandwich while still maintaining eye contact with you. God, they were really a gorgeous shade of blue. “Novels, or something else?”
“Stories, just whatever I enjoy writing, really,” you answered easily, taking a bite out of your own sandwich. “Romance comes easily, given how many romance novels I read.”
“A-Any…real world influence on those stories?”
Now that wasn’t something you expected.
Judging by the way his gaze avoided yours and the blush that shone through his ears and cheeks, it was definitely a thinly veiled attempt at flirting–Bob’s attempt to test the waters. You weren’t complaining, even as it brought a matching red hue to your own skin.
With how much you were already blushing around this man, you weren’t sure you were going to make it to Chicago.
“Nope, just me and my endless love of fictional characters and fantasies to inspire me,”
It didn’t go unnoticed to you the quirk of a smile on his lips at your answer, right as he took a bite of his sandwich. A similar question was dancing on the edge of your lips, too–surely if he was interested in if you were single it was okay for you to be interested in the same thing.
Before you got the chance to broach the topic to him, his phone buzzed incessantly on the table top between you, the tell-tale sound of a phone call. Bob clumsily picked up his phone, dropping his sandwich down, and sighed the second he caught sight of the screen.
“It’s my squad, probably checking in…you don’t mind if I-?”
“By all means, go ahead,” you waved him off with a smile, one he reciprocated easily.
“Aye, guys! Baby-on-Board is alive!”
Bob left his phone on the table top, answering the FaceTime call. It gave you just enough space to see the screen, the tan man around your age calling out to who you could only assume was the rest of their squad around him. Your eyes locked with Bob’s a moment later as you mouthed a teasing question in his direction: Baby-on-Board?
He only shook his head, his response clear–please don’t ask.
“Holy shit, Floyd, thought you’d died on us,” a woman popped onto the screen with dark hair, one who you could only assume was the Phoenix he had spoken of just a bit ago. “We sent you, like, thirty texts and you stopped answering.”
“Didn’t know I-I had to report back where I was at all times, mom,” Bob shot back as you tried to conceal the laugh that tried to claw its way out of your throat.
Two more men popped into the background of the screen, both so tan you wondered if they were ever not in the sun. Even upside down and through a screen, you could tell the one with a mustache was a heartbreaker, and the blonde’s smile was one of those dangerous ones that definitely had gotten many women in trouble over the years.
“Hey, Bob! Nice to see the train ride is going well-”
“Still don’t get why you didn’t fly, Baby-on-Board,” the blonde chimed in, cutting off the one with the mustache beside him who could only roll his eyes in return. “So much easier, gets you there faster–ugh, I’m sure even the smell is different.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Bagman,”
Now that nickname was enough to finally let you laughter escape past your lips. Bob’s head shot up to you, still grinning, as you covered your mouth to try and cover the sound.
Too late. Every single head crammed into the screen on Bob’s phone was suddenly locked in, trying to get a peak of whoever had just made that sound.
“Floyd, are you with someone right now?”
“Maybe Baby-on-Board has some game-”
“On a train? I don’t think so, it’s probably some little old grandma,”
“Oh my god, Bob, just turn the phone around!”
Even in the short amount of time you’d been talking to him, it was becoming increasingly easier to spot Bob’s emotions. He didn’t hide them well at all, or he at least wasn’t trying to. The nervousness that creeped into his features was clear as day right after they all realized he wasn’t sitting alone.
More passengers flitted by you to the cafe car to grab something to eat, but you paid them no mind. Bob glanced at you, biting his bottom lip with the question written clear across his face again–do you mind?
You simply shrugged, letting Bob pick his phone up and turn the camera so that it faced you. The second you were on screen, you gave his face a small wave.
“Well, hot damn,” that blonde man muttered, letting out a short whistle as he adjusted the collar of his uniform. “You’re no little old grandma, that’s for sure.”
“Wait,” the boy who had answered the phone cut in, snapping with a bright smile as he pointed toward the phone. “Are you the girl that he’s sitting with?”
You let your gaze drift back to Bob momentarily, eyebrow raised in a teasing question. He muttered something under his breath, shaking his head as his hand rubbed at the back of his neck. Sparing him, you simply laughed it off.
“That would be me, yes,”
The girl, the one you were pretty confident was Phoenix, grew a smirk as she silenced the boys, throwing you a wink through the camera before she spoke.
“Bob was right, you are definitely very, very cute-”
“A-Alright! I will let you guys know when I hit Chicago!” Bob stammered, spinning his phone around quickly as the collective laughter of the group rang out, his finger fumbling across the screen to end the call.
Silence hung between you both for a moment, before Bob finally managed to look up at you. He sighed, running a hand down his reddened face as he tried to hold in his laughter, dropping his phone back onto the table.
“Well, Bob-”
“Please don’t,” he quickly cut in as laughter spilled from you quietly, even as you held a hand to your mouth to try and conceal it the best that you could. “I-I already want to die of embarrassment."
“No need, it kind of helped me answer the question I hadn’t gotten to ask yet,” readjusting his glasses, Bob peaked at you just as you took a sip of your drink, grin spreading around the rim of the bottle. “I assume if you’re calling me very, very cute that means you are, also, single.”
The blush on his cheeks never calmed down, but you could almost see any last bits of tension in his shoulders roll off of him as he joined you in your laughter.
“Yes, very single,”
“Well, since we’ve gotten that out of the way,” leaning forward on the table, you rested your head against your hand, giving Bob your undivided attention. Though, from the moment he had stepped on the train, he had already held it. “Now, I’m dying to know more about Bob Floyd.”
And boy, was there a ton more to know about Bob Floyd.
Over the course of an hour and a half sitting at that little cafe car table, Bob had told you everything he could about himself, and you ate up every second of his words. He’d grown up in Montana, on his parent’s ranch, a thought you tried not to dwell on too hard because if you imagined this man in a cowboy hat you might combust. The military ran deep in his family, so he already knew he was going to join up when he was old enough, but he fell in love with planes as a young kid and his path was set from there, leading him to college close to home before off to Rhode Island for Officer Development Training.
In turn, you’d given him the same stories: you had grown up in a more Northern position of California, but moved to Los Angeles for college and then stayed permanently for work a few years ago. Chicago trips were a usual for you growing up and into adult hood, a large portion of your father’s side of the family residing there.
Somewhere in the midst of the easy stuff, the typical ‘get to know you’ questions and answers, you’d found your way into the deeper stories. The stories that you didn’t typically divulge to someone you had just met barely a few hours ago, much less on a moving train heading across the country.
Bob laughed through every wild story you had for each of the four Homecoming dances you attended in high school: from your friend almost getting thrown out by the metal detector because of how many bobby pins were holding her hair together, to senior year when your best friends’ had attempted to spike the punch bowl and then led security on a chase through the hotel ballroom.
Your smile never left your face with every story of Bob’s. He had participated in a science fair back in middle school where he blew every other student out of the water, creating his own wind turbine to demonstrate how efficient it could be at producing electricity. You weren’t shocked at all that he took home the top prize during that competition. The stories you really hung on were those of his squad, the people he stressed were his best friends, his family.
Natasha, who was on the call earlier and you were correct in naming as Phoenix, was like another sister to him, even though he already had two of his own. Strong, independent, and one hell of a pilot. Bradley, known as Rooster, and Mickey, known as Fanboy, were his best friends. They were always good at pulling him into social situations, helping him overcome those bouts of shyness that peaked through in crowded rooms, and making him feel included. Then there was Jake, who you were informed had the callsign of Hangman and not Bagman, who had a bit more of a complicated relationship with Bob. He could be a bit of a dick at times, even if everyone knew it wasn’t coming from an actual place of malice, but Bob still raved about him as someone he’d gladly lay down his life to protect.
When the announcement that the cafe car was closing for the night rang through the speakers, just as Bob was in the middle of telling you a story from one of their infamous nights out at the Hard Deck, you hadn’t realized how much time had actually passed.
Neither of you had run out of a single thing to talk about. Conversation was easy, in a way that you had never experienced before. And that group of butterflies, hammering away at the walls of your stomach and even against your ribcage, never stopped beating away. Drilling it into your body how much you enjoyed being in this man’s company, his presence, and how much you never wanted it to stop.
The few other people still sitting in the cafe car made their way back to their seats, leaving you both the last people left as the train roared down the tracks toward its next stop. You watched Bob, as he glanced out the window and smiled at the passing scenery as the sun just barely began to set on the day, before he looked back at you with that same little grin.
“T-This…this was nice,” he managed to find his words after a moment, his fingers interlaced together on the table top as his thumbs twirled around one another. “I…like talking to you. It’s easy–too easy, given that I barely know you.”
“I’ve told you so many embarrassing childhood stories at this point, Bob, that I think you can confidently say you do know me,” there was shared laughter once more between you both at your comment. You let your eyes drift to that setting sun, when an idea struck you. Bob’s eyes never left you as he rose to your feet, nodding your head toward the doorway behind you. “Come on, I want to show you something.”
Bob followed you without hesitation.
Leading him through the cars, past loads of sleeping passengers and ones still engaged in conversation as the night quickly approached, it didn’t take long to arrive at your favorite part of the train.
“Whoa…”
A smile lit up your face at the little exclamation you could hear Bob let out behind you. The viewing car was your favorite part of train travel, especially when writing or reading. The large windows, the smaller ones right above you on the curve of the walls that allowed you to look straight up to the sky, and just the overall feel that came from the car. Somehow, not many people were in the car just as sunset was reaching its peak, most probably ready to get some sleep on the beginning stages of the journey.
“I know,” you called back to Bob, moved toward the further end of the car and plopping yourself down in one of the double seats furthest from others. You flashed your smile back at him as he quickly rounded the corner to sit with you. “Isn’t it pretty?”
The train was still somewhere in California, making its main stops along the beginning of the route to pick up passengers all over the lower portion of California. Come morning, you would probably be in Arizona, potentially New Mexico depending on delays, but the sight of the setting sun and the brilliant oranges and reds of the sunset painting the sky over the California skyline was still a beautiful sight to see.
“It really is,” Bob said after a moment, settling onto the opposite side of the double-seater seat you’d sat on. You found yourself watching him inside of the sunset, the way that the colors illuminated his face, the way the setting sun’s rays bounced off his glasses. Your stomach was, once again, doing somersaults you couldn’t stop. “You should see it from an F-18, the sunset is beautiful that high up.”
Tucking your legs up under you on the seat, fully facing Bob with your head resting on your arm, you gave him a soft smile as he turned to look at you once more.
“Tell me about it,”
“I-It’s…otherworldly,” Bob settled on explaining, smile warm as he pointed out the windows above your head toward the clouds. “You’re soaring just above the clouds, right within them, and you can see the colors reflecting off the clouds. Can see them blending in the sky, a full unobstructed view. The purples are really bright when you’re that high up, too, but really all the colors are brighter. Nothing for miles that could block the view. The first time I ever saw it, I-I’m pretty sure I cried.”
Low laughter left you then as Bob turned back to look at you, that grin still etched to his face, and you swore for a second your heart stopped.
The way the colors of the sunset fell across his face, that boyish smile that had nerves laced through it, the endearing awkwardness…Bob Floyd, this mere stranger that you let share your seat with you on the train, was gorgeous, both inside and out.
“No shame in that,” when you finally found the means to speak again, your voice was almost a whisper, your mind lost somewhere in those brilliant blue eyes hiding behind those glasses. “The first time I ever went truly stargazing while camping I cried, so I get it.”
He let out a little chuckle at that. At that moment, the air conditioning system in the train seemed to kick itself up just a notch, a shiver running straight down your spine. It was impossible not to shake slightly at the feeling as goosebumps rose up and down your arms. Bob’s head cocked just slightly to the side.
“Cold?”
“Yeah, but I’m used to it,” you shrugged it off with a wave of your hand. “It usually kicks up a little higher at night, it can get really cold at times. My sweatshirts are all buried somewhere in my suitcase.”
You were barely halfway through your sentence before Bob was tugging that US Navy sweatshirt up and over his head.
It was impossible not to let your eyes flicker to his arms, now exposed fully to you in that white t-shirt he wore under that sweatshirt. The subtle flex in his forearms, to his biceps, the vein that bulged just slightly in the toned muscle. It took everything in you to look away, just as Bob was holding out the bunch up fabric toward you.
“Bob-”
“I have another in my backpack, come on,”
It was something in the way he said it, so genuine, so sweet, with an undercurrent of nerves still present. Like he was scared he was stepping over a line. You took the warm fabric from him without hesitation then, tugging it down over your body.
The sweatshirt hung loose around your frame, baggier on you then it was on him. The warmth embedded into the fabric from his own body heat was a welcome feeling, but it was the smell that took over your senses: woodsy, but not overpowering, with an underlying hint of sweetness, almost a bit of a citrus scent. It was dizzying, how the smell invaded your senses and had your heartbeat stuttering.
“I m-might never give it back,” you managed to stumble your way through your words, as subtly as possible taking in another deep breath of the scent that clung to the fabric. “It’s comfortable, and warm.”
You didn’t miss the way his eyes trailed down your frame, now engulfed in the sweatshirt he’d been wearing just moments before. That flutter in your chest was back in full force as you watched the adam’s apple of his throat bob for a second, a red flush crawling up his neck once more. His teeth bit into his bottom lip as he forced himself to look away, peering back out the window at the moving landscape once more.
“T-That’s okay. It…it looks good on you. Really good…”
If there was one thing you were sure of, it was that you would never have another train ride like this one. Maybe you needed to call Emily Henry up, get her to turn this entire trip so far into another hit romance novel.
“You might regret giving this up once we get back to the seats,” you forced yourself to move on in the conversation, resting one hand tucked within the sleeves of the sweatshirt against your cheek to hopefully mask the blush the Navy man had brought about. “I wasn’t kidding about it getting cold at night.”
“Is it a bad thing that I…didn’t think to bring a blanket?”
Bob’s comment bubbled up another laugh from you. The goosebumps were already clear on the skin of his arms, now exposed to the cold.
“I brought quite a big one. I’d happily share since, you know, you let me borrow this hoodie,”
Even in the cold of the train car as night set in, Bob’s smile was still warm.
“I’ll take you up on that,”
Arriving back at your seats in the train car, Bob was subjected to the endless wait that was the line for the bathroom heading into the night, everyone trying to brush their teeth and get changed as quickly as possible without causing much of a fuss. Already having dressed in preparation to sleep on the train, a quick two minutes to brush your teeth was all you needed in the bathroom, holding it open for Bob as you settled back into your seats, pillow and blanket from your bag up top brought down with you.
It was hard not to stare at Bob when he arrived back at your seats: grey sweatpants that you were cursing the world for inventing because of how good men, particularly Bob, looked in them, and a long sleeve top that read ‘Coronado Volleyball’ across the front. Bob tucked his glasses into their case in his backpack at his feet, settling back into his seat beside you. You couldn’t help your smile at the small squint in his eyes without his glasses, your heart soaring once more with just how cute that simple action was on this man.
“Footrest is this button,” you showed him on your own seat, before pushing on the second button. “This one reclines the seat.”
Bob followed along with your instructions, accidently throwing the reclining function in his seat back so hard he flailed about for a second to catch himself. The snort that made its way out of you was impossible to stop as you covered your mouth with one hand, your other coming to rest on his bicep, gripping it to control yourself. The glance Bob threw your way screamed that he was begging you not to laugh, but his chest was clearly rumbling and his smile was faltering as he tried to keep from laughing and waking up the entire train car himself.
Phone plugged in and resting in the seat pocket beside you, pillows laid as comfortably as possible on the reclined seats, you threw out the other side of your blanket toward Bob before settling in.
There were quiet murmurs a few rows back from a group of teenagers, still awake, but the train car had gone mostly silent other than them. Turning just slightly to face Bob, buried under your blanket and taking in the warmth mixed with the lingering smell of cologne from Bob’s sweatshirt, you found him already looking at you. Smile soft, relaxed, and eyes still slightly squinted without those adorable glasses.
“T-Thanks…for letting me sit with you. You’ve made this trip better than I thought it would be, so far,”
You were thankful for the lack of light throughout the train car as night settled in, as it hid the flush in your cheeks for the nine thousandth time in the last few hours.
Closing your eyes and turning just slightly away from Bob, your own smile didn’t leave your lips.
“I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Goodnight, Bob,”
❤︎
Waking up on an overnight, cross country train ride toward Chicago was always your least favorite part of these trips.
You always bought Coach seats, the cheapest you could, and never sprang for the slightly more comfortable bedrooms. That meant it always felt like you were waking up on a couch: neck slightly tweaked to the side, muscles sore, and overall feeling as if you’d just rolled out of the wrong side of your bed in the morning.
The conductor of the train made an announcement just then: you had just pulled into the station for Albuquerque, New Mexico. Your eyes shot wide: you had ridden this exact train enough in the past to know this route, the Albuquerque was usually around 11 in the morning. It was always impossible for you to sleep that long on these rides, given how uncomfortable you were in these seats.
But why, when you woke up this time, were you not uncomfortable? There was no weird tension in your neck, or your back. You weren’t freezing, as you typically were when waking up, but you were warm. That faint woodsy smell was still prevalent, and the pillow you were resting on felt odd compared to how your pillow usually felt–
Oh God.
That wasn’t a pillow your head was resting on, it was Bob’s shoulder.
Okay, if you weren’t awake fully before, now you were.
Somewhere in the middle of the night, your pillow had been shoved off to the side by the window, and your head had slotted itself into the open space of Bob’s shoulder. Worse? You had an arm wrapped around his arm, practically cradling it to your body like it was some childhood stuffed animal that you used to sleep with.
But in that moment, you also became hyper aware of the heated touch that rested against your thigh. By shifting your leg just slightly, it became clear that it was Bob’s large hand resting on top of your thigh, splayed out across the fabric covered skin, but the warmth that radiated off of him was ever present. His head, too, was laid right against the top of yours.
An intimate position to be in with the handsome gentleman you had just met hours prior and already, definitely, had a stupid school-girl crush on.
There was no time to dwell or panic over the situation, though, when you felt Bob stirring awake. The only logical decision you could come to was to lie as still as possible and pretend you were still asleep.
Bob shifted slightly, and you could feel him stretch himself out. In the midst of doing so, he froze, probably coming to the same realization that you had. And in that moment, neither of you moved, as if Bob was running through the exact same scenario that you had been. With you still ‘asleep’ though, it seemed he took the initiative to finally untangle yourselves from each other.
With absolute care, as if you were a fragile piece of China to be delicately handled, Bob slid out of his seat and took his body heat with him. It took every ounce of strength in you to hold your breath as that same large hand that had been splayed across your thigh, the heat of his touch still seared into the fabric like a memory, now cupped the back of your head as you ‘slept’. With the utmost care, Bob gently lifted your head from the seat, before a shuffle could be heard and your head was rested back against the pillow he’d placed behind your head again.
Your heart was already hammering out of your chest when he tucked the blankets back up around you, keeping you warm in the chilly morning.
Frozen in place, still pretending to sleep, was how you spent the next few minutes. You were too afraid to ‘wake up’ and have to look at him, sure you would melt in place given all that had occurred. You listened as he unzipped his duffle, disappeared no doubt to change, before you finally heard him leave your seats once more, only opening your eyes to the familiar sound of the train car door being kicked open down the aisle. Only, then, did you open your eyes.
Finally alone, or alone as you could be on a train car, you let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, even as your stomach did an entire gymnastics routine within your abdomen. Bob Floyd was going to be the damn death of you at this rate, and it simply wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t fair to feel this way about a man you barely knew, but felt like you’d known for years. No when he cared about you in ways like that, treated you so delicately, as if you were something precious to him.
Those thoughts never left your mind as you changed into a new set of clothes for the day, brushing your teeth and packing away your clothing into your own suitcase all while Bob was gone. You left his Navy sweatshirt on top of his duffel bag, even if part of you didn’t want to part with it at all.
Already reclined back in your chair, laptop plugged in and sitting on the fold out tray in front of you, Bob returned moments later. A smile lit up his face the second he locked eyes with you, sliding back into his seat beside you and passing over one of the little cardboard take-out trays from the cafe car.
“Was hoping you’d be up, I grabbed you breakfast. I wasn't sure what you liked, so I just got something basic…”
If Bob Floyd wasn’t careful, you were going to fall in love with him on this damn train.
“Lucky for you, I’m not picky with breakfast,” you shot back with a grin of your own, intrusive thoughts taking over as you reached over, lightly sliding his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, before tugging your hand back to you as if you had been scorched. “T-Thank you, though. This was really sweet.”
Wearing matching smiles, you ate your breakfast/lunch in mainly silence. Every now and then, he’d scroll through his texts with his squad, showing you a new video of Rooster singing drunkenly at their favorite bar, or Hangman striking out with a woman when they tried out a different bar in the city one night. You grinned and hung off every word of his stories, content to just listen to him talk for hours on end.
“So,” Bob began a bit later, already having thrown the remnants of food away in the train car’s trash can up ahead, settling back into his seat beside you. “How do you usually spend the longest day on these rides?”
After knowing him for the short time that you had, you could catch the underlying question in Bob’s voice. The hope that was laced in his words. His book was long forgotten, as was yours, and this was an open invitation: he wanted to know how you spent your time, because he wanted to spend it with you, talking to you, just being with you.
“Well” he watched and listened as you spoke, taking out your wireless earbuds and already offering one in his direction. “I have a ton of my favorite movies downloaded, that’s usually how I make the time go by faster. Care to watch along with me?”
If it was possible, Bob’s smile brightened at your clear acceptance of his underlying question, taking the headphone from you without hesitation as you navigated to your downloaded movies.
“Not sure what movies you’re a fan of, but please tell me you have Badlands in those downloads,”
It was your smile’s turn to brighten as you quickly found said movie from 1973, shooting Bob a look as you loaded the movie.
“Lucky for you, my dad was a big Martin Sheen fan, which in turn made me a Martin Sheen fan,”
“...not sure if I’ve mentioned this yet, b-but you’re more than very, very cute. I think you might be perfect,”
Yup, it was time to file that comment away to unpack at a later time. Maybe use it for fantasy fuel surrounding the absolute perfect man that was Bob Floyd sitting next to you.
The entire train car probably found you two obnoxious, they way you talked through every movie you watched for hours on end together. Badlands was almost entirely ignored, as you instead told Bob stories about every time you watched it growing up with your father, who then subjected you to various tidbits and facts surrounding every actor that appeared in the movie together.
Bob gave you the next pick of movies, saying Badlands was his suggestion and it was only fair that you got the next choice. It was no surprise to either of you that a romance movie was next on the list: 10 Things I Hate About You, a classic.
That brought about the hilarious story of Fanboy and Payback, who had chosen to subject Hangman to this movie one night after a bar trip (as he claimed to hate romance movies). Apparently, those two knew this movie by heart, and acted out every single scene by heart with voices and all. Bob promised to ask Phoenix for the video later, swearing that it was still one of the funniest nights he’d ever had with his friends.
It was right around the time when Patrick’s grand gesture happened: his dance across the stairs, his serenade to Kat with Can’t Take My Eyes Off You, when it happened.
Bob’s hand just barely brushed your thigh under the blanket. A simple movement that could’ve been ignored as nothing and just an accident. Except, his hand lingers, fingers tips lingering in the space between you and just barely brushing over the fabric of your pants. A shot of what felt like pure electricity shot up your body, fueling you to make a daring move. Your own hand, resting on that same thing, shifted just slightly, allowing your fingers to brush over his own.
Somewhere in those little movements, the ones that were clearly no longer accidental, if they ever were to begin with, Bob’s hand engulfed yours in a single, definitive move. Fingers intertwining, his thumb brushing just barely across the back of your hand, you swore your heart was going to soar straight from your chest.
You both locked eyes, wearing matching flushed cheeks and smiles, before you directed your attention back to the movie at hand. Neither of you brought it up, but your hand never left his, and Bob’s thumb never stopped tracing little shapes into the skin of your hand.
A comedy, an action/thriller, and a stop for dinner somewhere in the midst of it all, you knew your heart was surely fucked every second that you spent with Bob Floyd as the day turned into the night and the train continued on toward it’s final destination.
Every new little story had your heart fluttering: the comedy movie he’d picked was one that was actually Maverick’s favorite, and reminded him of the first few nights he’d spent after being relocated to San Diego, getting to know his new team. The action/thriller you had picked, your favorite one? It happened to be his dad’s favorite, too.
“He’d love you,” Bob had said in response to that. Such a simple thing to say, and yet it had your skin on fire and your head feeling like it was in a daze.
Or when the conversation surrounding action/thriller movies turned into the topic of current movies. Sitting in the cafe car once again, caged between his impossibly large legs, discussing the newest Marvel movie that was dropping soon and how excited you were for it, having been raised off of those movies.
He’d said it so casually, half taking a bite of his sandwich for dinner as he did. “You’ll have to get me caught up before we go see it.”
So definitive, leaving no room for questions. It was a statement, a promise that you were going together. That when this train ride was over, when you both made it back to California, this wasn’t the last he wanted to see of you. It felt like you were living your own personal romance novel every second you were around him.
And when you had stood, deciding after sitting in the cafe car together talking until the late hours of the night when it shut down until the morning, his hand had found yours again with a confidence you hadn’t seen him truly show yet.
Night had almost become morning, the train somewhere in the state of Kansas, as you and Bob walked hand in hand into the viewing car once more. There was a man in the furthest corner, sprawled out across two single seats to sleep–as uncomfortable as it looked–and a woman slumped over in her chair on the other end of the car asleep, too.
Besides the pair, the car was quiet. Dark, illuminated just by select lights at the ends of the car to indicate the doors, and the glow of the moon in the sky as it and the stars shone down through the windows.
In that same double seat you had been in just the night before, you and Bob found yourselves side by side once again, but closer than you had been just 24 hours before. His hand left yours, but it didn’t stray far, curling around the back of the chair behind your head. His fingertips just barely ghosted over your sweatshirt clad shoulder as you sat together, staring out the window at the passing night scenery.
“This…” Bob broke the silence after a moment, eyes trained on the scenery out the train window, voice low as to not wake the others sleeping around the car. “I-Is not what I expected from my first train trip.”
“What, how nice and peaceful it is?”
“That, but…I meant you,”
His words brought your gaze to him, his eyes already locked on you. You let out a short huff, glancing down at the floor beneath your feet for a second to escape the weightless feelings rising in your stomach.
“I’m nothing special. You’re the handsome, absolute gentleman who also happens to fly around in F-18s for the Navy. I’m still trying to decide if meeting you was a dream or not,”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Bob was quick to throw in, bringing your eyes back to his face, flashing you a sheepish smile. “It’s weird. I-I just feel so…comfortable with you. I’m not like this with people–easy going and comfortable with them so quickly. Even Phoenix would tell you, i-it took weeks of training with them before I was sassing Hangman back the way he deserved. You just make it easy. I…I like being around you, as insane as that sounds for how long I’ve known you.”
His words were melting you, inside and out. Shifting your body just the tiniest bit closer to his, your side pressed against his, you gave him a tiny smile of your own, trying to ignore the feelings clawing at your chest.
“You, sassing Hangman? I can’t picture you being sassy at all, I’d pay to see this,”
He laughed, trying to keep his voice low still in the quiet of the night.
“When you meet the others, trust me, you’ll see it. Especially if Jake decides to make any comments, which he always does,”
There it was again: that definitive. Not a question of whether or not you want to meet his friends, but a statement, a promise that you will meet them.
Bob seemed to sense it, too, the way he said his words. The way the air of tension hanging between you both shifted in that moment, with those words alone. Both wide eyed, stumbling, just staring at one another as you tried to assess where this whirlwind of a trip and a chance meeting would take you from here.
“Bob-”
“Can I do something k-kind of stupid?”
You cocked your head at his comment, lips quirking up again.
“Depends. Is it stupid, or is it brave?”
“...can it be both?”
Quirked lips turning into a full smile, you took the lead, resting one gentle hand on his chest as you looked up at him.
“If you’re going to ask to kiss me…it’s not stupid, not at all,”
That little bit of confirmation was all Bob needed.
His first kiss was gentle. Unsure, still testing the waters, scared that you’d back away and change your mind. His lips just barely brushed over yours, like a phantom in the night, before he pulled back, never truly leaving your personal space though. You caught it, the faint hint of mint still lingering in his breath, before you surged forward to steal a real kiss from him, the kiss you had been thinking of since he’d walked onto the train as if he’d stepped right out of a rom-com.
Bob’s hand didn’t hesitate then, curling around your neck to hold you to him. His head titled as if on instinct, lips slanting against yours as electricity seemed to shoot through your body from every point in which his skin touched yours. Your hand curled into his sweatshirt, holding him as if you were afraid letting go meant this all wouldn’t be real.
You sighed into the feel of his lips, the warmth that was present in his skin and transferred through yours. The feel of them, soft and yet slightly chapped against your own, but perfect in a way you couldn’t describe. Bob’s tongue just barely poked past his lips, grazing over your own on accident, but enough to fuel the fantasies in your head, to drive you to want–to need–more from this perfect man you still couldn’t believe wanted to kiss you.
He pulled away for just a moment, taking in a deep breath, and you followed suit. Eyes finally fluttering open, meeting with the dilated blue pupils behind those golden frames, you smiled giddily up at the man still cradling you in his hand so tenderly.
“Are you always this charming with the ladies? Do you go around kissing all the ladies you barely know?”
He let out a breathless laugh, fingers twitching against the back of your neck. “I’m hopeless with the women, just ask Rooster. So, no, I don’t go around kissing just anyone…j-just this really pretty girl I met on the train who I think might be on her way to ruining my life.”
You pulled him into the kiss this time. It was messy, uncoordinated, the smile unable to be wiped from either of your lips as you both smiled into the kiss, soft laughter flowing through both of you. Lost in your own little world as the train roared down the tracks in the night, lost in your own little cloud nine.
And when you fell asleep that night, curled up on those uncomfortable reclining chairs under your blanket, it was no accident this time when you slotted yourself into Bob’s side. When his arm wrapped around your shoulders, tugging you into his side and resting his head against your own, lulling you into the most comfortable sleep of your life.
But all good things must come to an end.
By the early afternoon the next day, the train had rolled into your destination: Chicago. Your part of the trip was over, and Bob was onto the next part of his own, your paths forging down two different roads.
Stopping at the bathroom one last time, you met Bob in the waiting area right outside the steps off the train. He stood, with both his bags and your own, smiling as he waited for you to join him.
“Thank you for grabbing these,” your voice was quiet as you approached, slinging your backpack up around your shoulders, before grabbing your suitcase with one hand. Bob only smiled, taking your free hand in his own, squeezing it just enough to send those butterflies on a mission in your chest.
“Of course…”
The intercom overhead went off, announcing that the connecting train to Washington D.C. was departing soon. Your phone went off at the same time, a text from your Aunt to say they had arrived to pick you up. Bob looked to you, as you looked to him, as it settled on both of you that the whirlwind that was the last 48 hours was coming to an end.
“When we both get back to California,” Bob started, eyes never leaving yours, even as people moved past him to board his next train, like he should’ve been doing. “I-I want to take you on a date.”
“Four meals together on a train doesn’t count?” you teased, even though your grin stretched from ear to ear.
He laughed, shaking his head. “Call it a trial run. I want to take you on a proper date…because I like you way too much for just having met you two days ago.”
You gave his hand a tight squeeze, laughing with him.
“Good, because I feel the same way and I thought I was going insane,”
With a boost of confidence, clearly spurred by your agreement to a date, Bob tugged you in, leaving one last kiss to your lips. And, god, were you seconds away from asking him to forgo the rest of his trip and just stay in Chicago with you, stay in this little bubble forever with you.
But his lips left yours after a moment, taking their warmth with them, as did his hand. All you could do was take a deep breath, nodding as Bob took a hesitant step away, as if he didn’t want to leave either.
“Have a safe trip,”
He gave you one last smile, nodding to you. “I’ll see you back in Cali.”
And for ten minutes, you couldn’t force yourself to leave that train platform. All you could do was stand there, soak in the last 48 hours that had occurred since the moments that Bob Floyd had walked onto that train, lost and clueless, until he’d stepped off right now and walked away from you.
This perfect gentleman had swooped in, dirty blonde hair, tanned skin, and the cutest glasses in the world and swept you off your feet and upended your expectations for love. And he had barely had to try in order to do it.
It wasn’t until the train to Washington D.C. finally pulled out of the station, barrelling down the tracks, that it hit you: you never got his phone number.
That revelation alone was like having the wind knocked out of you. Through everything that had occurred, that had been said, you had somehow let Prince Charming himself get onto a train and leave you there at the station without getting his damn phone number.
For seven days in Chicago, that oversight on your part haunted you. No amount of family, birthday parties, or anything else for seven days could possibly get Bob Floyd off your mind.
A Navy WSO, a Top Gun graduate, living in San Diego, and you had his full name–yet still–you couldn’t find a single thing about this man online. He didn’t have any social media by the looks of it, besides a Facebook that looked as if it hadn’t been updated since Middle School. You didn’t know any of his Squadmate’s last names, just their first names and their callsigns, so finding them was just as impossible.
Your fairytale, rom-com meet-cute on a train with the most perfect man was slowly turning into the one that got away. And you had no one to blame but yourself for overlooking something as stupid as a phone number.
It didn’t help that your first night in your aunt’s home, opening your duffel bag to change for the night, there was an unexpected surprise sitting on top of your luggage: Bob’s Navy sweatshirt. He must have tucked it away in there before you had gotten off the train, intent on giving it to you. This time, you shamelessly held it up to your nose, inhaling that familiar woodsy and sweet scent you’d come to know as his, already dreading the near future when that smell would fade away in the wash.
Bob Floyd was all you could think of when, a week later, you were dropped back off at that very same train station in the early hours of the afternoon, prepared to do your trip all over again. This time, without your handsome WSO at your side.
Clad in that Navy sweatshirt, unable to convince yourself not to wear it, you boarded the train just as you had done a thousand times before, familiar with the process. Unsurprisingly, the train was packed, and you recognized many of the faces that had gotten off in Chicago with you just a week ago.
The rowdy group of teenagers, already conversing across the aisle at a volume they shouldn’t be. The young woman with the music blaring through her headphones, and you still wondering how her hearing was intact. Even that elderly gentleman who complained about everything he could see and touch was seated.
Your breath caught, though, when you caught the briefest sight of those aviator frames you knew so well. Your feet were moving before your head had caught up with what you were seeing, hoping you were seeing things right.
There he sat: Bob Floyd, just as you’d left him a week ago. His backpack sat on the empty seat next to him, just as your’s had. He stared out the window, paying no attention to those who boarded the train. You couldn’t help the way your smile grew, just seeing him, or the way your heart hammered in your chest, as you cleared your throat.
“Excuse me…is this seat taken?”
A flurry of emotions passed over Bob’s face the second his head turned, those baby blue eyes locking with yours. Shock, morphed into happiness, soon mixed with what you could only call relief. His smile stretched from ear to ear as he shoved his backpack to the floor, opening up the empty seat beside him to you, just as you had for him.
Bags placed in the overhead bin, you took that seat beside him without hesitation, eyes never leaving him.
“H-Hi,”
“Hi,” you shot right back at him as he stumbled over the simple word. Digging into your pocket, you held your phone out in his direction with a teasing wink. “I think we forgot an important step last week.”
Bob laughed, a sound you had missed hearing desperately. He took your phone from your hand, but still cradled your hand in his palm. Bringing it to his lips, he left a kiss across your knuckles, and you could feel the smile on his face as his lips pressed to your skin.
