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@cricket-reader
Cricket-reader’s Masterlist
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Marvel
Avengers - General
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Clark Kent
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Wylan Van Eck/Hendriks
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Legend:
💔 - Angst 💕 - Fluff ❤️🔥 - Smut ✨ - Favourites
play me a song of death and decay 💔✨
Wylan doesn't know how much longer he can take it. With upcoming rent looming on the horizon, he can't afford to eat. And with the rate he's earning money, he'll be out on the street by the end of next week.
Kaz Brekker Masterlist
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You do not have permission to repost or translate my work on any other platforms (even with credit). I reserve the rights to all of my original characters.
Legend:
💔 - Angst 💕 - Fluff ❤️🔥 - Smut ✨ - Favourites
Storm on the Horizon 💔
Kaz gets ambushed in an alleyway.
play me a melody of death and decay
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Summary: Wylan doesn't know how much longer he can take it. With upcoming rent looming on the horizon, he can't afford to eat. And with the rate he's earning money, he'll be out on the street by the end of next week.
Warnings: starvation, mugging, grief, violence
word count: 1,391
A/N: prompt fill for day 2 of @juneofdoom | Dying Alone
{Read on A03}
Black dots danced across the sheet music.
Wylan blinked hard. The notes swam for a moment before settling back into place until the next whole note sent them blurring together again. Not that he truly needed them. He'd played this piece often enough that his fingers knew where to go before he even read the sheet. It was more of a comfort than anything. A soft place to land. He didn't have much of those these days.
Once, playing had been effortless. His arms could hold the lightweight of the wood for hours without protest. Once, he could lose himself in the music, forget the world beyond it. He couldn't afford that now.
The melody faltered.
Wylan drew a breath, trying to play off his silence as part of the piece. His chest ached. His stomach clenched so sharply, he nearly lost his grip on his flute. The next sound from his instrument wavered, a thin, unpleasant whine that made a few passersby wrinkle their noses.
A portly woman with a child on her hip dropped a coin in his case anyway.
There had been a time when he enjoyed playing the most difficult pieces. Loved the feeling when he finally got it right. He loved the feeling of playing until his lungs ran out of air.
Now, his lungs burned before he got even halfway through one song.
People continued to stream past him in steady waves. Merchants. Sailors. Wealthy tourists looking for entertainment before they disappeared into Ketterdam's clubs and gambling halls. Some slowed long enough to listen. Most didn't.
A few tossed coins.
Most didn't.
By the end of the song, there were only four people watching him. The air travelling from his lungs waned, a discordant whine echoing through the street as he fought to keep the high D note steady. The gathered crowd drifted away without a second glance.
Humiliation crawled up his neck.
He was better than that. His ma once had told him that he deserved to perform in front of royalty.
The pounding behind his eyes had become relentless. It felt as if someone had driven a wedge into his skull and was slowly forcing it deeper.
Carefully, he lowered his flute and scanned the day's earnings. He knew without counting that it wasn't enough.
His stomach sank.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten a proper meal. Two days? Three? Days blurred together out on the streets of the Barrel. Hunger had a way of warping time.
With numb fingers, Wylan packed away his music and slid the flute back into its case. Moisture still clung to the inside of the instrument, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He'd clean it later. If he made it home.
The thought nearly made him laugh.
Home.
Nothing more than a room with a leaking roof and a creaking bed with a mattress hard enough to be stone. With walls so thin he could hear every argument, every… other activity. It hardly deserved the title. But it was better than being out on the streets.
He was running out of the money his father had sent with him. And no matter how much he saved from skipping meals, it would never be enough to cover another week. He didn't want to think about that, though.
He pushed himself upright.
The world lurched.
For one terrifying moment, the street began to tilt beneath his feet. His vision narrowed into a tunnel of grey and black. He staggered sideways and slammed shoulder-first into a brick wall. It sent a shock through his shoulder well enough to keep him leaning against it even after his vision cleared.
The direct route home cut through several narrow alleyways. Stupid on a good day. Dangerous on a bad one.
Today, however, Wylan wasn't certain he'd be able to survive the longer walk.
He shoved himself off the wall, flute tight in hand. The Barrel blurred around him. Crumbling brick, overflowing gutters, sights he'd quickly grown used to.
Food, as always, occupied every corner of his thoughts. Fresh bread. Honey cakes. The sugared pastries his mother used to sneak him before dinner when his father wasn't looking. The memory was vivid enough to send a sharp ache through his heart.
Caught unawares, reminiscing on times he would never get back, Wylan lost the ground beneath him. He landed on his hands and knees, the stone eating into his flesh.
“What have we got here?” A loud voice disrupted the alleyway.
Wylan gritted his teeth. Keeping his head down, he muttered, “I don’t have anything. Leave me alone.”
“What’s in the case?”
A foot connected with his ribs. Wylan fell to his side, choking on his breath. His lithe fingers snatched the case from the ground, clutching it to his chest. He would not let them take it. “Nothing of value.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” the older boy sneered. “Whaddya think, Petyr?”
“Come on, kid, just give it up. It’s two against one, and you don’t stand no chance against us.”
Wylan’s eyes darted to the edges of the alleyway, but no one was there. Even if someone were, Wylan would doubt they’d bother to help him. That wasn't how things were done in Ketterdam. Every man and child for himself. “Take my money,” Wylan pleaded. “Just not this, don’t… you can have all my money.”
The two older boys shared a glance. The taller of the two spoke up, “How abouts we just take both of ‘em?”
“No!”
“You ain’t really in the position to be bargaining, now are you?”
The other boy, Petyr, lunged for him. Wylan curled around his flute. The last thing he had. The only material possession he owned that mattered. The one thing that reminded him of sunnier days. When he and his Ma would play: her on the piano, him on the flute.
He was just starting out. His grasp on the fingering was fragile, his notes never resonated in the way they should have, but she still applauded him—she still made a grand show of how he was meant to play for kings and queens. Sorry, Ma, I don’t think I’ll ever live long enough to see the dream through.
He blocked out most of the beating—went to that faraway place where his Ma is waiting on the piano stool for him to join her; the place he’d go whenever his father tried to beat literature into him. It wasn't really all that different. Except instead of gushing blood on the finest carpet imported from Shu Han, red painted the bleak cobblestone. And the fear that these boys wouldn’t stop before it had gone too far. For all the terrible things Jan Van Eck was, he was no murderer; he liked his hands clean. That didn’t, as he recently found out, mean he couldn’t get someone else to do it for him, though.
As his thoughts turned down that road, the vision of his mother faded until nothing was left but the dark streets of Ketterdam. The boys had left him at some point. Only the weight of his flute case was enough to dispel the panic of losing so much time.
As Wylan uncurled from his position, his entire body ignited with flames of agony. The spot where his head had rested on the pavement was damp, and not even he could convince himself it was something other than blood. Groaning, Wylan remained on the ground. He was going to die alone. No one to remember him; no one to care about him. He would be just another victim of the streets of the Barrel. Forgotten and unimportant as every other sorry sob who thought they could survive out here.
As he ran his fingers over the etchings in the wooden case, he hoped that it would go to someone who would appreciate it. He hoped that they could make good use of it, hoped that they, perhaps, could perform for royalty. That his mother’s dream would live on through someone else.
The last thing Wylan remembered before succumbing to the ever-present darkness was a voice. It was raspy; as if the man who spoke the words hadn’t had a glass of water in a decade.
“How pathetic,” the mysterious man said, and Wylan couldn’t help but agree.
divider credit: @/dividers-are-us
Storm on the Horizon
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Summary: Kaz gets ambushed in an alleyway.
Warnings: descriptive violence, vague mention of sexual trafficking
word count: 2,491
A/N: prompt fill for day 1 of @juneofdoom | "Stay down." | Unfair Fight
{Read on A03}
A storm is on the horizon.
Kaz feels it in his leg before he sees it in the sky.
The rest of it has been building since his Wraith had been taken on the shores of Vellgeluk.
Those that pass him on the street are eager to avoid him. Eyes skitter over him, lingering on the crow-headed cane they’ve been taught to fear. He couldn’t care less. No, his mind is focused on one thing, and one thing only.
Revenge.
And he finds himself at home in her arms. Revenge has been as much a mother to him as anything else. She raised Kaz Brekker from the shores of Ketterdam. She taught him everything he knows. She gave him purpose.
He turns down an alleyway. His cane echoes in the space, louder than usual. Every step feels like a negotiation that he’s losing. The grip on his cane tightens. Kaz Brekker does not lose negotiations. Even so, the pull in his leg after a particularly rough stretch of cobblestone sends a flare of resistance that gives him pause. Ever since the Ice Court, his knee has been punishing him tenfold.
Something shifts in the corner of his vision. He immediately flicks his eyes to the parapet, already accounting for a second set of eyes that isn’t there. His teeth press together briefly, the muscle in his cheek tightening. Inej isn't here. When his eyes return to the road ahead, he finds the source of the movement.
Leaning hard against his cane, Kaz stares directly into the eyes of a man made of pure muscle. The absence he had felt increases tenfold. To his credit, the man meets his glare head-on. Though it could stem from the fact that it looks like there is no brain residing inside his thick skull.
Kaz feels the air behind him shift. He throws his cane up, snatching it at the opposite end before sending the crow’s beak into the head of the man behind him. His victim cries out as his blood sprays the weathered yellow building to his left. The second man approaches him, not much more than a twig of a thing, scraggly limbs exposed by the yellow-and-green plaid vest he wears. The ugly thing leaves his tattoo plain for anyone with eyes to see.
Dime Lions.
Every semblance of composure carefully threaded through his body snaps.
Flames combust inside of him. Days of pent-up rage finally, finally break the surface. He smiles. The maniacal look on his face makes Twig falter. Kaz doesn’t hesitate to hook his cane under his leg, sweeping the man off of his feet, his head hitting the cobblestone and painting it red. The man he had first made eye contact with barrels straight into him. Kaz staggers, the weight sending him scrambling.
He juts his elbow into the man’s stomach, the head of his cane sweeping up to meet with the man’s big head. The instant the meaty arms release from around his body, Kaz shuffles away. He isn’t fast enough, and finds himself playing a game of tug-of-war with his cane. With all of his strength, Kaz attempts to wrench it from the large hands holding it hostage. The man holds steady.
A well-aimed punch to the ribs sends Kaz staggering back, the grip on his cane releasing. He coughs, air evading him as he rights himself. His eyes flicker between the men surrounding him. The head of his own cane slams straight into his back. He buckles forward.
“Come on, crip, give it up already,” one of them shouts, laughter breaking up his words. “Ain’t got your Wraith to protect you now.”
His chest heaves. Anger surges in him, hot and ugly, twisting his insides into something unrecognisable. “I don’t need her to fight my battles.”
His eyes settle on the man holding his cane hostage. The man smirks. “From where I’m standing, it sure looks like ya do.”
Idiots. The lot of them. But he won’t take their need for incessant blabber for granted. There are six, no, seven of them now; whilst Twig is still unconscious on the ground, probably for good, the other guy who had received a beak to the jaw staggers up to join the others circling him.
While Muscles is busy looking at the others for approval of his joke, Kaz lunges for his cane. He manages to snatch it from his hand and hit him over the head. It draws blood and anger, but it isn’t nearly enough to take him down. His bad leg flares as he jolts out of reach, angry hands making a grab at him. He doesn’t let it show on his face.
He blocks the next strike with the cane, redirecting another with his shoulder. Something in his ribs answers his movements, sharply enough to steal the breath from his lungs. The world narrows.
Three moving in. Two circling. Two more hanging back, waiting to see how this will all play out.
Kaz moves before they’re able to get the drop on him again. The end of his cane makes a home for itself in the chest of the man in front of him; the man scrambles back, hands reaching for the indent the cane made in his sternum. Dodging the fist coming for his face, Kaz grabs it in his hands, twisting the skinny wrist until he can hear it snap. His crow-headed cane finishes the job for him, meeting the man’s head with all the strength he can muster.
He doesn’t notice the kick coming for his leg until it’s too late.
His knee buckles under the weight of it, sending him careening towards the ground. He tries to get his cane underneath him, but he is too slow. Blood floods into his mouth as he bites down hard on his lip. He will not give them the satisfaction of making him scream.
His knees hit the uneven cobblestone, but he doesn’t have time to let the pain sink in. Kaz Brekker goes on his knees for no one. But before he can push himself up, a boot meets his back. The cane slips from under him.
Loathe as he is to do it, he lets go of his crutch, catching himself before he can eat a mouthful of stone. Another boot, from the side, wastes no time in becoming acquainted with his bruised ribs.
Copper floods his mouth. He coughs, red speckles painting the alleyway. He can hear the buzz of laughter from above, teases and taunts blurring together as the pain overtakes him. Someone presses their foot down on his back, heavy. Kaz’s arms strain under the weight of it all. It doesn’t take long for his arms to fail him. The boot moves from his back to his head, shoving his face into the stone. Jagged pebbles claw into his skin. He clenches his jaw at the show of humiliation.
“Stay down,” the man above him orders. He sounds as if he’s already won.
Everyone loves to underestimate a cripple.
Kaz scans what he can of the men surrounding him. If Inej and Jesper were here, they’d pinpoint his expression for what it was: his scheming face.
Just as the man towering over him lets up on his face, he rolls, grabbing the man’s leg and yanking him down with him. His cane sits just out of reach. He makes do with his fists. One punch against the cobblestone is enough to take him out, his head caving in on the jagged, broken piece of cobblestone. The others around him cry outrage as he evades their hands. He grabs his cane, which the others had been too stupid to leave within his reach.
As soon as the familiar weight is in his hands again, he comes alive. Adrenaline helping with the rest, he staggers to his feet. His leg strains, but he can barely feel it against the bitter rage boiling up inside of him. No one, and he means no one, gets the drop on Kaz Brekker, and if so, they certainly do not get away with it.
His ribs scream in agony as he swings the cane at one of his knife-wielding attackers. It catches on his neck, reducing him into a sorry sack of wheezing and gasping. He grabs the dagger as it makes its descent through open air and wastes no time in throwing it straight at Muscles. Without looking to see if it hit the mark, Kaz stumbles over to his next victim. This one, Kaz notes with a hint of satisfaction, has fear in his eyes. As he should.
The man scrambles to attack, his weight leaning to his left as he gears up for a blow. Kaz deftly sidesteps the fist before bringing his own fist to the sucker’s sorry face. Blood spurts from his nose as he staggers back. Kaz sweeps the cane behind his legs, sending him onto his ass.
An arm closes around his throat from behind. His cane is sent clattering to the floor with a sturdy kick. He watches the coward on his ass trip over himself to get back up and run out of the alley, taking one of his even more pathetic friends with him. Muscles comes lumbering over to Kaz, knife protruding from his chest. His breaths are clipped, face paling as the blood seeps out of his wound. “You dirty bastard,” the man scowls at him, his voice little more than a grumble.
Kaz chokes over his response. “What’d you… expect?”
The man snarls at him, getting right up in his face. Spittle flies in Kaz’s face as the man says, “I’m glad I’ll be the one to put your sorry ass in an early grave.”
“Don’t be so sure about yourself.”
Kaz reaches up, tearing the knife from its place in his chest. The man grabs at his chest, gasping for breath. Blood comes down in waves now, unhindered by the metal that had staunched the worst of the bleeding. He doesn’t give either of the men enough time to think before he plunges the knife into the side of the man holding him. Sure enough, the grip around his neck loosens, giving Kaz ample time to twist around and slash his neck like a pig marked for the slaughter.
He hears Muscles scream of rage from behind him. He waits, watching the shimmering glass sign of Orin’s Glass Shop. At the last second, Kaz dodges out of the way. His leg buckles against the full force of his weight, but he stands steady. Fire licks up through the muscles of his leg, overused and aching for rest. He hasn’t the time.
Muscles catches his foot on the uneven terrain, his large body crashing to the floor.
Through the silence of the night, a steady stream of snivelling whimpers crawls out of the pathetic man’s mouth. Kaz hobbles over to his cane, grinding his teeth as he bends over to pick it up. Muscles claws at the cobblestone, dragging his large body over the stones and smearing them with his blood.
Thunk, thunk, thunk.
The cane echoes through the alleyway as Dirtyhands stalks his prey.
The cane thuds against his shoulder, tipping his body over, so he lies on his back. Muscle’s face is a mess of snot and tears, entirely red as he heaves out a sob.
Kaz sneers down at the snivelling man as he pleads for mercy. “Please, please, it was Pekka. Please, I didn’t want to do it. He made me! Please don’t-”
“I’m not known for my mercy,” Kaz says, his voice even despite the agony tormenting his every move. Kaz bends down then. The man blocks his face with his arms, crying out. It’s only after Kaz rises, not touching a hair on his body, that the man peeks out from behind his hands. His eyes widen when they settle on the hunk of loose cobblestone weighing heavily in the black-gloved-clad hands of the Bastard of the Barrel.
“Please! Please! I’ll do anything! I’ll-”
Kaz stomps his good leg down on the man's left arm. He relishes in the scream echoing through the alleyway. Relishes in the fact that no one will come running to protect this man. Not when they know who he’s up against. It’s almost enough to make the excruciating pain in his leg worth it. The man’s other arm instinctively goes to cradle the broken limb. Kaz wastes no time in crushing that one too.
“Please!” The man cries. “No more! I'll get you anything you want. There's—there's a shipment, you can have first pick."
"What shipment?"
"Heard' bout your whore." The man gasps as Kaz puts more pressure on his broken arm. "I'll getcha a new one, young and pure—not stretched out like—"
Kaz cuts him off with a kick to the head.
"Please! Let me go. Haven’t- Haven’t you done enough-”
“No,” Kaz says, examining the rock in his hand with the cool air of someone testing its worth. He lowers down to the man’s level. “You deserve everything I give you and more.”
Kaz delights in the way the man’s eyes widen as he raises the rock.
He brings it down without a second’s hesitation.
The man jerks underneath him, a sharp, broken wail forcing its way out of his mouth. The stone in his hands gleams crimson under the faint lighting from the streetlamp. Resistance meets him as he brings it up once more. The resistance doesn’t come from the weight of his brutality; no, it stems from his own arm, the strain already settling in his shoulder, his ribs, his leg.
It doesn’t matter.
He’s had this festering anger building and building with no release. Kaz won’t stop when the man takes his final breath; he’ll stop when it makes a point.
He brings it down again.
And again.
Every strike is a measured hit, enough to brutalise him beyond recognition. The only thing that shall be left of this Dime Lion rat will be the tattoo connecting him there.
Once the ugly, too-large face is nothing more than crimson and bits of flesh and bone, he stops.
The stone hangs in his grip for a moment longer than necessary. His chest heaves air back into his chest. A drop of something falls on his face, dripping down to his chin. And another. Soon the heavens unleash their tears at the display of brutality before them.
He lets the rain soak into his coat, into his hair, and his gloves. He watches as it pelts the dead body in front of him. His mind wavers. He loses time.
When he finally drops the stone from his hand, it lands with a dull, unremarkable sound against the sin-stained street.
Kaz pushes himself upright, slower now that he can afford the time. His cane takes the brunt of his weight. He doesn’t spare a glance back.
divider credit: @/dividers-are-us
Carving Skin Until My Bones Are Showing
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Summary: You'd thought that everything was fine, until one overheard conversation shattered the illusion, your rose-tinted glasses fading to black. The words cut deeper than anything you've ever heard, and suddenly, you're re-evaluating everything: your relationship, your body, your worth. Now, the man you love with everything you have exists peacefully beside you, as if nothing's changed, while you slowly unravel in silence. You're left wondering if he's already halfway out the door, and you're just the last to know.
Warnings: disordered eating, fainting, body image issues, insecure!reader, misunderstandings, female reader (no y/n)
word count: 4,059
A/N: it's a few days late cause i kept procrastinating on making the banner, whoops | prompt fill for day 30 of @juneofdoom | "This is it isn't it" | Doubt | Crying
{Read on A03} | what i'm listening to
“I don’t know what to do anymore, Sam.”
Bucky’s voice carries across the room and into the hallway, voice laced with mild exasperation. Sam, sitting across from him with an unimpressed look on his face, takes a sip of his coffee. You smile at the sight of Sam, his presence a welcome, if not completely unexpected, surprise at the start of your morning. He must have gotten home early from the mission he was on.
“She’s just so clingy,” Bucky says. “She literally won’t leave me alone. It’s almost annoying at this point.”
You freeze in the doorway, smile slipping off your face in an instant. His words tear through your heart, leaving a hollow ache in their wake.
“That just means she really likes you,” Sam says, shrugging his shoulders.
Bucky huffs, rubbing a hand down his face. “You don’t understand, man. It’s bad, like really bad. I can barely get any of my shit done with her begging for my attention twenty-four seven. I just need some damn space to breathe sometimes.”
You didn’t think you were that bad. Sure, you really liked to drag him away from his work for cuddles—but that was only because you thought he needed the breaks. You know that he used to run himself dry, never letting himself rest until he practically passed out from exhaustion. You didn’t want that cycle to continue. It wasn’t like you forced him to do anything. He could always say no to you. In fact, he has said no to you a few times before—when the work was too important to shove aside for later. All those times he allowed himself to be pulled away, reluctant as he was—how many of those times had he been covertly annoyed with your insistence? How many times did he wish you would just leave him alone?
Your stomach twisted, guilt looming over you. He struggled socially, ran on a limited battery when it came to social interactions—why did you think it would be any different with you? Why did you think you were special? Of course, Bucky is sick of you. When’s the last time that Bucky had some time to himself without you bombarding him with affection and small talk?
“She’s spoiled, that’s what she is,” Bucky grunts, shaking his head. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes. Spoiled? Is that what he really thinks of you? How could he say such a thing? And to Sam, nonetheless. “She eats way too damn much. She’s been gaining so much weight recently; it’s honestly a problem. She ain’t gonna lose it any time soon either with how fucking lazy she is.”
Sam snorts. “Sounds like someone needs to go on a diet.”
“Tell me about it,” Bucky huffs before taking a sip of coffee.
A wave of mortification crashes over you, tears gathering in your eyes. Heart pounding, you take a shaky step back, determined to run back to your room before either of them catches you eavesdropping.
You race back to your shared room, tears blurring the hallway beyond recognition. Once in the safety of your room, you sink down to the floor, back pressed heavy against the door. Your breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps as you press a hand over your mouth—as if that alone could muffle the sobs wracking your body. The betrayal is sharp, sinking its claws into your chest and twisting deep inside of you. How could they say those things about you? How could Bucky say those things about you?
You weren’t that clingy, were you? You just liked being close to him, liked the warmth of his presence, the way he always made you feel safe. And sure, maybe you indulged a little too much lately, but had it really made that much of a difference? Have you clung so much that Bucky has started to resent you for it?
The words replay in your head, each repetition hitting harder, sinking deeper. He sounded so frustrated—so tired of you. Like he was already pulling away, one step from slipping through your fingers completely.
And could you even blame him?
You’ve seen the women he works alongside, the kind of people who seem like they belong in the world. Strong, confident, beautiful. Not needy. Not desperate. Not… you. Maybe he was just now realising what you had known all along—that you weren’t enough. That you never had been.
A fresh wave of tears burns your eyes, but you swallow hard, forcing them back down. You wouldn’t let this be the end.
You could fix this.
You could give him space—stop clinging, stop being so needy. You could take up less room, be less of a burden. And if you skipped a few meals, if you pushed yourself harder, maybe you could be someone he actually wanted again. Someone he’d be proud to love, instead of someone he merely put up with.
You just had to be better.
You would be better.
When you emerged from the bedroom for the second time that day, you made sure to make your arrival audible lest you walk in on them still talking about you and your shortcomings. Whilst you couldn’t stomach any breakfast, you needed your caffeine fix. Bucky greeted you with a wide, beautiful smile and a kiss on the forehead.
It almost made you sick—the way he was able to talk about you like you were the dirt underneath his shoe, only to turn around and play the role of your sweet lover. How could he act like everything was okay when he clearly held resentment against you? It almost makes you wonder how long he’d put up with you for the sake of maintaining this relationship—how long since he’d noticed your defects and realised that he deserved better. You almost feel selfish for keeping him tied to you. Now that the secret is out, there’s no point in dancing around the subject. And yet… here you are. In a kitchen you share with a man who doesn’t love you like he used to, and the man he entrusted with his troubles over you.
Just a little longer, you pleaded. You just need a chance to prove your worth. Bucky won’t have to worry about your overbearing clinginess. He won’t have to be embarrassed to be dating someone of your stature. Bucky deserves the best after everything that he’s been through; you were determined to be that for him in whatever way it took.
You startle out of your thoughts from the movement at your feet. A white ball of fluff looks up at you, meowing incessantly. You reach down to scritch between Alpine’s ears. “Hey, sweetheart,” you coo at her, abandoning your quest for coffee in lieu of holding your baby girl. At least Alpine appreciated your affliction for affection.
You don’t miss the look that passes between Bucky and Sam.
Stomach churning, you suddenly don’t feel the desire to make your coffee anymore. In fact, you don’t even want to be in this room anymore. “I’m going to go over to Nat’s,” you say, hoping that Nat isn’t too busy today.
Bucky’s brow furrows. “Weren’t we going to see that movie today?”
Shoot. You had completely forgotten about that. “We can go later, Nat wanted me to come over right away in the morning.”
“Let me make you your coffee before you go.”
“That’s okay, I’m stopping to get some for Nat and me,” you say, dismissal clear in your tone. It would have made you feel bad to act this way before—before his cruel words effectively tore your heart and spirit to shreds. You gave your baby Alpine a kiss on the top of her head, promising her that you’d be back soon before seeing her back on the ground. You grabbed your purse and sped out of the door without even saying goodbye to the two men.
You spent the majority of the day with Natasha, dread curling around your insides every time you thought about going back home, back to Bucky.
You had promised him that you’d be back to see the movie; however, so, too soon for your liking, you say goodbye to Nat and walk back to your apartment.
There’s a vase of your favourite flowers sitting on the counter when you enter. You frown at the sight, not sure why he would bother when he’s obviously upset with you.
You walk into the living space to see Alpine curled up on Bucky’s lap, his work laptop abandoned on the coffee table. Bucky greets you with a smile, setting a protesting Alpine aside to stand up and give you a welcome home kiss.
“What time were you thinking of for the movie?” He asks, arms resting around your waist.
Frustration begins to creep into your chest. If he had a problem with your clinginess, why is he initiating contact? That’s not fair. How are you supposed to leave him alone when he does stuff like this? “Doesn’t matter to me,” you shrug, not able to meet his eyes.
“There’s a showing in an hour, how does that sound? We can go get dinner afterwards.”
“Sounds great,” you replied.
The movie would have been great if you hadn’t sat there stewing in your own anxiety the entire film. Afterwards, Bucky took you to your favourite restaurant where you ordered a salad with the dressing on the side. Bucky’s brows furrowed at your unusual choice, but he didn’t say anything. The dinner was stilted and awkward, both of you running out of things to talk about sooner than usual.
For the next few weeks, you successfully distanced yourself from your boyfriend. You ignored the way your heart ached every time you saw Bucky alone on the couch, wishing you could go over and snuggle up to his warmth. You learned to ignore the hunger pangs, the way your stomach felt like it was eating itself. Your head split open with the force of the headaches pounding against your skull, vision swimming every time you stood up too quickly.
It’s fine, you told yourself. Who really needed breakfast anyway? Why eat lunch when you could have a few snacks? Bucky was right, you really did eat too much. You could survive on one meal a day, snacks thrown in when your hunger got the best of you, or your hands began to shake too much. You were getting better for him, though, so it didn’t matter. You were eating less, clinging less—just like Bucky had wanted; so why wasn’t he happy yet?
The bed felt colder than usual.
You used to sleep tangled up in Bucky’s arms, leeching off of Bucky’s furnace of a body. You used to tuck your perpetually cold feet against his legs, laughing off his grumbling about how your toes felt like icicles.
Now, you curl up at the farthest edge of the mattress, not willing to accidentally touch him when he clearly wants to be left alone.
You used to look forward to getting home from work, ready to melt into your supersoldier’s arms at the end of a long, tiring day.
Now, you’re filled with dread, wondering if this time will finally be the last.
You used to love the shared dinners at the worn table you had found at a thrift store long ago. Bucky and you would take turns choosing what meal to prepare—you had been on a mission to introduce him to the world of flavour the 21st century had to offer; he always used to say the best part of the ordeal was watching your expectant face as he tried the first bite.
Now your stomach twisted at the mere thought of eating in front of him. His words echoed through your brain with each bite you took—it was enough to make you sick.
Bucky had grown short and snappy with everyone (except you) lately; Natasha had complained ad nauseum about your grumpy boyfriend the last few times you’d hung out. You couldn’t help but think that all of those weeks of your overbearing clinginess were finally catching up to him, as if talking to Sam had opened the floodgates. He has finally realised what his problem was: you.
You really were too late to fix this. No amount of distance could fix what damage had been done. Bucky had a foot out the door for a long time now, and you had been too oblivious to notice.
It was a typical Tuesday when Bucky sent you a text that shattered any hope of repairing your relationship.
>>>Hey, after work, can you come straight home?
>>>We really need to talk.
The cursor blinked steadily even as your hand shook. Tears quickly blurred the damning texts beyond recognition—not that you’d ever forget those words; the words that signified the end of the best thing to happen to you.
After crying in the bathroom for the entirety of your lunch break, you passed through the rest of the day in a haze. Your coworkers knew something was wrong, of course, they did, but you didn’t offer up any explanation.
You felt something press against your throat as you slid the key into the lock, suffocating you with every step you took towards him. There was no point in prolonging the inevitable any further. You wouldn’t continue to drag Bucky down.
The vase of flowers was still sitting on the counter—he’d been buying you a new batch every time they started to wilt. Was he cheating on you? Was that why he was getting you flowers so much more often? The thought was something you’d have previously thought inconceivable, but now you weren’t so sure.
Breaking you from your thoughts, Bucky called out your name from the living room. You forced your gaze away from the flowers and to the living room.
Bucky was sitting on the sofa, hands clasped in between his knees and head hanging low. Your stomach swirled at the sight. This was it, wasn’t it? He was going to cut his losses—cut you from his life.
You crossed your arms, tucking your hands out of sight to hide the way they trembled. You waited for him to say something, not willing to be the person to instigate the conversation.
“Could you sit down?” Bucky asks, sounding so small as he gestures to the armchair. You walk over to the chair, despite wanting to stay as close to the exit as possible—ready to run away as soon as his words cut through you like a knife.
Bucky sighs deeply, his hands running over his face. You almost reach out for him, wanting to comfort him, wanting to kiss those lines away from his forehead. Stopping yourself, you remind yourself that it’s not your place, not anymore, and it hasn’t been for a while now.
“This isn’t working anymore, doll,” Bucky says, not even able to look at you. You saw it coming a mile away, and yet it doesn’t take away the anguish those words bring you.
You know you should say something, but words seem to escape you as soon as you open your mouth. Instead, a hot ball of grief and shame lodges in your throat. Tears spring to your eyes, despite telling yourself that you would not let him see you cry over this. It’s for the best, you try to tell yourself. You were but a stepping stone to Bucky’s recovery. You should be grateful that a man like him even offered you a second glance. Despite the way things ended, you know that you’ll look back on all the memories you made together and smile. Because, for once in your life, you knew what it was like to be loved so wholly. You knew what it was like to have a man who cared so deeply, loved so openly, and gave you enough devotion to last a lifetime.
“Yeah,” you agree with him for the sake of things. You hope he won’t look too deeply into your unshed tears, the way your voice wobbled and the way your body trembled. “I… I should go.”
“Doll-”
You cut him off before he can get another word in. “No, just… let me-”
Standing up to run away from this awful conversation, you feel the world sway around you. Black fades in at the edges of your vision as you stumble forward. You think you hear Bucky calling out your name under the sharp ringing in your ears. Clenching your eyes shut, you brace yourself for the hardwood floor.
—
“Doll?”
You groan as something prods your side. Just five more minutes, you think, burying your face into the warmth surrounding you.
“Sweetheart, please!”
Is that Bucky? Why does he sound so worried?
Blinking up at your boyfriend, you find that you’re both in the living room. Bucky’s clenching onto your body like a lifeline. “What’s wrong, Bucky?”
He stares blankly at you for a few seconds. “Doll… you just passed out.”
“Oh,” you eloquently respond.
The fog covering your brain begins to lift bit by bit. You were both sitting down… Bucky was… he was breaking up with you.
Jolting, you scramble out of Bucky’s arms, pushing him away, away, away.
“I’m sorry,” you say, covering your heated face in shame. “I’m so sorry, Bucky.”
“Don’t be sorry, honey.” He scoots closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” you say, despite knowing full well that ever since you started skipping meals, you’ve been prone to blacking out if you stand up too fast.
Bucky frowns at you, eyebrows furrowed. “I feel like you aren’t telling the truth right now.”
“It doesn’t matter, Bucky.”
“Like hell it doesn’t matter! You just fainted. If I hadn’t been there to catch you, you’d have cut your head open on the side of the table. Tell me what’s going on!” Never before had you heard Bucky sound so worried.
“Why do you care so much?”
“Why do I–Why do I care?” Bucky scoffs in disbelief. “You did not just ask me that.”
“You’re finally breaking up with me, you don’t have to pretend to care about me anymore,” you shoot back, venom lacing your words as you extricate yourself from under his arm.
“Breaking… I wasn’t going to break up with you,” Bucky says as if the idea alone was unimaginable.
“Bullshit! I know that you’ve been wanting to break up with me for weeks—months even!”
“Where the hell would you get an idea like that from?”
“I heard you talking to Sam last month. You told him that I was clingy and lazy and fat.”
Bucky looks positively bewildered at your words. “I would never say any of that crap!”
“But you did.” You cross your arms, daring him to continue lying to you.
“Why the hell would I ever say that? I sure as hell don’t think any of that-”
“Oh, give it up, Barnes. Who else would you have been talking about? Who else is such a spoiled, lazy, clingy, fat-”
“Oh my god,” Bucky interrupts you. “Are you talking about that time I was complaining about Alpine?”
Your heart stops in your chest. “What?”
“I was telling Sam about how annoying it was trying to work from home. She’d always sit on my damn laptop and yowl in my face until I payed attention to her.” Bucky shakes his head—his bemusement is quick to fade, however. “You seriously thought that I was talking about you?”
Sniffling back tears, you nodded your head.
“Oh, Jesus, doll. Why didn’t you say something?” Bucky wraps his arms around you. “Hell, if I ever said something like that, I’d expect at least a slap to the face.”
“But I was too clingy, always cuddling you and giving you kisses-”
“Is that why you haven’t so much as touched me the last few weeks?”
“I thought you wanted me to stop,”
Bucky squeezes you tighter. “Never. I’d never want you to stop. Doll, I thought you were mad at me. I kept buying you flowers and making your favourite dinners to try and get you to forgive me. But you didn’t even give them a second glance, and half the time you’d already eaten or you’d just push the food around on your plate.”
You melt into his embrace, his reassurances a balm over the lingering anxiety of being too much for him. “I was just trying to make you like me again.”
“Doll,” Bucky pulls away from you, sounding completely gutted. “You should never change yourself to make someone like you more. I love how clingy you are—I missed you so damn much.”
“What about…” No, you can’t ask that—you don’t want to hear his answer. “Never mind.”
And Bucky, damn him, doesn’t let it go. “What about what?”
“It’s nothing,” you say, pulling away from him.
“Doll, please don’t shut me out,” Bucky pleads, using those sad eyes that always make you fold.
“It’s just… You never… Do you have a problem with what I look like?”
Bucky’s frown deepens. “Of course, not. Doll, you are so damn beautiful-”
“But I could be thinner. Lots of other girls are prettier and skinnier,” you interrupt him. You freeze at the way his face hardens.
“I love you just the way you are, sweetheart. You don’t have to change a god damn thing about you. You want to know who drives me crazy? You. You want to know who I want to spend the rest of my life looking at? You. When I fell in love with you, I fell in love with all of you. It’s always going to be you. I don’t want no one else, got it?”
“I…” You stumble over your words, tears burning in your waterline. “I started skipping meals again. That’s why I passed out.”
Bucky’s face turns ashen. “You… you stopped eating because of me?”
“I didn’t completely stop eating! I had snacks and dinner most days. It’s not that big-”
“So help me god if you were about to say that it’s not that big of a deal,” Bucky interrupts you, voice sharp. “You need to eat, doll. This beautiful body cannot live without food.”
“I just thought… I thought if I started skipping meals and working out more, I’d look more like Nat or Sharon or-”
“If I wanted someone that looked like them, I’d ask them out. You wanna know why I asked you out? It’s because I thought you were hot. It’s because you’re as gorgeous on the outside as you are on the inside. I don’t want you to look like Nat, I don’t want you to look like Sharon. I want you to look like you.”
Bucky says it with such conviction, you can’t help but allow the tears to fall down your face. “You really mean that?”
“Of course, babydoll. You’re it for me. Don’t want no one else.” Bucky pulls you back into his arms, nuzzling his face into the junction between your neck and shoulder. “Call off of work tomorrow.”
“What? I can’t-” You screech as he lifts you into his arms. Clinging to him like a koala as he makes his way to your bedroom, you protest every step of the way.
“Hush,” he says, laying you down on the bed. “I have been deprived of your cuddles for too damn long. We’re gonna order whatever you want, and snuggle all night long. Then tomorrow, I’m going to make you a giant breakfast and we can go on a picnic for lunch.”
“I don’t ever want my best girl doubting my love for her again, got it?” Bucky asks, leaning over you.
You huff at his antics, rolling your eyes. He pinches your side, only the hint of a grin belying his angered expression. “Got it?” Bucky asks again.
“Yes! Okay, I got it!”
“I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you know just how loved you are,” he says as a promise before leaning in and kissing your lips.
That night, as you snuggle into his warmth, you endeavour to never let a misunderstanding like this tear you apart again.
Taglist: @hallecarey1 @harleycao @filmsbyblair
I can't 😭 This is so good.
Thank you so much, lovely! 💕💕
Happy New Year, everyone! 🥳
Along with sharing my own AO3 wrapped, I wanted to thank you all for your support this year! I am so grateful for everyone who interacted with my works, especially for the lovely comments that always make me smile.
Here’s to a great 2026!
I compiled a list of all my Winter/Christmas fics for those of you wanting some holiday-ish related marvel shenanigans!
🎄 = Holiday/Christmas
❄️ = Winter/Snow
✨ = My Favourites!
Make the Yuletide Gay 🎄✨
Not-So-Secret Santa 🎄
Christmastime 🎄✨
Coldest Winter 🎄
Coffee Run 🎄✨
Your Warmth ❄️✨
Mutual Agreement ❄️
Christmas Cookies 🎄
Silent Night 🎄✨
Holiday Spirit 🎄
Find the collection on A03 here!
Enjoy and happy holidays! Love you all 💕💕
Happy holidays, everyone! Here’s my wintertime/holiday master post so that you all can enjoy the holiday season with your favourites. I included my newest fic, Coffee Run in the lineup.
Hope you like it 💕💕
Coffee Run
Masterlist | A03 | Wattpad | Recommendations | Inbox | Taglist
summary: Bucky Barnes is sent out for coffee in the middle of December with a list of orders that make no sense and a growing hatred of the cold that winter brings to New York. The cafe is a warm, quaint little escape from the hustle and bustle of the big city. He doesn't expect that warmth to linger after he steps back into the cold, following him all the way back to the tower. He especially doesn't expect to volunteer to come back, much less to start looking forward to it because of a certain barista with a warm smile and a voice coated in honey.
word count: 4,128
warnings: female reader (no y/n), reader described to have frizzy hair, mutual pining, Christmas fluff
A/N: Happy holidays, lovelies!
{Read on A03}
There are two things that make Bucky Barnes unbearably grumpy.
Okay, that’s a lie. There are many things that make the super soldier grumpy. But if he had to choose his top two at the moment, it would definitely include the snow that seems to be never-ending. The way the cold permeates through his clothes, the way it envelops him in its icy embrace, even in the comfort of the tower. He knows that in reality, he runs hot. The serum in his veins makes sure that his body temperature is above average at all times, able to withstand what would debilitate any normal human being. Despite this, despite his very biology, Bucky always feels cold. His stupid therapist would tell him it’s nothing more than psychosomatic symptoms from his time in cryofreeze. But that doesn’t make the chill he feels on even the hottest summer day any less real.
The second thing, Bucky thinks, looking down at a list littered with five different handwritings sprawled across a paper much too small for its contents, would be his team’s coffee orders. He doesn’t know what got a hold of him when he offered to do a coffee run for the people he’s come to call his teammates. Perhaps it was energy pent up from being trapped within the same tower for weeks with no missions and snowfall so heavy, you’d’ve thought the heavens were unleashing everything they had all at once. Perhaps it was the way Yelena would make the off-hand comment about some small local cafe she’d been wanting to try out. Perhaps it was because Alexei was about to go on an hour-long rant about his victories as the Red Guardian to anyone who would listen (it was usually him; Bucky always got stuck on the other end of the exuberant man’s far-fetched tales).
Whatever it was that propelled him to volunteer was immediately returned with regret as soon as each member of the team began writing paragraphs. Their coffee orders looked like essays, each one with a list far too long for just a simple coffee. He’d never even heard of half of the stuff they had scribbled down. He furrows his brows, wondering if they hadn’t just written a bunch of gibberish down so he’d make a fool of himself. Oat milk — milk can come from oats? And what the hell is cold foam, and why would someone put it in their coffee?
He braces himself as his gloved hand reaches for the handle to an unassuming little shop tucked into a corner of the madness that is New York. Warmth envelops him as soon as he opens the door. Gentle yellow lights bathe him with their glow – so unlike most stores and restaurants with their headache-inducing white lights and modern furnishings that were impersonal, almost as cold as the weather. He stood stock-still in the doorway for just a second too long. The smell of coffee beans roasting hit him full force, sounds following soon thereafter; the bustle of the baristas and the whir of a blender as a small crowd waited for their caffeine fix of the day.
He wasn’t expecting such a small place to be so busy, and with every step closer to the counter, the note gets more and more distressed. He runs through the list over and over in his head, determined not to make a fool of himself. It’s only when the line cuts down, when only two people stand between him and glorious caffeine, that his heart gets caught in his throat.
Because he sees you.
You with your wide, inviting (could he say adorable?) smile, you with your endless kindness as the elderly lady squinting up at the chalkboard asks you what the difference between a mocha and a latte is, you with your furrowed brows as you count out the change to give back to her.
He is halfway tempted to shove the distressed paper deep into his pocket, to never see the light of day again. To play it safe and order a black coffee. Because the list that he has? It's way too long. Behind him is a line of customers waiting for their turn. Who is he to hold you guys up with the most absurd requests? Who is he to be the one to wipe that perfect little smile off your face?
He nearly ducks out of the line, determined to walk back to the tower and make the damn coffee himself. That is, at least, before your bright smile is aimed at him, your honeyed voice directed towards him.
“Welcome to Honey and Sugar, what can I get for you today?”
He finds himself being drawn to the counter, your voice a siren song. His thumb rubs absently along the paper, debating whether or not to be the thing that ruins your day. Before he’s able to stuff it into his pocket, your eyes dart down to the list. “Coffee run for your coworkers?” you ask, still smiling up at him as if he deserved it.
“Uh, yeah, something like that,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck as he placed the paper on the counter.
Your eyebrows raised a little as your gorgeous eyes skimmed over the list. He expects your smile to sour, expects your honeyed voice to turn into something acrid, but instead, all you give him is a teasing comment as you begin the tedious process of entering every order into the system.
“Anything else?” You ask before giving him the total.
“Uh… I’ll just have a black coffee,” he finishes lamely. You smirk at him as you type it into the system.
“Not into all the bells and whistles?”
“I just… uh, like to stick with what I know, I guess,” Bucky says, sounding the most sheepish he has in, like the history of the universe. How embarrassing can he be? Get it together, he tells himself.
“Well, I guess someone had to make my job a little easier today,” you said with a wink.
He is still calming his heartbeat as he waits off to the side for you and your coworkers to finish the orders. He curses himself for his stupid, childish crush. He hasn’t felt this way for a girl in so long, and why? Just cause she smiled at him so sweetly and made a joke? Pathetic.
He picks up the order and brings it back to the tower, grumbling to his teammates as he berates them for their complicated orders.
“Hey,” Ava pauses his grumbling as she lifts her coffee. “Why didn’t I get a smiley face on my cup, too?”
The other Thunderbolts are quick to examine their cups, each one bereft of a cute little smile. A blush rises to Bucky’s face as he looks at his cup, smiling up at him.
“Damn, Barnes, didn’t think you still had it in you,” Walker teases, licking all the caramel and chocolate-covered whipped cream off the top of his drink
“Shut up,” Bucky grumbles with no actual heat to his words. He stalks away from the group before his grumpy facade falls into that of a lovesick boy. How could he stay grumpy with the knowledge that you had taken the time out of your day to make him smile? That you had cared enough to spend even a second of your time on him in a way that wasn’t necessary at all.
It was enough to warm his soul just enough to fight off the constant chill that ached within his body. And, though it was just a simple black coffee, he couldn’t help but think it was the best damn thing he’d ever tasted.
It’s not quite blizzard territory when Bucky goes out again for a Thunderbolts coffee run.
They’d just gotten back from a mission not five hours ago, and Bucky was crawling out of his skin to come see you. It was a mission with too many close calls, too many civilian casualties to be called a success, and more injuries than he would have preferred to have to write up. But not even his bum leg and the deep gash in his side were going to stop him from making the trek to the quiet corner of New York that he had only just found a few weeks ago.
When asked, he would say that he couldn’t hold off on going because a blizzard was scheduled to come within the hour. What he wouldn’t admit was that even the possibility of being able to see you, because he couldn’t be sure you were even scheduled today, would mend him together better than any of the world’s greatest doctors Valentina had at her disposal.
His stomach twisted into knots when he saw the line that was practically out the door. There was barely enough room to breathe, let alone walk inside the small cafe. And whilst he loved the small size of it last time — the cosy atmosphere was calming compared to the hustle and bustle of the city — now the shop was almost suffocating. But just as he was about to turn tail and hobble back to the tower, he saw your face amongst the swarm of people. He frowned as he stepped into line. It moved like molasses, but he was in no rush. Not like the other people who were tapping their feet, mutterings of “this is ridiculous” and “why’s it taking so damn long” filter through the cacophony of the small cafe.
He takes the time to examine the decorations now sprawled around the room. It’s almost like Christmas itself had barfed all over the little coffee shop with all the garlands and ornaments and glitter scattered around. He wonders if you had any part in the festivities. If you and your coworkers had stayed late to spread holiday cheer in the form of decorations. He wonders if you guys had put on Christmas music to sing and dance along to. A stray thought floats through his brain like a lonesome tumbleweed: what if next year you’d join him with the Thunderbolts, dancing around with Bob and Yelena as you sang along to overplayed music. He wonders if you have a good singing voice, or if you’d join them along with their off-tune renditions of beloved classics.
When he gets close enough to get a glimpse of your face, he could tell from a mile away that your smile is poorly stitched on, one loose thread holding it together from it all unravelling. One of the customers is yelling over the sounds of a blender, saying you got her order wrong and demanding a refund. You’re a mess of frizzy hair, trembling hands, and dark under eyes.
When he finally reaches the counter, you smile at him, something real, but slightly manic, as if you’re one bad comment away from shattering like porcelain. He looks down at the mile-long list of the Thunderbolt’s demands — somehow, they were each able to come up with new concoctions that are as complicated as the last list. He curses them and their inability to order anything reasonable.
“Got another crazy list for me?” you ask. Somehow your tone isn’t laced with exasperation or annoyance. Despite the chaos surrounding you, you’re still able to make him feel as if he’s not a burden to you.
“Honestly, if you’re too busy, I can just skip these assholes’ orders.”
“And leave you to get fed to the wolves?” There’s a sparkle in your eyes that somehow hasn’t been extinguished despite all of the awful people you’ve dealt with in just the time that he’s been here. “I couldn’t fall asleep with that on my conscience. Hand it over.”
And he doesn’t stand a chance against your insistence. No matter how horrible he feels, holding you and your coworkers up with your teammates’ ridiculous orders. You punch them in as fast as you can (not fast enough for the jackass behind him who yells at you to hurry it up).
Bucky isn’t subtle in the way he pulls off one of his gloves, flexing gold and black as if gearing up for a fight. He turns back and levels a glare he usually reserves for terrorist Nazis. It serves well to deter the man from making another comment, his skin going ghostly white at the sight of the former Winter Soldier glaring at him as if he were his next target.
“Want another black coffee with sugar?” you ask Bucky before ringing up the total, completely oblivious to the little stand off with your focus on the tablet. For a second, Bucky is taken aback that you allowed his coffee order to take up even an iota of space in your brain. Sure, it’s not the extravagant iced white mocha topped with extra edible glitter and rainbow sprinkles and cold foam with three and a half pumps of raspberry, and two pumps of white chocolate with light ice that Yelena had ordered, but the fact that you remembered him and his order amongst all the other people that flooded in and out, day in and day out despite him only visiting once prior… well…
“No, that’s alright. You already have enough on your plate.”
You chuckle at him. “I promise a simple black coffee won’t be the thing that sends me hurtling off the edge.”
“Only if you’re sure…” Bucky says. Because, whilst your presence has done wonders for his soul, coffee always makes things better, warm comforts like that are always able to ease the ache in his soul.
This time, his coffee cup has a cute little heart drawn near the top of the festive cup they now serve their drinks with, being close enough to the Christmas season to start with the festivities. And when his teammates make fun of him for the barista’s obvious favouritism, Bucky just mutters some excuse about being the only one who has to go get the damn orders; his excuse is so flimsy that not even he himself believes it.
It’s Christmas Eve, and the Thunderbolts have just finished baking enough sugar cookies, gingerbread cookies, and fudge to put Santa and all his elves into a sugar coma. Christmas music has been playing on repeat throughout the common floor, with Yelena threatening to severely maim anyone who turns it off. It’s the most fun Bucky’s had on Christmas Eve in a while, but even all the shenanigans going on around him can’t keep his mind off of that cute little barista he had fallen over himself despite only ever seeing her two times.
“I’m going to pick up coffee,” Bucky declares as soon as arguments devolve around him over which holiday classic they’re going to watch first.
Yelena frowns at him. “No, everyone stays here. You’ll miss the movie!”
“I’m sure that by the time I get back, you’ll have finally decided which one to watch, so I won’t be missin’ much of anything. What absurd combinations do you guys want?”
“I’m good,” Bob calls out as he takes the last batch of the gingerbread men out of the oven. “Had enough coffee this morning.”
“Yeah, I think we’ve all drunk our weight in caffeine for the day. Why don’t you just stay here?”
“Yeah, no point in going out if we don’t want any.”
“Well… I’m going out anyways. Just wanted to see if you guys wanted anything.”
Ava squints her eyes at Bucky from her place, perched on the back of the sofa. “We don’t even want coffee, and you could make your depressing coffee here. You just want an excuse to see your girlfriend!”
Bucky splutters, all eyes on him now. “I don’t have a… it’s not… we’re not-”
John rolls his eyes. “This is honestly pathetic, man. Just go see your girl.”
“If it’s not too much trouble, I’ll take one of their hot cocoas, though!” Bob chipped in. “Extra whipped cream, extra edible glitter, a candy cane, and extra cocoa.”
Bucky rolls his eyes as more people join in, each order getting more ridiculous. “Alright, alright, just write it down. I’m never going to remember any of that bullshit.”
Ridiculous list in hand, Bucky takes off for the coffee shop he had been avoiding going to too often for the risk of seeming like a creep. He really hopes you’re there, even if it’s Christmas Eve, and he doesn’t think anybody should have to work around the holidays. When he steps in, it’s nearly empty. A few college students sit around a round table working on their laptops, surrounded by textbooks, and a woman in a suit is on a hushed call as she types away at her own laptop. You and one of your coworkers are behind the counter, wiping up the counters and putting away ingredients. You see him first, your entire face lighting up at the mere sight of him. As if he were something worth getting excited about.
“Hope I’m not too late,” he says, noting that they close in less than twenty minutes. He hates being that guy, and if it’s too much trouble, he’ll leave. He didn’t realise you guys were closing early, though it does make sense.
“You’re just in time,” you chirp, tapping away at the tablet. “What concoctions did your coworkers come up with this time?”
He sees the glare your coworker levels his way, and winces. “Y’know what. I’ll just skip the craziness. They’ve had enough caffeine as it is, and lord knows they don’t need all the sugar with all the goodies we made.”
You glance back at your coworker, whatever expression is on your face succeeds in making him turn back to scrubbing at a particularly stubborn stain. “Don’t worry about Ajax, they honestly just hate the holidays, and want to get out of the Christmas-infested cafe.”
“Right.” Bucky pulls out the list for you. “Um… thanks for this. And just the usual for me if it’s not too much trouble.”
You smile at him as you finish typing in his order. “Anything else?”
He opens his mouth. Closes it. “No.”
“It’ll be up in a second then!” He has to be imagining the way you slightly deflate at his silence.
Bucky walks over to the pickup counter, mentally berating himself for not furthering your conversation. He watches as you and Ajax whip up the orders. They talk to you so easily, so effortlessly, bumping your shoulders with a teasing smile. It makes him yearn for a time when he could talk to anyone without tripping over his words, without the uncomfortable silences that always manage to deter even the most stubborn of people. He misses the easy way he could flirt with dames, misses being able to give his touch so casually, misses being whole.
Maybe it’s for the best that he didn't say anything to you. He probably would have tripped over some outdated pick-up line, or fumbled trying to invite you back to the tower for a movie night (it’s way too soon to be bringing you there, good god, if he wants even a chance with you, he’ll have to keep you far from his team). He might’ve tried to do both in the same breath until his sentence was a jumbled-up mess of nonsense.
You would’ve smiled at him. Maybe with pity, maybe not. Because that’s who you are. You would’ve politely turned him down, tried not to make things awkward even if you were completely disgusted with his attempt, even if you’d take it back to your coworker or friends to say, “you’ll never guess what happened to me today.”
His name being called out disrupts his thoughts. Your mouth always manages to form his name into something beautiful. He’s unworthy of being referenced with such reverence, but he soaks it up, selfish as he is.
“Thanks for this,” he says, apparently unable to do anything but skip like a scratched record.
“No problem, James.” You smile at him as he picks up his order.
He scans the orders, each perfectly made as usual. Except… Well, he doesn’t see his coffee. You have your back turned to him now, putting away the several types of milk that you had to pull out for his order, and he feels bad. It’s almost closing time, and you guys just want to go home to celebrate the holiday with your family (okay, Ajax probably wants to bunker down until Christmas is over, but his point still stands).
“Everything alright?” you ask because, of course, you noticed that he paused.
“It’s nothing, um, have a Merry Christmas.” Bucky says. He was kind of hoping to see what you’d draw on his cup this time, hoping that you’d maybe take the time, even though you were tired and wanted to go home for Christmas, just to show that you cared. And isn’t that pathetic that he has to look for it in some poor underpaid barista who probably had to fend off creeps like him all the time.
“Wait! You should try yours before you take off.”
He turns back to you, his brows furrowed. “Um… you forgot it, but it’s okay! I can make my own-”
“Oh, no! Sorry, I should’ve mentioned. I thought… well, I changed up your order a bit — don’t worry, I didn’t charge you extra. Just thought you should have something a bit different for once.”
“Oh,” he mutters as he sets it back on the pickup counter. He watches you select one of the cups. You hand it to him, your face alight with cautious hope as he accepts it. He tries not to let his apprehension show on his face. Because whilst he appreciates the thought, if it’s anything like the sugar-monstrosities that his team orders, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stomach it. He hates the way the sweetness clings to his tongue and refuses to let go, so cloyingly artificial it makes him sick.
He doesn’t have to drink the whole thing, he tells himself. He can just take a sip, tell you he likes it, and then pawn it off to one of his teammates. The last thing he wants to do is make you feel bad for messing up his coffee.
“If you don’t like it, I can just make your usual,” you say, still sensing his hesitation despite his best efforts to hide it.
“I’m sure it’ll be good,” he smiles at you. “I trust your judgement.” He just doesn’t trust that anything behind that counter is anything other than artificial sweetness that he still hasn’t gotten used to the way everyone who came from this century has. Anything sweet back in his time was a rare treat; coffee used to always taste burnt and watery, with no sugar or cream to cover it up.
He blows on the coffee before bringing it to his lips for a taste. In an instant, flavours of cinnamon and honey and vanilla invade his senses — not the cloyingly sweet taste of syrups, but the actual thing. He can taste the coffee underneath it, the hint of sugar that doesn’t stick to his tongue like sap. None of the flavours is fighting over the other; each is somehow perfectly balanced.
He can’t stop himself from taking another sip, the trepidation immediately gone from his body. “It’s really good,” he offers to combat the worry line that appeared on your face from his silence. “Really good.”
Your entire body relaxes, as if those words held the weight of the world, as if his liking of the drink would make or break your day, as if it were something worthy of suspense, of a breath held. “Glad to hear it,” you say, the smile on your face somehow even brighter than normal, lighting up even your eyes.
He looks down at the cup, where the paper receipt hangs from it, ingredients written out in rushed shorthand. It’s then that he notices the adorable little reindeer you had scribbled at the top, a little speech bubble next to it containing the words “Happy Holidays!”
His heart warms, knowing, no doubt, that this little doodle cost you more time than usual.
“Happy Holidays,” Bucky says, before you’re able to turn to your coworker who’s waiting impatiently for you to finish up. “And thanks… for this… again.”
You smile at him, a little less bright than before, tinged with something he doesn’t quite understand.
It’s only when he gets back to the tower that he realises you had written a number near the bottom of the cup, a few hearts surrounding it. His heart skips a beat knowing it’s your number. You gave him your number.
Holiday banner made by the lovely @/chateaubarnes!
Taglist: @harleycao @hallecarey1 @filmsbyblair
Carving Skin Until My Bones Are Showing
Masterlist | A03 | Wattpad | Recommendations | Inbox | Taglist
Summary: You'd thought that everything was fine, until one overheard conversation shattered the illusion, your rose-tinted glasses fading to black. The words cut deeper than anything you've ever heard, and suddenly, you're re-evaluating everything: your relationship, your body, your worth. Now, the man you love with everything you have exists peacefully beside you, as if nothing's changed, while you slowly unravel in silence. You're left wondering if he's already halfway out the door, and you're just the last to know.
Warnings: disordered eating, fainting, body image issues, insecure!reader, misunderstandings, female reader (no y/n)
word count: 4,059
A/N: it's a few days late cause i kept procrastinating on making the banner, whoops | prompt fill for day 30 of @juneofdoom | "This is it isn't it" | Doubt | Crying
{Read on A03} | what i'm listening to
“I don’t know what to do anymore, Sam.”
Bucky’s voice carries across the room and into the hallway, voice laced with mild exasperation. Sam, sitting across from him with an unimpressed look on his face, takes a sip of his coffee. You smile at the sight of Sam, his presence a welcome, if not completely unexpected, surprise at the start of your morning. He must have gotten home early from the mission he was on.
“She’s just so clingy,” Bucky says. “She literally won’t leave me alone. It’s almost annoying at this point.”
You freeze in the doorway, smile slipping off your face in an instant. His words tear through your heart, leaving a hollow ache in their wake.
“That just means she really likes you,” Sam says, shrugging his shoulders.
Bucky huffs, rubbing a hand down his face. “You don’t understand, man. It’s bad, like really bad. I can barely get any of my shit done with her begging for my attention twenty-four seven. I just need some damn space to breathe sometimes.”
You didn’t think you were that bad. Sure, you really liked to drag him away from his work for cuddles—but that was only because you thought he needed the breaks. You know that he used to run himself dry, never letting himself rest until he practically passed out from exhaustion. You didn’t want that cycle to continue. It wasn’t like you forced him to do anything. He could always say no to you. In fact, he has said no to you a few times before—when the work was too important to shove aside for later. All those times he allowed himself to be pulled away, reluctant as he was—how many of those times had he been covertly annoyed with your insistence? How many times did he wish you would just leave him alone?
Your stomach twisted, guilt looming over you. He struggled socially, ran on a limited battery when it came to social interactions—why did you think it would be any different with you? Why did you think you were special? Of course, Bucky is sick of you. When’s the last time that Bucky had some time to himself without you bombarding him with affection and small talk?
“She’s spoiled, that’s what she is,” Bucky grunts, shaking his head. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes. Spoiled? Is that what he really thinks of you? How could he say such a thing? And to Sam, nonetheless. “She eats way too damn much. She’s been gaining so much weight recently; it’s honestly a problem. She ain’t gonna lose it any time soon either with how fucking lazy she is.”
Sam snorts. “Sounds like someone needs to go on a diet.”
“Tell me about it,” Bucky huffs before taking a sip of coffee.
A wave of mortification crashes over you, tears gathering in your eyes. Heart pounding, you take a shaky step back, determined to run back to your room before either of them catches you eavesdropping.
You race back to your shared room, tears blurring the hallway beyond recognition. Once in the safety of your room, you sink down to the floor, back pressed heavy against the door. Your breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps as you press a hand over your mouth—as if that alone could muffle the sobs wracking your body. The betrayal is sharp, sinking its claws into your chest and twisting deep inside of you. How could they say those things about you? How could Bucky say those things about you?
You weren’t that clingy, were you? You just liked being close to him, liked the warmth of his presence, the way he always made you feel safe. And sure, maybe you indulged a little too much lately, but had it really made that much of a difference? Have you clung so much that Bucky has started to resent you for it?
The words replay in your head, each repetition hitting harder, sinking deeper. He sounded so frustrated—so tired of you. Like he was already pulling away, one step from slipping through your fingers completely.
And could you even blame him?
You’ve seen the women he works alongside, the kind of people who seem like they belong in the world. Strong, confident, beautiful. Not needy. Not desperate. Not… you. Maybe he was just now realising what you had known all along—that you weren’t enough. That you never had been.
A fresh wave of tears burns your eyes, but you swallow hard, forcing them back down. You wouldn’t let this be the end.
You could fix this.
You could give him space—stop clinging, stop being so needy. You could take up less room, be less of a burden. And if you skipped a few meals, if you pushed yourself harder, maybe you could be someone he actually wanted again. Someone he’d be proud to love, instead of someone he merely put up with.
You just had to be better.
You would be better.
When you emerged from the bedroom for the second time that day, you made sure to make your arrival audible lest you walk in on them still talking about you and your shortcomings. Whilst you couldn’t stomach any breakfast, you needed your caffeine fix. Bucky greeted you with a wide, beautiful smile and a kiss on the forehead.
It almost made you sick—the way he was able to talk about you like you were the dirt underneath his shoe, only to turn around and play the role of your sweet lover. How could he act like everything was okay when he clearly held resentment against you? It almost makes you wonder how long he’d put up with you for the sake of maintaining this relationship—how long since he’d noticed your defects and realised that he deserved better. You almost feel selfish for keeping him tied to you. Now that the secret is out, there’s no point in dancing around the subject. And yet… here you are. In a kitchen you share with a man who doesn’t love you like he used to, and the man he entrusted with his troubles over you.
Just a little longer, you pleaded. You just need a chance to prove your worth. Bucky won’t have to worry about your overbearing clinginess. He won’t have to be embarrassed to be dating someone of your stature. Bucky deserves the best after everything that he’s been through; you were determined to be that for him in whatever way it took.
You startle out of your thoughts from the movement at your feet. A white ball of fluff looks up at you, meowing incessantly. You reach down to scritch between Alpine’s ears. “Hey, sweetheart,” you coo at her, abandoning your quest for coffee in lieu of holding your baby girl. At least Alpine appreciated your affliction for affection.
You don’t miss the look that passes between Bucky and Sam.
Stomach churning, you suddenly don’t feel the desire to make your coffee anymore. In fact, you don’t even want to be in this room anymore. “I’m going to go over to Nat’s,” you say, hoping that Nat isn’t too busy today.
Bucky’s brow furrows. “Weren’t we going to see that movie today?”
Shoot. You had completely forgotten about that. “We can go later, Nat wanted me to come over right away in the morning.”
“Let me make you your coffee before you go.”
“That’s okay, I’m stopping to get some for Nat and me,” you say, dismissal clear in your tone. It would have made you feel bad to act this way before—before his cruel words effectively tore your heart and spirit to shreds. You gave your baby Alpine a kiss on the top of her head, promising her that you’d be back soon before seeing her back on the ground. You grabbed your purse and sped out of the door without even saying goodbye to the two men.
You spent the majority of the day with Natasha, dread curling around your insides every time you thought about going back home, back to Bucky.
You had promised him that you’d be back to see the movie; however, so, too soon for your liking, you say goodbye to Nat and walk back to your apartment.
There’s a vase of your favourite flowers sitting on the counter when you enter. You frown at the sight, not sure why he would bother when he’s obviously upset with you.
You walk into the living space to see Alpine curled up on Bucky’s lap, his work laptop abandoned on the coffee table. Bucky greets you with a smile, setting a protesting Alpine aside to stand up and give you a welcome home kiss.
“What time were you thinking of for the movie?” He asks, arms resting around your waist.
Frustration begins to creep into your chest. If he had a problem with your clinginess, why is he initiating contact? That’s not fair. How are you supposed to leave him alone when he does stuff like this? “Doesn’t matter to me,” you shrug, not able to meet his eyes.
“There’s a showing in an hour, how does that sound? We can go get dinner afterwards.”
“Sounds great,” you replied.
The movie would have been great if you hadn’t sat there stewing in your own anxiety the entire film. Afterwards, Bucky took you to your favourite restaurant where you ordered a salad with the dressing on the side. Bucky’s brows furrowed at your unusual choice, but he didn’t say anything. The dinner was stilted and awkward, both of you running out of things to talk about sooner than usual.
For the next few weeks, you successfully distanced yourself from your boyfriend. You ignored the way your heart ached every time you saw Bucky alone on the couch, wishing you could go over and snuggle up to his warmth. You learned to ignore the hunger pangs, the way your stomach felt like it was eating itself. Your head split open with the force of the headaches pounding against your skull, vision swimming every time you stood up too quickly.
It’s fine, you told yourself. Who really needed breakfast anyway? Why eat lunch when you could have a few snacks? Bucky was right, you really did eat too much. You could survive on one meal a day, snacks thrown in when your hunger got the best of you, or your hands began to shake too much. You were getting better for him, though, so it didn’t matter. You were eating less, clinging less—just like Bucky had wanted; so why wasn’t he happy yet?
The bed felt colder than usual.
You used to sleep tangled up in Bucky’s arms, leeching off of Bucky’s furnace of a body. You used to tuck your perpetually cold feet against his legs, laughing off his grumbling about how your toes felt like icicles.
Now, you curl up at the farthest edge of the mattress, not willing to accidentally touch him when he clearly wants to be left alone.
You used to look forward to getting home from work, ready to melt into your supersoldier’s arms at the end of a long, tiring day.
Now, you’re filled with dread, wondering if this time will finally be the last.
You used to love the shared dinners at the worn table you had found at a thrift store long ago. Bucky and you would take turns choosing what meal to prepare—you had been on a mission to introduce him to the world of flavour the 21st century had to offer; he always used to say the best part of the ordeal was watching your expectant face as he tried the first bite.
Now your stomach twisted at the mere thought of eating in front of him. His words echoed through your brain with each bite you took—it was enough to make you sick.
Bucky had grown short and snappy with everyone (except you) lately; Natasha had complained ad nauseum about your grumpy boyfriend the last few times you’d hung out. You couldn’t help but think that all of those weeks of your overbearing clinginess were finally catching up to him, as if talking to Sam had opened the floodgates. He has finally realised what his problem was: you.
You really were too late to fix this. No amount of distance could fix what damage had been done. Bucky had a foot out the door for a long time now, and you had been too oblivious to notice.
It was a typical Tuesday when Bucky sent you a text that shattered any hope of repairing your relationship.
>>>Hey, after work, can you come straight home?
>>>We really need to talk.
The cursor blinked steadily even as your hand shook. Tears quickly blurred the damning texts beyond recognition—not that you’d ever forget those words; the words that signified the end of the best thing to happen to you.
After crying in the bathroom for the entirety of your lunch break, you passed through the rest of the day in a haze. Your coworkers knew something was wrong, of course, they did, but you didn’t offer up any explanation.
You felt something press against your throat as you slid the key into the lock, suffocating you with every step you took towards him. There was no point in prolonging the inevitable any further. You wouldn’t continue to drag Bucky down.
The vase of flowers was still sitting on the counter—he’d been buying you a new batch every time they started to wilt. Was he cheating on you? Was that why he was getting you flowers so much more often? The thought was something you’d have previously thought inconceivable, but now you weren’t so sure.
Breaking you from your thoughts, Bucky called out your name from the living room. You forced your gaze away from the flowers and to the living room.
Bucky was sitting on the sofa, hands clasped in between his knees and head hanging low. Your stomach swirled at the sight. This was it, wasn’t it? He was going to cut his losses—cut you from his life.
You crossed your arms, tucking your hands out of sight to hide the way they trembled. You waited for him to say something, not willing to be the person to instigate the conversation.
“Could you sit down?” Bucky asks, sounding so small as he gestures to the armchair. You walk over to the chair, despite wanting to stay as close to the exit as possible—ready to run away as soon as his words cut through you like a knife.
Bucky sighs deeply, his hands running over his face. You almost reach out for him, wanting to comfort him, wanting to kiss those lines away from his forehead. Stopping yourself, you remind yourself that it’s not your place, not anymore, and it hasn’t been for a while now.
“This isn’t working anymore, doll,” Bucky says, not even able to look at you. You saw it coming a mile away, and yet it doesn’t take away the anguish those words bring you.
You know you should say something, but words seem to escape you as soon as you open your mouth. Instead, a hot ball of grief and shame lodges in your throat. Tears spring to your eyes, despite telling yourself that you would not let him see you cry over this. It’s for the best, you try to tell yourself. You were but a stepping stone to Bucky’s recovery. You should be grateful that a man like him even offered you a second glance. Despite the way things ended, you know that you’ll look back on all the memories you made together and smile. Because, for once in your life, you knew what it was like to be loved so wholly. You knew what it was like to have a man who cared so deeply, loved so openly, and gave you enough devotion to last a lifetime.
“Yeah,” you agree with him for the sake of things. You hope he won’t look too deeply into your unshed tears, the way your voice wobbled and the way your body trembled. “I… I should go.”
“Doll-”
You cut him off before he can get another word in. “No, just… let me-”
Standing up to run away from this awful conversation, you feel the world sway around you. Black fades in at the edges of your vision as you stumble forward. You think you hear Bucky calling out your name under the sharp ringing in your ears. Clenching your eyes shut, you brace yourself for the hardwood floor.
—
“Doll?”
You groan as something prods your side. Just five more minutes, you think, burying your face into the warmth surrounding you.
“Sweetheart, please!”
Is that Bucky? Why does he sound so worried?
Blinking up at your boyfriend, you find that you’re both in the living room. Bucky’s clenching onto your body like a lifeline. “What’s wrong, Bucky?”
He stares blankly at you for a few seconds. “Doll… you just passed out.”
“Oh,” you eloquently respond.
The fog covering your brain begins to lift bit by bit. You were both sitting down… Bucky was… he was breaking up with you.
Jolting, you scramble out of Bucky’s arms, pushing him away, away, away.
“I’m sorry,” you say, covering your heated face in shame. “I’m so sorry, Bucky.”
“Don’t be sorry, honey.” He scoots closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” you say, despite knowing full well that ever since you started skipping meals, you’ve been prone to blacking out if you stand up too fast.
Bucky frowns at you, eyebrows furrowed. “I feel like you aren’t telling the truth right now.”
“It doesn’t matter, Bucky.”
“Like hell it doesn’t matter! You just fainted. If I hadn’t been there to catch you, you’d have cut your head open on the side of the table. Tell me what’s going on!” Never before had you heard Bucky sound so worried.
“Why do you care so much?”
“Why do I–Why do I care?” Bucky scoffs in disbelief. “You did not just ask me that.”
“You’re finally breaking up with me, you don’t have to pretend to care about me anymore,” you shoot back, venom lacing your words as you extricate yourself from under his arm.
“Breaking… I wasn’t going to break up with you,” Bucky says as if the idea alone was unimaginable.
“Bullshit! I know that you’ve been wanting to break up with me for weeks—months even!”
“Where the hell would you get an idea like that from?”
“I heard you talking to Sam last month. You told him that I was clingy and lazy and fat.”
Bucky looks positively bewildered at your words. “I would never say any of that crap!”
“But you did.” You cross your arms, daring him to continue lying to you.
“Why the hell would I ever say that? I sure as hell don’t think any of that-”
“Oh, give it up, Barnes. Who else would you have been talking about? Who else is such a spoiled, lazy, clingy, fat-”
“Oh my god,” Bucky interrupts you. “Are you talking about that time I was complaining about Alpine?”
Your heart stops in your chest. “What?”
“I was telling Sam about how annoying it was trying to work from home. She’d always sit on my damn laptop and yowl in my face until I payed attention to her.” Bucky shakes his head—his bemusement is quick to fade, however. “You seriously thought that I was talking about you?”
Sniffling back tears, you nodded your head.
“Oh, Jesus, doll. Why didn’t you say something?” Bucky wraps his arms around you. “Hell, if I ever said something like that, I’d expect at least a slap to the face.”
“But I was too clingy, always cuddling you and giving you kisses-”
“Is that why you haven’t so much as touched me the last few weeks?”
“I thought you wanted me to stop,”
Bucky squeezes you tighter. “Never. I’d never want you to stop. Doll, I thought you were mad at me. I kept buying you flowers and making your favourite dinners to try and get you to forgive me. But you didn’t even give them a second glance, and half the time you’d already eaten or you’d just push the food around on your plate.”
You melt into his embrace, his reassurances a balm over the lingering anxiety of being too much for him. “I was just trying to make you like me again.”
“Doll,” Bucky pulls away from you, sounding completely gutted. “You should never change yourself to make someone like you more. I love how clingy you are—I missed you so damn much.”
“What about…” No, you can’t ask that—you don’t want to hear his answer. “Never mind.”
And Bucky, damn him, doesn’t let it go. “What about what?”
“It’s nothing,” you say, pulling away from him.
“Doll, please don’t shut me out,” Bucky pleads, using those sad eyes that always make you fold.
“It’s just… You never… Do you have a problem with what I look like?”
Bucky’s frown deepens. “Of course, not. Doll, you are so damn beautiful-”
“But I could be thinner. Lots of other girls are prettier and skinnier,” you interrupt him. You freeze at the way his face hardens.
“I love you just the way you are, sweetheart. You don’t have to change a god damn thing about you. You want to know who drives me crazy? You. You want to know who I want to spend the rest of my life looking at? You. When I fell in love with you, I fell in love with all of you. It’s always going to be you. I don’t want no one else, got it?”
“I…” You stumble over your words, tears burning in your waterline. “I started skipping meals again. That’s why I passed out.”
Bucky’s face turns ashen. “You… you stopped eating because of me?”
“I didn’t completely stop eating! I had snacks and dinner most days. It’s not that big-”
“So help me god if you were about to say that it’s not that big of a deal,” Bucky interrupts you, voice sharp. “You need to eat, doll. This beautiful body cannot live without food.”
“I just thought… I thought if I started skipping meals and working out more, I’d look more like Nat or Sharon or-”
“If I wanted someone that looked like them, I’d ask them out. You wanna know why I asked you out? It’s because I thought you were hot. It’s because you’re as gorgeous on the outside as you are on the inside. I don’t want you to look like Nat, I don’t want you to look like Sharon. I want you to look like you.”
Bucky says it with such conviction, you can’t help but allow the tears to fall down your face. “You really mean that?”
“Of course, babydoll. You’re it for me. Don’t want no one else.” Bucky pulls you back into his arms, nuzzling his face into the junction between your neck and shoulder. “Call off of work tomorrow.”
“What? I can’t-” You screech as he lifts you into his arms. Clinging to him like a koala as he makes his way to your bedroom, you protest every step of the way.
“Hush,” he says, laying you down on the bed. “I have been deprived of your cuddles for too damn long. We’re gonna order whatever you want, and snuggle all night long. Then tomorrow, I’m going to make you a giant breakfast and we can go on a picnic for lunch.”
“I don’t ever want my best girl doubting my love for her again, got it?” Bucky asks, leaning over you.
You huff at his antics, rolling your eyes. He pinches your side, only the hint of a grin belying his angered expression. “Got it?” Bucky asks again.
“Yes! Okay, I got it!”
“I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you know just how loved you are,” he says as a promise before leaning in and kissing your lips.
That night, as you snuggle into his warmth, you endeavour to never let a misunderstanding like this tear you apart again.
Taglist: @hallecarey1 @harleycao @filmsbyblair
this is so well written 🥹🫂
Thank you so much, Lovely!!! I’m super glad that you liked it 💕💕💕
AO3 Wrapped 2
For those who want a deeper dive into 2025:
instructions:
go to filters
under more options, select “date updated”
choose from 2025-01-01 to 2025-12-31
hit “sort and filter” button
now that you’re left with all the fics of 2025, you’ll be able to see your most common by looking at the dropdown menu “include” for each category
Feel free to send questions my way and I’ll do my best to answer 💕💕
Part 1
To answer @sinclairmaxwellao3‘s question (easiest way is to show you):
Go to your profile and select “Works”
Lower down, there will be a button that says “Filters”; click on that!
From there it’ll have drop down lists with each category and the number of fics you wrote with it
The highlighted “date updated” is where you’ll put in the dates
For example:
This year, my most used tag was “Angst” coming in with 14 of my works including it
Thank you for the question, I hope this more in-depth explanation helped 💕💕💕
AO3 Wrapped 2
For those who want a deeper dive into 2025:
instructions:
go to filters
under more options, select “date updated”
choose from 2025-01-01 to 2025-12-31
hit “sort and filter” button
now that you’re left with all the fics of 2025, you’ll be able to see your most common by looking at the dropdown menu “include” for each category
Feel free to send questions my way and I’ll do my best to answer 💕💕
Part 1
Hello lovelies!! I hope you all are having a wonderful day!! I thought I’d share something I’ve been working on.
These are templates in different colours for writers of AO3 to use if they wish as we’re wrapping up 2025. Feel free to save and share with your friends!! Also feel free to ask questions if you’re not sure about something and I’ll do my best to help you out!
Instructions:
go to ao3 dashboard
select “statistics”
click on “2025”
Please note, this is not supposed to be a competition between us writers. It’s only to see how far you’ve come this year and to have something to look back on! Don’t be discouraged if you don’t have as high of stats as someone else; you should be proud of yourself for anything that you have done. You did great this year, and I can’t wait to see what next year brings! 🥰
I based this off of a pic I saw on google, credit for the original idea goes to @spicedrobot
Part 2
“apology flowers” was SO GOOD!!! would be thrilled to have a part 2. the angst was delicious, thank you so much!!
Thank you so much Anon!!! Sorry for the late reply, I didn’t see this until now. Part two will definitely be coming out (can’t say for sure when yet though) 💕💕
Carving Skin Until My Bones Are Showing
Masterlist | A03 | Wattpad | Recommendations | Inbox | Taglist
Summary: You'd thought that everything was fine, until one overheard conversation shattered the illusion, your rose-tinted glasses fading to black. The words cut deeper than anything you've ever heard, and suddenly, you're re-evaluating everything: your relationship, your body, your worth. Now, the man you love with everything you have exists peacefully beside you, as if nothing's changed, while you slowly unravel in silence. You're left wondering if he's already halfway out the door, and you're just the last to know.
Warnings: disordered eating, fainting, body image issues, insecure!reader, misunderstandings, female reader (no y/n)
word count: 4,059
A/N: it's a few days late cause i kept procrastinating on making the banner, whoops | prompt fill for day 30 of @juneofdoom | "This is it isn't it" | Doubt | Crying
{Read on A03} | what i'm listening to
“I don’t know what to do anymore, Sam.”
Bucky’s voice carries across the room and into the hallway, voice laced with mild exasperation. Sam, sitting across from him with an unimpressed look on his face, takes a sip of his coffee. You smile at the sight of Sam, his presence a welcome, if not completely unexpected, surprise at the start of your morning. He must have gotten home early from the mission he was on.
“She’s just so clingy,” Bucky says. “She literally won’t leave me alone. It’s almost annoying at this point.”
You freeze in the doorway, smile slipping off your face in an instant. His words tear through your heart, leaving a hollow ache in their wake.
“That just means she really likes you,” Sam says, shrugging his shoulders.
Bucky huffs, rubbing a hand down his face. “You don’t understand, man. It’s bad, like really bad. I can barely get any of my shit done with her begging for my attention twenty-four seven. I just need some damn space to breathe sometimes.”
You didn’t think you were that bad. Sure, you really liked to drag him away from his work for cuddles—but that was only because you thought he needed the breaks. You know that he used to run himself dry, never letting himself rest until he practically passed out from exhaustion. You didn’t want that cycle to continue. It wasn’t like you forced him to do anything. He could always say no to you. In fact, he has said no to you a few times before—when the work was too important to shove aside for later. All those times he allowed himself to be pulled away, reluctant as he was—how many of those times had he been covertly annoyed with your insistence? How many times did he wish you would just leave him alone?
Your stomach twisted, guilt looming over you. He struggled socially, ran on a limited battery when it came to social interactions—why did you think it would be any different with you? Why did you think you were special? Of course, Bucky is sick of you. When’s the last time that Bucky had some time to himself without you bombarding him with affection and small talk?
“She’s spoiled, that’s what she is,” Bucky grunts, shaking his head. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes. Spoiled? Is that what he really thinks of you? How could he say such a thing? And to Sam, nonetheless. “She eats way too damn much. She’s been gaining so much weight recently; it’s honestly a problem. She ain’t gonna lose it any time soon either with how fucking lazy she is.”
Sam snorts. “Sounds like someone needs to go on a diet.”
“Tell me about it,” Bucky huffs before taking a sip of coffee.
A wave of mortification crashes over you, tears gathering in your eyes. Heart pounding, you take a shaky step back, determined to run back to your room before either of them catches you eavesdropping.
You race back to your shared room, tears blurring the hallway beyond recognition. Once in the safety of your room, you sink down to the floor, back pressed heavy against the door. Your breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps as you press a hand over your mouth—as if that alone could muffle the sobs wracking your body. The betrayal is sharp, sinking its claws into your chest and twisting deep inside of you. How could they say those things about you? How could Bucky say those things about you?
You weren’t that clingy, were you? You just liked being close to him, liked the warmth of his presence, the way he always made you feel safe. And sure, maybe you indulged a little too much lately, but had it really made that much of a difference? Have you clung so much that Bucky has started to resent you for it?
The words replay in your head, each repetition hitting harder, sinking deeper. He sounded so frustrated—so tired of you. Like he was already pulling away, one step from slipping through your fingers completely.
And could you even blame him?
You’ve seen the women he works alongside, the kind of people who seem like they belong in the world. Strong, confident, beautiful. Not needy. Not desperate. Not… you. Maybe he was just now realising what you had known all along—that you weren’t enough. That you never had been.
A fresh wave of tears burns your eyes, but you swallow hard, forcing them back down. You wouldn’t let this be the end.
You could fix this.
You could give him space—stop clinging, stop being so needy. You could take up less room, be less of a burden. And if you skipped a few meals, if you pushed yourself harder, maybe you could be someone he actually wanted again. Someone he’d be proud to love, instead of someone he merely put up with.
You just had to be better.
You would be better.
When you emerged from the bedroom for the second time that day, you made sure to make your arrival audible lest you walk in on them still talking about you and your shortcomings. Whilst you couldn’t stomach any breakfast, you needed your caffeine fix. Bucky greeted you with a wide, beautiful smile and a kiss on the forehead.
It almost made you sick—the way he was able to talk about you like you were the dirt underneath his shoe, only to turn around and play the role of your sweet lover. How could he act like everything was okay when he clearly held resentment against you? It almost makes you wonder how long he’d put up with you for the sake of maintaining this relationship—how long since he’d noticed your defects and realised that he deserved better. You almost feel selfish for keeping him tied to you. Now that the secret is out, there’s no point in dancing around the subject. And yet… here you are. In a kitchen you share with a man who doesn’t love you like he used to, and the man he entrusted with his troubles over you.
Just a little longer, you pleaded. You just need a chance to prove your worth. Bucky won’t have to worry about your overbearing clinginess. He won’t have to be embarrassed to be dating someone of your stature. Bucky deserves the best after everything that he’s been through; you were determined to be that for him in whatever way it took.
You startle out of your thoughts from the movement at your feet. A white ball of fluff looks up at you, meowing incessantly. You reach down to scritch between Alpine’s ears. “Hey, sweetheart,” you coo at her, abandoning your quest for coffee in lieu of holding your baby girl. At least Alpine appreciated your affliction for affection.
You don’t miss the look that passes between Bucky and Sam.
Stomach churning, you suddenly don’t feel the desire to make your coffee anymore. In fact, you don’t even want to be in this room anymore. “I’m going to go over to Nat’s,” you say, hoping that Nat isn’t too busy today.
Bucky’s brow furrows. “Weren’t we going to see that movie today?”
Shoot. You had completely forgotten about that. “We can go later, Nat wanted me to come over right away in the morning.”
“Let me make you your coffee before you go.”
“That’s okay, I’m stopping to get some for Nat and me,” you say, dismissal clear in your tone. It would have made you feel bad to act this way before—before his cruel words effectively tore your heart and spirit to shreds. You gave your baby Alpine a kiss on the top of her head, promising her that you’d be back soon before seeing her back on the ground. You grabbed your purse and sped out of the door without even saying goodbye to the two men.
You spent the majority of the day with Natasha, dread curling around your insides every time you thought about going back home, back to Bucky.
You had promised him that you’d be back to see the movie; however, so, too soon for your liking, you say goodbye to Nat and walk back to your apartment.
There’s a vase of your favourite flowers sitting on the counter when you enter. You frown at the sight, not sure why he would bother when he’s obviously upset with you.
You walk into the living space to see Alpine curled up on Bucky’s lap, his work laptop abandoned on the coffee table. Bucky greets you with a smile, setting a protesting Alpine aside to stand up and give you a welcome home kiss.
“What time were you thinking of for the movie?” He asks, arms resting around your waist.
Frustration begins to creep into your chest. If he had a problem with your clinginess, why is he initiating contact? That’s not fair. How are you supposed to leave him alone when he does stuff like this? “Doesn’t matter to me,” you shrug, not able to meet his eyes.
“There’s a showing in an hour, how does that sound? We can go get dinner afterwards.”
“Sounds great,” you replied.
The movie would have been great if you hadn’t sat there stewing in your own anxiety the entire film. Afterwards, Bucky took you to your favourite restaurant where you ordered a salad with the dressing on the side. Bucky’s brows furrowed at your unusual choice, but he didn’t say anything. The dinner was stilted and awkward, both of you running out of things to talk about sooner than usual.
For the next few weeks, you successfully distanced yourself from your boyfriend. You ignored the way your heart ached every time you saw Bucky alone on the couch, wishing you could go over and snuggle up to his warmth. You learned to ignore the hunger pangs, the way your stomach felt like it was eating itself. Your head split open with the force of the headaches pounding against your skull, vision swimming every time you stood up too quickly.
It’s fine, you told yourself. Who really needed breakfast anyway? Why eat lunch when you could have a few snacks? Bucky was right, you really did eat too much. You could survive on one meal a day, snacks thrown in when your hunger got the best of you, or your hands began to shake too much. You were getting better for him, though, so it didn’t matter. You were eating less, clinging less—just like Bucky had wanted; so why wasn’t he happy yet?
The bed felt colder than usual.
You used to sleep tangled up in Bucky’s arms, leeching off of Bucky’s furnace of a body. You used to tuck your perpetually cold feet against his legs, laughing off his grumbling about how your toes felt like icicles.
Now, you curl up at the farthest edge of the mattress, not willing to accidentally touch him when he clearly wants to be left alone.
You used to look forward to getting home from work, ready to melt into your supersoldier’s arms at the end of a long, tiring day.
Now, you’re filled with dread, wondering if this time will finally be the last.
You used to love the shared dinners at the worn table you had found at a thrift store long ago. Bucky and you would take turns choosing what meal to prepare—you had been on a mission to introduce him to the world of flavour the 21st century had to offer; he always used to say the best part of the ordeal was watching your expectant face as he tried the first bite.
Now your stomach twisted at the mere thought of eating in front of him. His words echoed through your brain with each bite you took—it was enough to make you sick.
Bucky had grown short and snappy with everyone (except you) lately; Natasha had complained ad nauseum about your grumpy boyfriend the last few times you’d hung out. You couldn’t help but think that all of those weeks of your overbearing clinginess were finally catching up to him, as if talking to Sam had opened the floodgates. He has finally realised what his problem was: you.
You really were too late to fix this. No amount of distance could fix what damage had been done. Bucky had a foot out the door for a long time now, and you had been too oblivious to notice.
It was a typical Tuesday when Bucky sent you a text that shattered any hope of repairing your relationship.
>>>Hey, after work, can you come straight home?
>>>We really need to talk.
The cursor blinked steadily even as your hand shook. Tears quickly blurred the damning texts beyond recognition—not that you’d ever forget those words; the words that signified the end of the best thing to happen to you.
After crying in the bathroom for the entirety of your lunch break, you passed through the rest of the day in a haze. Your coworkers knew something was wrong, of course, they did, but you didn’t offer up any explanation.
You felt something press against your throat as you slid the key into the lock, suffocating you with every step you took towards him. There was no point in prolonging the inevitable any further. You wouldn’t continue to drag Bucky down.
The vase of flowers was still sitting on the counter—he’d been buying you a new batch every time they started to wilt. Was he cheating on you? Was that why he was getting you flowers so much more often? The thought was something you’d have previously thought inconceivable, but now you weren’t so sure.
Breaking you from your thoughts, Bucky called out your name from the living room. You forced your gaze away from the flowers and to the living room.
Bucky was sitting on the sofa, hands clasped in between his knees and head hanging low. Your stomach swirled at the sight. This was it, wasn’t it? He was going to cut his losses—cut you from his life.
You crossed your arms, tucking your hands out of sight to hide the way they trembled. You waited for him to say something, not willing to be the person to instigate the conversation.
“Could you sit down?” Bucky asks, sounding so small as he gestures to the armchair. You walk over to the chair, despite wanting to stay as close to the exit as possible—ready to run away as soon as his words cut through you like a knife.
Bucky sighs deeply, his hands running over his face. You almost reach out for him, wanting to comfort him, wanting to kiss those lines away from his forehead. Stopping yourself, you remind yourself that it’s not your place, not anymore, and it hasn’t been for a while now.
“This isn’t working anymore, doll,” Bucky says, not even able to look at you. You saw it coming a mile away, and yet it doesn’t take away the anguish those words bring you.
You know you should say something, but words seem to escape you as soon as you open your mouth. Instead, a hot ball of grief and shame lodges in your throat. Tears spring to your eyes, despite telling yourself that you would not let him see you cry over this. It’s for the best, you try to tell yourself. You were but a stepping stone to Bucky’s recovery. You should be grateful that a man like him even offered you a second glance. Despite the way things ended, you know that you’ll look back on all the memories you made together and smile. Because, for once in your life, you knew what it was like to be loved so wholly. You knew what it was like to have a man who cared so deeply, loved so openly, and gave you enough devotion to last a lifetime.
“Yeah,” you agree with him for the sake of things. You hope he won’t look too deeply into your unshed tears, the way your voice wobbled and the way your body trembled. “I… I should go.”
“Doll-”
You cut him off before he can get another word in. “No, just… let me-”
Standing up to run away from this awful conversation, you feel the world sway around you. Black fades in at the edges of your vision as you stumble forward. You think you hear Bucky calling out your name under the sharp ringing in your ears. Clenching your eyes shut, you brace yourself for the hardwood floor.
—
“Doll?”
You groan as something prods your side. Just five more minutes, you think, burying your face into the warmth surrounding you.
“Sweetheart, please!”
Is that Bucky? Why does he sound so worried?
Blinking up at your boyfriend, you find that you’re both in the living room. Bucky’s clenching onto your body like a lifeline. “What’s wrong, Bucky?”
He stares blankly at you for a few seconds. “Doll… you just passed out.”
“Oh,” you eloquently respond.
The fog covering your brain begins to lift bit by bit. You were both sitting down… Bucky was… he was breaking up with you.
Jolting, you scramble out of Bucky’s arms, pushing him away, away, away.
“I’m sorry,” you say, covering your heated face in shame. “I’m so sorry, Bucky.”
“Don’t be sorry, honey.” He scoots closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” you say, despite knowing full well that ever since you started skipping meals, you’ve been prone to blacking out if you stand up too fast.
Bucky frowns at you, eyebrows furrowed. “I feel like you aren’t telling the truth right now.”
“It doesn’t matter, Bucky.”
“Like hell it doesn’t matter! You just fainted. If I hadn’t been there to catch you, you’d have cut your head open on the side of the table. Tell me what’s going on!” Never before had you heard Bucky sound so worried.
“Why do you care so much?”
“Why do I–Why do I care?” Bucky scoffs in disbelief. “You did not just ask me that.”
“You’re finally breaking up with me, you don’t have to pretend to care about me anymore,” you shoot back, venom lacing your words as you extricate yourself from under his arm.
“Breaking… I wasn’t going to break up with you,” Bucky says as if the idea alone was unimaginable.
“Bullshit! I know that you’ve been wanting to break up with me for weeks—months even!”
“Where the hell would you get an idea like that from?”
“I heard you talking to Sam last month. You told him that I was clingy and lazy and fat.”
Bucky looks positively bewildered at your words. “I would never say any of that crap!”
“But you did.” You cross your arms, daring him to continue lying to you.
“Why the hell would I ever say that? I sure as hell don’t think any of that-”
“Oh, give it up, Barnes. Who else would you have been talking about? Who else is such a spoiled, lazy, clingy, fat-”
“Oh my god,” Bucky interrupts you. “Are you talking about that time I was complaining about Alpine?”
Your heart stops in your chest. “What?”
“I was telling Sam about how annoying it was trying to work from home. She’d always sit on my damn laptop and yowl in my face until I payed attention to her.” Bucky shakes his head—his bemusement is quick to fade, however. “You seriously thought that I was talking about you?”
Sniffling back tears, you nodded your head.
“Oh, Jesus, doll. Why didn’t you say something?” Bucky wraps his arms around you. “Hell, if I ever said something like that, I’d expect at least a slap to the face.”
“But I was too clingy, always cuddling you and giving you kisses-”
“Is that why you haven’t so much as touched me the last few weeks?”
“I thought you wanted me to stop,”
Bucky squeezes you tighter. “Never. I’d never want you to stop. Doll, I thought you were mad at me. I kept buying you flowers and making your favourite dinners to try and get you to forgive me. But you didn’t even give them a second glance, and half the time you’d already eaten or you’d just push the food around on your plate.”
You melt into his embrace, his reassurances a balm over the lingering anxiety of being too much for him. “I was just trying to make you like me again.”
“Doll,” Bucky pulls away from you, sounding completely gutted. “You should never change yourself to make someone like you more. I love how clingy you are—I missed you so damn much.”
“What about…” No, you can’t ask that—you don’t want to hear his answer. “Never mind.”
And Bucky, damn him, doesn’t let it go. “What about what?”
“It’s nothing,” you say, pulling away from him.
“Doll, please don’t shut me out,” Bucky pleads, using those sad eyes that always make you fold.
“It’s just… You never… Do you have a problem with what I look like?”
Bucky’s frown deepens. “Of course, not. Doll, you are so damn beautiful-”
“But I could be thinner. Lots of other girls are prettier and skinnier,” you interrupt him. You freeze at the way his face hardens.
“I love you just the way you are, sweetheart. You don’t have to change a god damn thing about you. You want to know who drives me crazy? You. You want to know who I want to spend the rest of my life looking at? You. When I fell in love with you, I fell in love with all of you. It’s always going to be you. I don’t want no one else, got it?”
“I…” You stumble over your words, tears burning in your waterline. “I started skipping meals again. That’s why I passed out.”
Bucky’s face turns ashen. “You… you stopped eating because of me?”
“I didn’t completely stop eating! I had snacks and dinner most days. It’s not that big-”
“So help me god if you were about to say that it’s not that big of a deal,” Bucky interrupts you, voice sharp. “You need to eat, doll. This beautiful body cannot live without food.”
“I just thought… I thought if I started skipping meals and working out more, I’d look more like Nat or Sharon or-”
“If I wanted someone that looked like them, I’d ask them out. You wanna know why I asked you out? It’s because I thought you were hot. It’s because you’re as gorgeous on the outside as you are on the inside. I don’t want you to look like Nat, I don’t want you to look like Sharon. I want you to look like you.”
Bucky says it with such conviction, you can’t help but allow the tears to fall down your face. “You really mean that?”
“Of course, babydoll. You’re it for me. Don’t want no one else.” Bucky pulls you back into his arms, nuzzling his face into the junction between your neck and shoulder. “Call off of work tomorrow.”
“What? I can’t-” You screech as he lifts you into his arms. Clinging to him like a koala as he makes his way to your bedroom, you protest every step of the way.
“Hush,” he says, laying you down on the bed. “I have been deprived of your cuddles for too damn long. We’re gonna order whatever you want, and snuggle all night long. Then tomorrow, I’m going to make you a giant breakfast and we can go on a picnic for lunch.”
“I don’t ever want my best girl doubting my love for her again, got it?” Bucky asks, leaning over you.
You huff at his antics, rolling your eyes. He pinches your side, only the hint of a grin belying his angered expression. “Got it?” Bucky asks again.
“Yes! Okay, I got it!”
“I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you know just how loved you are,” he says as a promise before leaning in and kissing your lips.
That night, as you snuggle into his warmth, you endeavour to never let a misunderstanding like this tear you apart again.
Taglist: @hallecarey1 @harleycao @filmsbyblair
Apology Flowers
Masterlist | A03 | Wattpad | Recommendations | Inbox | Taglist
summary: Clark Kent stood you up on your blind date. What you weren't expecting was a heartfelt apology served with a bouquet as he begged you for a second chance.
word count: 6,638
A/N: In this story, Lois doesn't know Clark is Superman. I might continue this because I have a vague idea for how to continue it; if anyone is interested lmk!
{Read on A03}
You should have known it was too good to be true.
After months of putting yourself out there on dating apps filled with nothing but assholes that didn’t know how to treat a woman, you had given up all hope. You hated getting all dressed up, doing your hair and makeup just to end the night in disappointment.
Why you let Lois talk you into a blind date with one of her coworkers was beyond you. Maybe it was because of the amount of time she spent raving about his virtues: how he held the door open for her any time they passed through one, how he stayed up late helping his coworkers even if he got nothing out of it, how he remembered how each and every person in their little circle of reporters preferred their coffee or tea. Lois had been upfront about how handsome he was, how she would have dated him in a heartbeat if she weren’t already in a relationship. Time and time again, she insisted that he would be different. She had told you that there was no way Clark Kent would disappoint.
And yet there you were, sipping on your half-empty second water of the night, tall, handsome reporter nowhere in sight.
You sighed as you checked your phone; thirty minutes had passed since he was supposed to meet you. The waitress’s eyes had burned into your skull every time she passed, the pity on her face clear from a mile away. You had tried to ignore the heat that rose to your face when she’d asked if you were going to order anything else, tried to keep your voice steady when you told her you were still waiting for someone. It wasn't your first time getting stood up; that didn't make the sting hurt any less, however.
Forty-five minutes in, and the waitress approached you once more. “I’m terribly sorry, ma’am, but if you’re not going to order anything, I need to ask you to leave.”
Tears burned beneath your eyes, humiliation wrapping a vice around your heart. “Right… yeah, of course,” you managed to mutter, opening the menu. It blurred in and out of focus as the tears threatened to surface. “I’ll just… I’ll have a red wine. Whatever’s cheapest.” You sniffed back the tears welling up in your eyes, hiding behind your menu. “And I’ll have… the linguine alfredo as well.”
The waitress scribbled down your order on her pad and paused before taking your menu. “Whoever stood you up is an asshole. Should be criminal to leave a pretty girl like you hanging,” she told you. “You could do so much better than that loser.”
You lowered your head, mumbling a thanks her way. She soon disappeared, leaving you alone once more.
The pasta was good, as was the wine, but you couldn’t really find it in yourself to enjoy it. This was your last shot. The last time you were willing to put yourself out there. You couldn’t understand it. What made you so undesirable? Why was it that no man even attempted to put in as much effort as you did? Why couldn’t there be at least one decent person who wouldn’t leave you wanting? You didn’t ask for much. Most dates, the bill was split; you didn’t expect them to hold the door open, didn’t expect them to walk you home, didn’t expect flowers or anything extra. Sure, you dreamed of it, loved to imagine having someone who cared so much to put in that little bit of extra effort. But you knew it’d be a long shot, so you didn’t dare to hope. What, then, made dating you so hard?
These were the things you contemplated on your walk back home.
The night was dark, the air crisp with the beginning promise of autumn seeping into the weather. You cursed yourself for not bringing a shawl as goosebumps raised upon your arms. The container of leftover alfredo was doing very little to keep your hands warm, and you wondered what would’ve happened if your date had shown.
Maybe he’d have offered to walk you home. Maybe he’d have given you his jacket after seeing you begin to shiver. Whatever he would have done didn’t matter now, you supposed. Because he hadn't shown. And a man who doesn’t show is not a man who would go the extra mile. Lois was wrong. Clark Kent wasn’t different. He was just the same as all the other assholes who left your heart torn and your hopes dashed.
You immediately stripped off your heels and dress when you got into your apartment, changing into an oversized sweatshirt and soft sweatpants. You barely had the energy to wipe off your makeup and take down your updo that you’d collectively spent over an hour perfecting. Dropping the bobby pins onto the bathroom counter, you did your best to keep it together for a little longer.
Grabbing your fluffy blankets, you manoeuvred your way to the couch, where you put on a romance movie that only made your tears fall harder. You were not destined to have an ending such as the ones written for the ages. It seemed that you were meant to spend your life completely and utterly alone.
When you woke up the next day, your head was pounding. Your eyes were dry, having, apparently, cried yourself to sleep. You winced at the taste in your mouth, having been so exhausted you didn’t even get the chance to brush your teeth. You looked like a right disaster when you made your way into the small bathroom. You pointedly avoided looking at the mirror as you took off your comfy clothes to take a shower.
It was only after you freshened yourself up, mint clinging to your teeth and hair smelling of coconuts, that you looked at your phone. Dozens of unanswered texts sat on your phone from Lois, and even a few unanswered calls remained on your homescreen.
You only felt slightly guilty for not responding to her, given that she was the one who set your heart up to be shattered again. You didn't, however, have a death wish, so you responded as quickly as possible, confirming that, yes, you were very much alive and that, no, her coworker wasn’t secretly a serial killer.
She responded straight away, demanding to meet up at the coffee shop a few blocks away from your apartment building. You had planned on wasting the day away in your apartment, watching shitty rom-coms and eating ice cream, but having spent one too many days sulking over loser men that couldn't seem to show you basic human decency, you decided to agree to her meet-up. You’d spent too much time moping over guys who didn’t deserve it. Mourning what could have been despite knowing full well that you’d just be settling for someone who didn't treat you even close to the way you grew up reading about. From that day forward, you were done. You wouldn’t let these mediocre boys, for no real man would ever treat you so horribly, determine your mood.
Lois was already sitting with a coffee in hand when you arrived. She waved you over, surprising you with your favourite drink. “Thanks, you didn’t have to buy me anything,” you said, that niggling feeling of guilt worming into your head, the same as when anyone would do something nice for you.
“It’s nothing,” she brushed you off easily, well accustomed to your guilt-complex at that point in your friendship. “Besides, you can pay me back by telling me how incredible your night was.”
Your heart chipped at the expectant look she pinned you with, her lips curving into a smile. Originally, you had planned to lay the truth out for her, scathing and bare, ripping apart her colleague for not having even the simplest decency to show up. Now, you couldn't help but worry that it would tear apart their friendship. She'd talked about Clark before, and from what she said, he seemed like a great friend. You didn't want to tear that from her. You took a sip of your drink to avoid answering right away, the liquid settling uneasily in your gut.
Loath would you be to destroy a friendship, especially one as amicable as theirs. They’d been friends for years. Who were you to pop up and ruin it just because he didn’t want to go out with you? Perhaps he was weaselled into this arrangement as well; perhaps he didn’t want to date anyone, but Lois managed to finagle him into agreeing. From firsthand experience, you knew how persuasive and stubborn she could be.
Or maybe, he did show. It’s not like you would have recognised him if he did. Maybe as soon as he turned the corner and caught a glimpse of you, he turned on his heel. It could very well be that he didn’t find you attractive enough. No matter how much effort you put into your looks, he could still very well had seen through to your core. He might have been able to map all of your insecurities despite your best efforts at hiding them.
“Did you spend the night at his place?” Lois questioned, oblivious to your inner turmoil. She shifted in her seat, eyes bright and inquisitive.
“Uh…” You faltered, caught at a crossroads. Finding yourself both unwilling to lie and unwilling to destroy their friendship, you said, “I don’t really want to talk about it.”
You winced the instant she deflated. “That bad, huh? Do I need to kick his ass for you? I’ll do it.”
“No!” You were quick to reassure her, “No, it was fine, good even… he’s just… not really my type.”
She blinked at you, eyes flickering down to your fingers fidgeting with the cardboard drink sleeve. “He’s not your type.” Her voice was completely flat. Disbelief curved her brow upwards as her eyes narrowed, pinning you on the spot with a stare so calculated you felt like a butterfly pinned on display.
“Yeah,” you shrugged. “He seems nice and all, but…”
“But what?”
He didn’t show up for the fucking date.
“I don’t know.” Your shoulders curved inwards. “Can we talk about something else? How was your night with Hannah?”
Lois frowned at your change of subject, but, ultimately, indulged you with a story from her own little date night with her long-term girlfriend.
When you parted ways, you knew that Lois was upset with your lack of detail, disturbed by your indifference towards her coworker, but you didn't know what else to do to make her let it go. Really, it wasn’t that big of a deal; certainly nothing worthy of ruining a long-term friendship over.
By the time Sunday rolled around the corner, you’d completely put the blind date disaster out of your head. Instead, you decided to indulge yourself by going to the nearby bakery that you found yourself frequenting quite a lot. It was a small, family-owned business, quaint and calm in the midst of the chaos of Metropolis. The owner, a small woman with greying hair, greeted you by name, her entire face lighting up at the sight of you. Entertaining small talk as you perused that day's selections, you found yourself relaxing for the first time since Friday night. The dark cloud of loneliness seemed to evaporate, surrounded by the scent of cinnamon and vanilla and the older woman’s caring charm. Because, whilst you may never know of a romantic love, you’re life was still filled with small moments like that. Moments that remind you that you weren't alone in the world.
You ended up buying way too many treats, as you always did. The elderly woman sent you away with a few extra treats stashed in the paper bag, despite your best efforts at stopping her.
Your way home found you with an extra pep in your step. The sun shined brilliantly down on you, a faint autumn breeze keeping it from being too warm. And as you passed by a park, you decided, what the hell, and walked in through the little gate to sit at one of the benches. Your eyes passed over the lush green park, the trees were just starting to change into a striking arrangement of reds, oranges, and yellows. You found yourself smiling at the cute kid flying a kite and the man playing frisbee with his dog.
Your stomach growled then, reminding you that you hadn't eaten yet today. As you set about shuffling through your arrangement of baked goods, a throat cleared from in front of you.
A smartly dressed man stood in front of you. His hair was an unruly mess of dark curls, and the glasses on his face slipped down as he lowered his head to look at you. Your heart jumped in your chest, hand freezing in the bag as he fidgeted with the bouquet of flowers in his hand. “Hello,” he said, his voice deeper than you expected. It didn't fail to send your heart fluttering in your chest.
“Hello,” you echoed, baffled at the man before you. Why was he stopping to talk to you of all people?
He cleared his throat, then, the tips of his ears turning pink as he averted his gaze. “Mind if I sit here?”
You swallowed the confusion at his request. Why sit by you when there were plenty of other unoccupied seats? Why did he have the flowers? Who were they for? “Sure,” you murmured, sliding over to give him more room.
You watched with thinly veiled curiosity as the man surveyed the park, his hand clenching tighter around the poor arrangement of flowers. He steadfastly did not look back at you. Although you did not know this man, you couldn't help but feel like the slump to his shoulders was not a stance he usually took up. Everything about him screamed put together, besides the mess of curls atop his head. He looked defeated, you realised, made clear with the tension in his jaw, the sorrowful look lingering in his eyes—like a kicked puppy.
Looking back at your bag of goodies, you asked, “Would you like a cookie?”
He startled slightly at your offer, eyes darting over to you, then to the bag, then back to the surrounding park. He didn't respond to your question, only further tightening his hold on the bouquet in his hands.
After a long moment, he sighed, head lowering. “I messed up.”
Your heart stuttered in your chest, caught completely off-guard by his words. Your stomach twisted at the thought of this stranger coming to you to get something off his chest, to seek comfort in another stranger maybe. You were not prepared to play therapist that day. A selfish part of you, that just wanted to relax after the draining week and weekend you had, instantly regretted having allowed him to sit next to you.
“I let someone down recently,” he said, picking at one of the stems. “It… it was really shitty of me.”
You swallowed past the uncertainty caught in your throat. “Yeah?”
His eyes found yours for a second, breathtakingly blue. You had to look away when met with the intensity of his stare. “Yeah,” he finally agreed after seconds of silence. “I didn’t mean to hurt them. Never wanted to… to let them down. I even bought apology flowers.”
Your heart twisted at his self-depricating chuckle, devoid of any humour. “They’re lovely.”
His mouth twisted up as if he ate something sour. “Not lovely enough to rectify what I’ve done. I… I could spend ten lifetimes apologising and it wouldn’t be enough.”
You shifted a little in your seat, suddenly uncomfortable by your proximity. Clutching the bag tight in your hands, you wondered if you should make a run for it right then and there before he admitted whatever crime he committed.
“Y’see, I know there’s no excuse. I could never say anything to make things alright again. I would never accept forgiveness from her either way.” His grip on the flowers loosened, his eyes darting back down to the colourful display of regret. “She’s a really great person, that’s what my friend says anyway. And the little time I’ve spent with her… well, I’d have to come to the same conclusion. I hate that I left her hanging at that restaurant all alone.”
Ice settled in your veins, all too aware of the likelihood that this was no mere coincidence.
“I have to agree with what my friend said to me; she deserves so much better than me. But… she also sent me here with a demand to apologise for what I’ve done. Not that I needed any convincing, of course…”
You were sure that he could hear your heart thudding in your chest, your breaths getting shorter with each word he uttered into existence.
“So… I’m sorry,” he offered up the bouquet to you. “I hope you can find it in your heart not to hate me.”
Baffled, you stared uncomprehendingly at the peace offering stretched out to you. He shifted in the seat, eyes darting every which way as he waited for a response. When the silence stretched on for too long, the proffered flowers dropped to the bench, his entire body wilting like a flower that had sat out too long.
“It’s not an excuse,” he said, voice significantly dimmer than before. “I got caught up in something Friday night.” His face twisted up again. “I should have left it for someone else to do. God, if I had any sense, I would’ve called—” He cut himself off abruptly, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. The thing is, I would never normally stand up anyone, much less a woman as lovely as you.”
Not that you would ever admit it, but you had imagined meeting Clark Kent. You had imagined how thoroughly you would berate him, imagined words as sharp and scathing as a sword. You had imagined knocking him off his high horse and bringing him back down to earth. Now? Now your traitorous heart was cracking at the sight of him so defeated, so downtrodden. Your head told you that he deserved to feel that way after what he put you through, but your heart couldn't help but feel bad for him. It didn't help that he had perfected that wounded, sad puppy dog look.
“I waited forty-five minutes for you.” Instead of sounding sharp and accusing like you had planned, the words faltered, softly conveying the disappointment you felt.
He clenched his jaw, looking down at his lap with poorly veiled fury. “That isn’t right,” he said.
You swallowed. “No. It wasn’t.”
Fidgeting with the bag of baked goodies, you wondered what more would come of this conversation. Should you leave before the faint burning pressing against your eyes welled up and showed just how much his actions had hurt you?
“You have no reason to trust my word,” he said before you could make your tactical retreat. “And you have every right to shove the flowers in my face and storm off.”
Your heart jolted when he got off from the bench, kneeling before you with the slightly crumpled flowers held forth as a now pathetic-looking display of apology. “I would be honoured if you’d give me another chance. I know I don’t deserve it, but I want to make this right.”
He must have seen the hesitancy in your eyes, for he continued, “I wouldn’t be upset if you agreed just to get a free meal outta me, it’s the least I could do. And if all you want is for me to leave you alone, to never have to see my face again, then so be it. Just know that I’m truly sorry.”
Emotion welled up in your throat, words clogging up as this man stared at you with the utmost devotion and devastation you’d ever seen. A part of your brain was still processing his words, trying to make sense of how impossibly gentlemanly he was being. This man before you was nothing like the asshole you imagined him to be. He couldn’t be. Not with a face as genuine as that; not even the best actor could put forth such a convincing performance as the one he just did.
The part of you, long tainted by past lovers, wanted to reject him—the part of you that yearned to be safe, away from even the possibility of heartbreak. It warred with the other half of you. The half that just wanted to be loved. The part of you that wanted to be loved as fiercely as you love.
“And if you don’t show again?” You questioned, voice wavering over the words, the heartache still ever-present through your tone.
“It won’t happen again. I promise you.” He thought for a bit. “If something does come up, I’ll text you. Okay? I’m… I’m kind of a busy man, so… I get called out a lot. I don’t want any illusions that… that being with me is going to be easy. But I promise to do my very best by you.”
“One date, then,” you found yourself agreeing. “But you’re paying. And I get to choose.”
His smile was so radiant, you felt as if you’d told him he’d just won the lottery. “Really?”
Your stomach flipped, not used to being so direct and demanding. You almost took it back, always quick to apologise for being too much, for taking up space and demanding respect.
“Wherever you wanna go, Sweetheart. Just tell me the time and place.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m more certain of this than of anything else,” he said, lopsided grin still in place. “Thank you for giving me another chance; it’s one more than I deserve.”
You were resolutely not nervous about meeting Clark Kent for dinner… again.
Lois had been furious that you were so quick to forgive him, promising to rip him to shreds if he hurt you again, but you managed to somewhat calm her down. And now, you were standing outside of a new restaurant, wearing high heels and a lovely getup you bought months prior for a work event. You fidgeted with your clutch, standing outside the imposing doors. Dread filled your stomach, heavy like lead. You couldn't help but worry that you’d end up sitting there again, another forty minutes of your life wasted on chasing a love that you were almost certain didn't exist for you anymore.
You were startled out of your worries when a man cleared his throat beside you. Apologising, you were quick to get out of his way so that he could enter the restaurant. Upon seeing the man beside you, however, your heart leapt up to your throat.
Clark looked even more well put-together than the last time you met him. His torso covered in a simple white button-up, a lovely unbuttoned autumn coat draped over his broad shoulders, and large thighs encapsulated in dark slacks; you didn't know how he managed to make something so simple look so good.
You blinked down at the bouquet of flowers in his hands, different from the last arrangement, but beautiful all the same. He offered you an adorable dimpled smile that you deemed should be illegal, with the way it made your heart stop.
“For you,” he said, hope lighting up in his eyes. You took the flowers with a mumbled thanks; you couldn’t help but wonder when the last time you had received flowers on a first date. Your brain fails to remember even one instance. You almost tripped over your feet when he opened the door for you, a sweet smile spread across his face. And when he pulled out a chair for you, you couldn’t help but feel a prickle of annoyance.
All the chivalry in the world wouldn't take away the fact that he stood you up on your first date. He'd even said that he didn't expect forgiveness, so why was he trying so hard? Irregardless, you both ordered your drinks and food. Clark took a surprising interest in your life, soaking up every tidbit of information like a sponge soaks up water. When you asked about his job, it was clear that he was passionate about it, taking great pride in his work to help better the world.
By the time dessert came to the table (one that you got to pick out with no protest falling from his lips), you were almost cursing the fact that Clark Kent seemed to be perfect. He was really making it hard to hate him. The way he talked well of others even when they weren't around, the way he could’ve easily gossiped and complained about his coworkers, but instead built them up. The way he said please and thanks almost an obnoxious amount of times to the server, polite even when they mixed up his order during the rush hour. The way he seemed so earnest about making the world a better place, of being truthful and never backing down from a story that needed to be published.
And that was what scared you the most.
Other than last Friday night, Clark Kent seemed to be the perfect gentleman. Someone you had only dreamed of finding to whisk you off your feet. Had this been you a few years prior, you would have fallen hard. You would’ve attached yourself to his kindness without even a nagging voice in the back of your head warning you of some unforeseen danger lurking behind every gentlemanly smile.
But now, you were hardened. A wall of carefully laid out brick and mortar was built up around your heart, a defence built after countless instances of heartbreak. And whilst there were cracks in the foundation, you believed yourself to have solidified a well-enough fortress keeping you from the worst of the harm. Instead of mourning for weeks, you got back up on your feet in a day, maybe less, shoving all your feelings into a small locked box that was quickly running out of room. You knew that your walls were close to crumbling down, having taken one too many hits. So you feared for yourself. You feared that this would finally be the last hit that destroyed your walls, the last hit before the piercing sting of rejection and disappointment tore your heart asunder.
You didn't know what would happen when it came to that point.
You’ve tried not to think about it, if you were to be honest with yourself.
And as you looked at the man across from you, smiling into a scoop of chocolate cake with melted ice cream dripping off the spoon and onto the napkin in front of him, you tried to picture yourself allowing this to continue, allowing yourself to be vulnerable again. It made your hands shake around your own spoon and your heart feel like it’d burst from your chest, but you also felt a deep, aching need for it. For connection. For love.
As promised, Clark paid for the dinner. Of course, he tipped generously. He offered to walk you home or to call you a cab if you really wanted to be rid of him. You didn’t want to admit it, but you chose the former just so you could spend a little more time with him. After all, what could it really hurt? If this were to be the last time you saw each other, if this were to be the last time you experienced being treated like one of those characters in your romance novels, you’d take all the time you could get. Because whilst it irked you to no end that he was laying it on so thick to try and gain your forgiveness, even you had to admit it felt nice to be treated like something special just once in your life.
It should’ve come as no surprise that when you walked outside, he deliberately manoeuvred himself so that he was walking on the outside of the sidewalk. He even offered you his arm, which you vehemently refused. You clutched your leftovers in both of your hands, reminded of a very similar walk only days prior. You remembered wondering what it would’ve been like if he had shown. And now that he was there, walking beside you in the cool, dark night, you found yourself wishing that this was what had come to pass the first time. You wished that seed of doubt had never been planted, wished that he had shown up when it mattered and given you a sense of security. Because if you did pursue this relationship, what’s to say that it won’t happen again? What’s to say that it will become increasingly frequent, and each time, he would refuse to give you a concrete answer as to where he’d been.
That was not a life you wanted.
You were jolted out of your thoughts as you felt a warm fabric drape over your shoulders. Freezing on the spot, you pinned him down with a heated stare. “I have a shawl,” you said, shrugging off the warm coat; you instantly missed the warmth and the soothing scent that clung to the collar.
He cocked his head a little, taking the coat from your cold fingers. “That shawl isn’t exactly made for cold weather, Sweetheart. You’re still shivering; it’s so thin. Please, just take my coat.”
Cheeks burning from his acute observations, you did not accept the garment. You instead resumed your walk, leaving Clark to jump to catch up to be by your side once more. “I made it just fine on our last ‘date’. And that time I had forgotten to bring it.”
His steps faltered slightly. “I… I’m sorry. I would’ve… Please take my jacket. It’s too cold for you-”
“Could you stop already!” You turned on your heel, eyes burning with an emotion you couldn’t quite describe. He was being everything you never hoped to want. And it tore you apart to know that it was all a lie. For all your daydreaming, you knew that standards this high were not even in the realm of being achievable.
Clark stopped with you, face blank and confused. His shoulders drooped a bit, still holding out that damn coat for you despite your scathing tone. You shook your head as he tilted his head, wearing that dangerous puppy dog expression that you had just come to hate.
“I get it. You’re trying to make a good impression, trying to make me forgive you, but I’d honestly just prefer if you treated me like normal.”
He blinked down at you, uncomprehending.
Sighing, you continued, “If you wouldn’t normally go through all this extra effort, you really shouldn’t do it now. It’s… it’s disingenuous, and… and I hate being lied to.”
His mouth pulled into a frown, brows furrowed. “But I would,” he countered. “Everything I’ve done… I didn’t do it to try and get you to forgive me—well, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t trying to get you to like me, but even if I hadn’t colossally messed up, I would still treat you the way you deserve to be treated.”
You raised a disbelieving brow. “So you expect me to believe that you always hold the door open for your dates, that you always pull out a chair, that you always offer your clothing, and… and…”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. You paused at the conviction he spoke with, leaving not even an iota of doubt for you to grasp desperately onto. He rubbed his jaw, thoughtfulness etched across his face. “My Pa taught me how to take care of a woman. I… I grew up surrounded by their love for each other. Some girls… they find it too… old-fashioned; they don’t like it—and if it ever gets to be too much, you could always just tell me, but I… I just want you to know that everything I did today, I would’ve done the first time, and I would continue to treat you like this if you allow me the chance for a second date.
“I really was trying my best not to… I don’t know, ruin this, I guess. I didn’t know that I was being too much for you.” He rubbed the back of his neck, flushing red. “I would… I’d like it if you put on the jacket, though. You’re cold, and you shouldn’t have to suffer because I’ve been too overbearing.”
You blinked up at him. Taking in the sheepish expression on his face, the way his shoulders hunched just slightly. “If anything,” you protested, “It’s my fault for choosing to wear this.”
Instead of agreeing with you, like any sensible man would do, he said, “Nonsense. What good does my jacket do if it’s not there to keep you warm?”
You chuckled a bit, a breathless thing, disbelieving and hesitant. “It keeps you warm, silly.”
“I didn’t bring it for me,” he confessed, shrugging as if it were no big thing.
Your stomach went for a loop, heart fluttering in your chest. The fluttering extended to your stomach as a swarm of butterflies was unleashed whilst he draped his coat over you once more. You couldn't tear your eyes off of his; a warmth so foreign to you ignited within the depths of his ocean eyes. He gave you a sheepish smile, ducking his head as a faint blush rose to the apples of his cheeks. He offered you his arm again to continue to your apartment, and, this time, you found yourself taking it.
Neither of you said anything more. Content to listen to the hustle and bustle of the city even at the late hour. He unconsciously pulled you closer whenever you passed by a wayward drunk or that group of men that liked to loiter around that one brownstone you always had to pass by, cat-calling anyone unfortunate enough to catch their attention.
All too soon, the familiar sight of your apartment loomed over the both of you. He offered to walk you to your door, despite telling him that you were perfectly capable of making it up by yourself. You didn't mind all that much, though, as it gave you more time to memorise the feel of his warmth against your side.
“Thanks for dinner,” you said as you pressed the button to your floor.
“I should be the one thanking you,” he countered. “Thanks for giving me a second chance.”
The elevator slowed to a crawl as it reached your floor. Clark allowed you to go first, holding your hand all the way.
“Well,” you said, stopping in front of the wooden door of your apartment. “This is me.”
He smiled at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling and his dimples popping out at you. You couldn't help but think that he looked striking even in the dim light of the hallway. His eyes swept across your face as if trying to commit it to memory. They were filled with a look you’d never quite been on the receiving end of before, one you couldn’t quite put to words, no matter how much you tried. Even saying he was looking at you like you hung the moon and stars, or even the universe, felt too little. It took your breath away.
“So… I just have to ask… Will there be a second date?” Hope etched into his features, eager and expectant as he awaited your response. You bit your lip, holding back the immediate yes that almost slipped right out of your mouth. Because if there was one thing you’d learned during your time with Clark Kent, it was that his facial expressions could push you to move mountains. The way his hopes and devastations always looked so vibrant across his face. You never quite knew what it looked like for someone to wear their heart on their sleeve, not until him, that is.
You didn’t expect to come out of this agreeing to a second date. Hell, you hardly expected him to show the second time either, brain programmed to believe the worst in people after years of being burned. Yet, in that moment, watching the man before you, the bouquet of vibrant wildflowers still in his hands, his hair ruffled from running his hands through it one too many times, his glasses slightly crooked, and a twinkle in his eyes, you couldn't quite bring yourself to even fathom saying no to him.
Even though you knew that you were in for a world of heartbreak, you couldn’t help but say, “Yes.”
He opened his mouth, practically gaping like a fish out of water, eyes wide as if he couldn’t believe that you had actually agreed. A few seconds passed before the utter disbelief vanished, a grin splitting across his face. His entire body practically vibrated with poorly contained excitement. A reaction you’d expect from a child if you told them you were taking them to Disney World or getting them a dog. A reaction you’d expect from telling someone that they won the lottery, or an all-inclusive stay at a luxurious resort somewhere in the Bahamas. And yet, the excitement just came from you agreeing to a second date. Not sex, not marriage, not children. A second date.
“Are you free next Saturday?” His eyes gleamed with both mirth and promise of a plan formulating in his brain. “There’s a thing happening at the park, and I think it’d make for an excellent date. I could pack a picnic lunch and we could sit near the lake, or if you don’t like that, there should be vendors and if you don’t want–”
“That sounds wonderful,” you interrupted him before he could spiral too much. “The picnic, and whatever is going on at the park.”
“You don’t know… It’s an art thing they have every autumn, the one vendor makes super great apple cider—I’ll be sure to get you some because it’s to die for. Unless you don’t really like art. We can do whatever you’d prefer.”
“Clark, you don’t have to make up any more for missing our first date,” you reminded him. “I picked the restaurant and you paid. You even let me pick the dessert.”
“I just don’t want you to be bored,” he said. “I’d hate for you to come along and hate it.”
“It wouldn’t be fair for us to only do the stuff that I like. You get a say in that stuff, too. Besides, that actually sounds like fun.”
“Really? Cool!” He quickly dialled it back: “Cool. Yeah, awesome. Um… Just wear something warm. Don’t worry about lunch, I got it covered.”
“You sure? I could bring some stuff.”
“No, I mean, not unless you really want to bring something.” He smiled at you then. “I’m so glad you gave me a second chance.”
Finding yourself at a loss for what to say, his words so earnest, you smiled back at him. “I’m just glad you showed up this time.”
It was clearly the wrong thing to say, for he deflated a bit. Rather than apologising again like you were dreading, he said, “I promise to never do something like that again.”
“I’ll hold you to it, Clark,” you said with a grin. And with that, you took the flowers from his hand, a small kiss planted on the corner of his mouth before disappearing into your apartment.
Once inside, you melted to the floor, back against the door. Listening to him walk away, you were immensely glad you agreed to another date with him. Something told you that this was the start of something wonderful.
Wonderful writing🌷🩵
Thank you, lovely!! I’m glad you liked it 💕💕
September Reads | Fic Rec List
What started as a silly, goofy list compiling my monthly reading list has now become this monstrosity that's on the verge of crashing my browser.
Despite the insanity that is this list, I hope all these lovely writers are showered with love and flowers for what they've meant to me in times of chaos and for creating a little corner of peace to retreat to. Each and every one of them have been the building block to creating that comfort space this month, and boy am I grateful for writers who put out stories for readers like me to enjoy.
OOH- ALSO! I'm always up for receiving fic recs, as well! Feel free to drop by in the comment section, my inbox or DMs!
Now, without further ado, below's the massive list of fics I've read this month. Be sure to be compassionate, comment, reblog, and flood these folks' notifications with love ✨
(P.S.- Compiling this list made me feel like I went on a bender this month. I literally have no explanation for my actions 😶)
(P.P.S. Apologies for the repeated notifs, authors. Feel free to ignore! This is just me documenting 🙈)
Massive shoutout to @saradika-graphics for the insane number of dividers I'm obsessed with.
Key: A - Angst | F - Fluff | S - Smut | C - Comfort | HC - Hurt/Comfort
Clark Kent | Superman 2025:
> Sweetest Torture by @satellite-evans
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, A + HC Word Count: 7.3K Description: Lois Lane is your lacy
> A-Lister in the Making by @sc3ptre
Tags: Series, 2nd POV, A + HC Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 Description: When Superman finally made his big debut, you put your years of PR experience to work, ready to control the narrative from a front-row seat to the city’s biggest rescue yet. What you didn’t expect was the front-page stories to be about you.
> Porcelain Skin by @defeatofcupid
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, A + HC Word Count: 1.3K Description: Gn! Reader, dissociation and derealization, mental health issues, emotional intimacy, struggles with the sense of self, and established relationship.
> Lovesick by @hearts4hughes
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 659 Description: Yearning!Clark Kent x journalist!Reader | Note: Clark is a lovesick, obsessed puppy in this.
> Mr. Bedtime by @lazysoulwriter
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 332 Description: Clark taking care of a workaholic reader.
> Doppleganger by @clarktologist
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 1.3k Description: A night out goes a bit awry when you forget your boyfriend is both Superman and Clark Kent.
> Just the Right Fit by @onlyasteelmancanbealover
Tags: One Shot, Chubby Reader, 2nd POV, F + C Word Count: 2k Description: Clark thinks you’d look cute in any mass-produced Halloween costume… even if it’s too tight.
> Clark Kent x Reader by @followyourfleart
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, S + C Word Count: 4.7k Description: Clark finally has you, but it's his first time too in a lot of ways...
> Complicated by @geminiwritten
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F + A + S Word Count: 28k Description: You've been best friends with Clark since high school, but moving to Metropolis—and crashing at his apartment until you get a job and find your own place—is stirring up old feelings you thought you'd buried for good. So you accept the only job offer you've gotten... at LuthorCorp, which somehow turns into a date with Lex Luthor, and you're left praying for someone super to swoop in and save you.
> Clark Kent x Reader by @siriuslylantsov
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 550 Description: Thinking about using Clark as your own personal heater, or rather a blanket.
> Tunnel Vision by @maiamore
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 1.3k Description: Clark realises that he can't fool everyone with his double life.
> Mr. Jealousy by @skyefiles
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F + S Word Count: 3.4k Description: You and Clark are—barely—keeping your relationship quiet at the Daily Planet… until a new intern decides to test Clark's patience.
> Clark Kent x f!reader by @glossiercheek
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 399 Description: Clark applying your lipstick for you
> Let Me In, Please by @herweirdass
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, A + HC Word Count: 930 Description: You always make little decisions without Clark’s input. Mainly because you’re used to your hyper-independence. But when you make one of the biggest decisions in your relationship without even consulting him, he gets very upset.
> Aftermath by @calamitous-luv
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F + A + C + S Word Count: 10.5k Description: Coming back from a gruelling jury duty, you find that your apartment was destroyed by the dimensional rift. You have no other choice than to move back in with the love of your life/best friend, Clark Kent. Only, he doesn't know you're in love with him.
> Featherweight by @amoreselli
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 2.6k Description: Clark Kent never thought he’d spend his evening chasing a pigeon out of an apartment, but with her? Nothing is ever ordinary. She’s dramatic, clingy in the sweetest way, and so effortlessly herself that he can’t help but adore every second—even when it involves bird-related emergencies.
> Illicit Affairs by @carmenberzattosgf
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, S Word Count: 8.5k Description: When Superman came to your rescue a few weeks ago, you thought that would be the only time you'd ever see him up close. That is, until he crash lands on your balcony, battered and bruised (aka this is my take on hooking up with Superman before ever knowing Clark Kent)
> Shades of You by @bookofbonbon
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F + A Word Count: 3.4k Description: Clark Kent is in love with you and your brown eyes.
> What's Left of Us by @kissesunderthesun
Tags: Series, 2nd POV, A Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 Description: You know Clark loves you. You love him too. You’re just not sure the sentiment alone is enough anymore.
> Soft and Only You by @junleb
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F + HC + S Word Count: 18k Description: Your childhood best friend is synonymous with ‘the guy you call when something (inevitably) goes sour.’ Clark is dependable, steady, safe. and maybe—well, more than maybe—the grass is greener in his bed. Or: two times your love life needs a little Clark Kent tlc. Third time’s gotta be the charm, you swear.
> Landslide by @thatfoxygrl
Tags: Series, 2nd POV, A + HC Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 Description: After Clark breaks your trust, he knows it's a long road to forgiveness. He just hopes that it isn't too late, and that the road doesn't stretch on for longer than he can bear – but then again, you weren't a pushover, and he may have pushed his luck a bit too far this time.
> The Weight of Us by @pellucid-constellations
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, A + HC Word Count: 4k Description: You find out Clark is Superman, and he finds out what it feels like to lose you. In more ways than one.
> See Me Like You Do by @cursedheartsclub
Tags: One Shot, Chubby Reader, 2nd POV, A + HC + S Word Count: 5.6k Description: "Could you write something about chubby fem reader and Clark, pls? They work together, and the reader has a huge crush on him, but is so insecure (maybe cos of her mom constantly bringing up her weight if ur comfortable writing some family dynamic angst), and fails to notice he’s in love with her because of that?"
> Family Album by @night-scare
Tags: One Shot, Single Dad Clark, 2nd POV, F + C Word Count: 3.9k Description: Clark doesn't want to ruin what you both have.
> The Quiteness of It All by @satellite-evans
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F + C Word Count: 4.8k Description: After an unexpected accident at work, Clark finds himself seeing you in a whole new light.
> For Real, This Time by @thekentfiles
Tags: One Shot, Single Mum Reader, 2nd POV, F + C + S Word Count: 21k Description: When Clark Kent starts to babysit your son on a near-daily basis, you don't expect to fall for him—or for your son's wild theory how “Mr Clark is Superman” to finally make sense.
> Sandwiches by @tsaheylutales
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F + HC Word Count: 855 Description: lonely reader, mentions of workplace bullying, angsty in a subtle way i think?
> Apology Flowers by @cricket-reader
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, A + HC Word Count: 6.6k Description: Clark Kent stood you up on your blind date. What you weren't expecting was a heartfelt apology served with a bouquet as he begged you for a second chance.
> Pretty Girl by @honey-on-your-tongue
Tags: Series, 2nd POV, F + C Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 Description: You're friends with benefits with Clark Kent, and he can't keep himself off you, not even in the office.
> Invisible by @danitcx
Tags: Series, 2nd POV, A + HC Chapter Count: 7/? Description: You were nothing more than a quiet presence in the newsroom, invisible compared to Lois Lane’s light. Everyone knew Clark Kent’s heart seemed to belong to her, and you had accepted it. But when your distance from him grows sharper, Clark begins to wonder if you truly dislike him.
> A One-On-One Interview by @siriuslystarman
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, S Word Count: 2.4k Description: The interview with Superman (your boyfriend) was meant to be simple.Instead, the questions turn into flirting, and the recording captures more than just a ‘one-on-one’.
> #Superdick by @mcumorningstar
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F + C Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 Description: The girls learn about your situationship with Clark after snooping through your phone, and a domestic morning forces you to face the truth.
> I Never Knew (Well Now You Do) by @eddieslooneymooney
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, A Word Count: 2.3k Description: You might let Clark get away with too much because you know he needs a break. But a woman can only handle so much when she didn’t even want to date Superman in the first place.
> Clark Kent x Wife!Reader by @whiteoaksblog
Tags: Series, 2nd POV, A + HC Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 Description: You want nothing more than to start a family with your husband, Clark Kent. But years of infertility have hollowed out your marriage, leaving behind heartbreak and distance.
> Clouds and Rain by @sapphichotmess
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F + A + S Word Count: 5.1k Description: Clark with a reader who is the total opposite of him. A reader who dresses more alternative and promiscuous, a total horror movie nerd. No one understands how sweet, simple Clark yearns for such a weirdo.
> Bad Friend by @twiceasbright
Tags: One Shot, Chubby Reader, 2nd POV, F + A + C Word Count: 5.1k Description: Your best friend asks you to set her up with Clark Kent, who's your work crush. Despite your feelings for him, you agree- for the sake of your friend. But things go awry when you panic and end up accidentally asking him out yourself. Now you have to find a way to fix it before things go too far.
> Happiest Girl in the World by @sapphichotmess
Tags: One Shot, Chubby Reader, 2nd POV, A + F + HC Word Count: 5.1k Description: Angst (miscommunication, bad thoughts about self/body) fluff, soft, Clark is a yearning man and so obsessed with you, oblivious reader, mutual pining, smut.
> The Way to A Man's Heart Is Through His Stomach by @beware=of-pity
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F + HC Word Count: 12k Description: Everything you know about love you learn by feeding Clark Kent.
> Six Months by @night-scare
Tags: Series, 2nd POV, S Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 Description: Sequel to Yes, Ma'am. You and Clark have been dating for six months, and he's been acting... weird.
> From "Mine" To "Ours" by @danitcx
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F + A Word Count: 2.1k Description: Clark Kent has never been the jealous type. He never had to be… until a new journalist starts flirting with her. What seemed like a small discomfort grows into something else: the need to make sure she’s still choosing him. A soft jealousy story, full of quiet love — and a move that changes everything.
> Caught in L-O-V-E by @alwritey-aphrodite
Tags: One Shot, Chubby Reader, 2nd POV, C Word Count: 1.1k Description: Chubby reader and Clark, where reader gets injured and Clark takes care of her.
> Hanging Up Without Saying "I Love You" Prank by @zziggerang
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 1.2k Description: Chubby reader and Clark, where reader gets injured and Clark takes care of her.
> Right Side of My Neck by @junleb
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, S + C Word Count: 2.5k Description: Inspired by the freaked out bvs bathtub scene.
> Find Me Somebody To Love by @supershit-hits
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F + S Word Count: 21k Description: Clark has the perfect plan to get to know the love of his life. It consists of eight dates, eight carefully crafted steps, and, if all goes well, a happily ever after. But when Jimmy sets him up on a blind date with you, sticking to the plan turns out to be a lot harder than he thought.
> All's Fair in Love and Tug of War by @kaciidubs
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 1.4k Description: You really couldn't fault Krypto, you knew his favorite game was tug of war - you just didn't think he would try to play it with you... or your towel.
Scott Miller | Twisters:
> Cargo Pants Pocket by @acdeaky
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F + A + HC Word Count: 12k Description: Your relationship with scott is one of your best kept secrets, but when he gets injured during a storm, all that effort goes out the window.
Poe Dameron | Star Wars Sequel Trilogy:
> Midnight Cravings by @emma23
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F + C Word Count: 599 Description: Cravings of cheese toast after sex.
Marc Spector | Moonknight:
> The Cove by @nathanbatemanfucker
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, A + HC Word Count: 599 Description: Grief, crying, childhood trauma, loneliness, emotional vulnerability, mild romantic tension, mild language
Joel Miller | The Last of Us:
> Joel Miller x Reader by @hollyseb
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F + C Word Count: 1.03K Description: Joel Miller being interested in reader but not sure how to flirt or show interest so he just gives reader stuff every now and then.
> Beneath the Harvest Sun by @sprigsofhazel
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 1.4K Description: A corn maze, sticky caramel apples, and Joel’s teasing grin… sometimes the sweetest messes are the ones you make together.
> Joel Miller x Reader by @millermami
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F + C Word Count: 1K Description: Joel loves you so much and can’t help but feel just a tiny bit jealous (but in a cute way!)
> Safe With You by @thatcorporategirlie
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, A + HC + S Word Count: 7.3K Description: After your friend is violently assaulted in the Boston QZ, fear grips you—and you turn to Joel, seeking his help to protect yourself.
> Falling by @toomanystoriessolittletime
Tags: Series, 2nd POV, A + HC Chapter Count: 6 Description: Joel made many mistakes. The biggest was leaving you.
> Tender Payment for Our Sins by @3pirouette
Tags: Series, 2nd POV, A + HC Chapter Count: 45/? (Will ALWAYS be on every single fic rec list of mine until it'll tragically be over one day 😭) Description: Jackson is less idyllic than it seems, as is everything post-infection. He doesn't want to see you tossed out, and can’t take the way you flinch when the men come sniffing around, so he does the only thing he and Ellie can think of to keep you around.
> A Haunted Body (AO3) by @kodachromeread
Tags: Series, 2nd POV, A + HC Chapter Count: 9/? (Another fic I'll religiously follow!) Description: You should have died that day. Instead, Joel Miller found you. After the Millers saved your life, you became something of a miracle. Now you’ve been given a second chance, and the sweetness of your new home is overshadowed by the coldness of one of them: Joel. Unfortunately for him, Tommy assigns you to work by his side, as the assistant he claims he doesn’t need.
Javier Peña | Narcos:
> The Morning Commute by @iknowisoundcrazy
Tags: Series, 2nd POV, A + HC + F Chapter Count: 7 Description: In the midst of Escobar’s desperate war for control in Colombia, your morning commute is disrupted when you find yourself tangled up in his latest bomb threat.
Frankie Morales | Triple Frontier:
> Real Love, Baby by @guess-my-next-obsession
Tags: One Shot, Chubby Reader, 2nd POV, A + C Word Count: 1.3k Description: Talks of body image issues/insecurities/maybe a kiss of inner angst.
> Canoe Handle It by @pilotispunk
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, S Word Count: 2.4k Description: After being dragged to an adult summer camp by the guys, meeting you at the canoes makes things more interesting.
> Second Best by @beezusvreeland
Tags: One Shot, Chubby Reader, 2nd POV, A Word Count: 2.4k Description: Frankie is put on the spot by the guys, who want to know if he would date you or not. He feels bad about his answer, but not as bad when he hears yours.
> You Know How I Feel About You. You Have to Have Known by @greenwitchfromthewoods
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, A + HC Word Count: 881 Description: Double date; some angst; misunderstanding; Frankie wants to hurt someone
Harry Castillo | The Materialists:
> Lemonade by @justagalwhowrites
Tags: Series, 2nd POV, F + S Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | ? Description: Harry Castillo decides to take the next step with his girlfriend, only for things to take an unexpected turn.
> To Be, To Love by @majestyeverlasting
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 1.5k Description: Harry returns home from a night out and charmingly campaigns for the one thing he wants most: your undivided attention
Marcus Acacius | Gladiator Il:
> SITA UNTOLD (सीता अख्याता) by @damneddamsy
Tags: Series, 3rd POV, A (so far 😭) Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | ? Description: History, in its fickleness, may forget her name, but the truth endures: Sita, princess of the Kushans—cast aside by her kin, traded in dowries—seized a bargain of her own. She knew power need not only rise from the sword, but from the marriage bed, from a whisper at a ruler’s ear, from the silence that follows a kiss. In Rome, she was bound—to a foreign man, the enemy, Marcus Acacius, a decorated general, a conqueror, and yet a weapon she resolved to wield. What began as a treaty unfurled into a perilous game of loyalty and betrayal, of conspiracy and desire. Sita’s fate was tested... would she remain Acacius’ consort—lashed, overshadowed—or would she rise as Rome’s queen?
Max Phillips| Bloodsucking Bastards:
> The Prettiest (AO3) by @almostfoxglove
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F + A + HC + S Chapter Count: 6 Description: After a restructuring at the company, Max finds himself dead—this time for good—and haunting his old duplex. Lucky for him, you move in. Now he'll do anything it takes to have you.
Bucky Barnes | Marvel:
> Overkill by @crybabycabin
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 1.5K Description: A minor car accident, a sprained wrist, and a seventeen-year-old who learns exactly why you don't rear-end the Winter Soldier's girlfriend.
> First Class by @superbassbuck
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 2.1K Description: Bucky is the pilot everyone knows. Top of his game, perfect safety record, and no room for nonsense on his flights. He doesn't chat much with the crew—rarely even cracks a smile. He's respected, but also feared. But when you—his wife—is on board, he turns into complete mush.
> Tap by @houseravenclaws (deactivated)
Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F + C Word Count: 1.9K Description: Bucky never talked much. he fell in love anyway.
Adrian Chase | The Peacemaker:
> Toe by @coligraven
Tags: One Shot, Black fem Reader 2nd POV, F Word Count: 2.01K Description: You go ballistic on the gang when you learn that not only did they allow Adrian to be tortured, but they sent him to jail to murder Chris's dad. Adrian marvels at how hot you are when you're angry.
Misc:
> Chubby Fem!Reader by @letstalkaboutfandomsbaby
Tags: Drabble, Chubby reader, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 331 Description: Chubby fem!Reader and an absolute besotted man —just the right way to make me MELT.
Thank you so much for including my work amongst these other incredible stories! 💕💕
